Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“I’m fucked,” Vi exclaimed into the phone. “I’m fucked!” 

  “Well,” Jinx muttered back from the other side of the line, her voice raspy and hoarse from disuse. Vi’s call had probably pulled her out of sleep. “Good morning to you too, sis.” 

  Vi rolled her eyes. “Good morning.”

  There was a creak, and a rustling of sheets as Jinx shuffled around in her bed, probably twisting around to see the alarm clock on the top of the dresser Vi had helped drag up a flight of stairs when she first moved in. 

  “It’s nine in the morning,” Jinx murmured, as if it were the ass crack of dawn. 

  Vi nearly rolled her eyes. Her sister easily slept in until twelve on most days. 

  She heard Jinx draw in a long, slow breath. “God, you’re not drunk again, are you? I told you to call an Uber—”

  “No!” Vi practically shouted. Someone a few feet away from her, browsing the romance section, looked at her in surprise, eyes narrowed. Vi cursed under her breath and lowered her head, trying to slump over in her chair and hide behind the computer. “I’m not drunk.” She looked at the time displayed in the corner of the computer screen. 9:28. “Who is drunk at nine twenty-eight on a Tuesday?”

  “I dunno,” Jinx responded. “Fun people?”

  Vi shook her head, inhaling sharply. “I’m not drunk,” she repeated. 

  She heard the bed creak again. “Oh.” Jinx sniffed. “Where are you?”

  “The library,” Vi supplied, raising her eyebrows. 

  There was a noticeable pause. “You’re not fucking that librarian again, are you?”

  “What?” Vi repeated, eyes getting wider with every word. “No.”

  “Well, why else would you be at the library?” Jinx hissed through the speaker. “At nine in the morning?”

  “I’m using the computers,” Vi replied. 

  “Uh, why?” Jinx asked rather aggressively. “Have you suddenly developed a habit for online gambling like Sevika? What is it? Some poker?”

  “No,” Vi snapped again, causing the same person to look over again, this time sending her a warning glare. 

  Vi frowned deeply, practically scowling, and they ducked back behind the bookshelf. With that done, Vi sank back down, nearly collapsing in defeat. 

  She sighed. “I have to move.” 

  She could hear Jinx blink. “What? Why?” 

  Vi’s lips flattened into a straight line as she held the phone closer, tucking it between her chin and her shoulder blade. “Remember when I told you someone new bought the building?” 

  “Uh,” Jinx whispered. “Yeah? The bald baby-looking guy?” 

  Vi’s lips quirked up in the corners. “Yeah, that’s the one.” She paused for a moment, tapping her fingertips along the desk top. “Well, he’s renovating,” Vi explained, running her other hand through her short hair. It was still slightly damp from her shower this morning. “He is trying to rebrand or something. He’s jacking rent up.”

  “Shit,” Jinx cursed. “How much?”

  “Almost double what I pay now,” Vi replied, biting her lip. 

  “Jesus,” Jinx exclaimed.

  Vi leaned back in her chair, folding one hand across her lap. “I know.”

  Her apartment was in a half-crumbling complex she had called home for years. It had been her first apartment she had moved into at nineteen, while she was still in college, using the money she had saved up since she started working at the Last Drop when she was sixteen. 

  But then some corporate landlord decided to buy the place up and “revitalize the neighborhood,” slapped on a coat of pastel paint, called it “luxury lofts,” and practically tripled the rent overnight. Vi, scraping by on odd jobs and bar shifts, couldn’t keep up. Within weeks, she would be priced out and forced to pack her life into two garbage bags and a duffel.

  Which was why Vi was here, frantically scrolling through apartment listings and freaking out over the phone. 

  “Shit,” Jinx said again. She finally sounded fully awake. There was more rustling as Vi guessed that she was rolling out of bed, now sitting up. “I’m sorry, Vi. That bastard. I mean, is that even legal?” 

  Vi rolled her eyes skywards, staring up at the ceiling. “Probably,” she replied. “He owns the building now. He can do what he wants with it.”

  “That doesn’t make it fair,” Jinx muttered. 

  Vi thought of her neighbors. The nice old lady across the hall that Vi always helped up the stairs, carrying her groceries inside for her. She would call Vi dearie and pat her on the arm. There was that young couple down the hall, with two young kids to provide for, and the pregnant lady downstairs, and the working college students who needed a roommate just to stay afloat and make rent on time. 

  Vi closed her eyes and sighed again. “I know,” she repeated. 

  It is never fair. 

  There was a long pause again. “So,” Jinx hummed awkwardly, about to ask the question Vi had been dreading. “What are you going to do?” 

  “I don’t know,” Vi admitted, opening her eyes. She leaned back into the chair again. “I’m checking apartment listings as we speak, but…” She trailed off, gritting her teeth. 

  “Fucking Pilties?” Jinx guessed. 

  “Exactly,” Vi uttered. “It’s all expensive as shit and on the nice side of town. I can’t afford it, and I don’t want to move that far anyway.” 

  She heard Jinx grit her teeth too. “I mean, have you called Dad?”

  “No,” Vi said instantly, narrowing her eyes.

  “Vi,” Jinx said in a warning tone.

  “I’m not asking for money,” Vi swore. “And sure as hell not living in the basement like Mylo. I’m a grown woman. And that is just embarrassing.”

  “Hey,” Jinx teased. “Mylo’s just trying to get back on his feet. That’s all.”

  “Mylo needs a real job.” 

  “It’s not his fault the Kiss My Bass gig didn’t work out,” Jinx pointed out. “He had all his hopes riding out on it.” 

  Vi groaned. “I can’t believe he seriously named his band that.” 

  Jinx shrugged. “It’s better than Full Frontal Funk.”

  “Oh my God.” 

  They both snickered, and then there was another heavy, pointed silence. 

  “So,” Jinx said again. It wasn’t exactly a question.

  “So,” Vi responded.

  “You could stay with me,” Jinx immediately brought up. “Just for a bit.” 

  And Vi knew she would. And she loved her sister dearly, but…

  “Pow, no,” Vi said firmly, already shaking her head. 

  “What?” Jinx practically whined, as if offended. “Why?”

  “I love you,” Vi started. “But, as I said, I’m a grown adult. I’ll figure this out.” She wrinkled her nose. “Plus, I don’t want to live in yours and Ekko’s love nest, or whatever Claggor calls it.”

  “Excuse you,” Jinx hissed. It was followed by a muffled moan, probably Ekko stirring from beside her. 

  Vi slowly lifted an eyebrow. They were just proving her point. 

  “We have a perfectly good couch for you to sleep on,” Jinx went on, switching to whispering so she wouldn’t wake her boyfriend. “Or the bathtub. You pass out there all the time when you’re hungover.”

  “No,” Vi said again. “I’m not leeching off my baby sister. Again, that’s just embarrassing.” 

  Jinx sighed. “Vander didn’t teach you to be so proud, you know.”

  “I told you that I’d figure it out! I just need a few days.”

  “Geez,” Jinx breathed. “Okay, okay.”

  “Okay,” Vi muttered half-heartedly. 

  “I need coffee,” Jinx said randomly, suddenly sounding tired all over again. 

  “Alright,” Vi sighed. “I’ll let you go. Sorry for the rant.”

  “It’s okay,” Jinx yawned. “It reminds me I’m not the only crazy one in this family.” 

  Vi opened her mouth, then closed it. She decided not to dignify that with a response, hearing Jinx snicker quietly. 

  “Lunch?” Jinx asked before she could process anything else. 

  “Are you paying?” Vi asked instantly, tilting her head. 

  “Fine, fine,” Jinx grumbled back. “I’ll pay for my poor, homeless sister’s lunch.”

  “Hey,” Vi spat. “Not homeless yet.”

  “Yet,” Jinx replied breathlessly. She let out the sigh Vi had been holding in. “Keep me updated?”

  Vi nodded. She could hear the worry in her sister’s voice, no matter how much she tried to hide it. “I will,” she promised. 

  “You better,” Jinx quipped right back, and then she hung up. 

  Vi slowly shook her head and placed her phone back down on her lap, a small smile playing on her lips. With that, she got back to work searching for a place to crash, or live in, preferably. She scrolled through pages of listings and offers, moving the clicker to hover over a particular one occasionally. 

  She checked dozens of housing and apartment websites she found while on Google. Her heart deflated each time she checked the price of rent. At this rate, she’d do better with a roommate, someone she could split costs with. Reluctantly, she switched to Facebook, which she only had to keep up with the older half of her family. Vander still didn’t have any other social media. 

  She checked a few groups. Nothing. Sighing, she clicked on one of those neighborhood websites, the ones where people complained about loud kids and asked why there were sirens three blocks away. She selected her location and signed up for a profile. After a few minutes of navigating, she didn’t find anything. Most posts were old, and it was mostly the same old ladies bickering over their neighbor’s overgrown shrubs. 

  Giving up, Vi exited out of the website, logging out. Reluctantly, she opened a new tab and hesitated briefly before typing into the search bar. Craigslist, she typed, then hit enter without a second thought. 

  It was a last resort, or so she told herself. 

