Falling Free

by Daydreamaholic

Summary:

"So..." Vi began. "Thank you again. For actually talking to me."

"I’d say this is thanks to a certain thief who stole my number, if I recall..."

"Fuck." Vi covered her face with both hands, dragging them down hard enough to pull at her cheeks, voice muffled. "Give me a break."
OR:

College life/Swimming AU:
Caitlyn Kiramman doesn't do messy. Vi Lanes is messy, infuriating, and the best swimmer Caitlyn's ever seen. Teaming up is a tactical move. Letting her see the cracks in the foundation? A catastrophic miscalculation.

Chapter 1: Habits

Notes:

Just occurred to me that Vi would be an amazing swimmer with that wide back—so this silly little chapter happened. I loooove Vi’s dorito back 😭🩷

The pool belonged to her at that hour.

6 a.m.—no coach, no teammates, just the hum of the filters and the faint tremor of water against tile. Caitlyn moved through the stillness like ritual: bag down in the same corner, towel folded twice, waterproof earbuds in. The world narrowed to soft music and the sharp scent of chlorine.

Here, everything made sense. The lines stayed straight, the clock ticked evenly. The water obeyed. There were no voices reminding her that time was running out—not her mother’s clipped advice, not her father’s polite silence, not the endless questions about what comes next. The future felt smaller in the water, finally something she could keep in place.

She stretched until her muscles felt ready. Goggles on, nose clip set. The first touch of water always shocked before it soothed.

Lap after lap, she cut through the lane with mechanical precision—every turn clean, every motion rehearsed. The rhythm steadied her thoughts; here, control was a language her body understood.

When her limbs began to burn, she let herself sink—slowly, deliberately—until her toes brushed the floor. She counted the seconds in her head. Forty-two. The same as yesterday. Still not forty-five. The music dulled until her pulse took over. Light fractured above her, shifting with every breath she refused to take.

It wasn’t just peace she wanted; it was proof. Proof she could hold on longer than anyone expected her to.

She closed her eyes. Her lungs screamed quietly, but she didn’t move. Somewhere above, the world went on without her—messages waiting, calls she hadn’t returned, her mother’s text unopened but already loud in her mind. When are you going to take things seriously, Caitlyn? A corner of her mouth lifted. She’d take things seriously later. For now, the only thing that mattered was forty-five.

 

Then the surface broke.

A sudden ripple tore through the light—heavy, thoughtless. Caitlyn’s eyes snapped open. Bubbles spiraled above her as a body plunged in, shattering the calm. She surfaced with a sharp inhale—only to find another ripple breaking beside her.

“Oh—shit.” Vi’s voice broke across the lane, low and startled. “Didn’t think anyone was here.”

Caitlyn pulled up her goggles, blinking the water from her lashes, her pulse still unsettled from the dive.

“Most aren’t,” she said, her tone clipped. “It’s quite early.”

Vi wiped her face with the back of her hand. “Guess we’re both insane, huh?”

She pushed her hair back, unbothered. Water slid down the curve of her shoulders as she leaned against the edge, elbows hooked over the tiles—all quiet ease, as if she hadn’t just shattered someone else’s silence. She looked at home in a place Caitlyn had made sacred.

“Don’t mind me,” Vi added. “I’ll stay out of your way.”

Caitlyn wanted to tell her that solitude wasn’t something you could share, that it only worked when it was hers alone. Instead, she lifted her chin slightly, voice even but edged. “You’re supposed to wear a cap in the lanes. It keeps the filters from clogging.”

Vi paused, then shrugged. “Didn’t bring one.”

Caitlyn rolled her eyes, pushing herself up onto the edge of the pool. Droplets slipped down her arms as she reached for her towel. Her stillness was gone. No point in pretending otherwise.

“Hey,” Vi called after her, still drifting near the divider. “You don’t have to leave. We both need to train anyway.”

Caitlyn twisted the water from her hair, saying nothing.

Vi’s tone softened, quieter now. “C’mon. One warm-up set. Promise I’ll even let you set the pace.”

That earned her a look—sharp and dry. Caitlyn wasn’t sure if it was irritation or something else that made her pulse flicker.

“Afraid I’ll embarrass you?”

Caitlyn hesitated, fingers tightening around the towel. She couldn’t stand the confidence in Vi’s tone—worse because it wasn’t entirely undeserved. She could still feel it—that faint pull beneath her skin—and it unsettled her more than she’d admit.

Vi’s mouth twitched. “So I’ll take your silence as a yes?”

She didn’t bother answering; the towel hit the bench, gear already back in place.

“Two laps. That's it.”

Vi blinked, caught off guard, then straightened.“Didn’t think you’d actually—”

"Now."

Caitlyn dove cleanly into the lane beside her.

The water closed over her like glass. Her strokes lost their earlier calm, sharpened by the pulse in her chest. For the first few lengths, Vi kept alongside her. Whenever Caitlyn breathed, that flicker of pink hair appeared in the corner of her vision—matching her pace, daring her to go faster.

Caitlyn adjusted, tightening her form, but Vi matched her perfectly, an echo too precise to ignore. The longer it went, the clearer it became—Vi wasn’t training; she was toying.

Caitlyn’s pulse climbed. She pushed harder, water slicing over her skin. The sound of their strokes merged into one rhythm, too close and loud.

Then, on the final turn, Vi broke from her. She surged off the wall with a sharp, perfect kick that tore through the lane’s calm. Her body cut the water like a blade, no hesitation, no restraint.

Caitlyn chased, arms burning, but the distance stretched. Vi touched the wall first, hard enough to make the tiles ring.

She twisted in the water, slick hair clinging to her temples, a faint grin breaking through her ragged breath. “Guess I can still keep up with the Piltover favorite.”

Caitlyn surfaced a second later, jaw tight, chest rising too fast. She wanted to correct her—outpace, not keep up—but the words stayed locked behind her teeth.

Vi’s grin eased into something quieter. “Not bad, though.”

