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Vi doesn’t know how she found herself here, standing in the narrow aisle of a specialty hardware store that smells like machine oil and clean metal, fluorescent lights buzzing faintly overhead while a corporate-wear billionaire woman waits three steps behind her with a patient posture that suggests she has never once in her life been told she needs to hurry, her long coat draped neatly over one arm, her other hand occupied with a paper bag containing newly bought textbooks (Vi’s textbooks), a cardboard coffee tray balanced with effortless precision on top (Vi’s coffee, too), watching Vi deliberate like the fate of the universe depends on whether she picks the twelve-piece precision screwdriver set or the one with interchangeable magnetic heads which, let’s be honest, Caitlyn is also going to buy.
Vi squints at the rack, chewing on the inside of her cheek, brow furrowed in deep, almost comical concentration. “Okay, but this one has high ratings,” she mutters, mostly to herself, holding up a slim black case. “And also looks like it’d survive until I'm old and gray.”
Behind her, Caitlyn hums softly, the sound polite and amused and fond in a way that makes Vi’s shoulders tense despite herself. “You said the smaller ones were better for circuit boards,” Caitlyn offers, voice smooth and warm, perfectly modulated like she’s always aware of how much space she takes up in a room and chooses to occupy it carefully.
Vi exhales sharply through her nose. “Yeah, well, I also said I wasn’t gonna let you carry my stuff,” she says, glancing back at Caitlyn with a crooked scowl that lacks any real bite. “Yet here we are.”
Caitlyn’s lips curve, subtle but unmistakable, her blue eyes—too blue, unfairly blue, the kind of blue that doesn’t belong to anyone who also has sharp Ionian cheekbones and navy hair that falls just-so against her collarbone—crinkling at the corners. “You’re the one who walked straight past the register,” she replies mildly. “I simply followed.”
Vi snorts and turns back to the display, but the truth of it sits heavy in her chest: she really doesn’t know how she ended up here, with Caitlyn Kiramman holding her things like it’s the most natural arrangement in the world.
All she knows is that months ago (god, has it really been months?) she was power-walking across campus, late for a lecture she couldn’t afford to miss, phone in hand as she skimmed through a last-minute message from her project partner, when she slammed straight into someone solid and tall and immaculately dressed. Vi had sworn, stumbled back, already firing off an apology before she even looked up and then she did, and her brain short-circuited entirely.
The woman had been beautiful in a way that felt almost architectural: sharp cheekbones, long elegant lines, navy blue hair pulled back neatly, eyes the softest, clearest blue Vi had ever seen, made all the more striking by the fact that they belonged to someone with unmistakably Ionian features. She wore a fitted skirt and a crisp suit shirt tucked in with precision, long boots accentuating even longer legs, and she’d looked at Vi not with annoyance, but with surprise that quickly melted into something kind.
“Oh, are you all right?” the woman had asked, reaching out instinctively as if to steady Vi, her accent polished and refined.
Vi, being Vi, had absolutely not let the moment pass. She’d apologized again, made a joke about campus traffic hazards, commented—casually, she’d thought—on the boots. The woman had laughed, a soft, genuine sound, and introduced herself as Caitlyn.
Vi learned quickly that Caitlyn didn’t work at the university, and that knowledge had felt like permission. She was visiting campus, she said, just for the day. Here to see her brother. So Vi’d walked with her longer than necessary, let the conversation stretch and bend, asked questions that weren’t strictly polite but weren’t overstepping intrusive either. When she asked Caitlyn out, it had felt impulsive but right, the kind of thing Vi had always been good at, taking a leap before she could talk herself out of it.
A one-night stand with a beautiful corporate woman? Vi had thought. Wouldn’t hurt. Not at all.
Except Caitlyn had paid for everything. P. Paid for the drinks Vi picked out, paid for the cab, paid with a calm certainty that made it clear she wasn’t trying to show off, just… used to it. Vi had known who she was by then, the only heir to a massive engineering firm, a name that carried weight in academic and corporate circles alike. Vi had let her spend freely, telling herself it didn’t matter.
But it had mattered. Because that one night hadn’t stayed just a night in Vi’s head. It had lingered, addictive and warm, Caitlyn’s laughter echoing long after, her careful hands, her attentiveness, the way she’d looked at Vi like she was something worth studying.