  She already had an account from when she bought and sold random shit over the years. She logged in and immediately switched to the section for renting rooms. There were a few newer posts, but they were vague and just… suspicious. 

  She scrolled through three more and raised her eyebrows. 

Roommate Wanted (You Must Own Less Than 10 Items)

I am looking for someone who doesn’t need furniture, doesn’t need a bed, and thinks “cooking” is optional. If you have more than one spoon, do not apply. Rent is $300/mo. Must enjoy quiet, staring contests, and very little oxygen.

 

Roommate Needed

Looking for a roommate who doesn’t mind strange smells, weird noises, and occasional explosions (mostly minor). $650/mo. No interns.

 

Roommate Needed, Spiritually Inclined Preferred

Two-bedroom apartment, one friendly ghost. You must be comfortable with occasional floating objects. Rent is $500/mo. Bonus points if you can communicate with the dead. 

  Vi frowned. Well, this was what she got for going on Craigslist. Still, she scrolled on. She was getting desperate at this point. She clicked on the next one. 

roommate

i need a roommate plz

  Vi put her head in her hands and groaned. 

Vi kept on going anyway. 

    It was well past ten at this point. She had been scrolling for a while when she suddenly stopped, her eyes scanning over the words. 

  A newer post. It was made late last night. It was long and actually descriptive. Unlike the others, it actually had the location tagged and a description of the person she would be living with. And, well, it looked… promising?

  Vi read on, and her jaw nearly dropped. 

Room for Rent – Quiet Flat in Piltover Heights

 

• Large private bedroom with attached bath

• Rent: $500/month (utilities included)

• Fully furnished, no pets required (though tolerated)

• Ideal for someone seeking a peaceful living space

• Must be tidy, respectful, and discreet

 

About me: Professional, well-traveled, often busy in the evenings. Looking for a roommate who values privacy. No drama. Non-smoker preferred.

Please reply with a short description of yourself.

Vi stared at the advertisement. It was like seeing gold under layers of rocks. It was like seeing an oasis in the middle of the desert. 

  She read it and read it again. Sure, it was… spotty in some points, but it was the first one that seemed actually serious. First of all, that price seemed way too low for Piltover Heights, but if they meant it, it would be a good bargain for Vi. That complex was nestled right between Piltover and Zaun. She wouldn’t be too far from her family, and she’d still be close enough to work. 

  Before she could help herself, she was already typing out a reply. Smirking, she hit send. 

To: [email protected]

Subject: Re: Room for Rent – Piltover Heights

Hey,

My name is Vi. I am 23. Bartender/mechanic/sometimes bouncer/whatever pays the bills. My last place got jacked up to luxury prices overnight, so now I’m couch surfing and about one week from moving into a cardboard box.

I’m clean (ish). I don’t leave dirty dishes festering in the sink, but I will forget laundry until it’s a science experiment. I’m quiet when I come in late, unless someone pisses me off, then maybe not so quiet. I don’t smoke indoors, but I do like a beer or three.

I don’t care what you do at night, as long as you don’t bring home creeps or murder me in my sleep. I don’t snore, I can fix a leaky sink, and I’ll pay rent on time.

If you’re cool with all that, I’m game.

—Vi

P.S. That rent’s too good to be true, so either you’re a serial killer or you’re hiding something. If it’s the first, at least let me finish my beer before you chop me up.

To: [email protected]

Subject: Re: Room for Rent – Piltover Heights

Hello Vi,

Thank you for your candid response. Your straightforwardness is refreshing. I appreciate honesty, even in excess.

The rent is as listed. I inherited the property, so there’s no need to charge market rates. I prefer to live with someone reliable rather than attempt to maximize profit. Provided you can respect the space and my privacy, I believe we will get along.

A few things to note:

• I keep unusual hours, as you may have gathered, but I am discreet and will not disturb your rest.

• The kitchen is yours to use, though I seldom do more than make tea.

• Guests are acceptable if courteous, but I value quiet.

If you are still interested, perhaps we could meet in person to ensure compatibility. I will be home this Friday evening from 9pm onward.

Kind regards,
Caitlyn Kiramman

Vi nearly snorted when she got the reply. 

  It was Wednesday afternoon, nearly twenty-four hours after she sent the first email expressing her interest. She sat hunched on the ripped vinyl booth of the diner, half-warm fries shoved between her teeth as she opened the reply on her cracked phone screen. At first reading, it was polite, precise, and perhaps just a little chilly, like it was dictated on expensive stationery rather than typed into an email regarding a Craigslist ad. 

  Vi’s eyes narrowed as she focused. Her eyes flicked over the opening line. She snorted so hard she almost choked. Refreshing? What am I? A fucking cucumber water?

  She chewed louder, scrolling. Her eyes locked onto a particular sentence next. Inherited the property.

  Vi grunted and rolled her eyes. Figures. Fancy-ass, silver spoon, probably writes thank-you notes in calligraphy. She grunted again as she bit into another fry, ripping it apart with her teeth. Really great. Just what I need. 

  Her thumb jabbed grease onto the screen, smudging the pristine, wordy sentences. Who was this person? They were written like it was someone’s grandmother drafting business emails. It was so overly formal. They were going to be roommates after all, not business associates. 

  At unusual hours, Vi raised a brow. Unusual hours, huh? Yeah, sure. 

  Were they a hitman, or a fellow bartender perhaps? Though, they wrote way too fancy to be someone who mopped piss off bar floors. They sounded like they belonged in some Ivy League lecture hall, not a dingy, backroom bar full of drunken idiots. 

  Vi shrugged after thinking it over for a moment. She couldn’t judge on that part. She often had late nights, working night shifts and then hitting the gym for an hour right before it closed. She often didn’t get home until midnight, or later, and promptly collapsed into bed. 

  Vi kept on reading. Seldom do more than make tea. She nearly snorted again. Tea. Tea. Yep, that checked out. Definitely. 

  Onto the next line then. Guests are acceptable if courteous, but I value quiet.

  Vi furrowed her eyebrows at that. She rarely had guests. She doubted her family would want to hang around whoever this rich snob was, so bringing them around was out of the question. Besides, all of their family gatherings for Thanksgiving and Christmas were usually held at Vander’s anyway. 

  Vi bit her lip. And her romantic life was… dull. Painfully dull. She hadn’t really dated since high school. She hadn’t had a serious girlfriend since college, after the woman had left to study across the country shortly after graduation. She had been Vi’s first real heartbreak.

  Since then, it had just been tipsy women flirting with her as she passed them their drink and leaving their phone numbers on sticky little napkins. Oh, and the occasional quickie in the bar bathroom. 

  Not that Vi minded. She had more things to worry about than romance. 

  Vi’s thumb lingered at the bottom of the message, her fry halfway to her mouth as her eyes snagged on the closing line.

  Kind regards, Caitlyn Kiramman

 She read the name again. She blinked once, twice, then shoved the fry between her teeth without tasting it. Caitlyn. Fucking Caitlyn. All this time she had pictured some stiff old dude with wire-rimmed glasses and a wine cellar full of skeletons. But nope. It was a girl. A woman. Some fancy, prissy woman.

  Heat crawled up her neck, absurd and unexpected. Great. A woman. 

  She could already hear Jinx cackling in the back of her skull. The jokes were practically writing themselves as she sat down, eating fries in the corner booth and feeling sorry for herself. Vi leaned back in the booth, tilting her head against the torn cushion, staring at the fluorescent ceiling lights. She dragged a hand down her face and read it again, then again. 

  Still, as the email went on, her laughter thinned into something else. Her chest felt heavy. Friday, 9pm. Meeting in person. The idea made her pulse skip. This Caitlyn—formal as a nun, rich as hell, maybe even a serial killer—had just invited her into her world.

  Vi licked salt from her fingers and hummed under her breath. I guess we’ll find out if you’re a freak or just a lonely rich girl. She silently shook her head. Either way, I’m not sleeping in Jinx’s bathtub another night.

  She began to type out a short reply, nothing like the one Caitlyn had sent her. Friday worked just fine. She usually worked nights at the bar, but she wasn’t working this Friday. Instead of pouring drinks for drunk people and wiping up vomit, she would be meeting her potential future roommate. 

  Her nose wrinkled as she looked over the woman’s long ass email address. It seemed proper and old-fashioned. It used her full surname, and the domain just sounded obscure and archaic. 

  Fuck. Was this woman eighty? 

  Frowning, Vi finished typing and sent the reply. She supposed there was really only one way to find out. She read over the reply again, suddenly feeling anxious. What if she wasn’t good enough? What if Kiramman preferred some artsy, rich snob over a muscled, tattooed bouncer? What if she wanted someone who drank tea and went to art museums instead of someone who sipped beer while watching football and came home late smelling of liquor and piss? 

  Shit, she really needed this. She wouldn’t have anywhere else to go. She didn’t have any other leads, and she had so little time. Vi stared down at the email as if silently willing for the strange lady to reply within milliseconds. 

  Sighing, she shoved the phone back into her pocket, popped the last fry in her mouth, and nearly grinned. Well, Miss Caitlyn Kiramman, let’s see what kind of trouble you really are.