Caitlyn’s lips pressed into a thin line. Her body ached, not from the swim but from effort wasted—she’d clung to control, and somehow Vi had made it look like a play. The realization bit deeper than she’d like to admit. She needed to get out before it showed.

She pivoted toward the ladder and climbed out, her body heavy now, cooling fast against the air. Vi’s gaze followed her—that lazy kind of attention that made her skin prickle.

“It’s just training,” Vi said, voice carrying easily across the water. “You don’t have to rush off.”

Caitlyn dried her face carefully, pretending the burn in her eyes came from chlorine. “I’m not—I just have class soon, and I’d rather not show up dripping.” She packed her things quickly, the zipper snagging twice before it gave.

“Right,” Vi said lightly. “Wouldn’t want to ruin the reputation.”

“Excuse me?”

“Nothing.” Vi rested her chin on her crossed arms at the divider. “Thought maybe you’d want a rematch tomorrow.”

Caitlyn straightened, forcing a calm she didn’t feel. “Some of us have schedules,” she said, slipping the strap over her shoulder. “I don’t plan my life around morning laps.”

Vi hummed, unbothered. “Didn’t say you had to. Just thought most people don’t walk away from a tie.”

“Clearly, it wasn’t a tie.”

“Exactly,” Vi said, grin tugging at her mouth. “So—same time tomorrow?”

Caitlyn stopped mid-step. Same time tomorrow. The nerve. As if she’d rearrange her routine for her. Absolutely not. She’d had her fill of distractions.

But the sound of Vi’s voice—so smug—rubbed at her ego in all the wrong ways.

She angled her head just enough to meet her gaze. “If you insist.”

“Good,” Vi said, amused. “Hope your schedule’s clearer tomorrow.”

Caitlyn nodded once, tight and final, then headed for the showers. The sound of her steps was crisp—each one an argument she refused to have.

---

The cafeteria buzzed with conversation and the clatter of trays—noise folding over itself in steady waves. Laptops hummed beneath the fluorescent lights, and every scrape of a chair echoed louder than it should have. Sunlight slanted through the tall windows in pale rectangles, turning floating dust into a slow drift.

Caitlyn preferred the window seats—furthest from the chaos, where she could watch the crowd move like a current: clusters forming, splitting, reforming, all without rhythm. It made her think of the water sometimes—except no one here cared about form.

 

Across from her, Maddie typed like a person fending off time itself. Her half-eaten sandwich leaned precariously over the edge of its wrapper, a streak of sauce drying across the bread.

“Tell me again,” Maddie said without looking up, “why we didn’t pick the easy elective?”

“Because you said you wanted to challenge yourself,” Caitlyn murmured, flipping through her notes.

“I say a lot of stupid things before coffee.” Maddie took a gulp of hers, grimaced, and pushed the cup away. “This is an act of cruelty.”

Caitlyn smiled faintly, more at the complaint than the joke. She’d barely touched her salad—the lettuce wilting, the dressing pooling like oil in one corner. They’d been at it for an hour, eating only when their brains hit a wall.

The sound of keys slowed. Maddie leaned back in her chair, stretching. “Break time. My neurons are staging a walkout.”

Caitlyn set her fork down. “You said that twenty minutes ago.”

“I did. But this time I mean it.” Maddie tore what was left of her sandwich in half and shoved one piece toward Caitlyn. “Eat something. You’re going to disappear on me.”

Caitlyn rolled her eyes but took a bite anyway, chewing absently. She reached up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear, only to feel the snag—a small knot, rough between her fingers. She pulled gently, and a few strands came loose, dark against her skin. She swept them quickly under the table, hiding them with the napkin.

Her heart gave a small, traitorous kick.

 

She knew this too well. Her body had always spoken first when the pressure rose—the tension headaches, the sleepless nights, the way things started to slip. It had happened before, back when grades decided her worth. She’d cracked under it once, then learned how not to—how to outpace the fear by planning faster and neater.

High school, after that, had been simple. Predictable. Something she could master through sheer precision. But college was different. The rules shifted every week; effort didn’t always equal reward. And no amount of discipline could prepare her for the quiet dread of realizing that.

Her gaze drifted over the room, a sea of people. Everyone here carried something heavy; she wasn’t naive enough to think otherwise. Her own struggle felt small by comparison, cushioned by comfort, by privilege she’d been taught not to mention.

Still, envy had a way of finding its mark.

Across the room, a bright streak of pink caught her attention. Vi sat with a few teammates from the swim division, her laugh wide and careless, posture unconcerned. She looked as if belonging came naturally to her, as if the world bent just enough to make space. Caitlyn’s chest tightened, sharp and quiet.

“Are you even listening?” Maddie asked, leaning forward on her elbows.

Caitlyn blinked, pulled abruptly back from where her thoughts had drifted. Maddie’s face came into focus—raised brows, half a smile, the kind of scrutiny that always made Caitlyn feel transparent.

“Sorry,” Caitlyn said, reaching for the napkin. She scrunched it in her hand, then slipped it into her back pocket. “What did you say?”

Maddie hummed, her short, sunlit hair shifting with the shake of her head. “You’re really distracted, Cait. What’s going on?”

“It’s nothing.” She waved it off, eyes already dropping back to her food.

“Right,” Maddie said, dragging the word. “And I’m majoring in astrophysics.”

“It’s just college and… someone.”

That earned Maddie’s full attention. “Oh? Someone like someone?”

“No,” Caitlyn said too quickly. “Not like that.” She shifted in her chair, regretting the words already. “The new girl. From Zaun.”

“Oh, yeah, I’ve seen her around. What about her?”

“My team’s been training with the Zaun division for a few months now,” she started, keeping her voice low. “And that girl—Violet—she’s… good.” The word came out thinner than she meant, because confessing it felt like conceding ground. “Too good.”

Maddie tilted her head. “Define too good.”

“She’s been getting a lot of attention from the coaches lately. And… it feels like I’ve fallen behind.”

Maddie scoffed, leaning back in her chair. “Please. They probably just like the idea of charity—makes this place look good.” She waved her hand dismissively. “Not everything’s a crisis, Cait.”

