Chapter 1: Prologue
Chapter Text
Bzz bzz…Bzz bzz
My phone is erupting with notifications from every app like an active volcano. It’s far too early in the morning for this. I smack it to the table beside me before the vibrations can make it escape my nightstand and meet the cellphone’s end by crashing on the hardwood floor. The notifications stop once it starts ringing. The familiar spice girls melody increases my anxiety. He never calls this early. Fuck. I answer before I see the caller ID.
“Caitlyn!!” A familiar voice calls to me with panic dripping thickly from the phone like molasses. My best friend, and newly hired publicist Jayce. He sounds guilty, and precautious, like a little kid coming home from school with a bad grade for mommy to sign.
“Jeez Jayce I was sleeping. What time even is it?” I reply as I press the speakerphone button, scrubbing the sleep from my eyes with the knuckles of my free hand. I have to silence my notifications to actually hear him talk.
“Trust me, you’ll be glad I called. Or maybe not because I have some really bad news.” His voice fills the room, and reflects off the floral wallpaper.
“Is that why my phone is gonna explode?”
“How much have you seen?” He asks tentatively. Like he’s anticipating a freak out.
“Nothing. I just woke up. Can you please just tell me what’s going on?” He sighs at this, deeply. If I wasn’t already worried, I am now.
“Whatever you do, don’t check Twitter.” I click around until I’m staring face to face with little X app. Fucking Elon Musk. The little number in the corner says I have over 1000 unread notifications. My stomach drops.
“Why shouldn’t I check Twitter?” I ask lowly. He sighs again, like the weight of the world is on his shoulders.
“Ambessa… posted something.” He admits. I hesitate before clicking on the app, but I do. The trending hashtags start with #tellitambessa , #kirammanisoverparty and #nepobaby right at the very top.
“What is this?” I ask plainly.
“I told you not to look!!” He complains.
“Jayce, please just tell me what in the actual fuck is going on?”
“So, last night at like 2 in the morning, Ambessa posted this. In her exact words.
Funny how some people talk about being brave while living a life they’re still too scared to claim. But hey, if the image sells, who cares about the truth, right? I buried stories that would end careers. Don’t forget who made you untouchable. I still have the receipts. Can’t stay famous forever. #nepobaby #bigsecrets
“Oh fuck. FUCK”
“Yeah so it turns out her leaving your PR team wasn’t as peaceful as we had hoped.” He says sarcastically. I throw the covers back over my head. “You should probably delete twitter.”
“Well, what are the fans saying about me? It can’t be all bad right?” I ask. He sucks in air through his teeth.
“Delete the app ok? I’m coming over with coffee.” And the phone is silent again. Much to my dismay, I delete twitter, something I honestly should have done years ago. It feels freeing in a way I didn’t expect, despite the fact that my entire music career could now be in shambles. I lay there wallowing until I hear my fluffy white cat Yuumi meow in surprise from his raucous entrance, no knock. As usual. I hear him set something down and then the duvet is unceremoniously pulled off of my body. I groan at the rush of cold air.
“My life is falling apart!” I whine. “Mean.” He laughs slightly and then tosses the blanket back over me.
“Hey it’s my job to make sure you don’t wallow.” He shrugs.
“And to make sure my mom doesn’t find out I’m gay but look where we are now.” I scoff
“That’s one of the speculations fans are throwing around. It’s not like you’ve been exactly subtle.” I roll my eyes at him.
“Well yeah, but no one on my team has come out and SAID it. She can ignore fan theories and not listen to my music but she won’t ignore AMBESSA FUCKING MEDARDA. She trusts that woman with her life. That’s why she made her my publicist in the first place.”
“I’m honestly surprised she hasn’t called me yet.” Jayce remarks.
“She hasn’t called me either which isn’t a good sign. Am I having a public scandal? Is that what this is?”
“According to the internet you’re having a few. Apparently everyone is taking Ambessa’s ominous tweet differently. Some think you’re gay, some think you’re secretly a man…”
“Oh bloody hell, I’m famous enough to have penis allegations? Kill me now.”
“Some think you don’t write your own music, or that you secretly control the Illuminati, that one’s new even for my experience. The internet is exploding with new reasons to hate you.”
“Wow. Inspiring stuff.” I scoff sarcastically, pulling the white comforter around me like a shield.
“So now we just have to make them forget all of that stuff and love you again. You reinvent yourself every few years anyways.” He continues.
“Maybe I’m tired of reinventing myself. Maybe I just want to go back to being a normal person. Is that even possible anymore?” My heart sinks because I know the answer.
“I think you’re long past that sprout. I’m sorry.” He sits down beside me and rests a comforting hand on my shoulder. “How do you want to handle this? So far all anyone knows is that Ambessa is talking shit. We know she has dirt on you so if we fight back she might spill your beans.”
“I think mom would disown me if I spilled the beans.” Mom was famous in the 80’s, mostly for dating football players and making super Christian pop music about waiting until marriage. I work for the production company she started with the money from her platinum album Faith. She puppets me around like a marionette, I am an extension of her and if I don’t reflect that in the right way, everything I have worked so hard for, including my money can and will be sued out from under me. She holds all legal rights for every song I have ever written.
“Maybe you should talk to her. It might be better to rip the Band-Aid off and publicly come out at this point so the general public doesn’t think Ambessa’s tweet is something more insidious.” Jayce suggests.
“Maybe I should just let myself be over and cancelled. Retreat back to society and live in a lesbian commune.” I offer back, he shakes his head again.
“Cait, as much as I would love that for you, I don’t think you’ll ever be out of the public eye with your mom. And on top of that; I don’t think you could quit music. You love it too much.”
“Fuck you.”
“You know it’s true. Plus you make too much money for your label, well mom, to let you just fall off the face of the earth. They’ll come for you.”
“Ugh.” I groan. “I hate that you’re right.”
“So?” He asks. “I’m thinking you should delete the rest of your social media while you and I start working on a new album.” Jayce suggests, ramming his shoulders into mine, knocking me off balance. Regaining it, I fight back.
“I thought you said I couldn’t fall off the face of the earth.” I reply. He sighs, and pinches the bridge of his nose.
“You would still make public appearances. We are creating mystery. Delete all of your old posts, wait a few weeks and then we can figure out your big return to the online world.”
“But maybe I want to see what people are saying about me so that I can be on top of anything that comes up.” I argue, but I can tell by his expression I’m losing.