To: [email protected]

Subject: Re: Room for Rent – Piltover Heights

Friday at 9 works. I’ll bring beer.

—Vi

Chapter Text

To: [email protected]

Subject: Re: Room for Rent – Piltover Heights

Vi,

Very well. I shall expect you at nine. Bring beer if you wish, though I confess I prefer wine myself.

Kind Regards,

Caitlyn Kiramman 

Vi didn’t know how she found herself in the wine section of a small convenience store at 7pm on a Friday, but yet here she was. 

  Her boots squeaked faintly against the scuffed tile. The air was stale and smelled of instant ramen and bleach. She wrinkled her nose and stuffed her hands in her pockets, mindlessly thumbing at her wallet. She didn’t have much money to throw around, but she didn’t want to show up empty-handed. 

  And, apparently, Caitlyn wasn’t a beer gal. She drank wine. Shit, the girl was probably loaded enough to own some private vineyard, but Vi made a pit stop to buy a bottle anyway. 

  It was the thought that counted, right? Right? 

  Vi shook her head and cursed under her breath. She awkwardly stood there in front of a crooked shelf crammed with bottles that looked suspiciously dusty for how expensive their price tags were, labels screaming in swirly fonts that all bled together, half of them plastered with cartoon grapes, the other half trying to look like they belonged in some French travel magazine. 

  She half-mindedly began humming under her breath, some Guns N’ Roses song playing over the crackled store speakers. That was when her phone buzzed in her pocket, tinny vibrations rattling through the beer she had already picked as her fallback plan. She answered without checking the caller ID. “Hello?” 

  “Vi!” Jinx’s voice crackled loud enough that the bored cashier halfway across the store gave her a look. “Tell me you’re not still homeless. I don’t wanna have to smuggle you into my place again. Last time you snored so loud.” 

  In the background came Ekko’s voice, something about sleep apnea, followed by Jinx’s cackling snort. 

  Vi rolled her eyes, shifting the phone to her shoulder as she picked up a bottle with a golden crest she couldn’t even pronounce. “Relax, I found something. I have an… apartment tour tonight.” If that was what you could call it, she supposed. She paused and studied the bottle in her hand, squinting. “It’s got cheap rent, suspiciously cheap. I’m talking like… Craigslist murder ad cheap.”

  That got Jinx howling, so loud Ekko had to cut in. “Don’t encourage her.”

  “Oh my God,” Jinx wheezed between fits of laughter. “Vi, you’re about to be someone’s true crime podcast.” 

  Vi snorted, putting the bottle back and picking up another, darker one that at least looked expensive enough to pass as wine and not just grape juice. “Yeah, yeah. Either I get murdered, or I get a roof over my head. Honestly, win-win.”

  “Text me the address,” Jinx sing-songed. “If you disappear, I’ll know where to send Ekko with the shovel. Right, Ekko?”

  “Yeah, sure,” Ekko grumbled in the background, muffled and reluctant, followed by Jinx’s more gleeful tone. “See? Safety net!”

  Vi grinned despite herself, clutching the mystery bottle of red. “Thanks for the vote of confidence. Wish me luck.”

  “Luck!” Jinx crowed. “Try not to fall in love with your serial killer.”

  The call cut out on her giggles, leaving Vi standing alone in the wine aisle with a bottle of something she couldn’t pronounce and the creeping suspicion her little sister might be half right.

  Shaking her head, she paid for the bottle and the six-pack and went on her way. 

Vi shifted her weight from one foot to the other.  

  She stared right ahead of her at the door in front of her. The door. She had double and triple-checked that she had the right number. Now, staring at it right in the face, she had a sudden sinking feeling in her stomach. 

  Was this what they called an impending sense of doom?

  Vi blinked, then blinked again. The door didn’t seem to belong in a modern apartment complex. Where the other units were chipped beige paint and scuffed metal numbers screwed in crooked, this door stood like something stolen from some manor. It was heavy wood, oak, Vi guessed, with deep mahogany stains, carved with faint floral inlays that caught the hallway’s light. 

  The brass knocker gleamed, taunting Vi. She stared at it and blinked again. Who the hell had a fucking brass knocker in an apartment complex? It was almost polished to a mirror shine, shaped like a lion’s head clenching a ring in its teeth. 

  Vi shook her head. Her future roommate was going to be unbearable, or just a total weirdo. With one last confused glance at the knocker, her gaze went back up. The number plate wasn’t one of the flimsy printed ones either, but engraved, old-world serif lettering. 516. 

  Vi shifted again, eyes taking in every little detail. Even the peephole looks bespoke, framed in a tiny bronze circle rather than the cheap black plastic. Vi almost wanted to run a thumb over the raised carvings, but she caught herself. She knew better. 

  Huh, she thought. Rich girl door. 

  The six-pack sweated cold in one hand, already threatening to slip, and the neck of the wine bottle dug awkwardly into the crook of her elbow. She wasn’t a wine person, but she had stood in front of the shelf at the corner store for ten full minutes before grabbing something with a label that looked vaguely French. It had cost more than she wanted to spend, but. first impressions, right? 

  She tried not to feel like a kid showing up to a parent-teacher conference with a crumpled excuse note. Damn it. I should’ve just brought whiskey. 

  Vi exhaled once, more shaky than she liked, and checked the watch on her wrist—Vander’s old one, the glass smudged and chipped in one corner, but it worked just fine. The leather was worn and old, familiar when wrapped around her wrist. She had teased him about the old thing since she was a kid, and he, in turn, passed it down to her when she turned eighteen. 

  It was 9pm on the dot. Vi steadied herself and braved a knock on the door, pressing her bare knuckles to the smooth, cold wood. She refused to use the ridiculous knocker. She pulled back instantly, as if expecting the door to magically fly open, and swallowed. Her heart beat was in her throat. She thought she heard footsteps, but they were oddly quiet, probably muffled by the door’s fancy paneling. 

  The door clicked open before she could knock twice.

  And there she was.

  And Vi forgot how to breathe.

  Vi’s brain stuttered. She had been expecting some middle-aged widow type, the sort who wrote polite Craigslist ads and used words like discreet. She had expected—hell, she had braced herself for—some brittle old lady with cats and a collection of porcelain dolls. 

  Instead, the woman standing in the doorway looked… well, Vi’s age. Maybe twenty-four, twenty-five at most. Her hair was swept back smooth, gleaming in the light, not a strand out of place. It was dark, so black it almost seemed blue. She was all pale skin, smooth like porcelain under the soft golden light from inside, high cheekbones cutting shadows that gave her face an edge sharp enough to draw blood. Her eyes were a startling, sparkling cerulean blue, just as sharp as the line of her jaw, intelligent in a way that made Vi instantly straighten, like she was being studied.

  Her blouse was buttoned high, crisp white cotton that managed to cling just enough to hint at curves beneath, tucked into tailored navy slacks. She was tall—easily six feet—and slim, but not frail, with long lines in her frame that made Vi’s mind unhelpfully picture her standing on runways instead of welcoming in broke roommates at her door. 

  The sharpness of her collarbone, the pale column of her throat disappearing into the buttoned fabric, drew Vi’s gaze before she could stop herself. And then, fuck, her eyes dropped, snagging on the subtle curve of Caitlyn’s chest straining faintly against the neat fabric.

  Heat bloomed in Vi’s cheeks, sudden and unwanted. She adjusted her grip on the beer, praying she didn’t drop the wine right there on the floor like some nervous idiot.

  The woman—Caitlyn, it had to be—tilted her head, just slightly, as though she had caught Vi staring. She dragged her gaze back up just in time to catch a hint of something almost like amusement flickering in her expression, more in the sharp arch of her brow than in her mouth. 

  Heat spiked through Vi, cheeks prickling, traitorously warm.

  Her brain could only think of three short words. What the fuck. 

  And then Caitlyn spoke. “Vi, I presume?”

  The way she said her name—like it was an appointment, a foregone conclusion—only made Vi’s ears burn hotter. Her voice was smooth, lightly accented, words clipped and rounded.

  British, Vi thought immediately, like it was a great observation. Yep. Wow. 

    She stood there for a whole moment, just blinked up at the taller woman, when she realized she was supposed to reply. “Vi,” she fumbled, blinking yet again. “Yep, yep. That’s me.”

  Caitlyn merely inclined her head, barely a nod, but it was an invitation, a beckoning. Vi was moving before she could process it, and the beer nearly slipped from her hand as she tried to play it casual. She stepped through the doorway, mouth moving before her brain caught up.

  “Nice knockers,” Vi said with a crooked grin, jerking her chin at the door.

  Caitlyn froze mid-motion, slim hand still on the handle. Her eyes narrowed, that dark brow arching. “Pardon me?”

  Shit. 

  Vi’s stomach plummeted. “Shit,” she cursed, already panicking. “Uh, I meant…” She trailed off and flailed the wine bottle vaguely at the brass fixtures still gleaming in the hallway light. “The door. The… uh… literal door knockers.” She bit her lip as Caitlyn fixed her with a blank stare still as sharp as a knife’s edge. “They are very nice, and, uh, sturdy.”

  Shit. Shit. 