Caitlyn didn’t answer right away. Maddie’s words should’ve comforted her, but they didn’t. Something in the way she said charity sat wrong.

Vi wasn’t some goodwill project. She’d earned the attention—steady, deserved. Even in the few sessions they’d shared, Caitlyn had seen it: power held in check, a drive that didn’t need refining. The kind coaches remembered. The kind that could steal the spotlight when the championships came.

“Still—she’s a natural. Wouldn’t shock me if she gets picked over me next season.”

Maddie huffed, unimpressed. “Relax. You always peak when it counts. Let her have her moment now.”

Caitlyn smiled—at the irony. Maddie spoke as if balance and composure were things anyone could just decide to have. As if Caitlyn hadn’t spent years building hers, stroke by stroke.

“Yeah,” she murmured. “Maybe.”

She pulled her notebook closer, eyes on the page she’d left half-finished.

Maddie caught the cue and turned back to her screen. “Guess break’s over,” she said with a faint smile.

Caitlyn’s pen hovered for a moment, then found its way back to the lines. Routine always did.

---

The dorm was too quiet when she opened the door.

The lock clicked behind her, sealing off the corridor noise. The air smelled faintly of linen spray and paper—sterile, like everything her parents paid for. Her bag slid from her shoulder, landing with a dull thud.

She didn’t bother with the lights. The window let in a thin wash of campus glow—enough to outline the desk, the unmade bed, the empty mug by the lamp. A single dorm. Her parents had called it a space to focus, but Caitlyn knew better: a leash disguised as independence.

She tossed her jacket over the chair and opened her laptop. The screen lit the room in cold blue, the cursor blinking in a half-done presentation. She scrolled, skimmed, highlighted. The words slid past without meaning. Another tab. Then another. Notes piling over notes, blurring into noise.

 

Eventually, her focus gave. She reached for her phone. A few unread messages. Group-chat chatter she didn’t care to open. And then three missed calls from her mother, two days old. The sight stopped her cold.

Guilt came in small waves—steady, familiar. She’d never gone this long without calling home. Even now, nearly twenty, she still felt that childish tug—the one that made silence feel like defiance.

She stared until the glow dimmed and her reflection surfaced in the dark glass: drawn eyes, a tight mouth. A shallow breath slipped out. She turned the phone over, pressing it flat against the desk, as if the gesture alone could quiet the weight of it.

 

She pushed the chair back and went to the bathroom. The light flared on, too bright, and she blinked through it. One by one, she peeled off the day.

As she unclasped her bra, the mirror caught her. She paused, unwilling to meet her own eyes and yet unable to look away.

Her gaze drifted upward first, dark smudges slipping past the concealer, cheekbones drawn high and sharp. Then lower, tracing the slope of her collarbone to the faint shadow of ribs beneath her skin. She turned slightly, the light catching on the jut of her hipbones, the thin line of her waist. Her back muscles barely showed; she flexed an arm, hard, but the shape refused to change.

 

How was she supposed to keep up like this?

 

She knew the answer—meals skipped, strength work postponed, her body running on half its fuel. Maybe she was burning out. Maybe she’d let it happen. Her teammates never looked this worn. Even Vi—rough-edged, from a place that wasn’t meant to breed champions—had a frame built for the water: broad shoulders, narrow waist, muscle carved from purpose. A body made to win. Caitlyn’s felt engineered for restraint.

She tore her gaze away and twisted the faucet. Steam rose, swallowing the mirror in seconds. The heat stung, but the comparison clung tighter. She scrubbed, shaved out of habit, fingers skimming over skin too smooth. When she worked shampoo through her hair, she kept her eyes shut. She didn’t want to watch the stray strands slide down the drain.

 

Afterward, she towel-dried quickly and pulled on the first shirt within reach. The bed was waiting—messy but merciful. She dropped onto it, the dark swallowing her again. Her mind, stubborn as always, began cataloging the week ahead: papers, readings, training schedules. Her stomach growled. She ignored it.

She drew the covers close, as if that could muffle thought. When the noise in her head refused to fade, she reached for the drawer, fingers tracing the familiar shape of the blister pack until they found the hollowed corner—the part she always started from. Two left in that row. She pressed them free and swallowed dry. The taste lingered, bitter and chalky. A groan slipped out—relief and defeat in equal measures.

She slid the pack back inside and shut the drawer too fast. The phone, balanced at the edge, slipped and hit the carpet with a muffled sound. Caitlyn bent to pick it up, the screen flaring to life.

She opened the clock app, the list of alarms already waiting—lined like sentries, same as every night. Her thumb hovered over the last one: 5:30 a.m. The one she’d set that morning. For peace. For control.

She hesitated. Would Vi even bother showing up? Would she care enough to?

Caitlyn huffed, a quiet sound that could’ve been a laugh or a sigh. Then she tapped the alarm on.

Fuck it.
Vi or not, she’d be there.

Chapter 2: Possibly Maybe?

The alarm went off at 5:30 sharp.

 

Caitlyn didn’t hesitate. Habit moved before thought: hand out, phone silenced, breath drawn slow to chase the fog from her head. The room was still half-dark, curtains breathing with the draft from the window.

She sat up, spine straight, waiting for her pulse to catch up to the hour.

Routine made the morning tolerable.

She showered quickly, skin prickling beneath the chill, then stood before the mirror and began the small acts of order. Waterproof mascara—two coats, precise. Concealer. A thin coat of nude lipstick, not vanity but defense. Hair pulled back tight, each strand tucked until it obeyed. The reflection that met her was clean, steady. Controlled.

 

By six, she was dressed and out the door, duffel slung over her shoulder. The campus paths were empty except for sprinklers and the first wash of light against the glass buildings. The air smelled faintly of bleach before she even reached the pool.

She’d meant to arrive early, to reclaim the silence that had been hers.

But when she pushed open the door, she stopped short.

Vi was already there.