“That’s my job Cait. You just worry about being a musical genius.” He pats my head, I feel small and childish, despite being several inches taller than Jayce. “What exactly does Ambessa know?” He prys after a second of silence.
“She um… caught my ex and I in the act late one night in the recording studio.” He holds back a laugh, disguising it as a cough. I appreciate the courtesy.
“That’s not good.”
“Then she insisted on going through my phone and she found out that we had been together for like a year and it wasn’t just a one time thing so that excuse was moot.” Maddie, my ex, is an actor on a daytime TV show, playing a teenager despite being in her mid 20s. She was my first love, and she ripped my heart out of my chest. She and Ambessa got in cahoots sometime after the aforementioned incident and they leaked what was supposed to be my last single. I lost both my partner and my publicist in the same day.
“Did she give you any indication that she might out you in the future? The leak happened months ago.”
“No. Well, not really. She said it was in both of our best interests for us to go by don’t ask don’t tell rules.”
“Ew.” Jayce blurts as he scrunches his nose.
“So not exactly a vote of confidence but I thought we had an agreement you know?” I shrug. “I guess firing her wasn’t exactly the best way to stay on her good side but neither was leaking my fucking song.” I groan, throwing my face into a pillow.
“You did the right thing.” He assures. I groan again, before strong hands pull me into a sitting position. “Now, enough moping. We have to figure out what you’re wearing to the met gala next month, we are way behind schedule.” I look at him in disgust.
“No not the Met! Pleeeease it's so boring.” I plead.
“The Met is the biggest fashion event of the year and we are trying to keep your ‘it girl’ reputation alive. And its exclusive. The fact that you were invited is a miracle in itself. You’re going. The theme is Mayhem and Metal: an exploration of rebellion through alternative fashion” He retorts with finality. “You should get a haircut. And wear something edgy? Like Mugler or Alexander McQueen. Maybe something with spikes. You have to show the people you're about to do something that changes the music industry.”
“Again?” I smirk at him. "I'm not exactly alternative…”
“That's the spirit.” He cuts me off and rustles my hair like I’m a kid, which earns him a firm smack with my pillow straight to the face, knocking him backwards on the bed. “Oh you’re gonna get it now.” He threatens in a feigned serious voice, stilling before reaching out to tickle my sides like a menacing older brother. I screech, trying to kick him off. After a moment he finally lets off. “I’m gonna make a few calls to designers, you just start thinking about your new haircut.” He climbs off the bed and adjusts his hair in the mirror by the door, before ducking out and dialing on his smartphone. I follow his lead, and examine myself in the same mirror, experimenting by holding the ends of my blue-black hair at different lengths, settling on a chin length bob as the new do. I’ve heard a few people say that hair holds memories. I hope that’s true. I have a feeling there’s a big storm coming for me, like lightning is flashing in the background and I’m counting, waiting for thunder to rattle the door frames. Jayce pops his head back into the room.
“Your mom called.” He admits quietly.
“What’s the verdict?” I ask, awaiting my sentence.
“She likes the plan, but has made an addition, and before I tell you what it is I want to make it clear that this was not my idea and I am not happy about it.” He hangs his head sheepishly.
“Out with it then.” I demand. He sighs.
“As of right now, you are I are beards until this thing slows down. We are set to start pap walks tomorrow morning. She already has photographers coming.”
“Ew seriously?” I ask, and he laughs in response.
“Yeah. You’re stuck with me for the time being. And she said there has to be a few mentions in the album too to really sell it.”
“Gross.”
“Yeah. It is.” He proclaims sadly. “There go my plans of coming out this summer. Grindr boys, you will be missed.” He jokes, but the sadness in his eyes lingers like campfire smoke, threatening my own with tears.
“I’m sorry to drag you back in the closet with me. You really don’t have to do this. I can deal with my mom.”
“You’re my best friend Cait. I’m not gonna let you go through this alone. Plus, you pay me a lot.” Which is true, so I can’t really debate him any longer. We finish our morning with poppy seed bagels, oat milk vanilla lattes and a strategy meeting with RuPaul’s Drag Race playing in the background.
Chapter 2: Gorgeous
Summary:
Caitlyn goes to the met gala! Gay panic ensues! Inspired by the song "Gorgeous"
Here's a link!
https://youtu.be/EUoe7cf0HYw?si=wQRAd176vtSKzZ_p
Chapter Text
After a month of primping, preening, plucking, and pouring over endless photos of archival fashion I end up drinking champagne in the back of a black limousine with Jayce, in a short backless silver dress with my hair chopped to my chin. Thankfully I was able to talk Jayce out of the spikes, but there are chains dripping down my dress. I feel like Marley’s ghost. As expected, the media erupted at the news of our “relationship”, and we gained power couple status practically overnight. We do PDA courtside at basketball games, and attend wildly expensive restaurants at night, where Jayce foots the bill. Even though I pay him. The whole thing is absurd.
“Do you think that soccer player I have a thing for is going to be there? He was just in vogue…” Jayce ponders aloud, practically vibrating from excitement.
“He better be.” I state. “He’s all you have been talking about since you ran into him a few weeks ago. It’s been driving me bloody insane.”
“Do you think he’s gay?” He blurts out before I can even finish my sentence.
“Based on the way he was giggling at you at that charity for the Beckham foundation… very. Super in fact.” I deadpan. He lights up like a Christmas tree.
“Really? You think?” He sheepishly rubs his hand across the back of his neck.
“Not gayer than you.” He blushes like a schoolgirl. “What’s the game plan? How long do we have to stay?” I ask hurriedly, already anxious to be rid of my uncomfortable shoes. Black stilettos with the classic Louboutin red bottoms.
“We have to stay until you schmooze with enough people. You have to show Ambessa you’re not scared of her, and the rest of the world you’ve got nothing to hide. Then, we will go home, order a pizza and watch shitty reality TV.”
“The things I would do for a pizza right now... The food always sucks at these things, like who the hell wants a kale cracker with caviar foam? Who does that feed?”
“People on Ozempic .” He replies flatly, we both laugh. The car stops, and even through the heavy tint on the windows the cameras flashing are dizzying. The chauffeur gets out and opens the door for us to step into the stampede of paparazzi. Jayce holds out his arm for me to hold, like he’s courting me in a Bridgerton way. Everyone is shouting my name, or Jayce’s, demanding us to look this way and that, to give them a pose or a smile. I feel nauseous as we elbow our way inside, skim the costume exhibition, and settle into cocktail hour, where I drink no less than 3 glasses of Rosè.