  There was a beat of silence, then Caitlyn’s gaze followed the motion. She blinked, her face smoothing back into polite neutrality. “Oh,” she murmured, dipping her chin. “Thank you.”

  Vi’s cheeks burned hot enough to fry an egg. She gave a jerky nod and bolted forward like she could outrun her own humiliation. Caitlyn shut the door behind her with a soft click. 

  Inside, the apartment unfolded with a kind of elegance Vi had never lived in, maybe never even stood in. It had high ceilings, with every wall painted in muted, dusky tones—deep greys and soft creams—that made the place feel both larger and somehow hushed. The furniture was all rich woods and careful choices: a velvet armchair in dark green angled beside a polished mahogany side table, and the kind of antique pieces Vi had only ever seen in glossy magazines she used to swipe from waiting rooms. 

  The couch was long, upholstered in a fabric that looked soft but firm, flanked by brass lamps with frosted glass shades. The whole place looked curated, as though it had been pulled from another century and placed delicately here.

  Vi nearly snorted. 

  The air smelled faintly of lavender and candle wax, though no candles were even lit. Heavy blackout curtains were drawn across every window, their folds so thick no light could possibly slip through.

  Okay, Vi thought, still hovering in the foyer. Odd. 

  Caitlyn’s knowing eyes followed her gaze. “Migraines,” she said simply with a flick of her wrist, as if dismissing it. “Dreadful things. The sunlight only makes it worse.”

  The movement tugged at the buttons of her well-fitted blouse. Vi’s throat went dry. 

  “Oh,” Vi murmured in response. 

  And then her eyes snagged on the far wall.

  A bookshelf stretched nearly floor to ceiling, crammed full of volumes in every size and binding. The leather spines cracked with age, embossed in fading gold lettering and cloth covers worn to softness. Vi stepped closer without meaning to, drawn in like a moth to a flame. English had been her best subject at school. She had always liked reading, but hadn’t always had the time to do it. It was not like she could read behind the bar while she was working. 

  Some titles she recognized—Dickens, Doyle, Austen—but more she didn’t. There were slim volumes in languages she couldn’t read. French, maybe, or German, or something stranger. Letters curled and accented in ways that made her frown and lean closer, brow furrowed. A few didn’t even look Roman-script at all.

 And none of the books looked new. No glossy jackets, no airport paperbacks, and no half-price thrillers. Each one felt ancient, lived in, as though the shelf itself had been carted through history intact. There were no cheesy romances or dog-eared erotica, the kind Vi would swipe from the thrift store down the street when she was sixteen and horny and just starting to figure herself out. 

  She trailed her fingers along the edges, dust soft against her skin, and muttered under her breath. “Jesus, you got a whole museum in here.”

  Behind her, Caitlyn stood, back ramrod straight. She had her hands clasped politely in front of her, head still slightly tilted as if in curiosity. “Do you read?”

  Vi jumped a little, spinning halfway around, caught in the act like a thief casing a collection. She shoved her hands into her pockets like that would hide the fact that she had just been caught drooling over the books. “Do I read?” she echoed, forcing a grin. “Sure, when there’s subtitles. Or when the bar menu changes.”

  Caitlyn’s pretty pink lips twitched into something that wasn’t exactly a smile. “Those are… limited definitions.” Her tone was mild, but there was something probing in it, something that made Vi glance back over her shoulder. 

  Caitlyn was standing closer now, closer than Vi realized, her tall frame outlined by the lamplight, hands now folded neatly behind her back as though she had been carved from composure. Vi hadn’t even heard her move closer. It was like she had floated over. 

  Creepy. 

  “Yeah, well,” Vi shrugged, trying to look casual as her heart kicked up. “I haven’t exactly had time to sit around with a cup of tea and a three-inch brick of words. Life’s… you know. It is busy. Messy. Reading for fun seems like some luxury shit.”

  Caitlyn tilted her head, eyes narrowing slightly, the fall of her hair shifting across her cheekbone. “And yet luxury is not always measured in coin. Sometimes, it is in time, in patience, in the act of allowing yourself stillness.”

  Vi just blinked, thrown by the way Caitlyn’s voice dipped low, resonant, as if she weren’t just talking about books at all. Something inside her tightened. 

  She turned halfway, meaning to crack another joke, but then she saw Caitlyn’s eyes.

They were not on her face. Not quite.

  Her gaze had drifted lower, with an intent. For a split second, Vi swore Caitlyn was staring at her mouth, lips gone dry under that scrutiny. But, no, her focus wasn’t on Vi’s lips at all. It was still lower, just to the side, fixed on the hollow of her throat where her pulse beat hot and visible.

  Vi simply raised an eyebrow. Maybe the woman was looking at her tattoos? She opened her mouth, jaw slackening, but Caitlyn was already shifting, a ripple of motion so smooth it seemed unnatural.

  “I’ll make tea,” Caitlyn said abruptly, her voice back to crisp formality, already turning toward the narrow doorway that led to the kitchen. “Do you take sugar?”

  Vi swallowed hard, pulse hammering against the very spot Caitlyn’s gaze had pinned. “Uh, yeah. Sure. Two. Or, y’know, whatever.”

  Her own voice sounded strange in her ears, a little too high and a little too quick, as Caitlyn blinked at her. Huh. Vi didn’t recall her blinking at all before that.

  “Excellent,” Caitlyn promptly replied, and then turned on her heel in an elegant way, like she was gliding across the floor. 

  And then Caitlyn’s slim figure vanished into the shadows of the kitchen, leaving Vi standing in the hush of that heavy-curtained room, heat still crawling up her throat where those sharp eyes had lingered.

  Very creepy. 

  Vi followed her anyway. 

The kitchen was as neat and deliberate as the sitting room. The kettle sat waiting on the stovetop, already filled, and Caitlyn moved with the kind of precision that made Vi feel like a bull crashing through porcelain. Her long fingers handled the matches, the cups, and the tin of loose-leaf tea like it was all part of a practiced ritual.

  Vi leaned against the doorframe, the six-pack and wine abandoned on the counter behind her. She crossed her arms, trying to look relaxed, but her eyes kept following Caitlyn. The line of her spine as she bent toward the flame, the pale sweep of her wrist where it pushed back the cuff of her sleeve. The way her movements were so quiet, not a clatter, not a scrape, like she had trained herself out of making noise at all.

  “So,” Vi said, just to fill the silence. “What’s your deal? Student? Workaholic? Secret agent?”

  Caitlyn didn’t even look up. “None of those. I work in… security, you could say. My hours are irregular. I travel when needed.”

  Vi snorted. “Security, huh? Guess that makes me what, the delinquent crashing on your couch?”

  That earned her the smallest curve at the corner of Caitlyn’s mouth, though she kept her eyes on the kettle. “If you choose to see yourself that way.”

  Vi frowned, pushing off the doorway. “Hey, I was joking.”

  Caitlyn glanced at her then, eyes dark and steady. “Jokes always hold a grain of truth. What matters is how you let it define you.”

  Vi just paused. She opened her mouth, then shut it again. She didn’t know what the hell to say to that. She didn’t want to admit how it sank into her, how it felt like Caitlyn could see straight through the bravado to something raw and sore underneath.

  The kettle shrieked softly as it began to boil. Caitlyn turned back to her task, serene as though nothing had been said. She poured the steaming water into two porcelain cups with delicate, unfussy movements, the scent of bergamot filling the air.

  Vi rubbed the back of her neck, suddenly restless. “You talk like you’re sixty years old, you know that? I thought you were my age, but now I’m not so sure.”

  Caitlyn set the cups aside to steep. “Age is relative. Some people manage a lifetime in twenty years. Others remain children forever.” She looked at her, eyes narrowed and glinting faintly in the low light. “Which do you think you are?”

  Vi’s throat tightened. She wanted to crack wise again, but the words dried up. All she could do was shrug.

  Then Caitlyn turned abruptly yet again. “Come. You should see the room.”

  She swept past her, and Vi followed, her boots heavy against the floorboards, the air cooler here with no lamps burning. Caitlyn stopped before a door at the end, opening it with the same silent grace as before.

  The room inside was bare. There was a wide window covered with the same heavy curtains as the rest of the apartment. The wooden floor was polished to a low shine, not a scuff in sight. A simple bedframe stood against the wall, mattress neatly made up in plain white sheets. A dresser, empty. A desk, clean and unmarked, like no one had ever sat at it. 

  Vi stepped inside, and the emptiness pressed around her, strange after the curated richness of the sitting room. The silence in here felt heavier, like the walls were waiting for something—or someone—to bring the place alive.

  “Well,” she said finally, her voice a little too loud in the hollow room. “Guess it’s a blank slate, huh?”

  Behind her, Caitlyn leaned lightly against the doorframe, arms crossed, eyes thoughtful in the shadows. “Exactly.”

  And, despite herself, Vi smiled. 

Chapter Text

Back in the sitting room, the air felt looser.

  Vi dropped onto the couch with a thump, leaning back into the cushions like she owned them already. She fished a beer from the sweating six-pack, cracked it open with a hiss, and tipped her head back for a long gulp. The cold fizz burned her throat, grounding her.