So when Vi learned Caitlyn would be back on campus again, visiting her brother, again, she’d taken it as a sign. She’d gone looking for her, heart in her throat, rehearsing a dozen different ways to ask for a second date.
What she hadn’t expected was to walk into her project meeting and find Professor Jayce Talis at the front of the room, gesturing animatedly. And then, standing near the door, Caitlyn, smiling proudly at him.
Brother, it turned out, meant Professor Talis.
Vi had bolted on instinct the moment the realization hit, ducking out before anyone could stop her. She’d almost made it, too, almost escaped with her dignity intact, if Caitlyn hadn’t seen her anyway.
“Vi!” Caitlyn had called, surprise clear in her voice.
And then she’d followed her, long strides eating up distance easily, until they were standing in a quiet corridor washed in afternoon light. Vi had tried to explain, words tumbling over each other, all sharp edges and poorly disguised panic. Dating the sister of the professor responsible for her grade, her future, was not something she could afford.
“I can’t,” Vi had said finally, jaw tight. “I’m sorry. I just… this complicates things.”
Caitlyn had been dumbfounded for all of three seconds before she’d nodded, composed as ever. “All right,” she’d said gently. “I understand.”
And then, as if it were the most reasonable thing in the world, she’d asked, “Are you free this weekend? We could… hang out.”
Vi had bristled, misreading it immediately, the word hang out sounding too much like a workaround, like pressure. Her response had been sharper than she’d meant it to be, but Caitlyn had only held up her hands placatingly.
“Nothing romantic,” she’d assured her, earnest and calm. “I promise. I’m an adult, Vi. I can take no for an answer. I enjoy your company and I’d like to be friends, if you’re willing.”
That had stopped Vi cold. Friendship hadn’t been what she’d expected, but the sincerity in Caitlyn’s voice had been impossible to ignore. And Vi had liked her. Liked talking to her, liked the quiet moments just as much as the charged ones.
So she’d agreed, doubt and curiosity warring in her chest.
Caitlyn had smiled then, bright and genuine, and said she’d text the address.
They’d parted ways after that, Vi walking off with her thoughts in knots.
Which is how Vi ends up here now, staring at screwdrivers while Caitlyn Kiramman waits behind her, holding her books and coffee like she belongs there, like this strange, confusing orbit between them is already a thing.
Vi finally grabs the smaller set with a decisive nod. “This one,” she says, turning. “Don’t say it.”
Caitlyn’s smile deepens as she steps forward. “I wasn’t going to,” she replies, already reaching for her wallet.
Vi steps out of the store first, the little bell above the door chiming as it closes behind her, and the moment her boots hit the concrete she exhales all the air she didn’t realize she’d been holding, a slow, steady release that leaves her shoulders slumping just a fraction as she stares out at the street like it might offer answers if she looks hard enough. The bag in her hand is light, too light for how much it cost and the weight of that settles somewhere uncomfortable in her chest, familiar by now but never quite ignorable. It’s still weird, being friends with Caitlyn and letting her pay for everything, still strange how easily Caitlyn does it, like money is just another tool she knows how to wield properly, something meant to smooth processes and remove obstacles rather than a moral quandary to be dissected.
Vi doesn’t even feel bad about it, not really. Not in the way she thinks she should because Caitlyn had waved it off the first time Vi tried to protest, her mouth curved in that infuriatingly reasonable smile as she’d said, “Think of it as an investment,” like she was explaining basic arithmetic instead of financing a senior engineering student’s graduating project. Caitlyn had gone on, calm and thoughtful, talking about Vi being an engineer with a promising project and herself being a future CEO, about how understanding the process from the ground up mattered, how this was her familiarizing herself with the realities her future protégés would face. Vi had snorted at that, called bullshit lightly, but she’d let it happen anyway.
And it’s not like Caitlyn is losing much, even if she did bankroll Vi’s entire academic life from this point on. Rich people stayed rich by stepping on people like Vi’s parents, by benefiting from systems that never cared who got crushed as long as progress marched forward. Caitlyn’s money, her family’s money, was built on generations of that. If anything, Vi sometimes thinks, this is the smallest kind of payback, a barely noticeable redistribution, and Caitlyn seems willing to give it without resentment, without guilt, without the patronizing savior complex Vi has learned to sniff out in half a second.