Once Jayce has ditched me to flirt with the twinky soccer player (who is in fact here, in a long Carrie Bradshaw-esque tutu skirt, complete with a ruffled shirt and a suit jacket with pierced coattails, (most definitely gay.)) I see her. From across the room I notice intentionally messy pink hair and gear shaped tattoos climbing the side of her chiseled throat. She’s wearing a black suit, open with nothing underneath, revealing her sculpted chest but buttoned, sparing me the small death that would surely occur if I were permitted a glance at her stomach. Black leather pants are held up by a studded belt with a gold buckle and a pocket watch chain hangs from her side into her front pocket. She has polished gold shoes, a ring on every finger and intense black eyeliner tightlining her grey blue eyes. A gold double venus necklace rests on a delicate chain beneath her collarbones. To my dismay, she notices me noticing her and raises her rocks glass of whiskey in a silent toast, just for us. Seeing me. Without looking away, she winks. She is intimidatingly hot, the tight blazer doing nothing to hide her obvious muscles. I practically choke on my teensy tiny appetizer before raising mine back, and I see her chuckle slightly to herself smugly. After taking my sip of wine, I bring my eyes back to the ground in embarrassment. And when I look up, she’s gone.
As soon as the seemingly endless cocktail hour finally ends, we are headed to a sea of crisp white tablecloths, ornate centerpieces with black roses and barbed wire and perfectly engraved silver name plates designating our rightful seats. Per typical Anna Wintour fashion, Jayce and I are seated at separate tables. I swallow my pride and sit down, the first one at my table. Glancing at the little tags, I recognize the name of Jayce’s soccer player but no one else. Immediately, I flag down a waiter for another glass of wine. You just have to get through the dinner part and you’ll be home eating pizza and watching ‘Too Hot to Handle’ with Jayce. You can do this, the little voice in my head assures. She is proven wrong when the muscular girl with the pink hair sits right beside me.
“Lucky me.” She mumbles in a low voice with a smirk. “Miss Wintour must like me to sit me next to the prettiest girl at the party.” She eyes me up and down like she’s starving and I’m her next meal. This close, I realize she has a face tattoo, a small Roman numeral six on her left cheek. She has a thin scar going through her lip, and a nose ring. Her gaze makes me feel naked even though I’m wearing practically a thousand layers of shapewear and chains.
“Oh! Um. Thank you! You look great.” I reply, “Would you look at that? Your hair matches my drink.” attempting to sound nonchalant and charming but actually sounding like an idiot. Instead of being put off, she just laughs softly, raking mesmerizing fingers through that cropped pink hair. She certainly stands out in a crowd. Gorgeous.
“Huh. I suppose it does.” She replies. I stare back at my hands, nervously wringing and wrinkling the immaculate tablecloth. Oh my god what the fuck am I even saying right now? After a moment of silence she sticks her hand out for me to shake. “I’m Vi.”
“Ohhh so it’s not a six.” I say out loud. She laughs again, thankfully, as I take and shake her hand with far too much enthusiasm.
“You would be surprised how often I get that. But no it’s just my name. Flattered you noticed though, must have been looking at my face for a minute.” I feel my cheeks turning bright red and hot, a nuclear explosion ready to give everyone in the room at least 3 arms.
“No longer than normal.” I defend, against what exactly I don’t know but I’m four glasses of wine deep.
“So you normally look at my face? I mean I am pretty good looking, I guess I can’t blame you.” She teases. I want to shrink into a hole and die.
“I- um- well…” I start, going nowhere, so I quickly change the subject. “What do you do? I feel like I’ve seen you somewhere.” I take another big swig of my wine. There’s a reason people call alcohol liquid courage, because it is taking everything I have not to melt in a very publicly queer puddle at this woman’s feet.
“I play hockey, just got signed on for another year on the Enforcers.” Which explains the lip scar and the slight crookedness of her nose. It’s probably been broken a few times. It also explains her insane physique
“Who knew?” I ask through choking. She laughs again, followed by an awkward pause.
“So, are you going to introduce yourself or are you gonna make me admit I’m a fan?” She asks, resting her hand on the back of my chair and quickening my heartbeat once more.
“Oh! Of course how rude of me. I’m Caitlyn. You’re a fan?” It all bleeds together like one long sentence.
“Have been for years. You’re all over my playlists.” She admits with refreshing earnesty.
“That’s kind of you to say.” Why the fuck am I even talking about this? What is wrong with me?
“Don’t worry cupcake,” the pet name echoes through my head in a symphony of her intoxicating voice, “I only believe half of it.”
“I hope it’s the good half.” I laugh, relaxing a bit. After another second of silence, a contented one this go around, “Why cupcake?” She laughs at this, harder than she's been chuckling at me through my awkwardness. But before I could get her answer, a waiter in a white shirt with a white bowtie and black pants comes by to bring us another ridiculously small appetizer.
“Wish they would serve real food at these things.” She exclaims with her mouth full, eating the shrimp crostini off her plate in one ungraceful bite.
“Do you ever use full sentences?” I tease before biting only a third of my own crostini.
“Why use many word when few do trick?” She jests back. “We can’t all be perfect princesses from Buckingham palace.”
“I am not from Buckingham palace.” I roll my eyes.
“Isn’t that like the British fancy person spawning point? Where are you from anyways?” She asks.
“I’m from Piltover, well just outside of it. I grew up there in the country with my dad because Mom was too busy touring. I have a flat in the meat packing district. What about you?”
“Grew up in Zaun.” She answers, something about her face shifts when I asked. Like there’s an old wound there that speaking pours salt into. “Can I grab you another glass of wine?” She asks in lieu of elaborating. I nod as she pushes her chair back from the table, grabs both of our empty glasses and makes a beeline for the bar. I chat with the others at the table; Jayce’s soccer player seems a bit serious, but overall very sweet. Vi returns, and the rest of dinner goes smoothly, not enough food but not bad by any means. We make small talk and I try desperately not to let her know just how drunk I am. As the waiter pulls away the desert plates she leans into me and talks right in my ear, sliding her hand around my lower back and sending shivering sparks of electricity up my spine from the contact of her fingertips on my bare skin.
“So, what are you up to after this? Going to any of the afterparties?” She asks quietly, her breath is hot against the skin of my neck.
“I was just going to stumble home to my cat and get a pizza with Jayce, maybe do some songwriting.” I reply, a puzzled expression falls on her face.