She sat cross-legged on the bench, duffel unzipped and spilling chaos: towel, goggles, a thermos with the cap unscrewed and used as a cup. A plastic container of scrambled eggs rested on her lap. The steam curled into the cold air.

“Morning,” Vi said through a mouthful.

Caitlyn blinked, masking surprise with composure. “Didn’t expect you to be here this soon.”

“Couldn’t sleep,” Vi said, raising the cup for another sip. “Figured I’d make the most of it.”

Caitlyn nodded, clipped but civil, and crossed to the opposite side of the bench. Her own bag landed with the soft precision of someone who always packed the same way. She sat and began unlacing her shoes, setting them neatly aside.

“Did you have breakfast?” Vi asked after a beat.

“No,” Caitlyn said. “Too early for food. It makes me feel heavy in morning sessions.”

Vi paused mid-bite. “You swim on nothing?”

“It’s efficient.”

Vi chuckled, shaking her head. “That’s insane.” She forked another bite, bigger this time, her cheek puffed. “If you change your mind, I’ve got enough for two.”

“No, thank you.”

She kept her tone even, eyes on her bag. But the smell—warm and buttery—hit hard enough to twist her stomach, a low ache curling there. She wouldn’t take food from someone else’s fork, but her mouth still watered anyway. She pretended to check her bag, anything to occupy her hands.

When she looked up again, Vi was already watching. Without comment, she pulled out a protein bar and held it toward her.

“Here. It’s a bit old, but it’ll do the job.”

Caitlyn stared at it for a moment, jaw set. Her pride wavered against the growl in her belly. Then she exhaled, stood, and crossed the small gap between them. The bar changed hands.

“Thanks,” she said quietly.

“Anytime.”

Caitlyn sat again, closer this time. She tore the wrapper open and took a bite too quick, which made Vi’s brow rise in amusement.

“I’ve got more if you want,”

“I’m fine.”

“Sure you are.” Vi smirked. “I’m only saying—I don’t want to win again because you came unprepared.”

Caitlyn huffed. Her composure cracked, if only slightly. “I’m not unprepared. I didn’t expect a full breakfast buffet poolside.”

Vi’s laugh echoed softly off the tiles. “Fair enough.”

 

When they finished, the mood shifted—a calm readiness settling in. Caitlyn stood, stretching her legs, slow and measured. Her muscles warmed, stiffness giving way.

From time to time, she glanced toward the other side.

Vi had tossed her hoodie aside, left in sweatpants and a black swimsuit that clung tightly to warm skin. The ink along her arms caught the light as she moved, the shapes snaking upward to her shoulder blades and slipping under the fabric of her back. The pattern wasn’t delicate—intricate instead, sharp where it curved. Caitlyn found herself tracing the lines in her mind, wondering how far they went before the suit hid them from view.

When Vi turned around, her freckled cheeks were flushed from the warm-up, hair pulled loose at the nape.

“Are you done warming up?”

Caitlyn straightened, smoothing her tone back to even. “I’m ready.”

“Good.” Vi rummaged through her bag and pulled out a swim cap, holding it up proudly. “Brought one this time.”

Caitlyn’s poise cracked into a quiet chuckle. “How responsible of you.”

She peeled off her own layers—leggings, fitted top, the minimalist gear of someone who liked sleek over showy. Together they stepped toward the pool. Caitlyn slipped in first, Vi following with a low splash.

They braced against the wall, shoulder to shoulder. Vi’s voice cut through the echoing water.

“Let's make it four laps this time.”

Caitlyn nodded, foot pressing against the tile, body coiled.

Vi counted down.

They launched forward.

Caitlyn went deep on the first push, body arrow-straight, arms slicing through the water. She kicked in a steady rhythm—her mind locked on form, not speed. She wouldn’t let yesterday repeat itself.

Stroke after stroke, the world narrowed to sound and motion—the churn of water, the drag at her arms and thighs, the pulse counting seconds in her ears. Vi stayed close, matching her time.

She pushed harder, teeth gritted against the burn, forcing her body to remember the rhythm—count, turn, reach, breathe. No panic this time. No waste.

They hit the final turn almost together. Caitlyn’s focus sharpened to a single line ahead. She pivoted tighter, legs pushing clean from the wall. For a few heartbeats, she couldn’t tell who led. Then the pressure broke—the wall met her palm.

She surfaced, panting, water slick over her face. Vi came up just after, close enough for the ripples to collide between them. She pulled her goggles off, breath still heaving. Her eyes were rimmed red from the chlorine, silver cutting through the haze—bright and unguarded.

“Damn,“ Vi said, catching herself on the edge. “You could’ve let me have that one.”

“Sorry.” Caitlyn’s lips curved, still fighting to sound composed. “Beginner’s luck ends today.”

Vi scoffed, then flicked water at her.

Caitlyn sputtered, half a laugh breaking out in disbelief. “Really?”

“Really.” Vi splashed again, full-handed this time.

The water hit her square in the face. Caitlyn gasped, offended but laughing despite herself, and retaliated—sharp, efficient strokes that sent a small wave over Vi’s head.

Vi laughed harder. The sound filled the empty pool, too big for the hour.

“Quit it!” Caitlyn managed, turning away—though a smile had already betrayed her.

Vi stopped. “Truce?”

“Truce.”

 

They rested at the edge, breath slowing.

“Another round?” Vi asked. “Chest, maybe?”

Caitlyn looked over, the corner of her mouth tightening. She knew exactly why Vi picked that stroke—because she excelled at it, because she wanted her win back. Typical. As if she’d ever let anyone bait her twice.

“I think we’ve both had enough,” she said, tone even. 

Vi clicked her tongue. “Didn’t peg you for the type to quit while you’re ahead.”

“Don’t assume, Violet. I just prefer to finish on my own.”

That earned her a sigh. Vi let it drop, pushing away from the edge.

 

They fell into their own routines after that, the rhythm quieter now.

When Caitlyn finally stopped to rest, she noticed the light—thin lines of it slipping through the narrow windows at the top of the far wall. Her gut turned. She’d gotten carried away, too long underwater, too far from the clock.