What gnaws at her isn’t the money. It’s the timeline.
Because one day, this project will end. One day, Vi will graduate. Maybe she’ll get an offer abroad, somewhere with better facilities, better funding, somewhere she can sharpen her skills until they’re dangerous. And when that happens, whatever this thing between her and Caitlyn is will change shape again, thinning out until all that’s left are receipts and invoices, polite emails, Caitlyn becoming a sponsor instead of a friend, a name attached to funding rather than a presence beside her.
Isn’t that what Vi tells people, anyway?
We’re not dating, she says, every time her friends give her shit for how close she is with Caitlyn. We’re not even friends. She shrugs when she says it, makes it sound casual, transactional. I’m just using her for the bills for my graduating project. That usually shuts them up, or at least redirects their teasing into something sharper but less personal. Her friends are little shits like that, always hungry for drama, and Vi refuses to be their entertainment, refuses to give them something soft they can poke at until it bruises.
It’s not the truth, not really. Caitlyn is a great friend. And more, sometimes, in ways Vi doesn’t let herself name.
The door opens behind her, the bell chiming again, and Caitlyn steps out into the daylight like she belongs there, like she belongs anywhere she decides to stand. She pauses just long enough to look around, then cocks her head slightly, blue eyes narrowing in mild concern as she takes in Vi’s posture.
“Our coffees are going cold,” Caitlyn says gently, her voice carrying easily over the low hum of traffic. “And I believe we’ve walked enough for one afternoon. You should take a break.”
Vi turns, schooling her expression into something lighter than what she’s feeling, and offers Caitlyn a smile that’s genuine if a little half-assed around the edges. “Yeah,” she says, nudging the bag in her hand. “Guess I earned it, huh?”
Caitlyn’s lips twitch, amused. “I’d say shopping qualifies as strenuous activity.”
Vi huffs a laugh, then jerks her chin down the street. “All right, then. Lead the way, Cupcake.”
The nickname slips out easy, familiar, and Caitlyn doesn’t bristle at it, she never does anymore. She just rolls her eyes fondly before turning toward the narrow path that leads into the national park tucked just around the corner from the shops. The noise of the city fades with every step, replaced by the rustle of leaves and the distant sound of birds, sunlight filtering through branches overhead. As they walk, their arms brush, then settle more firmly together, a quiet, unspoken agreement, the most physical contact they’ve shared since that first night months ago.
Neither of them comments on it. Neither of them pulls away.
They walk on like that, close but careful, the space between them charged with everything they’re not saying, disappearing into the green.
The park opens up around them with quiet. They find an empty bench beneath a wide-limbed tree whose leaves filter the sunlight into shifting patterns, dappling the ground and the backs of their coats, and when they sit, there’s a moment of awkward choreography where Vi stretches her legs out and Caitlyn smooths her skirt before crossing one knee over the other, both of them careful without quite knowing why.
They drink their coffees in companionable silence at first. The warmth seeps into Vi’s palms through the cardboard cup, grounding her, and she stares out at the small pond nearby where the water ripples lazily in the breeze. Caitlyn, meanwhile, watches everything. People passing, birds hopping between branches, the way Vi’s jaw tightens every time her thoughts loop back on themselves. She always watches. It’s one of the things that makes her unsettling in the best and worst ways.
After a few minutes, Caitlyn tilts her head, studying Vi openly now. “All right,” she says gently. “What’s troubling you?”
Vi blinks, caught, then scoffs quietly. “Nothing,” she replies too fast, taking a bigger sip than necessary. “Just thinking.”
Caitlyn hums, the sound low and thoughtful, and doesn’t look away. “You’re terrible at lying,” she says, not unkindly. “And you’ve been staring at that imaginary dot for minutes now. Care to try again?”
Vi exhales through her nose, lips curling in reluctant amusement. “You always do this,” she mutters.
“I notice,” Caitlyn corrects, calm but firm. “And I investigate. Now, , spill.”
Vi’s shoulders tense, then drop. She stares down into her coffee, watching the surface tremble slightly with her grip. “It’s just,” she begins, then trails off, frowning as if trying to wrestle the thought into something coherent. “It’s gonna be weird once I graduate.”
Caitlyn’s brows knit together. “Weird?” she repeats. “Why?”