“He’s your boyfriend right?” She asks, “Sorry, I forgot I read that somewhere....” She moves to slide her hand away from my waist.
“Oh god no, well I mean yes as far as anyone here knows, but we are just friends.” She raises an eyebrow at me, but stills her hand back where it was. I would say anything to get her to keep touching me. “We play for vastly different teams.” I explain, praying she gets the memo. She smiles a bit at the revelation, pulling back and swivelling her head. I watch her spot him in the crowd, and then follow his googly eyes back to the skirted soccer player, who is secretly texting under the table with a shit eating grin.
“Ahh, he’s Viktor's Jayce.” She laughs quietly. “They’ve been texting nonstop for weeks.”
“You know Viktor?” She finally fully breaks away, retracting her hand and leaving my skin cold without her euphoric touch.
“Yeah. We met at the Olympics a few years back. He’s really funny once you get to know him. We only really get to see each other every once in a while but he’s got a gorgeous house here he visits during his off seasons.” She elaborates.
“Isn’t he European?” I ask point blank, whispering as to not catch his attention.
“Immigrated here when he was like 12. Never lost the accent but he plays for Piltover in the Eastern Conference.”
“Sorry, I am absolutely useless when it comes to sports.”
Vi leans in close to my ear again and whispers, goosebumps bloom from where her breath meets my skin. “Then I guess I’ll have to teach you.”
“I-I think that sounds lovely.” I stutter, voice catching in my throat like a mouse in a trap. She laughs again, but the way she laughs is comforting more than embarrassing. Like she is laughing with me instead of at me. It’s contagious.
“Then I guess I’ll have to leave you with my phone number. Want to sneak outside for a smoke? Might be the easiest way to avoid Anna Wintour's wrath.” I nod and follow her, taking careful steps so as to not fall on my face. Slyly, we creep along the back wall until we find an elevator. The doors close and the loudness of the party gives way to comfortable silence. I can smell her cologne. Musky and sweet, but woodsy enough to make it unisex. The ride feels short, the closeness to her in such an enclosed space like a cherished but fleeting gift before the doors give way to the lush rooftop garden. It’s quiet up here, and slightly cold. Regarding my shivering she says.
“Sorry it’s kind of cold. I’d offer my jacket but I’m kind of not wearing anything but tape under here and I would like to keep my tits out of paparazzi photos.”
“Such a gentleman.” She smiles, running her hand over the shaved side of her head. I wonder if she does that when she’s nervous. It’s mind-blowingly cute. “I’m wearing a wine blanket, I’ll be just fine.”
“Well if you do get cold, just come closer to me.” She offers nonchalantly. I nod, in contrast very chalantly. She sits at a marble bench, pulling a lighter and a blue box of menthol cigarettes from her breast pocket accompanied by a black bic lighter with an alien on it. She pulls two from the pack and places them gently between her lips, lighting both before handing one to me. I don’t smoke but I try anyway, excited at the idea of putting my lips where hers had been, a faint nude lipstick stain on the yellow filter to prove it. After a few coughs, and a little mocking from Vi, I get the hang of it and we exchange phone numbers. She held true on her offer to warm me up when the shivering got so bad I could barely hold my second cigarette, wrapping her muscled arm around my shoulder, despite my protests. We watch as the people below us start to scatter from the doors like ants, headed back to their respective fancy apartments and hotels and carrying 10 times their body weight in designer clothes, handbags and jewelry.
“We should probably go back.” I admit. “Jayce is probably looking for me.”
“I suppose you’re right.” She answers. Quietly we go back to the elevator. The start of the slow descent back down to the receding party is quiet. We stand on a perpendicular with me against the back wall of the elevator, a mirrored surface with a thin handlebar across the center where she stands against the wall to my left, panelled in dark stained wood. Quickly, she takes the spot in front of me, and leans on the hand bar with me between her ridiculous arms. She’s a head shorter than me in these heels. She leans in close and I swear on my life that I am having a million small heart attacks. It feels like time slows, locking us in a pocket dimension of lesbian chicken.
“Can I kiss you?” She asks cooly. As if it's no big deal and I’m not dying a million small deaths. Caught off guard, and rendered senseless enough at the surprise to lose all ability to speak (apparently) I nod. We really shouldn’t. Not here anyways, where we are mere floors away from our peers and paparazzi who are all supposed to think I’m A) straight, and B) in a serious and passionate relationship with Jayce Talis of all people. Despite this, because of the wine, her cologne, or any other excuse I can’t be bothered to think of, I lean in, meeting her lips halfway. Kissing her, I feel wild and alive. She deepens the kiss, sliding her hand to grab my waist and pulling me closer. Nerve endings light up like those plankton in the maldives. The elevator dings and we part quickly, Vi stuffs her hands in the pockets of her pants as she says: “I had a great time with you tonight Cupcake. I hope I hear from you soon.” Before disappearing into the crowd.
Jayce marches straight over, looking slightly concerned but also smiling like an idiot.
“Where the hell have you been? And why do you smell like cigarettes?” He interrogates.
“I maybe snuck off with a hockey player to the rooftop garden to exchange phone numbers...” he’s lucky I’m drunk or I never would have told him.
“Did anyone see you? That’s breaking like 8 rules.” He rolls his eyes in exasperation— he’s in publicist-mode.
“No, I promise.”
“Did you have fun?” He asks, the mischief of best-friend-mode returning to him. “Well clearly you did, your lipstick is smudged.” I gasp and pull a silver compact from my purse and sure enough, a small smear of red escaped my carefully drawn lipliner. I correct it as fast as I can before answering him.
“So much. She knows your soccer player.” I wiggle my eyebrows at him and he grimaces awkwardly, like he’s about to deliver bad news.
“Speaking of the soccer player, think I’m gonna have to take a raincheck on that pizza.” He admits. “Like obviously we will still leave together but then Viktor wants me to meet him at his hotel room.” He winks
“I called it.” I pout.
“Please don’t be mad. It’s been so long since I’ve gotten laid, I think my virginity is growing back.” He pleads, putting his hands together in a praying motion.
“Fine, but you owe me.” I reason, elbowing him lightly in the side.
“I’ll make it up to you, I swear.” He puts his hand on his heart to feign sincerity and I laugh. “You ready to face the crowd?” He asks, extending his hand for me to take. I take a deep breath and nod before interlacing our fingers as we rejoin the red carpet before our departure.
