Chapter Text
Morning light crept in through the thin kitchen curtains, pale and wintry, casting long stripes across the table. Vi sat hunched over a chipped mug of coffee, elbows braced against the wood, staring down at the steam curling upward like it might offer answers if she watched it long enough.
The apartment was quiet in that early, almost sacred way. There was no traffic yet, no voices outside, just the faint hum of the heater and the distant cry of gulls down by the bay.
She took a slow sip, grimacing. Too strong. She still drank it anyway.
The bedroom door creaked open and Powder burst out already bundled up, coat zipped crookedly, scarf half-wrapped, keys jangling in her hand. “I’m heading out,” she announced. “Gonna go do stuff with Ekko.”
Vi snorted without looking up. “What else is new? You two are surgically attached.”
Powder grinned, clearly unfazed. “Jealous.”
“Of his study habits? Hard pass.”
Powder tugged on her boots and glanced at the table. “So what’re you doing today?”
Vi shifted instinctively, sliding her notebook a fraction closer to herself. “Nothing.”
Powder leaned over anyway, peering at the page. Her grin widened instantly. “Oh my God,” she laughed. “Is this a list?”
Vi groaned. “Don’t.”
Powder read aloud anyway. “Decorate the tree. Make cookies. Prep something for Christmas Eve dinner.” She looked up, eyes sparkling. “Wow. You’re, like, aggressively festive.”
“I’m trying,” Vi muttered. “It’s called being an adult.”
Powder snorted. “You’re a hopeless loner.”
“Powder—”
“You should invite Caitlyn over,” Powder continued cheerfully. “You know. For the tree. And the cookies. For the cookies, Vi!”
Vi choked on her coffee. “Absolutely not.”
Powder laughed, grabbing her hat. “I’m just saying! Two birds, one very obvious emotionally-charged stone.”
Vi stood and practically ushered her toward the door. “Out. Go. Before I change the locks.”
Powder blew her a kiss as she slipped outside. “Think about it!”
The door shut behind her.
The silence that followed was rather loud.
Vi stood there for a moment, then slowly sank back into her chair. The coffee had gone lukewarm. And the apartment felt bigger somehow. Emptier.
Her gaze drifted back to the list. Decorate the tree. Make cookies.
Her pen tapped against the paper. Once. Twice. Again.
She bit her lip.
With a long, resigned sigh, Vi reached for her phone.
❆
The movie was over halfway through, but Caitlyn had hardly retained any of it. She opted for chewing on the edge of her thumbnail, a habit her mother had ridiculed out of her long ago. Not well enough, apparently.
She sat wedged between Jayce and Mel on the couch, all three of them wrapped up in an absurd amount of blankets. One was draped over their laps, another slung over the back of the couch, and a third half-fallen to the floor where Jayce had kicked it during an overly emotional scene. On-screen, a couple reunited in the snow to swelling orchestral music.
Jayce sniffed.
Mel glanced at him sideways, lips curving upwards. “Oh no,” she murmured. “Are we crying again?”
“I’m not crying,” Jayce said defensively, swiping at his face. “It’s just…Look at them. They found each other.”
Mel laughed softly and nudged him with her shoulder. “You’re very brave.”
Despite the teasing, she leaned in closer, curling against his side with practiced ease. Her head settled on his shoulder, one arm tucked comfortably around his waist. Jayce immediately relaxed into her, chin tipping down to rest lightly against her hair.
They fit together like they had done this a thousand times.
Caitlyn smiled, genuinely, because she loved them. She loved the way they were so easy, so certain. But somewhere beneath that warmth, something sharp twisted in her chest. A strange, hollow pang. She pulled the blanket tighter around herself, pretending it was just the cold.
Her phone buzzed in her hand. The vibration startled her enough that she glanced down immediately, heart stuttering for reasons she refused to examine too closely.
VI [10:56AM]
Hey. This might be random, but do you wanna come over? I’m decorating the tree. And maybe making cookies. No pressure.