  When she arrived, Caitlyn didn’t sit. She disappeared again, her footsteps whisper-quiet on the polished floorboards, until Vi heard the faint sound of a lock clicking in the kitchen. Curious, Vi twisted around, beer dangling from her fingers. Through the doorway, she caught a glimpse: Caitlyn crouching gracefully before a small pantry built into the far wall, unlocking it with a key she wore on a delicate chain around her neck. Inside, shelves gleamed faintly with neat rows of bottles, their dark glass glinting in the dim light.

  Caitlyn chose one with practiced care, cradling it as though it were fragile, and brought it out into the light. She poured slowly into a crystal glass, the liquid sliding thick and dark, richer than any wine Vi had seen before. It was nearly black until the lamplight caught it and revealed a deep garnet sheen. Caitlyn lifted the glass with poise, inhaled the aroma, then carried it back into the sitting room with the same smooth grace she carried herself everywhere.

  She set the bottle deliberately out of reach on the sideboard and settled into the velvet armchair opposite Vi. “The kitchen is yours to use as you like,” she said calmly, voice even. “Though I must ask that you do not touch my wine.”

  Vi raised a brow, smirking around the rim of her beer can. “What? It’s too fancy for me?”

  Caitlyn’s lips curved just faintly, though her eyes didn’t waver. “Something like that.” 

  She crossed her legs, the glass balanced perfectly between pale fingers. Vi tried not to stare at the long lines of her hands and the long limbs that were her legs. Fuck. Her every movement was somehow elegant.

  Vi leaned forward, eyes snagging on the liquid in her glass. It was thick, almost viscous, clinging to the crystal as Caitlyn swirled it idly. In the warm glow of the lamps, it looked too dark, too heavy, like it had no business being poured from any bottle with a vineyard label.

  She swallowed, throat suddenly dry despite the beer. “Huh,” she said, trying for casual. “That… looks strong.”

  Caitlyn caught her gaze and held it. “It’s an imported vintage,” she said smoothly. “It is quite rare.” 

  Vi’s smirk faltered. She dropped her eyes to her beer, nodding quickly. “Right. Fancy shit. Got it.” 

  She raised the can in a mock toast, trying to swallow down both the beer and the unease crawling through her chest. Across from her, Caitlyn took a sip, crimson liquid brushing her lips before she set the glass down without a sound. Her expression never wavered, but Vi couldn’t shake the way those eyes seemed to linger on her just a little too long, watching her drink like she was the one being tasted.

The beer was halfway gone before Vi realized they had been talking for longer than she meant to. 

  At first, she kept the small talk light, her usual arsenal of easy banter: she told Caitlyn about bouncing drunks at the bar, about how she could strip a carburetor faster than anyone she knew, about Jinx and her chaos. Caitlyn listened, head tilted, eyes sharp but never interrupting. When Vi tried to turn the questions back—what did Caitlyn do for fun, where had she grown up, what was her deal, really—Caitlyn’s answers came smooth but vague, like polished stones worn down by water.

  “I travel,” she would say, when pressed about her past.

  “For work?” Vi asked.

  “Yes. And for perspective.”

  “What kind of work?”

  A faint smile, never quite reaching her eyes. “Security. Observation. Nothing you’d find very exciting.”

  Each time, Vi felt her brow furrow, that itch of frustration growing, but the way Caitlyn’s voice carried low and steady lulled her anyway. She couldn’t pin her down. She couldn’t even tell if Caitlyn was dodging the truth or if the truth really was just that slippery. And yet the beer kept flowing, and Vi didn’t notice time sliding past.

  At some point, she glanced at the clock on the mantel. Eleven. She blinked. Two hours. Two hours of sitting across from this stranger in her pressed blouse and impossible calm, and it hadn’t felt like that at all. It felt like minutes.

  She shifted, meaning to stand, to excuse herself, to get some air. Her mouth opened, then froze.

  Caitlyn was watching her.

  It was not just looking. Watching, like a predator might watch a deer, eyes hooded and still, her entire body composed yet coiled. The dark glass of wine rested forgotten at her side. For a moment, Vi forgot what she had been about to say. She forgot to move at all.

  And then Caitlyn was rising, so fluidly that Vi barely registered the motion until she was there in front of her. Not a sound, not even the whisper of her slacks against the floorboards. Vi’s heart kicked hard.

  A pale hand lifted. Fingers brushed the side of Vi’s cheek.

  Vi startled, breath catching in her throat, but Caitlyn’s touch was delicate, just a fingertip dragging across her skin. She lifted something invisible away. When Caitlyn drew her hand back, Vi realized what it had been: a faint fizz of beer foam that must have clung to her cheek when she tipped the can too carelessly.

  The touch lingered longer than it should have.

  Her skin burned hot under the ghostly pressure of those fingers, and yet Caitlyn’s hand was cold, like ice-cold, like she had plunged it into snow just before reaching for her. The contrast made Vi’s body twitch in a shiver she barely held back, warmth and chill colliding in a way that left her pulse stumbling.

  Caitlyn’s eyes didn’t leave her face. She could feel Caitlyn’s gaze drop—her lips, her throat, back to her eyes. Then, just as suddenly, Caitlyn pulled her hand away, withdrawing as though the moment had never happened. She straightened, composed once more, and turned toward her glass of wine without comment.

  Vi swallowed, mouth dry despite the beer, heart hammering far too loud in the quiet room. The excuse stumbled out of her mouth before she even knew what she was saying. “Uh, bathroom? Where’s the—”

  Caitlyn, already settled again with her glass of wine, lifted a hand toward the hall without missing a beat. “Second door on the left.”

  Vi shot her a quick nod, grateful for the out, and ducked away.

  The bathroom door creaked faintly as she shut it behind her, and the light clicked on with a low hum. Vi blinked, taken aback. She had been expecting a normal bathroom, maybe a little clinical with Caitlyn’s whole rich academia vibe. But no. This bathroom looked like it had been stolen out of a hotel for diplomats. 

  Marble tiles gleamed underfoot, veined white and gray, cool against the air. The sink was porcelain, so polished it reflected the soft light like glass, with brass fixtures that curled elegantly as vines. A row of plush towels hung perfectly aligned, not a wrinkle or fold out of place. Even the soap looked fancy—handmade, cut into little squares, smelling faintly of lavender and cedar.

  Vi barked a quiet laugh, shaking her head. “Jesus Christ, it’s like pissing in Buckingham Palace.” 

  She set the beer can on the counter, bent down, and splashed cold water over her face. She wiped her cheeks on the towel, lifted her head, and then frowned.

  There was no mirror.

  It was not just missing, but it was like it had never been there. The wall above the sink was bare, a smooth expanse of pale paint. No frame, no hooks, nothing. Every bathroom she had ever known had a mirror. Always. And this one didn’t. The hairs prickled on the back of her neck.

  Weird. Really weird.

  She shoved a hand into her pocket, dragged out her phone, and thumbed Jinx’s contact before she could overthink it. She pressed the phone to her ear, lowering her voice into a whisper the second her sister picked up.

  “Oi,” Jinx chirped by way of greeting. “Are you dead yet?”

  Vi glanced back at the door, as if Caitlyn could hear through the wood. “Not yet.”

  There was a pause, then a gasp so dramatic that Vi pictured Jinx clutching her chest on the other end. “Oh no. Is she hot?”

  Vi groaned, pressing the heel of her hand to her forehead. “That’s your first question?”

  “Vi, come on. Priorities. Roommate hotness level is crucial data. Scale of one to ten, how much do you wanna jump her bones?”

  Vi hissed through her teeth, trying not to laugh, trying not to admit how her stomach was still flipping from Caitlyn’s frozen fingers on her skin. “She’s… rich. Like, obviously rich. Fancy wine, fancy bathroom, fancy everything. And mysterious as hell. She won’t say much about herself, and she talks like she’s older than dirt.”

  Jinx’s giggle crackled through the line. “Ooooh, mysterious and loaded. Vi, you’re screwed. Rich girls are dangerous.” A beat. “So… Hot?”

  Vi pinched the bridge of her nose. “…Yeah.” The word came out low and a bit reluctant, but it was the truth. “She’s hot.”

  Silence, then a shriek that nearly deafened her. “I knew it! My sister’s got a crush on her rich roommate! You’re so dead.”

  “Shut the fuck up,” Vi hissed, though the corner of her mouth tugged despite herself. She glanced again at the blank wall above the sink, pulse still loud in her ears. “I’m not dead.” She rolled her eyes. “Yet.”

  Vi ended the call with Jinx’s laughter still ringing in her ears, stuffed the phone back into her pocket, and gave her reflectionless face one last scowl in the blank stretch of wall. “Get a grip,” she muttered, then cracked the door open and slipped into the hallway.

  The apartment was quiet. Too quiet.

  She padded back toward the sitting room, half-expecting Caitlyn to be waiting in that velvet armchair, glass in hand, watching with those sharp eyes. But the chair was empty. The wine glass was gone, only the faintest dark ring on the side table to prove it had been there at all.