Once we make it back to my house, Jayce changes into a hoodie, jeans, sneakers and sunglasses; the unofficial uniform for celebrities who don’t want to be found. The Clark Kent version of himself. “I’ll text you when I get there, and when I leave tomorrow morning. I’m just gonna drive. Feel free to text me if anything happens okay? I’m excited to see what you’re cooking up there.”
“Thanks, I appreciate it. Drive safe.” I call to him as he ducks out the door. I’m already settled on the couch in my pajamas, under a blanket and equipped with my song-writing notebook and my fancy calligraphy pens. There’s a pizza on the way, Yuumi in my lap and a cup of sleepytime tea beside me. I take out my weapon and get to work.
You should take it as a compliment
That I got drunk and made fun of the way you talk…
You should think about the consequence
Of your magnetic field being a little too strong…
I’m interrupted by the ping of my text message tone. When I open the screen, the name says ‘Vi (hot girl from met gala)’. She must have put that in there when we exchanged information.
Vi (hot girl from met gala):
I wish u were at this afterparty, would be alot more fun. How’s pizza with the bf?
Me:
Pizza is still on it’s way but Jayce ditched me lol
Vi (hot girl from met gala):
Sounds like u need a better boyfriend
Me:
You offering?
Vi (hot girl from met gala):
Depends, what kinda pizza did you order?
Me:
Don’t laugh
Vi (hot girl from met gala):
Im braced and ready
Me:
Just plain cheese, we call it a margherita in the UK
Vi (hot girl from met gala):
Ok maybe I’m laughing a little
Didn’t realize u were so picky
Me:
I can’t believe this :( homophobic
Vi (hot girl from met gala):
Relax cupcake, it isn’t worse than mine.
I get a hawaiian with barbecue sauce and jalapenos
Me:
I’ve never had barbecue sauce on pizza but that sounds absolutely horrifying
Vi (hot girl from met gala):
But it’s sooo gooood. Sweet and spicy.
I’ll show u, u’ll be converted trust.
The doorbell rings, and I catch myself smiling as I pull a 20 out of my wallet and answer it. A teenage girl holds my pizza in a red carrying case. She has washed out green dye in her hair, cut short with choppy layers and hidden under a red hat, decorated with a heart shaped pepperoni pizza. Her blue eyes, rimmed with thick black eyeliner, widen as she sees me.
“No way… No fucking way.” She half whispers.
“Excuse me?” I reply, the 20$ bill stuns in my hand.
“Oh my god I am so sorry.” The girl composes herself with pink cheeks and hands me the pizza. “I thought someone put your name into the system as some sort of prank…I owe the dishwasher 50 bucks. I am a huge fan.” She babbles nervously, pulling up the sleeve of a company issue jacket. “I have a tattoo for your last album.” Little seagulls line her forearm, matching ones I wear on a T-shirt on the cover of 966. The birds cover old scars, healed horizontal lines paler than the rest of her arm. “Your song Clean literally saved my life. Thank you.” Tears well in my eyes.
“I can’t tell you what that means to me. Thanks for listening.” I set the pizza inside on a little table, replace the 20 in my hand with a 100 dollar bill, and return to give the girl, who is full on sobbing at this point, an awkward hug. After a tearful minute I hand her the money. “For the pizza, and to pay your bet.” I wink. She says thank you again and takes a picture with me on her smartphone before walking away, waving and looking over her shoulder as she makes her way out of the building. I half-worry that she will do something like announce my address online, thankfully I made sure my apartment number wasn’t in the photo. I shoo away the thought faster than it came. “Not everyone’s out to get you Cait.” I repeat my fathers words from last year, when my songs got leaked and my heart got broken. Trust is hard, especially now with the whole insane fucking Ambessa scandal, which makes me think of Vi, and her kind yet mischievous smile. “Not everyone’s out to get you.” I say once more returning to my phone. I pull out a slice of cheese pizza, I finally write my response to Vi, deleting and rewriting the same text over and over again, varying from insanely desperate to rude and aloof. I try to settle on something in the middle, and with a deep breath for courage, I send:
Me:
Eww absolutely not. Can’t you ask me on a date with real food?
Vi (hot girl from met gala):
Or…
I could come over tonight? Bring my own pie? I wouldn’t want you to get lonely holed up in your apartment by yourself ;)
My pulse races at this, pounding in my ears like warning bells. I imagine her chiselled hands on me, running through my newly cropped hair and pulling, palming my breasts and ruining my makeup (that took fucking hours by the way), trailing down my stomach... I’m practically salivating. How long has it been since I’ve gotten laid? I pick my phone back up with shaking hands to reply, and to my surprise another message waits for me.
Vi (hot girl from met gala):
Not to just invite myself over haha
Sorry if I’m being too forward.
Me:
Only a little bit. I think it’s cute.
I send her my address and scramble into the bedroom to find my sexiest pair of pajamas; which ends up being a silky purple tank top with Navy blue trim and matching short shorts. A little navy blue bow settles between my breasts. I ditch my sweatpants and goofy slippers (shaped like fluffy white cats (I call them my Yuumi slippers)) and opt instead for a more adult pair of navy blue fluffy socks. The marble floors are too cold to brave bare feet. My apartment, clean and meticulously organized (thanks to hired help I never see), should do the trick. I sit back down on the couch and wait. I attempt to write in my song-writing notebook but fail at the sensation of my quickening heartbeat. I put New Girl on the TV, a show I have seen a million times, just to quiet the voices in my head screaming about what a bad idea it is. God I need to chill out. Maybe I should take an edible… Ultimately I do. I eat two weed gummies and sit through an episode of the show before I hear a knock at the door. I stop to check my reflection in the mirror, smoothing out flyaway hairs and wiping leftover mascara from the bottom of my eyes before answering the door.
Vi leans against the doorway, same blazer as before, same effortless charm and ridiculously gorgeous smile. She has a pizza box in her hand, from the same place I ordered mine, the tell-tale pepperoni pizza heart stares at me.
“Hi Cupcake.” She smirks, eyes wandering.
“Hi.” I reply breathlessly. We stand there staring at each other for a moment. I drink her like whiskey, deep, burning, and something I will probably regret tomorrow. Her blue-grey eyes stare back. Strong and persistent as the sea. “Come on in.”
Chapter 3: So it Goes
Notes:
Hiiiiiii!! Sorry for the long wait on the update, I'm a drag queen and pride season has been wrapping up so I've been SWAMPED but will hopefully have more time for more frequent updates soon!! Finally some smut!! You might have thought it was going to be "Dress" but I'm saving that one for later mwah ha ha...