Caitlyn stared at the screen.
For a moment, the sounds of the movie faded—the dialogue, the music, even Jayce’s sniffles—until all she could hear was the rush of blood in her ears.
Decorating the tree. Cookies. Vi.
Her thumb hovered over the screen as her chest warmed in a way that had nothing to do with blankets or heaters.
Mel noticed her distraction and peeked over. “Everything okay?”
Caitlyn looked up, blinking, then nodded slowly. “Yes. I…” She blinked again. “Vi invited me over.”
Mel’s smile softened instantly, losing its teasing edge. “Oh?”
Jayce perked up. “Vi?”
Caitlyn smiled despite herself. “Yes.”
“Well,” Mel said lightly, already shifting so Caitlyn could stand. “That sounds significantly more interesting than this movie’s third-act misunderstanding.”
Jayce gasped. “Hey! It’s very compelling.”
Caitlyn laughed quietly as she rose, slipping her phone into her hand like something precious. “I won’t be long.”
As she typed her reply, her chest still tight but hopeful, the weird pang eased, replaced by something lighter. Something that felt a lot like anticipation.
❆
CAITLYN [10:57AM]
I’d love to.
❆
When Caitlyn knocked, the door opened almost immediately. It was so fast it was as if Vi had been standing on the other side, hand hovering, waiting for the sound.
Vi froze for half a second when she saw her.
She leaned against the doorframe, one arm braced above her head, chest rising and falling just a little too quickly. Inside the apartment, music drifted out. It was something old and cheerful, all brass and bells and voices that sounded like they were smiling as they sang.
“Oh,” Vi said, a little breathless. “Hey.”
Caitlyn’s heart stumbled.
Vi looked… festive. Ridiculously so. She was wearing an ugly Christmas sweater, all red and green and aggressively patterned with reindeer wearing scarves. The sleeves were pushed up to her elbows, and her hair was pulled into a messy bun that was already coming loose, dark strands curling at the nape of her neck. There was a faint sheen of sweat on her brow, like she had been moving nonstop, and when Caitlyn’s eyes dropped (against her will), she noticed a smear of flour dusted across one flushed cheek.
She looked warm.
“Hi,” Caitlyn said, suddenly very aware of how neatly she was dressed, how composed she probably looked by comparison.
They lingered there for a beat too long, the doorway stretching into something awkward and electric.
“So,” Vi said, clearing her throat. “You made it.”
“I did,” Caitlyn replied, then winced inwardly at how obvious that sounded. “Thank you for inviting me.”
“Yeah, of course.” Vi shifted her weight, scratching the back of her neck. “I mean, Powder said….Well. Never mind. Come in.”
She stepped aside, still half-blocking the doorway, and Caitlyn caught another rush of warmth from inside, the smell of sugar and spice and something richer beneath it. They stood facing each other again, closer now.
“You look…” Vi started, then stopped, lips twisting. “Nice. I mean. You always do. Not—”
Caitlyn smiled softly, saving her from herself. “You look festive.”
Vi snorted. “That’s one word for it.”
Another pause.
The music hummed cheerfully around them, something upbeat and entirely unbothered by their mutual inability to act normal. Caitlyn inhaled and then frowned. Her nose wrinkled just slightly. “Is something burning?”
Vi’s eyes widened. “Oh, shit.” She spun on her heel, swearing under her breath as she bolted down the short hall toward the kitchen. “The cookies! Goddammit, I knew I should’ve set a timer.”
Caitlyn blinked, then hurried after her, stepping fully inside and pulling the door closed behind her with an awkward click.
The apartment was warm and a little chaotic in the best way. A half-decorated Christmas tree stood crooked in the corner, lights already strung but not yet turned on, ornament boxes scattered around its base. The coffee table was crowded with cookie cutters, sprinkles, and a rolling pin dusted white. A faint haze of sugar hung in the air, mixed now with the sharper edge of something left a moment too long in the oven.