Vi shifts on the bench, angling her body away just a little. “Because,” she says slowly, “we won’t be… doing this. Not like this. There won’t be a project for you to shadow, no excuse for us to spend so much time together.”
Caitlyn considers that, eyes unfocused for a second as she processes it. Then she nods. “That’s true,” she says. “But you’ll be graduating. That’s a good thing.”
Vi lets out a short, humorless laugh. “Yeah. That’s exactly why I’m thinking about it,” she says, a little edge creeping into her voice. “I’ll graduate, and then there won’t be any obligations to this, no schedules lining up by default.”
Caitlyn turns fully toward her now, confusion clear on her face. “Vi,” she says carefully, “are we… not friends?”
Vi sighs, leaning back against the bench, eyes closing briefly. “Of course we are,” she replies. “I’m not saying we’re not. I’m just saying it’s not gonna be the same.”
Something shifts in Caitlyn’s expression. Not hurt, not quite, but thoughtful, as if Vi has placed a piece on the board she hadn’t anticipated. “Perhaps,” she says slowly, “it’s better if it’s not the same.”
Vi cracks one eye open and looks at her. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Caitlyn folds her hands around her cup, thumbs brushing the lid absently. “It means,” she says, choosing her words with care, “that once you graduate, there won’t be any ties between us. No professional overlap. No compromises.”
Vi closes her eyes again, this time more firmly, tipping her head back against the bench and tightening her grip on her coffee like it might anchor her in place. “I’m sorry,” she says, voice rough with frustration. “I don’t get where this enthusiasm is coming from.”
Caitlyn hesitates. Then she inhales, straightening just a little, nervousness flickering across her face in a way Vi rarely sees. “Do you remember,” she begins, “when you found out I was Jayce’s sister?”
Vi’s jaw tightens. “Yeah.”
“And you refused to go on another date with me,” Caitlyn continues softly, “because it would make things complicated.”
Vi doesn’t respond, but her attention is fully back on Caitlyn now.
“Well,” Caitlyn says, shrugging lightly as if this is all perfectly reasonable, “once you graduate, there won’t be anything to complicate. No power dynamics. No academic consequences. If we were to… want to try.”
Vi’s eyes snap open.
She stares at Caitlyn, breath caught somewhere between her chest and her throat, the realization hitting her all at once like a dropped wrench. Loud, jarring, impossible to ignore. Caitlyn, suddenly very aware of Vi’s gaze, looks away, color rising faintly in her cheeks.
“That’s a very big if,” Caitlyn adds quickly, lifting one shoulder. “And I’m happy with our friendship regardless. Truly. So it doesn’t matter.”
Vi doesn’t say anything. She can’t. The words pile up uselessly in her mouth, tangled with feelings she hasn’t even admitted to herself yet, let alone figured out how to articulate.
The silence stretches.
Then Caitlyn clears her throat and stands abruptly, a little too fast. “Ah, anyway,” she says, smoothing her coat, eyes darting anywhere but Vi. “My cousin’s birthday is next weekend, and I’ve just remembered I need to pick out a gift.”
Vi looks up at her, still dazed.
“I was thinking,” Caitlyn continues, warming to the subject with uncharacteristic chattiness, “of buying him an absolutely ridiculous tie and change the tag with an obscenely expensive price tag. Just to annoy him. And I thought… you enjoy making fun of men. Especially rich men. And you like ties, apparently.”
Vi blinks. Then, slowly, she nods. “Yeah,” she says hoarsely. “Yeah, I can help with that.”
Caitlyn smiles, relieved, and gestures down the path. “Wonderful. Come on, then.”
Vi follows her as she leads the way, Caitlyn talking a little too much, a little too fast, and Vi thinking far too much, the park swallowing them up once more as they walk side by side.
☆ミ☆ミ☆ミ☆ミ☆ミ☆ミ☆ミ☆ミ☆ミ
By the time the sky has darkened into that dusky blue that settles over the neighborhood like a sheet, Caitlyn’s car slows to a careful stop in front of Vi’s house once again, headlights washing over the familiar, slightly worn facade, the chain-link fence that never quite closes right, the front yard that’s more stubborn weeds than grass. Vi unbuckles her seatbelt slowly, fingers lingering as if she’s reluctant to break the moment, and when she turns, Caitlyn is already looking at her, posture composed but smile shy, restrained in a way that feels more intimate than anything overt.