Please lmk if I miss a tag or something! Thanks for reading! Based on "So it Goes" by Taylor Swift! Here's a link:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iAv1Y1YIwm8&list=RDiAv1Y1YIwm8&start_radio=1
Chapter Text
Vi steps through my doorway, setting her pizza next to mine on the coffee table, and tossing a black backpack by the door. I make my way back to my spot on the couch. “Shoes on or off?” She asks. The politeness fits weird on someone as sharp around the edges as she is, like an outgrown sweater.
“Whatever you prefer. The joys of having a housekeeper.” I shrug, she laughs a little, removing her shoes anyway and padding over to me on the couch in her mismatched socks, one black with white stripes and the other a black gym sock. “You wore mismatched socks to the met gala?” I prod.
“Well they didn’t exactly give me a pair with the blazer, and my pants were long enough to cover them!” She defends indignantly, crossing her arms over her chest and sitting down next to me with a huff. We both laugh, shifting the tension in the room like a tectonic plate.
“Probably because they thought you would have the sense to wear matching socks!” I argue back, mock offense in my voice.
“Well that sucks for them because I don’t think I own a pair.” She laughs again, stretching her legs out and wiggling her toes. “This is as close as you're gonna get.”
“Fair enough.” I shrug. “Can I get you something to drink? Or some comfy clothes? You must be uncomfortable in that blazer.” I offer, performing my best hospitable host act.
“Damn Princess? I just walked in and you're trying to get me out of my clothes…” She clicks her tongue and shakes her head. I blush redder than an heirloom tomato. That may or may not have been what I was doing but she wasn’t supposed to see through my evil plan, she was just supposed to go along with it. “Both please, something strong and something comfy if you have them. I should've changed before I came.” I make my way into my bedroom with her following close behind. We make it and I start rummaging in my closet for something that might fit her while she sits on my bed, petting Yuumi who purrs traitorously. She never purrs when I pet her, just hisses and screams like a demon, but she too has become putty in Vi’s strong hands. I settle on an old merch T shirt from Red , my 4th studio album and a pair of grey sweatpants. She holds up the shirt and raises an eyebrow.
“I don’t have a lot of them! One of the few I swear!” I raise my hand girl scout style. She impossibly raises her scarred brow even higher.
“I think you’re freakier than you let off Miss Caitlyn Kiramman. I think you want me to fuck you wearing your face.” She teases. I choke on nothing and she throws her head back to laugh. I want to crawl into a large turtle shell (big enough for a tall woman to have some leg room) and crawl away.
“uh- no!” I argue, causing her chuckles to metamorphosize into a full on belly laugh straight from the soul, my protests catch in my throat. “I’ll give you some privacy to change.” I run my hand over the back of my neck, which is hot enough to fry an egg at this point. I must look like a beet on stilts.
“Or… you could stay? I've been told I look pretty good naked…” Her tone turns shy and sheepish.
“Who’s trying to seduce who? Remind me?” I tease.
“Watch yourself.” She warns, no real malice behind her voice.
“Why do that when I can watch you instead?” I wiggle my eyebrows, earning a smack from one of my pillows. Worth it. She stands with her back to me and starts unbuttoning her blazer, carefully peeling off the double sided tape that held it to her, rolling the sticky plastic into a little ball before tossing it into the small waste basket that sits in the corner. She hangs the black suit jacket gingerly on a set of hooks that hang over my bedroom door. I catch an eyeful of muscles and black tattoos of smoke and gears climb her back like ivy on a tower.
“It’s going back in the morning and costs more than my house.” She explains, before pausing thoughtfully. “Is your cat the kind to chew on shoes?” She asks, nervously glancing down the hall to my front door. “The shoes are like 2 of my house.” I shake my head.
“No, she mostly sticks to chargers. I’ve had to replace my vibrator cord like 3 times.” I admit.
“Sounds like little Miss Yuumi needs an exorcism.” Vi coos, the cat walking over to her and purring at the sound of her name, her fluffy white tail sticks straight into the air, waving slightly. “That is straight up evil. Like ‘my cat from hell’ level evil.” Yuumi starts rubbing herself across Vi’s legs, making a little figure 8 pattern for maximum contact.
“She’s never this nice. She must like you.”
“What can I say? I love pussy and it loves me right back.” Vi jokes, wiggling her eyebrows. I roll my eyes in lieu of a response, anxiously picking at my cuticles. My heart quickens to hummingbird pace. She scratches Yuumi under the chin and returns to the task at hand. She turns to face me, breasts exposed for only a moment before she pulls on the T-shirt that I lent her, then makes quick work of changing pants, hanging hers on the same hook as the blazer and pulling on mine. Her legs match the rest of her, absolutely fucking ripped. I want her to crush my head between them like a watermelon. She’s wearing a pair of heather purple Calvin Klein boxers, and when she puts on my sweatpants, she leaves them low so the waist band sticks out. They're a little long on her so she cuffs the pant legs a few times to avoid tripping.
We make our way back into the living room, eat a few slices of pizza (I am absolutely not converted after she gives me a bite of her slice, disgusted and horrified is closer) and each go through about a glass and a half of wine. She’s easy to talk to, and to look at, (except when she’s talking with her mouth full of pizza that even the ninja turtles couldn’t dream up.) I haven’t really been paying attention to the TV, too focused on our nearness to one another to know what mess-arounds Cece and Winston are up to at the moment. I keep trying to will her to make a move on me with my mind, to no avail; so I scooch closer, resting my head on her shoulder. She tosses her muscled arm around me and I can smell her deodorant, lavender. I think it’s the old spice kind but I can’t be sure. In an attempt to be smooth, I steal half of her blanket and tuck myself up even closer to her, sliding a hand on the thigh closest to me. She wastes no time in turning towards me and kissing me again, holding me there with the arm still around my shoulder.
“Is this ok?” She asks, pulling away slightly and caressing my cheek with her hand. I nod frantically.
“More than ok” I reply at her raised eyebrows. And she kisses me again, pulling me into her face-first.