From the kitchen came the sound of clattering pans and Vi muttering a very colorful string of curses. Caitlyn hovered near the entryway for a moment, unsure where to put herself, then slowly set her coat aside and took a tentative step farther in, her heart thudding and senses full, aware of just how thoroughly she had stepped into Vi’s world.
The refrigerator was the first thing that caught her eye.
It was covered in magnets, all mismatched and chipped, some shaped like animals or landmarks, others just cheap plastic letters spelling out nothing in particular. A few held up photos: Powder at maybe fourteen, grinning wildly and holding up something that looked half-exploded; Ekko with an arm slung around her shoulders, both of them laughing at something just out of frame; an older photo of Vi and Powder together, hair shorter, smiles softer, their heads pressed together like the world couldn’t pry them apart.
There were notes too, reminders scrawled in different handwriting. Powder’s was everywhere, looping and frantic, covering sticky notes and scraps of paper: don’t forget resistor, ask Vi about the thing, EKKO OWES ME FIVE BUCKS.
Caitlyn smiled despite herself.
On the counter sat a small army of mugs, none of them matching. One was chipped along the rim. Another had a faded cartoon on it she didn’t recognize. One, inexplicably, read World’s Best Dad, the letters peeling.
Books were stacked everywhere—on shelves, on the coffee table, even on the floor near the couch. Some were thick and technical, spines cracked and dog-eared. Others were paperbacks with curled corners. A few were open-faced, face-down, abandoned mid-thought.
Half-finished projects were tucked into corners: wires spilling out of a cardboard box, a notebook open to a page filled with diagrams and frantic arrows, a screwdriver left where someone had set it down and simply never picked it back up again. The whole apartment felt like a snapshot of motion paused.
From the kitchen came the sharp scrape of metal on metal. Vi stood at the counter, oven mitts dangling uselessly from one hand as she slid a tray of cookies out and immediately grimaced. They were dark around the edges, cracked straight through the middle, a few nearly black on the bottoms.
“Damn it,” Vi muttered.
Without ceremony, she tipped the whole tray into the sink. The cookies landed with dull thuds, a faint puff of steam rising as water hit the hot metal.
Caitlyn winced sympathetically. “Well,” she said gently, stepping closer. “That’s unfortunate.”
Vi scrubbed a hand over her face, leaving a streak of flour across her temple. “I swear I looked away for, like, two minutes.”
Caitlyn leaned against the counter, peering down at the ruined batch. “We could… start over?”
Vi blinked at her. “Start over?”
“Yes.” Caitlyn straightened, already glancing around the kitchen. “If you don’t mind.”
Before Vi could respond, Caitlyn crossed to the cabinets, opening one, then another, scanning their contents. She moved with an ease that surprised even herself, muscle memory guiding her hands as she began pulling things out—flour, sugar, baking powder. She found a clean bowl, set it on the counter, and then reached for measuring cups without hesitation.
Vi watched her, eyebrows slowly climbing higher and higher. “You can cook?” She asked, disbelief plain in her voice.
Caitlyn paused, glancing over her shoulder. Vi was leaning back against the counter now, arms crossed, studying her like she was a magic trick that had gone wrong. There was real, genuine surprise there.
Vi scoffed lightly. “Sorry, I just—” She gestured vaguely. “I figured you grew up with, like… staff. Or something.”
Caitlyn huffed a small laugh, shaking her head. “I mean, yeah.” She shrugged, turning back to the counter as she began measuring flour, careful but not overly precise. “A bit,” she said. “I learned.”
Vi tilted her head, watching the way Caitlyn’s hands moved. The idea of her being spoiled, helpless, suddenly didn’t quite fit with the woman standing in her kitchen, sleeves rolled up, already dusting flour onto the counter like she belonged there.
“Huh,” Vi murmured.