  Vi frowned, just standing there awkwardly. The absence felt strange, the space hollow without Caitlyn’s presence in it, like the air itself had been holding its breath. Her gaze drifted, drawn again toward the tall bookshelf looming against the far wall. She stepped closer, beer forgotten somewhere behind her, fingertips brushing lightly along the cracked spines.

  There were old titles and strange letters. One in particular caught her eye. It was worn leather, embossed with curling script that looked both familiar and out of reach. She leaned closer, squinting—

  “Oh,” an accented voice came from behind her. “You’ve made it back from the lavatory.” 

  Vi jerked, heart stumbling, as Caitlyn slid silently back into the room. She was a shadow at first, just a tall figure framed by the hallway, moving with that same unnerving quiet. She crossed to the sideboard, set down her glass with delicate care, and only then turned, pausing when she saw Vi by the shelf, fingers still ghosting a book’s spine like she had been caught stealing.

  Vi’s first thought was how the fuck?

  And her second was who actually uses the word lavatory? 

  But Caitlyn didn’t speak. She only moved closer.

  Her walk was deliberate, unhurried, elegant in a way that made Vi’s throat go dry. Even the act of stepping across the carpet seemed transformed into something graceful. Vi tried not to notice the sway of her body, the long line of her legs, the way her blouse tucked smooth and precise into the narrow curve of her waist.

  And then Caitlyn bent over.

  The motion was simple: a crouch before the shelf. But Vi’s eyes betrayed her, snagging on the long, clean bend of Caitlyn’s spine beneath the crisp white shirt, the fabric of her slacks drawn taut across her hips. She tore her gaze away, only to find it caught again by the delicate movement of Caitlyn’s hand, fingers tracing the spines with reverence. The pale nape of her neck was exposed where her hair curled loose, tiny tendrils softening her otherwise perfect silhouette.

  Caitlyn’s hand stilled. She plucked the very book Vi had been looking at, pulling it free in one smooth motion. Rising, she turned, the volume balanced in her hand like an offering.

  “You seemed interested,” she said. She extended the book toward Vi. “Take it.”

  Vi hesitated, blinking at the weight of the gesture. “What? No, I don’t—”

  “I insist.”

  The leather was warm from Caitlyn’s touch. Vi reached out, and for a moment their fingers met, lingering just long enough to feel the brush of skin. Caitlyn’s hand was cool, unnervingly so, her fingertip grazing Vi’s wrist. Right over her pulse.

  The jolt that ran through Vi was sharp as lightning. Her breath hitched, her heart thudding against her ribs like it wanted to break free. Caitlyn’s eyes flicked down, just for an instant, as though she felt it too, the flutter of her pulse under that cold touch. Then, with unshakable composure, Caitlyn withdrew.

  “Thank you for coming,” she said simply, 

  It was a farewell disguised as politeness. Vi recognized this.

  Vi nodded too quickly, clutching the book to her chest. “Yeah. Sure. Thanks. I’ll, uh… see you.” 

  Her words tripped over themselves as she backed toward the door, heat still crawling up her throat. Caitlyn stood perfectly still, a pale sentinel against the lamplight, until Vi slipped out into the hallway.

  It wasn’t until Vi was halfway down the block, cool night air sharp in her lungs, that she glanced down at the book she had been gripping so tightly. The leather cover caught the dim streetlight, the gilt letters scrolled across it unmistakable.

  Dracula.

  Her stomach flipped, a mix of dread and wild amusement. Of course. Of fucking course.

Vi’s apartment—or what passed for it now—felt emptier than usual when she got back. 

  It was just four walls, a mattress on the floor, and half her life in boxes still stacked against the far wall because she hadn’t had the heart to pack the rest. She kicked her boots off by the door, tossed her keys onto the counter with a clatter, and let herself flop back on the mattress. For a long minute, she just lay there, staring at the ceiling. She swore she still felt the cold press of Caitlyn’s fingers at her wrist, still ghosted across her skin. The image of that dark, impossible wine still lingered in her mind, thick as blood. And the book (Christ, Dracula) rested in her bag by the door like a joke waiting to bite.

  Her phone buzzed on the floor beside her. She groaned, dragging it up into view, thumb swiping across the screen without thought. A new email notification blinked at her. From Caitlyn Kiramman.

  Vi sat up too fast, pulse kicking. She opened it.

To: [email protected]

Subject: Thank You for Tonight

Vi,

It was a pleasure meeting you. I hope the room meets your needs. You are welcome to move in whenever you are prepared. The space is all yours. Please remember what I said regarding the wine.

I look forward to sharing the flat with you.

Kind regards,

Caitlyn Kiramman

Vi snorted, a grin tugging unwillingly at her mouth. 

  Please remember what I said regarding the wine.

  It was so formal. So stiff. Like Caitlyn had just signed off on a contract instead of offering her a home. And yet there was something in it, beneath the clipped words, that made Vi’s chest warm.

  She read it again, slower this time. It was a pleasure meeting you. No one had ever said that to her with a straight face before. The space is yours. She hadn’t realized until right then how much she had needed to hear those words, how good it felt to know she had a place waiting, hers for the taking, no strings except a warning about the damn wine.

  Vi leaned back against the wall, phone balanced in her palm, and let herself smile, the kind of smile she didn’t show anyone.

  The Dracula book sat heavy in her bag, and Caitlyn’s ice-cold touch still tingled at her wrist, but for now, all Vi could think about was the email and how it made her feel something warm curl in her gut.

To: [email protected]

Subject: Re: Thank You for Tonight

Hey,

The room’s great. I’ll move my stuff in this weekend. I gotta haul it all out of storage before my sister burns it or paints it neon. Thanks for, you know, everything. And don’t worry, your wine stash is safe from me. I’m more of a beer-and-bad-decisions kind of girl anyway.

See you soon, Roomie.

—Vi

She moved in on Sunday. 

  The move itself was chaos, boxes balanced on her shoulder and Vi cursing the steep stairs more than once, but by the time she had shoved her things into the bare room and stacked her duffels in a corner, she felt lighter. Safer. Like the world had stopped shifting beneath her feet, if only for a little while.

  She noticed, though, as she was lugging the last box inside, that Caitlyn’s bedroom door. It was closed and locked. Vi paused, balancing the box on her hip, curiosity sparking, but shrugged it off. Everyone deserved privacy. God knew she had her own skeletons, so she just minded her business.

  That night, Vi plopped herself on the couch, hair damp from a quick shower, a chipped bowl of instant noodles steaming in her lap. The television was practically ancient, but it picked up a few channels, enough to keep her company. She slurped a noodle, half-paying attention to some late-night rerun, when movement caught her eye.

  Caitlyn’s door opened.

  She stepped into the room with a kind of slow, deliberate grace. Her blouse tonight was soft blue, sleeves rolled neatly to her elbows, tucked crisply into dark slacks that hugged her hips before falling straight and perfect down her long legs. Her waist drew Vi’s eyes without permission, the shirt cinched just enough where it disappeared into the waistband, emphasizing the narrow taper of her frame. Vi’s gaze lingered there too long, tracing the silhouette, before she realized she was staring.

  “Hey,” Vi said quickly, lifting a hand in greeting, noodles forgotten. “Roomie.”

  Caitlyn’s eyes flicked to her, that faint smile always hovering at the corner of her mouth.

  Vi gestured with her chopsticks toward the bowl. “Want me to fix you some? It’s nothing fancy, just noodles, but…” Vi’s mind stuttered as Caitlyn shifted, the side of her hip emphasized through her fitted trousers. She swallowed. “It’s hot.”

  Her cheeks warmed, and it had nothing to do with the warm steam coming up from the bowl. 

  Nice one, she told herself. 

  Caitlyn shook her head with that soft wave of her hand, delicate as though she were declining an hors d’oeuvre at a gala rather than an instant ramen. “No, thank you. I’m alright.”

  Vi arched her brow. “You sure? They’re practically gourmet. Five whole minutes in the microwave.”

  That earned her the barest twitch of Caitlyn’s lips, like a private joke. She moved past the couch, the lamplight sliding over her pale cheekbones, and leaned against the sideboard with her hands folded loosely in front of her.

  “What were you up to in there, anyway?” Vi asked, twirling noodles around her chopsticks casually. “You’ve been holed up since I got home.”

  “My hours are… odd,” Caitlyn replied. “I tend to sleep during the day.”

  Vi nodded, swallowing down another mouthful. “Fair enough. I guess I’ll keep it down then. Don’t want to wake Sleeping Beauty.”

  Caitlyn tilted her head at the nickname, but she didn’t correct her. Instead, she just smiled, her eyes glinting faintly in the dim room.

  And Vi, despite herself, found the corner of her own mouth curling in answer.

Chapter Text

Vi leaned back into the couch cushions, balancing the noodle bowl on her knee, and tilted her head at Caitlyn. “You’re just gonna stand there looking like a painting, or are you gonna sit and slum it with me for a bit?”

  Caitlyn arched a brow, that practiced mask of composure slipping only slightly. “Slum it?” She asked, as if the words were foreign on her tongue. 

  Vi knew she knew several other languages. She had seen the woman reading things in multiple languages and dialects. And now the term slum it was hard to understand. 