She pushed out of the pool, breath uneven, and went for her bag. Her fingers found the phone, the lock-screen glare catching on her stinging eyes. Still on time. Barely. Enough to wrap it up and get ready for class.

She sat back, forcing her movements into order again—gear off, everything sealed neatly into its plastic bag.

Vi surfaced a moment later, hauling herself onto the deck. She pulled off her cap, shook out her hair, and dried off in lazy motions—towel, sweat pants, sneakers back in place.

Halfway to the door, she slowed, glancing toward Caitlyn as if remembering something at the last second.

“Hey—can I ask you something?”

Caitlyn looked up. “What is it?”

“Still trying to get my bearings with this program thing. Not sure when we’re supposed to share lanes or if I’m already screwing up the schedule.”

Caitlyn frowned, reaching for her towel again. “You don’t have it sorted yet?”

Vi shrugged. “Not really. Figured I’d check before I mess up a slot or something.”

“That’s something to figure out the first week,” Caitlyn said. “Ask your coach. She’ll know.”

“Yeah, I just wanted to compare—mind if I take a quick look at yours?”

The question made Caitlyn pause. Harmless, but something in her bristled anyway. Still, she unlocked her phone, scrolled through her gallery, and found the screenshot of her schedule before handing it over. She turned away, patting herself dry.

Behind her, Vi’s thumbs moved quick—soft taps, a short pause, a swipe or two. Then the sound stopped.

“Thanks,” Vi said, handing the phone back. “That helps.”

“Of course.” Caitlyn said, tucking it away.

A small smile found its way to Vi’s face as she slung her bag across her chest. “See you around.”

Caitlyn nodded, gathering her things as Vi walked away.

---

Later that day, the sun dipped low over the campus lawns, washing the walkways in amber light. Leaves stirred overhead as she passed beneath the trees, their shadows striping the path in uneven bands. Students lingered on the grass, laughter and smoke trailing behind her as she walked faster, cutting through the sound toward the athletic complex.

By the time she reached the building, the meeting room was half full. Two coaches at the front. Greyson spoke with the smooth certainty of a seasoned diplomat, voice carrying without strain. Sevika said little, her presence enough—broad stance, chin lifted, attention cutting through the crowd.

Caitlyn stepped in quietly, offering an apologetic look to both women. Greyson’s gaze softened—acknowledgment without indulgence. She slipped into a seat between two teammates, lowering herself with care. The fabric of her skirt brushed against her thighs, and the realization hit—she hadn’t even changed into her training gear. She bit her lip. Again—unprepared and late.

 

“Alright,” Greyson continued. “Now that the pilot is officially complete, the Zaun Athletic Program will now share our facilities—training space, recovery centers, and coaching support. It’s the first partnership of its kind.”

Across the room, the Zaun swimmers leaned together in half-whispers. Vi sat near the back, slouched in her chair—one knee bent, chin on her fist, a faint spark of boredom playing at her frown.

Sevika stepped forward. “Make the most of it,” she said simply. “You’re the first to prove this works. Zaun doesn’t waste opportunities.”

Her voice carried no excess, but her team straightened as if it had been a battle cry.

Caitlyn’s phone buzzed once—quiet, insistent. She glanced down.

 

「Ur coach looks constipated.

That bc we’re sharing more than water bottles now?」

 

Her thumb froze. Then she lifted her gaze—Vi, again, one brow raised, as if she’d said it out loud. Caitlyn typed fast.

 

「How on earth did you get my number?」

 

 

「Not hard to get lol. Everyone here has it.」

 

Caitlyn pressed her lips together. Of course they had it—she never minded sharing it. They were teammates, friends, people she actually liked. But Vi wasn’t one of them.

The intrusion made her jaw tighten. The thought of blocking her right away flickered through her mind, but that would’ve felt like conceding something she hadn’t agreed to lose.

Greyson’s voice drew her back. “Top timings this term go to Caitlyn Kiramman, followed by Melanie Ward and Tessa Rowe.”

A round of applause rippled through the row. A hand brushed her shoulder in passing, a quiet good job following after. Warmth crept up her ears, and she hid it behind a polite smile. The recognition felt almost delicious—earned, exactly as it should be.

“Zaun’s division—Violet,” Sevika called, voice steady. “Then Ava and Mara. Well done.”

The response was louder this time, whoops and cheers echoing off the walls. Vi lifted a hand in acknowledgment, grinning, and Caitlyn caught the edge of her smirk across the room. So annoying.

The noise filled the hall for a moment, before quiet settled back over the room.

Greyson cleared her throat. “Next term, both divisions will compete in the intercollegiate championship. We’ll merge select athletes from both teams into one roster. It’s a chance to represent both cities—together.”

Caitlyn’s pulse quickened. A merged team meant new pairings, new benchmarks. She mapped the fix: earlier mornings, stricter meals, longer sessions. Maybe even call her mother—have deliveries arranged, plans adjusted. Trim the wasted minutes, steal back seconds in the water.

A buzz again.

 

「Let's team up.」

 

「What?」

「We’ve got the best marks.

   Makes sense, right?」

 

She hesitated. Her mind flickered with calculation more than feeling. Maybe this was something she could use—training with Vi meant access to a different style, maybe even an advantage. If she played it right.

Her gaze drifted toward the coaches as she weighed it, turning the idea over like a coin between fingers. The thought lingered, dulling as the minutes stretched. Her thumb worried at the edge of her phone, the screen dimming and brightening again.

Greyson dismissed the teams soon after. Chairs scraped, chatter rose. Caitlyn slipped her phone into her pocket with quiet finality and fell into step with a few girls on their way out, nodding politely at their small talk about the upcoming season.

 

As the room emptied, Sevika’s voice cut through the noise, calling her team to the pool for evaluation laps.

Vi checked her messages again—no reply. But Caitlyn’s profile picture was visible now. She tapped it once: Caitlyn lying back on what looked like white sheets, half-turned toward the camera, the light catching on her hair and the edge of a small gold earring. Not posed, but not careless either.