Caitlyn glanced back at her again, a small, almost shy smile tugging at her lips. “What?”
Vi shook her head, a crooked grin forming. “Just… didn’t peg you as the start-over-and-fix-it type.”
Caitlyn’s smile softened. “I’ve had practice.”
They fell into a rhythm without meaning to.
Caitlyn cracked eggs into the bowl while Vi measured sugar, the soft tap-tap of shells against porcelain punctuating the music humming from the speakers. Vi mixed too fast at first, flour puffing up into the air in a pale cloud that made Caitlyn cough and laugh, waving it away with the back of her hand.
“Easy there,” Caitlyn teased. “We’re baking, not demolishing.”
Vi snorted, slowing her movements. “Hey, no one said I was gentle.”
They swapped places at the counter without thinking, Caitlyn stepping aside so Vi could reach the sink and Vi brushing past her to grab the vanilla. Their shoulders bumped once, lightly, and both of them paused for a fraction of a second before pretending nothing had happened. Conversation filled the space easily, like it had just been waiting for them to stop tiptoeing around each other.
“So,” Vi said eventually, stirring the dough with more care now. “You really went straight off to Piltover U after graduation?”
Caitlyn nodded, leaning against the counter with her arms folded. “Mm. Early acceptance. My parents were… thrilled.” She smiled faintly, the expression more polite than fond. “Four years there, then law school right after. No breaks. No gap years. No time to think too hard about whether I actually wanted any of it.”
Vi glanced up at her. “And did you?”
Caitlyn considered that, eyes drifting toward the window as if the answer might be waiting outside. “I liked learning. I liked being good at it.” She shrugged. “I liked knowing what was expected of me.”
Vi hummed thoughtfully. “Yeah. That tracks.”
“What about you?” Caitlyn asked. “You stayed.”
“Yeah.” Vi set the spoon down, wiping her hands on a dish towel. “Community college. Two years. Just general ed stuff like math, writing, some basic science.” She shrugged, mirroring Caitlyn’s earlier motion. “I didn’t really have a plan. Powder was still in high school, and money was tight. I figured staying close was just… easier.”
“Did you like it?” Caitlyn asked.
Vi smirked. “Some of it. I had a philosophy class that messed me up for weeks.” She shook her head. “But mostly it was just something I did because it was there.”
Caitlyn nodded slowly, absorbing that. “You could’ve gone anywhere,” she said softly.
Vi snorted. “Yeah, well. Could’ve doesn’t pay rent.”
The dough came together under Vi’s hands, thick and glossy. Caitlyn handed her chocolate chips, and Vi dumped them in with a grin that felt dangerously close to old times.
They talked about work next. Caitlyn spoke about her job in clipped, careful sentences—long hours, constant pressure, cases that bled into weekends. About the expectations that came with her name, the unspoken assumption that she would always be composed, always capable.
“It’s exhausting,” she admitted quietly. “Feeling like if I slip even a little, it proves everyone right.”
Vi listened, still leaning against the counter with her muscled arms crossed. “You don’t seem like the slipping type.”
Caitlyn laughed softly. “You’d be surprised.”
When it was Vi’s turn, she talked about the shop, about cold mornings and busted engines, about customers who didn’t take her seriously until she proved she knew more than they did. About the satisfaction of fixing something with her hands, of knowing exactly what went wrong and how to make it right again.
“I like it,” Vi said simply. “Most days, anyway.”
Caitlyn smiled at that, warm and genuine. “You always did like fixing things.”
Their eyes met, something unspoken hanging between them.
By the time they scooped dough onto the tray, the kitchen was warm and smelled sweet, butter and sugar clinging to the air. Caitlyn slid the last cookie into place and wiped her hands together.
Vi picked up the tray, pausing. “Moment of truth.”
They shared a look, nervous, hopeful, and strangely intimate, and then Vi opened the oven and slid the tray inside. The door shut with a soft thunk. Neither of them moved for a second.