I melt into her touch like Chapstick in a hot car. This kiss isn’t tentative like the one in the elevator. It's raw, desperate, and deep as the sea. Her lips part slightly as she moves her hand to the small of my back, sliding beneath my tank top with her electric fingertips to get at the bare skin on my lower back. I take the opportunity to swing my leg across hers, straddling her, attempting not to separate our lips. Our teeth still clink together like porcelain cups. She makes a soft noise of surprise, and dives back in, swallowing my apology with a searing kiss. Her hands settle on my ass, pressing me sharply against her hips. I moan at the contact and she kisses me harder, sliding her tongue into my mouth. I rake my hands roughly through her pink hair and down the back of her neck, pulling her impossibly closer to me. I can’t get enough of her, I snake my hands down to her waist, fingers begging impatiently at the hem of my own T-shirt. She nods through kisses and I move to pull it over her head. She assists me when the neck hole reaches her several ear piercings, discouraging them from catching. Too shy to look earlier, leaning back I get an eyeful of her bare breasts. Modest in size, but perfectly perky like the tits you see on TV, with silver nipple piercings sparkling in the dim light.
“Like what you see?” She asks pointedly, flexing her biceps for effect.
“Very much.” I earnestly reply, tossing the discarded shirt into a corner of the room. She kisses from the neckline of my tank top to the space behind my ear, before sinking her teeth in; eliciting a gasp from me as I grab one of those perfect breasts. A perfect handful. She groans as I pinch a nipple, a soft needy sound from the back of her voice. My heart pounds in my chest like a jackhammer, and the place between my thighs throbs with it as one of her hands fiddles with the lace hemming my silk shorts. With an index finger, she tests the waters sliding between the fabric and my aching pussy.
“Fuck Caitlyn.” She exclaims in a gruff whisper. “You’re so wet for me already.” My breathing hitches as she changes the angle of her hand to glide over my clit, a deep guttural moan tearing through me like tissue paper. She dives back into my neck like a rabid animal, sucking and biting. Leaving traces of her across my throat. Without warning, she flips me on to my back before climbing on top of me. The glorious weight of her makes me feel boneless as her fingers hook the waistband of my pajamas.
“Can I take these off?” She asks, sitting up on her knees to look me in the eyes with her piercing baby blues.
“Please.” I practically beg.
“Good girl.” Vi praises, My vision blurs as she pulls my shorts down to my ankles and throws them to the same forgotten corner as my merch T-shirt. She makes quick work of the top as well, guiding me to sit up. I lay there, naked as the day I was born on my own couch (save for the socks) and starving for her touch. Like a wild animal kept without food, suddenly invited to a gourmet buffet. Miraculously, her hand finds its way back to where it was, and her warm mouth envelops one of my newly exposed nipples. Everywhere she touches, the nerves feel alive. Like fire, ice and beestings all at once. “You’ve got such a pretty pair of tits on you, Cupcake. I’ve imagined them, but I never expected them to be this gorgeous in person.”
“Oh really? Didn't realize you were that kind of fan…” I tease, but any joke-malice in my voice has become sticky and sweet in my throat like honey. I’m further gone than I thought .
“I may or may not have had a poster from Teen Beat magazine pinned to the wall in my childhood bedroom…” She admits sheepishly. “You make one hell of a centerfold.” She kisses down my collarbones to my sternum, kneading my breasts as her lips make their way down. Feather light kisses dust my ribs and stomach, and her magic hands follow after, smoothing tingles with her rough touch. My palms splay out beside me, digits gripping the blue cloth upholstery of my couch as if I’ll float up and away without their grounding. I’m not convinced I won't, as her soft mouth meets the line where my pubic hair meets the skin of my belly. I’m not as manicured downstairs as I normally like to keep myself, something I neglected to think of before Vi came over and decided to ruin my living room couch. All the same, she buries her nose, inhaling deeply and coming back for air with a big goofy grin.
“You’re a dork-” I mock, but she silences my protests by sucking hard on the inside of my right thigh. A desperate whine escapes me as she moves to the other side. Her movements are slow and rich as molasses. After what feels like an eternity of teasing, kissing, licking and biting me all the while; she finally licks a stripe through the folds of my quivering entrance. Against my will, my back arches off of the couch like I’ver been possessed. She looks up at me with a satisfied smirk and continues, taking me apart with her tongue against my clit. My eyes clamp shut and I finally loosen my grip on the couch, stretching my sore fingers. The noises she is drawing out of me are unholy; my hips press myself harder to her mouth against my will.
“Do you want me to fuck you?” Vi asks, her lips and chin glistening from the mess she has made of me.
“Y-yes.” I reply breathlessly, mustering my last remaining brain cells.
“Then I’m gonna need you to beg for it sweetheart.” She commands, adjusting the positioning of her hand from my thigh, to rub lazy circles around my clit with her thumb, leaving her throbbing from the shift in stimulation. “Can you do that for me?” Her blue eyes meet mine, with blown pupils and a devilish smirk, her pink hair is wild from my wandering hands.
“Please Vi!” I practically shout. I’ll be embarrassed later but I’m far too wound up to care right now. “Please fuck me!”
“Good Girl.” She praises again, I’m seeing stars at the phrase. “You sound so pretty for me, Caitlyn.” To my dismay, she doesn’t oblige quite yet. “I brought my strap in my backpack, would you like me to use that or my fingers?” She offers. She planned for this. Hot.
“Your H-hands.” I reply, the words are half moan, escaping me without thought. As hot as the idea of her fucking me with a strap-on is, I’ve been staring at her hands all night, mouth watering. I’m not losing the opportunity for those long tattooed digits to fill me.
“Mmm.” She agrees. “I hoped you would pick that.” She moves her hand to line up with my core, fingers pressing gently against the opening, and leans over me once more to kiss me deeply. I taste myself and I feel feral, scratching my nails down her back at the sensation. I come back to myself when a groan falls from her wet lips.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to do-” She cuts me off with another kiss.
“Don’t be. You can do that to me all you like.” She winks.
“Do you mind if we move this to the bedroom?” I ask, there should be an intricate oil painting of her arms in the Louvre “I think I might have to burn the couch if we continue where we’re at.” She laughs a little.
“Sure gorgeous, I’ll meet you there.” She replies, climbing off of me. Naked on shaky legs, I pad my way through the hall back to my bedroom. My heart hammers in my chest in anticipation as I very quickly learn that I have no idea how to pose seductively on the bed. I end up sitting up on my elbows against the pillows, my long legs stretched out in front of me. She follows me into the room, dropping that same black backpack at the foot of the bed. She wastes no time, practically landing on me face first, kissing me while her middle and index fingers explore my soaked pussy.
“Fuck!” I exclaim against her lips when she finally presses inside, the curl of her fingers is almost as perfect and magnificent as she is, stretching my wanting cunt with every thrust. A guttural symphony of sounds escape me, crescendoing when she adds a third finger.