So she’d saved her number. Maybe her silence wasn’t a no—just not yet.

---

Vi shrugged into her jacket, the fabric clinging like a second skin against her back. Her muscles still thrummed from the drills—speed intervals until her hips locked, Sevika pacing the deck with that look that said again.

She knew she could hold her own, but that woman always found something to needle.

“You strain after 4k yards. You need range, Lanes—flexibility.”

Flexibility. Right. Maybe next she’d be told to start ballet.

Mylo’s voice cut through her thoughts as the guys fell into step beside her.

“Flexibility, huh? Pretty sure that’s coach-speak for ‘you suck at yoga.’”

Vi huffed a laugh. “If she makes me start stretching classes, I’m out.”

Claggor elbowed her. “She might, if it means peace and quiet.”

“Over my dead body.”

 

The walk back to the dorms felt heavy. The three of them moved slowly—spent and wired.

Vi unlocked the door and nudged it open with her hip. The room split itself in two—the neat half and hers. Her side was a wreck in the comforting way: notebooks stacked out of order but never lost, bottles and gear tucked where she’d remember, laundry piled in a corner that somehow made sense to her.

“Home sweet home,” Mylo said, immediately throwing himself on her bed. The frame groaned. He reached for a bag of chips off her desk without asking.

Claggor set his bag down and pulled out a pair of dumbbells from under Vi’s bed. “You in for a set?”

“Bet,” Vi said, grabbing her own pair of weights. “We’ve got time.”

Music burst from a small bullet speaker—Mylo’s doing. A loud tune filling the cramped space.

“Hey, Vi,” he turned sideways. “Found something that might actually help you with that whole ‘range’ thing.”

Vi glanced over mid-curl. “If it’s something dumb, save it.”

He ignored her, tilting his cracked phone so Claggor could see. Onscreen, a young yoga instructor in a unitard bent like she was made of rubber. “See? Inspirational.”

Claggor barked a laugh. “Yeah, real educational, huh?”

“Hey, this is for research,” Mylo said, unbothered. “And, uh—damn, how’s she even getting her leg up that far?”

Claggor shook his head. “Pretty sure that’s not what the coach meant.”

“Guys, if I start showing up in leggings, shoot me.” 

“You’d pull them off,” Mylo said with a low whistle. “Might even start a trend.”

Vi grabbed a towel from the chair and threw it at his face. “Shut up.”

He dodged, laughing, and kicked his sock toward her instead. It landed near her foot, muggy and horrifying.

“God, put that thing away!” 

“Ugh, you’re all uptight now,” he said, flopping backward dramatically. “We need a break. Let’s go out this weekend—I need a drink.”

“Can’t,” Vi said. “Got a shift.”

“Again?” Claggor asked.

“Yup.” Vi popped the word. “Scholarship doesn’t cover enough, so I’ve gotta pick up more hours.”

Mylo groaned, raking a hand through his wild hair. “You pour drinks all weekend and don’t even get to have one? That’s criminal.”

Vi snorted. “Yeah, tragic, right?”

He shrugged. “Could be worse. You could be broke and sober.”

“Newsflash,” Claggor said. “We are.”

“Exactly.” Mylo exhaled.

The joke soured a little as the truth sank in. Claggor leaned back, wiping his forehead with the hem of his shirt.

“Guess we’re all just grinding to stay afloat, huh?” His tone was light, but his eyes held that quiet understanding of a shared struggle.

Vi met his gaze and nodded once. No need to say it—they all knew what it felt like.

The beat rolled on, heavy and aimless, filling the space they’d left behind.

The door swung open mid-playlist.

Vi froze halfway through a rep.

Her roommate stood in the doorway, eyes narrowing, voice edged with disbelief. “Again? It’s a weeknight, for God's sake.”

Vi dropped the dumbbell to her side, killing the speaker. “Didn’t think you were on patrol duty this early.”

“Yeah, well—surprise.” She set her backpack down by the door and looked over her shoulder, eyeing the boys like stray dogs in her kitchen. “Out,” she said flatly, holding it open.

Claggor moved first, hands raised in mock surrender. “Sorry, ma’am.”

Vi clasped his hand, shoulders brushing. “See you tomorrow.”

Mylo lagged behind, grin plastered on. “My apologies, pretty la—”

“Ew. Bye,” the girl snapped before he could finish.

He blinked, offended, muttering under his breath as he slipped out.

The door clicked shut behind them.

The girl sighed and walked over to her chest drawer, pulling out her shower kit—pajamas folded over one arm, bottles clinking softly. “You’ve gotta stop bringing those guys in here. And this mess—” she waved a hand vaguely at the scattered gear, “—there’s a gym for a reason.”

Vi bent to scoop her weights under the bed. “Gym’s closed. You want me to deadlift by the vending machine?”

“Figure it out,” the girl called, vanishing into the bathroom. A beat later, the water started running.

“And open the window!” she shouted over the noise. “It reeks in here!”

Vi rubbed a hand over her face, muffling a low groan. The window creaked open, a thin breeze spilling in. She sat on the edge of her bed, suddenly aware of how quiet the room was—how empty it felt without the noise of the others.

She reached for her phone, opening the group chat. Another warm welcome from my favorite roommate, she typed. Mylo’s reply came fast—she's a B I T C H—and the laugh that left her didn’t quite fill the space.

Then another bubble caught her eye: one unread message.

Caitlyn.

Vi opened it.

 

「Not a bad idea.

We could make a training plan.

Did you see any overlap with your schedule?」

 

Her stomach twisted. She didn’t actually have Caitlyn’s schedule—she’d only pretended to check it, long enough to grab her number. Admitting that now would sound way too creepy. “Team up” had just sounded good in the moment; the whole actually-planning-something part hadn’t crossed her mind until now.

She typed, thumb hovering just long enough to hesitate before hitting send.

 

「What if u text me ur slots to see:)」

 

The read receipt popped up almost immediately.

A beat. Then—her phone started ringing.