Then Caitlyn let out a breath she hadn’t realized she had been holding, and Vi laughed quietly, shaking her head.
“Well,” Vi said. “Whatever happens… at least we’re not eating charcoal this time.”
Caitlyn smiled, leaning back against the counter, feeling lighter than she had in days.
❆
They started with good intentions.
Caitlyn wiped down the counter while Vi gathered empty bags and bowls, the clink of glass and ceramic filling the comfortable quiet. Vi reached for the flour to put it away, but the bag tipped in her hands, sending a soft poof of white dust into the air.
Caitlyn blinked and looked down at the faint dusting on her sweater. Slowly, she looked up at Vi. “Did you just flour me?”
Vi froze, then grinned. “Maybe.”
Caitlyn gasped, scandalized, and before Vi could react, she dipped two fingers into the sugar bowl and flicked it at her. The granules caught in Vi’s hair and along her cheek.
“Oh, you’re dead,” Vi laughed, already scooping up a handful of flour.
“Vi—no—” Caitlyn yelped, backing away as flour rained down on her shoulder, her hair, the front of her sweater.
She squealed, genuinely squealed, darting around the kitchen island to retaliate, grabbing whatever was closest. Powdered sugar. Cinnamon. A rogue chocolate chip that bounced harmlessly off Vi’s chest. They were laughing too hard to aim properly, shrieking and ducking and chasing each other in a ridiculous, chaotic loop. Vi skidded slightly on the tile, Caitlyn dissolved into breathless laughter as she tried to retreat, only to get cornered by the fridge. Flour puffed into the air again, hanging between them like snow.
Eventually, they both ran out of steam.
They bent forward, hands braced on their knees, faces flushed red, hair a wild mess. Caitlyn’s laugh turned breathless and soft, her shoulders shaking as she tried to catch her breath.
“Oh my God,” she managed. “We’re going to be finding flour everywhere for weeks.”
“Worth it,” Vi said, still laughing, wiping at her face with the back of her sleeve.
Sunlight streamed in through the window, slanting low and golden, catching on the dust still floating in the air. It settled softly on Caitlyn, on the curve of her cheek, the line of her jaw, the way her lashes cast shadows under her eyes. There was flour smudged along her cheekbone, a faint white streak that stood out against her skin.
Vi’s laughter faded. She straightened slowly, something in her chest tightening. Without thinking, she reached out. Her thumb brushed Caitlyn’s cheek, gentle and warm. She wiped the flour away in a single, careful stroke.
Caitlyn stilled completely. The world seemed to narrow to the space between them. To the warmth of Vi’s hand, to the quiet hum of the oven behind them, to the way Caitlyn’s breath caught just slightly. Vi realized how close they were. Close enough to feel heat, close enough to count freckles.
Her hand lingered a second too long.
Both of them went rigid, awareness crashing in all at once. Caitlyn’s eyes flicked to Vi’s mouth, then back to her eyes. Vi swallowed, her thumb dropping away like she had been burned.
They just stood there.
Close enough to—
The front door slammed open.
“—and then he has the audacity to say—” Powder’s voice echoed through the apartment as she stomped in, coat half-off, boots thudding against the floor. “—like it’s my fault he forgot his notes—”
She stopped short in the doorway to the kitchen. Her eyes flicked between them. At the flour-covered counters. At the sugar dusting Caitlyn’s sweater. At Vi’s red face and frozen posture. At the unmistakable closeness they hadn’t quite untangled themselves from yet.
Powder slowly lowered her bag. “Did I miss something?” she asked.
Vi jerked back like a guilty teenager. “Nope.”
Caitlyn cleared her throat far too loudly. “We were just cleaning.”
Powder raised an eyebrow. One corner of her mouth twitched. “Uh-huh,” she said. “Sure you were.”
❆
The tree leaned a little to the left.