“Well,” Caitlyn says softly, one hand resting on the steering wheel. “I’ll see you soon.”
“Yeah,” Vi replies, voice rougher than she intends. “Yeah. Thanks. For… today. For everything.”
Caitlyn’s smile deepens just a little, her eyes warm in the dim light of the dashboard. She lifts her hand in a small wave, almost hesitant. Vi mirrors it, holding her gaze for a second too long before finally pushing the door open and stepping out into the cool evening air. She closes it gently behind her, turning just in time to see Caitlyn give one last glance her way before pulling off, the car disappearing down the street, taillights blinking out as it rounds the corner.
Vi stands there for a heartbeat longer than necessary, hands full of bags, chest tight, then she exhales sharply and bolts.
She cuts across the front yard at a jog, boots thudding against the uneven ground, fumbles with the key, and all but slams the door shut behind her once she’s inside, the sound echoing through the house. She leans back against it immediately, forehead tipping forward as if the wood is the only thing keeping her upright, arms straining under the weight of the bags she and Caitlyn bought for the project. Slowly, dramatically, she slides down until she’s sitting on the floor, carpet rough beneath her palms, bags pooling around her legs as she lets out a long, shaky sigh that feels like it’s been building all day.
“Wow,” a voice says from the hallway. “That was a lot.”
Vi looks up to see Powder standing there, hip cocked against the wall, eyebrows raised, slurping loudly on a strawberry smoothie like this is the most normal sight in the world. Powder takes another exaggerated sip, eyes flicking over Vi’s disheveled state with practiced familiarity.
Vi drags a hand down her face. “Powder,” she says hoarsely. “I’m fucked.”
Powder doesn’t miss a beat. “What’d you do this time?” she asks calmly, straw popping against the lid as she chews on it.
Vi swallows, staring up at the ceiling like it might offer mercy. “I think,” she says slowly, carefully, as if the words might explode if she says them too loud, “I think I like Caitlyn.”
Powder just looks at her.
Then, without a word, she turns and walks back toward the living room, utterly unimpressed.
“Hey, hey!” Vi scrambles to her feet, grabbing the bags and following after her, incredulous. “That’s it? That’s your reaction?”
She rounds the corner into the living room and finds Vander stretched out on the couch, watching a sports recap at a volume that suggests he’s only half-paying attention, while Powder flops down beside him, already scrolling through TikTok like nothing life-altering was just confessed. Vi drops the bags in the middle of the room with a thud and waves her hands in front of both of them.
“Hello? Emergency? Emotional crisis?” she demands. “Why aren’t you freaking out like I am right now?”
Vander glances up lazily, then looks over at Powder. “What was the news again?” he asks.
Powder doesn’t look up from her phone. “Vi thinks she likes Caitlyn,” she says around another sip of smoothie.
Vander hums thoughtfully, eyes returning to the screen. “Thought she said new newsutdated information.”
Vi freezes.
“What?” she says. “How the fuck is that outdated?”
Vander finally looks at her properly, one brow lifting. “Kid,” he says mildly, “you talk about her more than your project. That alone was suspicious.”
“And,” Powder adds, flicking her eyes up at Vi with a smirk, “you smile at your phone like an idiot every time she texts. Every time you and her are gone all day you came home looking like you just got hit by a lesbianism train.”
Vi opens her mouth. Closes it. “I do not—”
“You do,” they say in unison.
She groans, scrubbing at her face again. “So you’re telling me I’m the last one to figure this out?”
Vander chuckles, warm and knowing. “Usually how it goes,” he says. “Doesn’t mean it’s a bad thing.”
Vi sinks down onto the arm of the couch, staring at the floor, heart still racing. “Yeah,” she mutters. “Maybe.”
Vi drags her hands down her face again, fingers pressing into her eyes until she sees stars, and then she lets them fall uselessly into her lap. “Okay,” she says, voice tight, pacing a half-circle in front of the couch like a caged animal. “So now that I know this… now that it’s, apparently, old news what the hell am I supposed to do with it?”
Vander and Powder exchange a look, the kind that’s been honed over years of shared space and thoughts, an entire conversation passing silently between them before they turn back to Vi in unison.