Vi blinked. “Oh, fuck.” She nearly dropped the phone trying to swipe up, her palm slick with sweat. “Hey.”

“Hi.” Caitlyn’s voice came soft, thin around the edges—like the kind of tired that didn’t come from training. “Sorry to call. I just figured this would be easier than texting back and forth.”

“Yeah, yeah, no worries,” Vi said, impulsively sitting straighter. “Totally fine.”

“So I checked, and I don’t really have any slots open this week,” Caitlyn said, her words slower, edged with that hint of sleep. “Group project deadlines. But we could figure something out on Friday. Maybe lunch? If you’re not busy.”

Vi ran a hand over the back of her neck. Friday was usually sacred—her one day to breathe before the bar shift. And eating out wasn’t exactly in her budget—hell, eating in barely was. But Caitlyn didn’t need to know that. She could make it work. Somehow.

“Yeah. Works for me.”

“Alright.”

There was a pause—a faint yawn muffled into her sleeve. Something in Vi’s chest went taut.

When Caitlyn spoke again, her voice had dropped a note, almost a whisper.
“Oh—and thanks again for the bar this morning. It really helped.”

Vi smiled, unguarded this time. “Sure.”

The call ended.

Vi sat there, staring at the screen like it might say something else. She set it down on her lap and leaned back, head sinking into the pillow. The quiet felt different now—less heavy, almost expectant.

Friday flickered through her mind. What would Caitlyn want to eat? What she was like outside the pool—if she ever let that perfect calm slip. The thought made Vi smile before she realized it, and it refused to fade.

She’d probably annoyed Caitlyn more times than she could count, but something about her—steady, composed, impossible to read—kept pulling Vi in. Admiration, that’s what it was. At least, that’s what she told herself.

Ridiculous—and light.

Notes:

This is exactly what I pictured while writing the swim session

Chapter 3: Otherwise

Notes:

Idk how to cut scenes but anyway. Thanks for the kudos. 😭💓💓💓💓💓

She arrived fifteen minutes early.

The corner booth by the window was empty, as she'd hoped. She slid in, set her bag beside her, and pulled out her tablet. The screen glowed to life, revealing the color-coded schedule she'd spent an hour perfecting the night before. Green for team practices. Blue for solo sessions. Yellow for classes. Red for everything else.

She opened a new document and began typing: Training Plan - Kiramman/Lanes.

The cursor blinked.

Her finger hovered over the keys, then retreated. She should wait for Vi. This was supposed to be collaborative, even if every instinct told her to have it finished before the other girl arrived.

The door chimed. Caitlyn looked up.

Vi walked in wearing a faded zip-up hoodie and jeans that had seen better days, hair still damp from what must've been a morning shower. She scanned the room, found Caitlyn, and her expression shifted—something between relief and surprise, as if she hadn't quite believed this was real.

"Hey," Vi said, sliding into the opposite side of the booth. She shrugged off her jacket, revealing a fitted tank top beneath. "Sorry. Got held up on something."

"It's fine. I just got here."

A lie. But a polite one.

Vi's gaze dropped to the tablet, the neat rows of color already filling the screen. Her eyebrows lifted. "Did you... make a presentation?"

"I prepare. It saves time."

"Yeah, I'm getting that." Vi leaned back, a grin tugging at her mouth. "Should I have brought a notebook? Feels like I'm underdressed for this meeting."

Caitlyn's lips pressed together, fighting a smile. "You're fine."

A server approached—pen already poised. "What can I get you?"

"Turkey club, extra bacon. Side of fries. And sparkling water," Vi said.

The server scribbled, then turned to Caitlyn.

"Just black tea—splash of milk, no sugar. And the almond croissant."

Vi's eyes flicked to her, something unreadable passing through them, but she said nothing.

As the server left, Caitlyn pulled the tablet closer. "So. Schedules first?"

"Yeah, let's do it."

She turned the screen so they could both see it. "These are my team practices. Mondays, Wednesdays, Fridays at four. Tuesdays and Thursdays at six a.m."

Vi nodded. "Same for us, mostly. Except we've got an extra session on Saturday mornings when there's a meet coming up."

"And your classes?"

"Uh..." Vi pulled out her phone, swiping through a calendar that looked significantly less organized than Caitlyn's. "I've got a block Tuesday-Thursday, ten to two. Then some gen-eds scattered around."

Caitlyn made notes, her stylus moving quickly. "What about evenings? Weekends?"

"Weekends are out. I work Friday and Saturday nights—bar shift, six to close." Vi's tone was casual, but something tightened around her eyes. "So Sunday's my only real day off."

Caitlyn paused. She did the math—classes, work, sleep squeezed somewhere in between. "When do you study?"

"Whenever." Vi shrugged. "Library's open late. I make it work."

The words were easy, dismissive, but Caitlyn heard the weight beneath them. She typed something into a note field, then moved on. "Alright. So we've got early mornings—those we're already doing. I can do late afternoons on Tuesdays and Thursdays if we keep it to an hour."

"Works for me."

The server returned with their drinks. Caitlyn wrapped her hands around the mug, letting the warmth seep into her palms.

Vi took a long pull from her water. "So what are we actually working on? Like, specifically."

Caitlyn hesitated. This was the part she'd been dreading—admitting weakness. She chose her words carefully. "I've been reviewing my times from last season. My turns are getting sloppy in the back half of races. I'm losing power after a few marks."

Vi tilted her head, considering. "That's a strength thing. Core and legs, right?"

"Possibly."

"Nah, definitely." Vi leaned forward, elbows on the table. "You're not holding the power through the drive phase. Your muscles are giving out."

The analysis was sharp, accurate. Caitlyn hadn't expected that.

"We could hit the gym together," Vi continued. "I do strength sessions three times a week anyway—I can show you what works."

Caitlyn blinked. "You'd do that?"

"Yeah, why not? That's the whole point, right? Helping each other out."

Something in Caitlyn's chest loosened. She'd expected resistance, or worse—pity. But Vi's offer was matter-of-fact, as if it were the simplest thing in the world.