“You sound so pretty for me, princess.” Vi mumbles, moving her head to speak directly in my ear, nipping and licking at it’s lobe. Each word from her lips brings me closer and closer to toppling off the edge. Her thumb adds itself back into the equation, resuming its position on my clit and pressing up and down. “Good girl. Come on daddy’s fingers for me.” My ears go numb as my entire body tenses. Gripping her hair and the sheets to hold on for dear life, practically screaming. Waves of pleasure apex and crash over me as she works me through my embarrassingly quick orgasm, never slowing pace. “Fuck Caitlyn, you’re so fucking hot.” She breathes against my neck. Slowly, my vision returns to me, white-hot orgasm giving way to agonizing overstimulation.
“You can stop now-” I relent, her fingers slow slightly, but continue.
“Do you think you can give me another one?” She smirks mischievously.
“Y-yes.” I surrender.
“I want you to ride me.” She suggests casually, as if she's assisting in something simple and innocent, like choosing a coffee shop.
“Will you wear it this time?” I ask, gesturing with my head towards her backpack, the hunger in her eyes is contagious. She climbs off of me, and straps the leather harness around her thighs after dropping her pants and boxers. The sight of her fully naked is making my mouth water. Once she is equipped with a sizable purple dildo (that glows in the dark) She sits at the edge of the bed, expectant and anxious. As if she wasn’t inside of me not two minutes ago. To ease the tension, I tease.
“Glow in the dark?” I raise an eyebrow as I climb off the bed and cross to her, straddling her strong thighs but not impaling myself yet. She immediately wraps her arms around me like its a habit, my swollen pussy throbs at the contact but I hold firm.
“What?” She asks accusingly, as if I’m the one walking around with a giant glow in the dark dick in my backpack. “It’s cool.” She defends, eyes looking down nervously before catching an eyeful of my bare breasts and re-connecting our gaze. I raise my eyebrow impossibly higher. In response, Vi grabs my hips sharply and directs me to the toy’s tip. “Oh, you’re gonna get it now…” She threatens teasingly, slightly raising her own scarred brow, silently asking for permission. I nod in response as she presses into me without resistance, my pussy wet and open from her previous expedition. We moan together as she bottoms out, my thighs resting on top of hers, warm, pale, tattooed and strong. She stills her hands for a moment, allowing me to adjust to the stretch, but they remain on my waist, holding me firmly, I can feel my own fluids from her fingers drying against me. Testing movement, I raise myself up and down, feeling the silicone as it presses against my G-spot, I dampen a moan by biting into her shoulder. She moves my head, cupping my left cheek as she says: “You’re so pretty like this Caitlyn” she praises, running magic fingertips over my spine with her other hand before settling on the softest parts of my ass and moving me up and back down, over and over again.
It’s different this go around. The look on her face is serious, and every few strokes she moans softly, practically whimpering in my ear as she tries to keep hold of her power over me with her persistent palms. Seizing the opportunity, I thread my hands through the choppy pink hair on the back of her head, fingers catching on the strong gel some hairstylist used to keep her messy crop in place. Threading my fingers through the longer part on her crown, I tug slightly; a practically pornographic sound escapes her. Her hands stutter as I use this grasp on her to pull her ear to my lips, sucking and biting on her ear lobe. There's hesitation in the upstrokes of her hips, a beautiful contrast to the sharp and steady thrusts she was meeting me with before. The part of my brain that isn’t clouded by lust hopes this is more than a one night stand, but the part of my brain that is; wants to see her fall apart beneath me. I roll my hips forward against her on the downstrokes, rubbing her clit on the base of her ridiculously luminescent member. She sucks another mark into my collarbone, teeth catching against my skin. I hope I can get away with a turtleneck tomorrow. Her encouraging hands pick up pace, setting a brutal and excruciating rhythm as her thumb returns to my clit. I lean back a bit to look at her, pupils blown out and wild, biting her bottom lip. She groans at the slight shift in pressure before pulling me back to her with a growl, putting one of my breasts in her mouth again and swirling her tongue over my nipples, hard from the chill in the room. I involuntarily clench around her, my destruction coming close.
“God Vi!” I exclaim loudly.
“Mmm.” She hums against my throat. “You feel so good, cupcake. Love it when you say my name…” She murmurs, her words make something inside me feel warm. The tone in her voice is reverent, like a prayer. I feel sacred.
“Fuck daddy!” I cry. I never thought I would call anyone daddy, much less someone I met earlier tonight, but I would be lying if I said it didn’t turn me on when she said it earlier. The title awakens something in her. She leans in to kiss me hard. Almost painfully as I moan against her. Her orgasm comes as a desperate whine from the back of her throat; her hips against me are frantic and disorganized as she pulls me closer to her, holding me firmly. I follow suit, screaming her name a final time as I push her backwards on the bed, rolling my hips onto the dildo as the ocean crashes around me. When the tide has finally gone low again, she slowly pushes me off of her, setting me gently on the bed and discarding the piece and harness beside the bed. I lay back, sweaty and out of breath.
“That was hot.” Vi says, tossing me a towel from the rack behind my door to clean up.
“Very.” I reply, still dazed. “You’re really good at that.”
“Eh, I let my hands do the talking.” She shrugs.
“I’m sorry, do you want me to…” I ask, sitting up slightly, my legs feel boneless.
“Nah don’t worry about it. I was thoroughly satisfied.” She replies nonchalantly. I open my mouth to protest and she swats the words out of the air. “Honestly baby, who’s counting?” She flexes a little in the mirror by the door, turning her back to it to examine the thin red scratches my fingernails left in their wake. “Do you, uh, want me to stay the night or should I get out of here?” She asks into the quiet, the only sound my heaving breaths.
“I would love it if you spent the night!” I answer, far too eager. “Um, but no pressure. I know we only just met.”
“What side of the bed do you prefer?” Vi asks, flipping the switch to the lamp that had been illuminating our endeavors. I fall asleep that night wrapped in her like a blanket, and for the first time in the last month, I don’t dream of snakes and Ambessa. They're all replaced by Vi, and her intoxicating voice, whispering sweet nothings into my ear.
I wake the next morning to an empty bed and the smell of pancakes, a quiet rainy start to what would shape up to be an insane couple weeks of pap walks and interviews. We eat in comfortable quiet before she heads off to the gym in the same borrowed shirt and pants from last night (it’s not like she wore them for long); leaving me to my songwriting with Yuumi curled up by my feet.