“Ask her out,” Powder says, breezy.
“Yeah,” Vander agrees, nodding once. “Just ask Caitlyn out.”
Vi stops dead. “No,” she says immediately. “Absolutely not.” Powder lifts a brow with Vander waits. “She’s my professor’s sister,” Vi adds, gesturing wildly like this should be the end of it. “That’s… … no. That’s a mess. A whole mess.”
Vander squints at her, unimpressed. “Didn’t stop you from inviting her over for Thanksgiving.” Vi’s mouth opens, closes, searching for words. “…That was different.”
“How?” Powder asks sweetly. “Because I didn’t even invite my girlfriend Lux to Thanksgiving.”
Vi groans now, out of wit to throw at her sister. “Why are you like this?”
Powder grins around her straw. “Genetics.”
Vi turns away, running both hands through her hair, pacing again as the words sink in against her will. Thanksgiving. Movie nights. Late walks. Coffee dates that weren’t dates. Caitlyn showing up for her presentations. Caitlyn listening, really listening, like Vi’s half-formed ideas were worth something. Five hundred little things that don’t mean anything on their own, except when they all line up and point in the same direction. She slows and stops.
“…Okay,” she says reluctantly. “Yeah. Fine. Maybe it doesn’t matter.”
Vander hums in approval.
“And,” Vi adds, voice quieter now, more thoughtful, “I’m graduating in a few months anyway.”
Powder takes a long, obnoxiously loud sip of her smoothie. Slrrrp.
“No shit, Sherlock,” she says cheerfully.
Vi lets out a strangled noise of frustration and stomps her foot like she’s ten years old again, then grabs the nearest pillow off the couch and hurls it at Powder with more force than necessary. Powder yelps but the pillow never reaches her. Vander snatches it out of the air one-handed without even looking, reflexes still sharp.
“Hey,” he says mildly, tossing the pillow back onto the couch. “Go do something about your heart bleeding all over my carpet instead of assaulting your sister.”
Vi scowls, but there’s no real heat in it. “Yeah, yeah,” she mutters. “I gotta look over the stuff we bought for my project anyway.”
“Ooooh,” Powder sings as Vi turns toward the stairs. “Say hi to your sugar mommy for us.”
“Powder,” Vi warns, pointing.
Powder just smirks and slurps again.
Vi shakes her head and heads upstairs, taking the steps two at a time, bags bumping against her leg, heart hammering in her ribcage like it’s finally realized it’s been holding something in for far too long and now that it’s out, it’s not sure how to calm down at all.
She doesn’t sleep.
She tells herself she’s just being productive at first, that the restless energy crawling under her skin needs somewhere to go, so she drags everything out of the workshop with methodical determination. New tools laid out, old components reorganized, drawers labeled and relabeled until the logic makes sense not just practically but functionally, until every screw and wire has a place that works right. When that isn’t enough, she moves to her room, shoving furniture a few inches this way and that, reorganizing shelves, stacking books by size and subject, folding clothes she’s already folded a dozen times. It’s busywork, she knows that, but it gives her hands something to do while her mind tries and fails to keep pace.
Hours pass like that. Midnight bleeds into one, then two, and by the time Vi finally collapses onto her bed, the house quiet and dark around her, exhaustion weighs heavy on her limbs but refuses to touch her thoughts. They circle endlessly, all of them leading back to the same place, the same name, the same quiet, earnest voice that always seems to know when to press and when to give space.
Vi stares at the ceiling for a long moment, jaw tight, heart thudding too loud in her ears. She groans softly, rolling onto her side, and before she can talk herself out of it, she reaches for her phone. The screen lights up her face in the dark as she scrolls to Caitlyn’s name, thumb hovering.
It’s late, she thinks. She won’t answer.
She dials anyway.
The phone rings once. Twice. On the third ring, it connects.
“Vi?” Caitlyn’s voice comes through immediately, low and worried, alert in a way that makes Vi’s chest tighten. “Is everything all right?”
Vi swallows, forcing her tone into something casual, even as her heart tries to punch its way out of her ribs. “Hey, Cupcake.”
There’s a pause, just a beat, and then Caitlyn exhales softly. “You scared me,” she admits. “It’s quite late. I thought perhaps something had happened.”