  She nearly snorted. 

  “Yeah,” Vi grinned, patting the spot beside her with chopstick-clumsy fingers. “You know, with the instant noodles and some bad TV and a couch that squeaks like it’s a hundred years old.”

  Caitlyn’s expression pinched momentarily. “It is not a century old.”

  Vi shrugged. “Either way, a real classy night in.” She patted the spot again. “Please?” 

  Caitlyn hesitated. Her gaze flicked from Vi’s grin to the steaming noodles, then to the humming television, as though weighing the indignity. But then, with a small exhale, she moved, her tall frame folding down until she perched on the edge of the couch. She was elegant even in something as mundane as sitting, her posture impossibly straight, one ankle crossed neatly over the other.

  Vi didn’t know how she made sitting down look like some ballet performance.

  Vi tried not to smirk too hard. “See? Not so bad. The couch hasn’t swallowed you whole yet.”

  Caitlyn’s lips curved faintly. “I’ve survived worse.”

  The minutes stretched, the television chattering away in the background while Vi kept the conversation light. She asked if Caitlyn ever watched TV. 

  Caitlyn only hummed lowly. “Rarely.” 

  She joked about how Caitlyn probably read the entire newspaper every morning with her tea.

  Caitlyn nodded, head halfway tilted. “Sometimes.” 

  She even offered her a noodle, dangling it like bait on her chopsticks. Caitlyn declined with a gentle shake of her head, but her eyes softened, just a touch, and for a while, it almost felt easy.

  Then Vi, comfortable on the buzz of warm food and Caitlyn’s rare smiles, let her mouth run one step too far.

  “So tell me,” she said, leaning in with a smirk. “What’s with the blackout curtains in every damn room? And don’t tell me about migraines. I mean, every room, Cait? You a vampire or something?”

  Caitlyn stiffened. It was subtle—her shoulders straightening, her body drawing ever so slightly back—but Vi felt it. The faint smile vanished, her expression smoothing into polite blankness, the mask locking back into place with a speed that made Vi’s stomach drop.

  “Oh, come on,” Vi said quickly, lifting her hands in mock surrender, trying to reel it back. “I’m just messing around. Don’t tell me you’ve never heard that before.”

  Caitlyn stood. Not abruptly—no, she was too controlled for that—but with a kind of finality that pressed against Vi’s chest like a door closing. “It’s late,” she said, voice calm but cool. “I should let you rest.”

  Vi blinked, noodle bowl forgotten, words fumbling at the back of her throat. “Uh, sure. Yeah.”

  Caitlyn inclined her head, the faintest dip, then slipped toward the hallway. Her footsteps were soundless, her figure vanishing into the shadows. Vi sat there a long moment, staring at the empty space Caitlyn had left, heat still crawling up her neck. 

  She slumped back into the couch, muttering to herself. “Smooth, Vi. Real smooth.”

  Jinx was just going to love this one. 

  Still grumbling under her breath, Vi finished her meal. The noodles had gone cold.

The alarm rattled Vi awake at an hour she usually reserved for staggering home, not heading out. 

  She groaned, slapped the clock into silence, and dragged herself upright, hair a wild tangle and limbs heavy from too little sleep. The apartment was quiet, still wrapped in that unnatural hush that came with blackout curtains and thick walls.

  She padded out into the hallway, tugging her tank top straight, boots dangling from her hand so she didn’t clomp too loudly. Her eyes caught on Caitlyn’s door. It was closed and locked, as per usual, the brass gleaming faintly in the dim light that filtered from the kitchen. Vi slowed, chewing the inside of her cheek. She hadn’t heard a sound from that room all night. 

  She muttered under her breath. “Still mad, huh?” and shoved her boots on at the kitchen table.

  As she laced them, her mind replayed the night before in merciless loops. The look on Caitlyn’s face when she had cracked that stupid vampire joke, the way she had stiffened, the smile wiped clean in an instant. It was all so sudden. Wall slammed down, colder than her fingers had been on Vi’s cheek.

  Now guilt curled low in her gut. She didn’t mean to screw it up. She didn’t mean to push where she wasn’t supposed to. It was just a joke, just words, but with Caitlyn, words landed heavier.

  Vi stood, restless, grabbing her jacket. She hesitated, though, eyeing the bare table. She dug a pen out of her jacket pocket and tore a corner from a crumpled receipt. Propping the scrap against the table’s edge, she scrawled quickly.

Morning, Roomie.
Sorry if I said something dumb last night. I didn’t mean anything by it.
Catch you later.
—Vi

  She set the note in the center of the table, weighed it down with the TV remote so it wouldn’t flutter off, and stepped back. For a moment, she stood there, jacket slung over her shoulder, staring at it like it might fix the heaviness between them.

  Then she shook herself, shoved her hands into her pockets, and headed for the door. 

The apartment was dim when Vi shoved the door open that night, her muscles sore from a long shift and her boots still damp from the mop bucket she had been wrangling all afternoon. The curtains were drawn as always, the air cool, carrying that faint lavender note she was starting to recognize as distinctly Caitlyn’s.

  She kicked her boots off and let them thud near the door, dragging her jacket off one shoulder as she stepped into the sitting room. That was when she froze.

  Caitlyn sat in the armchair like a statue, tall and pale against the shadows, a book balanced in her lap. There wasn’t a single lamp lit, no flicker of the television, just the faint glow that leaked around the edges of the curtains. 

  What the hell…?

  Vi blinked, brows knitting together in the middle. “What are you doing?” 

  Caitlyn didn’t even flinch. She closed the book, marking her place with a ribbon. When she lifted her gaze, her eyes caught the scant light and seemed to glint. “Reading.”

  “In the dark?” Vi frowned, tilting her head toward the unlit lamp on the side table. “You’re gonna ruin your eyes.”

  Caitlyn’s lips curved into the faintest smile. “My eyesight is excellent.”

  Vi stared at her for a moment, then huffed a laugh, rubbing the back of her neck. “Right. Of course it is.” She dropped her jacket onto the couch, half tempted to ask what exactly excellent meant in this case, but thought better of it.

  Caitlyn set the book aside on the side table, folding her hands in her lap, her gaze narrowing faintly as it lingered on Vi. There was no hesitation in her voice, no softening of tone when she spoke next. “You smell like urine.”

  Vi froze mid-step. “I—what?”

  “You smell strongly of it,” Caitlyn repeated calmly, her words as simple as if she were commenting on the weather. “Very strongly, in fact.”

  Vi blinked, heat rushing to her cheeks. “You can smell me from over there?” 

  She pointed vaguely between them—Caitlyn poised in her chair and Vi standing by the couch. There was a good eight feet between them.

  Caitlyn inclined her head once, as if the question were obvious. “Of course.”

  Vi opened her mouth, shut it, then groaned, scrubbing both hands over her face. “Oh, for fuck’s sake. It’s not what you think. There was a plumbing issue at work today. One of the pipes burst and backed up into the bathroom. Guess who got stuck mopping it up?” She jabbed a thumb into her own chest. “So yeah. Congratulations. I smell like piss.” She let her hands drop, giving Caitlyn a wry, lopsided grin that felt half-apology, half-challenge. “Not exactly the glamorous first week, huh?”

  Caitlyn’s eyes didn’t waver, like she was weighing Vi’s words against something deeper. And then, just barely, the corner of her mouth twitched, the shadow of amusement flickering through her otherwise impassive face.

  Vi exhaled, shoulders loosening. “Glad you find it funny. You’re not the one who had to bleach her boots.”

  Caitlyn didn’t let the moment pass. Her gaze sharpened, flicking down Vi’s frame and back up again, the way someone might study a painting or an unfamiliar weapon. “It isn’t just urine,” she stated. “There’s grease… stale cigarette smoke… and…” She leaned in ever so slightly, nostrils flaring the faintest bit. “Is that cologne?”

  Vi froze like she had been caught red-handed. “What? No—” she sputtered, then coughed, rubbing the back of her neck. “Okay, maybe. Just a little. My buddy at the bar dared me to try a sample bottle we found in lost and found. Said it’d make me smell like a high roller.” She groaned, clapping a palm over her face. “Christ, I can’t believe you can actually smell that from here.”

  Caitlyn’s mouth curved, not quite a smile—something keener, a flash of teeth without warmth. “You should feel bad.”

  “Thanks,” Vi muttered, heat prickling at her ears. “Really making me feel at home.”

  But Caitlyn wasn’t done. Her poise shifted, shoulders drawing back as she settled into the chair like a woman preparing to lecture a parliament. “You spend all day working, covered in grease, bleach, the sweat of your labor, and you laugh it off as if it’s shameful. But it isn’t.” Her eyes caught Vi’s, unwavering. “The working class, people like you, are the backbone of this city. Without you, everything collapses. You hold the weight of a society too comfortable to notice your effort, too entitled to care. And you degrade yourselves with jokes when you should wear the evidence like medals.”

  Vi stood frozen by the couch, her gut twisting. It felt… wrong. Hearing those words in that voice, coming from Caitlyn of all people—rich girl in pressed blouses, sipping wine that probably cost more than Vi made in a week. Her cheeks burned, but it wasn’t embarrassment. It was something more complicated, a knot of pride and defensiveness, and a hot coil low in her stomach she didn’t want to examine too closely.