Vi had dragged it in earlier that morning, leaving a trail of pine needles across the floor, and now it stood in the corner of the living room. It was too tall, a little scraggly, smelling sharply of sap and winter. The lights were already wound through its branches, glowing soft gold, casting a warm haze over the room.
Music played from Vi’s old speaker, something slow and nostalgic, crackly around the edges. Powder padded back and forth between the kitchen and the living room, humming off-key as she worked, handing out mismatched ornaments and tinsel like she was distributing sacred relics.
“Hot chocolate’s almost ready,” she announced. “And no, Vi, I did not burn it this time.”
Vi scoffed. “Low bar.”
Caitlyn smiled quietly, holding a small glass ornament in her hands. The living room felt fuller than it had in a long time. Powder talking nonstop, Vi half-listening, the steady glow of the tree lights reflecting in the windows.
They fell into an easy rhythm again.
Powder insisted on hanging the most ridiculous ornaments first—plastic dinosaurs in Santa hats, a crooked paper snowflake Ekko had made years ago, a glitter-covered wrench Vi claimed was art.
Every other sentence from Powder somehow looped back to Ekko.
“He texted me this morning,” she said, stretching to hang a star-shaped ornament. “He says his professor moved the exam up. Which is criminal, by the way.”
Vi handed her another ornament. “You gonna help him study again?”
Powder grinned. “Obviously.”
Caitlyn caught the way Vi watched her sister, all proud, fond, and a little worried. She had seen that look before, years ago, but it felt sharper now, more earned.
Powder darted back into the kitchen, returning with three steaming mugs of hot chocolate. She shoved one into Caitlyn’s hands, marshmallows piled dangerously high.
“Careful,” Powder said. “It’s hot.”
“Thank you,” Caitlyn replied softly.
They stood there for a moment, sipping and decorating, the music swelling and dipping between songs. Caitlyn’s gaze drifted to the box of ornaments at her feet. They were old ones, clearly, some chipped or faded. She crouched, sifting through them absently. Her fingers closed around something familiar and she paused.
It was a small glass ornament shaped like a compass, the gold paint slightly worn at the edges. Caitlyn remembered holding it in a tiny shop senior year, convincing herself it wasn’t too sentimental. She remembered Vi pretending not to care and then hanging it immediately on her backpack zipper for weeks afterward.
Quietly, Caitlyn stood and crossed the room. She didn’t announce it. She didn’t comment. She just reached up and nestled the ornament into a higher branch, where the lights caught it just right. She turned and froze.
Vi was staring at her. Her eyes flicked to the ornament, then back to Caitlyn, something unspoken tightening in her expression.
Caitlyn swallowed.
For a second, it felt like the rest of the room fell away. The music faded into background noise. The words they should say pressed at the back of her throat—apologies, memories, truths that felt too fragile to name.
“I—” Caitlyn started.
Vi opened her mouth at the same time.
“I’ll clean up!” Powder announced brightly, already collecting empty mugs. “You two keep decorating. I’ve got it.”
She swept away toward the kitchen before either of them could protest, the clink of ceramic disappearing with her. Silence settled in her wake.
Caitlyn rubbed the back of her neck. “You kept it.”
Vi nodded. “Of course I did.”
The tree lights flickered softly between them.
Caitlyn turned back to the tree before the weight of the moment could settle too deeply. She reached for the nearest ornament, something glittery and vaguely star-shaped, and pretended it required her full attention, nudging it a few inches to the left, then back to the right, as if precision mattered. Anything to give her hands something to do. Anything to avoid the way Vi was still looking at her.
“So,” Caitlyn said lightly, breaking the silence with deliberate casualness. “Powder and Ekko.”
Vi blinked. “What?”
Caitlyn huffed a quiet laugh and finally looked over her shoulder. “Oh, come on. You can’t be serious.”
Vi straightened, eyes wide, posture stiff like she had just been accused of something criminal. “What about Powder and Ekko?”