“No, no,” Vi says quickly. “Nothing urgent. I just… couldn’t sleep. Thought too much. Kinda needed to hear you.”
There’s another pause, and then the sound of relief is unmistakable in Caitlyn’s sigh. Papers rustle faintly, followed by the quiet, familiar click of what Vi imagines are Caitlyn’s glasses being set down. “I’m glad,” Caitlyn says gently. “I’m glad you called.”
Vi smiles into the darkness. “What’re you doing up anyway?”
“I had some work to finish,” Caitlyn replies. “It rather got away from me.”
Figures, Vi thinks fondly. “Yeah. I figured.” She shifts under the covers. “I rearranged my entire workshop. And my room.”
Caitlyn hums, thoughtful, and Vi hears soft footsteps, distant but deliberate. “You shouldn’t tire yourself so much,” she says.
Vi scoffs quietly. “Please. I enjoy it. Unlike you and your mountain of paperwork.”
That earns her a small laugh, warm and real. “You may have a point.”
“Hey,” Vi adds, voice gentler now. “You should get some sleep too. It’s way too late.”
“As you say,” Caitlyn answers easily, ever accommodating , and a few seconds later there’s the rustle of sheets, the faint sound of movement as she settles into bed. “There. I’m listening.”
They talk then, about nothing and everything. About a strange professor Vi had last semester, about Caitlyn’s cousin and his terrible taste in fashion, about the way they think everything sounds different at night. Their voices grow slower, softer, punctuated by yawns they both pretend not to notice, laughter turning into quiet chuckles that fade into comfortable silence before picking back up again.
After nearly an hour, Vi’s words start to blur together, exhaustion finally creeping in. She’s halfway to sleep when a thought nudges its way through the haze, insistent enough to make her frown.
“Cait?” she murmurs.
There’s a soft sound on the other end, something content, almost a purr. “Mm?”
Vi takes a breath. “There’s gonna be a graduation party,” she says slowly. “With my classmates. Not official school stuff.”
“That’s wonderful,” Caitlyn replies immediately, warmth returning to her voice. “You’ll have fun.”
Vi hesitates. Then, before she can lose her nerve, “Do you… want to come?”
There’s a pause this time, longer, careful. “I don’t think that would be appropriate,” Caitlyn says after a moment. “My brother being a professor doesn't mean I can just drop by university parties,”
“But,” Vi cuts in quickly, heart hammering, “your girlfriend being a student would mean you could.”
Vi was met with silence at first, then, from the other end of the line, a small, surprised sound came. “Oh.”
Vi gulps. “I mean… if you want to,” she adds hurriedly.
A soft chuckle follows, unmistakable, and Vi can practically picture Caitlyn covering her mouth, eyes bright even in the dark. “I would love that,” Caitlyn says. “If someone were to ask me.”
Vi exhales, relief flooding her chest, a grin spreading across her face as she stares at the ceiling again. “Yeah,” she says quietly. “Who better than me?”
On the other end of the line, Caitlyn chuckles too. For a few seconds after that, neither of them speaks.
The quiet stretches, not awkward but full, humming softly through the phone line, Vi listening to the faint sound of Caitlyn’s breathing on the other end and thinking in a drowsy mutter, that this might be the safest she’s felt with another person in a long time. Her heart is still beating fast, but it’s slowing now, settling into something warmer, steadier, like it finally knows where it’s meant to be.
“I should probably,” Caitlyn says eventually, voice gentle and a little amused, “let you sleep. You sound like you’re drifting.”
Vi huffs a quiet laugh. “Yeah. Guess rearranging my whole living space twice in one night finally caught up to me.”
“I’m glad you called,” Caitlyn adds, softer now, sincerity slipping through without ceremony. “Even if it was late.”
Vi swallows, throat tight. “Me too.”
Another pause. A comfortable one.
“Good night, Vi,” Caitlyn says.
Vi closes her eyes, smiling into her pillow. “Good night, Cupcake.”
There’s a faint, breathy laugh in response, fond and unguarded. “Sleep well.”
The line goes quiet after they hang up, but the warmth lingers, wrapping around Vi like an extra blanket. Her phone slips from her fingers onto the mattress as sleep finally claims her, thoughts no longer racing, just drifting towards to the very real possibility that some things don’t have to end just because they change.