  She cleared her throat, forced a crooked grin, and looked anywhere but at Caitlyn’s steady, burning gaze. “Right. Backbone of society. Medal of honor for mopping up piss. I’ll, uh… add that to my résumé.” She edged back a step, shifting her weight toward the hallway. “Anyway. I should shower. Smell less like… all the things you just listed. I don’t wanna keep offending your perfect nose.”

  Without waiting for a reply, she scooped up her jacket and retreated toward the bathroom. Behind her, Caitlyn sat perfectly still in the dark, hands folded, eyes unreadable, as if the speech had cost her nothing at all.

  And Vi couldn’t shake the coil in her gut, tightening with every step down the hall.

Vi could not fall asleep. 

  The sheets tangled around Vi’s legs like chains, her body restless against the mattress. She turned one way, then the other, the darkness pressing heavy with silence. Caitlyn’s words from earlier still gnawed at her, and Vi couldn’t decide if she was angry or flattered, only that it wouldn’t leave her head.

  When her stomach growled loud enough to echo in the empty room, Vi gave up. She shoved the blankets aside, dragged a hand over her face, and padded toward the kitchen. She didn’t bother throwing on a shirt. She wore what she dressed in for bed, just a sports bra, boxers, and her hair sticking up every which way. 

  It was 4am. Who the hell was gonna see her?

  Then she stepped into the sitting room and nearly jumped out of her skin.

  Caitlyn sat in the armchair, straight-backed, pale in the dim lamplight, a delicate porcelain cup steaming between her hands. Her blouse was buttoned to the collar, sleeves neat, posture perfect. She might have been waiting for an audience, except it was the dead middle of the night.

  Vi froze halfway into the room, heartbeat spiking. “Uh, shit. I didn’t think you’d be up.”

  Caitlyn’s eyes lifted, and for one unbearable moment, they swept her. Down from the messy tumble of hair, across the bare shoulders, the taut lines of her sports bra, the skin of her stomach, the long stretch of her legs. Vi felt the heat crawl up her chest, and instinctively she crossed her arms, trying to cover herself. 

  “Sorry,” she muttered, throat tight. “I didn’t mean to… You know, barge in half-naked.”

  And yet Caitlyn didn’t look away. “Don’t be modest with me.”

  Vi blinked, caught off guard. The tension in her arms slackened, shoulders dipping as she rubbed the back of her neck. “I’m just… used to you always dressing like a nun,” she muttered, trying to smirk. “All buttoned up and covered head to toe.”

  That earned a wrinkle of Caitlyn’s nose, delicate but sharp. “I may dress more formally,” she said, tilting her head. “But I am definitely not as virginal as a nun.”

  Oh. 

  Vi’s jaw dropped. “Oh.”

  Caitlyn didn’t flinch. She sipped her tea with quiet grace, her eyes never leaving Vi’s face. As if watching her. Measuring her.

  Vi’s lips twitched, slow and wolfish despite the hammering in her chest. She let out a low whistle, shaking her head. “Those guys are lucky, huh?”

  Caitlyn’s cup touched the saucer with a sound that was impossibly soft. Her gaze sharpened, almost amused, flickering back to Vi. “Now who said anything about men?”

  The sound Vi made was halfway between a cough and a choke. She slapped a hand against her chest, sputtering, eyes wide. “Oh.” 

  Caitlyn simply sat there, calm as midnight, one perfect brow arched, waiting.

  Vi’s throat was dry, her face burning, and for once in her life, words seemed to have deserted her. She stammered, tripping over half-formed sounds. “I mean—hell, I didn’t—” Her hand flailed vaguely in the air, as if that might pluck a coherent sentence from the silence.

  Caitlyn, meanwhile, was maddeningly still. Not a hair out of place, not a twitch of impatience. She only regarded Vi with those steady, unblinking eyes, as though watching her flounder was mildly entertaining in its own right. The steam curled lazily from her teacup, caught in the glow of the lamp, and she sipped with all the unhurried grace of someone who had the upper hand and knew it.

  “So,” Caitlyn said at last. “You assumed.”

  Vi nearly dropped her hand from her neck. “Look, that’s not what I meant, alright? I wasn’t—”

  Caitlyn tilted her head, the faintest curve tugging at her lips. “Perhaps you should ask fewer questions and assume less.”

  Vi gaped at her, then shut her mouth with an audible click. Her heartbeat pounded in her ears, her brain a wild tangle of embarrassment, fascination, and the kind of hot, crawling awareness she hated admitting even to herself. Jesus Christ, she’s playing me.

  Caitlyn seemed satisfied with the silence that followed, as though she had made her point. She set her cup neatly into its saucer with a quiet clink, then rose from the chair. Her tall, slim frame unfolded with that same uncanny elegance, every movement deliberate. 

  God, Vi groaned internally. How does she do that every single time? 

  Without another word, she crossed the room. Her footfalls were nearly soundless. Vi stood frozen where she was, arms half-crossed over her chest, watching Caitlyn glide past her toward the hallway. For a fleeting second, their shoulders brushed, a chill trailing over Vi’s bare skin that sent her pulse careening.

  At the doorway to her locked room, Caitlyn paused only long enough to glance back, her face unreadable in the dimness. “Good night, Violet.”

  Vi’s face only flushed further. She was suddenly so glad it was dark in the kitchen. She was sure she was as red as her hair by now. 

  Violet. 

  The word, her full name. She used to hate it as a kid. Only family and close friends called her that. Only two syllables, but coming from Caitlyn’s lips, it made a shiver go down her spine.

 Vi opened her mouth. Wait, she thought. When did I tell her my name? 

  But then Caitlyn was gone, the door closing with a muted click.

  Vi stood there in her sleep clothes, still clutching the back of her neck like a lifeline, staring at the empty chair where Caitlyn had been. Her stomach twisted, her pulse still hammering at her throat, and her mind refused to catch up to what had just unfolded.

  Finally, she let out a long, shaky laugh, dragging her hands down her face. What the fuck just happened? 

Vi [4:31 AM]: I THINK SHES GAY

Jinx [4:32 AM]: wtf who???

Vi [4:32 AM]: CAIT. MY ROOMMATE. THE RICH ONE.

Vi [4:32 AM]: SHE SAID SOMETHING. IT WAS A WHOLE THING.

Jinx [4:33 AM]: lolololol

Jinx [4:33 AM]: knew it

Jinx [4:33 AM]: ur gaydar is like a wet toaster tho what did she SAY

Vi [4:34 AM]: she was drinking tea like some old lady

Vi [4:34 AM]: i apologized for being half naked in the kitchen

Vi [4:34 AM]: she looked me in the eye and said “don’t be modest with me”

Jinx [4:35 AM]: LMAOOOOOOO

Jinx [4:35 AM]: that’s not subtle at ALL

Jinx [4:35 AM]: she basically handed u a neon sign that says “i eat pussy”

Vi [4:36 AM]: jinx oh my fucking god

Vi [4:36 AM]: she also said she’s “not as virginal as a nun”

Vi [4:36 AM]: i thought my soul was leaving my body

Jinx [4:36 AM]: 💀💀💀💀💀

Jinx [4:37 AM]: soooooo when’s the wedding?

Jinx [4:37 AM]: or at least when’s the hate-fuck

Vi [4:38 AM]: IT WASNT LIKE THAT

Vi [4:38 AM]: …ok maybe a little

Vi [4:38 AM]: she also said “who said anything about men” 

Jinx [4:39 AM]: BAHAHAHAHAHA

Jinx [4:39 AM]: fuck i wish i had a camera in ur dumb gay face rn

Jinx [4:39 AM]: ur doomed vi. DOOMED.

Vi [4:40 AM]: shut up. i’m going to bed.

Vi [4:40 AM]: if she kills me in my sleep it’s ur fault for jinxing me.

Jinx [4:41 AM]: lol “jinxing” nice

Jinx [4:41 AM]: also if she kills u i get ur boots

Jinx [4:41 AM]: nighty night lovergirl 💋

Ekko [4:46 AM]: yo why are u and jinx blowing up the gc at 4 in the morning? some of us sleep like normal people

Vi [4:47 AM]: …did she screenshot me again?

Ekko [4:47 AM]: yup. i’ve now got “don’t be modest with me” burned into my brain. thanks for that

Vi [4:48 AM]: FUCKING HELL

Vi [4:48 AM]: she’s evil

Ekko [4:49 AM]: nah ur just down bad. i can smell the gay panic from across town

Vi [4:49 AM]: shut up.

Ekko [4:50 AM]: just saying, if ur new roomie is as hot as jinx says, don’t screw it up by being u

Vi [4:51 AM]: wow thanks. super supportive.

Ekko [4:51 AM]: anytime 😉

Ekko [4:52 AM]: now go to sleep before u text her something dumb like “ur tea is hot just like u”

Vi [4:52 AM]: i wasn’t gonna

Vi [4:52 AM]: fuck u.

Ekko [4:53 AM]: lmao gnight vi