Caitlyn shook her head, lips twitching. “Vi. It’s… painfully obvious.”
Vi stared at her like she had just started speaking another language. “No… No, it’s not…They’re just Powder and Ekko. They’ve always been like that.”
“Uh-huh,” Caitlyn said, thoroughly unconvinced. She adjusted the ornament again, then turned fully, leaning her shoulder against the tree. “She talks about him constantly. She lights up every time his name comes up. And the way she looks at him when she thinks no one’s paying attention?”
Vi’s mouth opened, closed, then opened again. “She does not.”
Caitlyn raised an eyebrow. “She does.”
Vi ran a hand through her hair, pacing half a step like the idea physically hurt. “He’s like family. He’s been around forever! And Powder’s just… Powder. She gets attached.”
“Vi,” Caitlyn said gently, but amused. “I’m a lawyer. Reading people is kind of my thing.”
Vi let out a strangled sound that was somewhere between a laugh and a groan. “No. Nope. Absolutely not. I refuse to accept this.”
Caitlyn laughed outright now, the sound filling the room. “You look like you’re about to have a stroke.”
Vi shot her a look. “This is not funny.”
“It is a little funny,” Caitlyn said, still smiling. “You’re her big sister. Of course you didn’t see it.”
Vi pressed her palms to her face for a second, then dragged them down slowly. “I need to sit down.”
Caitlyn laughed again, softer this time, watching her with fond amusement. “Relax. I’m not saying it’s a crisis. Just maybe don’t act surprised when it eventually hits you.”
Vi groaned, leaning back against the couch. “I’m never forgiving you for putting that thought in my head.”
Caitlyn smiled to herself, turning back to the tree. She was grateful, for now, for the easy deflection.
Eventually, the laughter faded into something quieter. She lingered near the tree, arms loosely crossed, her gaze drifting from ornament to ornament as if she were counting them. She took a breath, the kind she used before difficult conversations.
“So,” she said carefully. “About the dinner.”
Vi’s smile faltered almost instantly.
The warmth she had been carrying—the ease, the nostalgia, the almost—slipped from her shoulders as the words landed. She straightened, jaw tightening just a bit, like she had braced herself without realizing she needed to.
“Yeah,” Vi said. “Right. The… dinner.”
Caitlyn nodded, oblivious or pretending to be. “I’ve been thinking about outfits. I don’t want it to look too forced, but my mother will notice if we’re completely mismatched. And we should probably get our stories straight about how we met again, how long it’s been, what you do. She’ll ask.”
Vi nodded along, but her expression had gone distant, eyes dropping to the floor. She bit her lip, hard, the way she did when she was trying not to say something she’d regret. “Yeah,” she said again, quieter this time. “Makes sense.”
She had been having fun. That was the problem. For a moment, just a moment, she had forgotten about the deal. Forgotten the conditions and the edges and the part where this was supposed to be pretend.
Caitlyn watched her, something flickering across her face, but she pressed on anyway. “We can talk through it more later. I’ll write some things down. I just wanted to make sure we’re on the same page.”
Vi forced a small smile. “We are.”
Silence settled again, heavier this time.
Caitlyn glanced toward the door, then back at Vi. “I should probably head back. Jayce is cooking tonight, and if I’m late he’ll sulk about it for days.”
Vi snorted faintly. “Yeah, that checks out.”
They stood there, neither moving at first. Then Caitlyn reached for her coat. “I had fun,” she said, softly.
Vi nodded, swallowing. “Me too.”
The goodbye that followed was awkward in the way only almost-somethings could be. It was too careful, too restrained. There was no hug. No lingering touch. It was just a shared look that said more than either of them dared voice.
“Text me,” Caitlyn said, already halfway to the door.
“I will,” Vi replied.
Caitlyn stepped out into the cold, the door closing gently behind her. Vi stayed where she was, staring at the empty space she had left behind, the glow of the Christmas tree suddenly feeling a little too bright.