"Alright. That would be... helpful."

Vi grinned. "Cool. Fair warning though, I don't go easy. You're gonna hate me by week two."

"I'll manage."

The server returned with Vi's sandwich and Caitlyn's croissant. Vi immediately grabbed a fry.

Caitlyn picked at the corner of her pastry. "What about you? What do you need to work on?"

Vi's hand paused halfway to her plate.

"Endurance." She grabbed her sandwich, took a bite. "Coach says my form breaks down. Same as you—I start to compensate if I stay in the same position for too long."

Caitlyn studied her. Vi's shoulders had tensed, her usual confidence dimmed. This cost her something to say.

"So you need to work on range of motion."

"Yeah. Sevika's been on my ass about it." Vi's laugh was dry. "Says if I don't fix it before championships, I'm gonna end up injured or disqualified."

Caitlyn nodded slowly. "We could add stretching sessions—before or after training. If you're willing to put in the time, you'll see improvement."

Vi's face lit up. "That'd be amazing. I've been trying to do it on my own, but I have no idea what I'm doing. I just end up lying on the floor feeling like an idiot."

She chuckled softly. "It's harder than it looks."

"No kidding."

They fell into further planning after that. Caitlyn pulled up a new document, typing as they talked.

"Oh—and if we're doing serious strength work, you're gonna need to eat more," Vi said.

Caitlyn's hand stilled. "I eat enough."

"I'm not saying you don't." Vi's tone was careful. "I just mean—strength training burns a lot. You'll need more protein, or you won't see results. Trust me, I learned the hard way."

Caitlyn considered this. It was logical. Not a judgment, just fact.

"What do you suggest?"

"We could set meal reminders. Same times, keep each other on track. I'm always forgetting to eat between practice and work, so it'd help me too."

"That makes sense."

Vi rattled off times, and Caitlyn typed them in, sending her the shared reminder link.

"Perfect." Vi grinned.

They kept refining—exercise selection, rest days, meal prep ideas, how to balance their formal team schedule with the extra work.

Eventually, Vi sat back. "I think we've got it. This is solid."

Caitlyn reviewed the document one more time. Finding no gaps, she allowed herself a small nod. "It's a good plan."

"You mean your good plan. I just showed up and agreed to things."

"You contributed."

"Yeah, with my sunny personality and occasional good ideas."

Caitlyn's lips curved—not quite a smile, but close. She'd caught Vi eyeing the croissant more than once.

"Here." She pushed it toward her. "I had a late breakfast. I'm not going to finish it."

Vi didn't need to be told twice. She broke off a piece. "Thanks. These are good."

Caitlyn watched her for a moment—the easy way Vi moved through the world, unbothered by things that would've tangled Caitlyn in knots. How did she keep it so light?

"So," Vi said around another bite. "Monday. Pool at six, gym at five?"

"Five-thirty. I need time to prepare."

"Right."

---

They gathered their things, splitting the check without discussion. Outside, the afternoon had turned overcast, the sky heavy with the promise of rain. A cool breeze swept down the street, carrying the earthy scent of incoming weather.

"You heading back to campus?" Vi asked, zipping up her hoodie.

"Yes. I have some reading to finish."

"Cool. I'm going that way too."

They walked in silence for a block, footsteps falling out of sync on the uneven pavement. Caitlyn noticed Vi's hands shoved deep in her pockets, shoulders slightly hunched. A few early drops of rain speckled the concrete.

"Thanks for setting this up," Vi said, her breath visible in the cooling air. "Made it way easier than I thought it'd be."

Caitlyn glanced at her, catching the earnest expression on her face before looking away. "It benefits both of us."

"Yeah, but still." Vi's voice was sincere, softer than usual. "You're good at this kind of thing."

Caitlyn's breath caught. She looked away, focusing on the darkening clouds above. "Hey—I've been meaning to ask." She kept her tone light, careful. "How did you get my number in the first place? You never really said."

Vi's stride hitched, just barely. "Uh... someone from the team, I think?"

"Someone?"

"Yeah." Vi rubbed the back of her neck, not quite meeting her eyes. "Can't remember who. It was early."

The answer felt thin, but Caitlyn didn't push. Not now.

"So where do you work? You mentioned a bar."

"Oh—yeah. The Last Drop."

"I don't think I know it."

Vi shrugged, her gaze drifting to a group of students crossing the intersection ahead. "Probably wouldn't. It's downtown."

Caitlyn nodded, filing the information away.

They reached the edge of campus where the old brick gates stood framed by tall oaks. The grounds beyond were quieter, insulated from the street noise. Vi stopped, scuffing her shoe against the pavement as she turned to face her.

"Alright, this is me. See you next week?"

"Yes." Caitlyn hesitated, aware of the space between them, smaller than it had been weeks ago. "I'm looking forward to it."

Vi's grin returned, warm and genuine, crinkling the corners of her eyes. "Me too."

---

The week that followed settled into a rhythm Caitlyn hadn't expected to enjoy.

Monday's gym session came early, the kind of dawn that made the campus feel like it belonged to them alone. Vi was already warming up when Caitlyn arrived, rolling her shoulders, headphones in. She pulled them out with a grin when she spotted her.

"Ready?"

Caitlyn set her bag down. "Let's get started."

Vi led her through compound lifts—squats, deadlifts, presses. Caitlyn had done strength work before, but never like this. Vi was meticulous about form, watching her with a critical eye that somehow didn't feel judgmental.

"Keep your core tight," Vi said, stepping closer as Caitlyn set up for another squat. "Yeah, like that. You've got it."

When Caitlyn's legs started shaking on the third set, Vi's hand came to rest lightly on her lower back—steadying, not taking over.

"Two more. You've got this."

Caitlyn gritted her teeth and pushed through. When she racked the weight, her breath came in gasps, but Vi was grinning.

"See? Told you."

By Wednesday, the touches had become routine. Vi's hand correcting the angle of her elbow during rows. Fingers pressing between her shoulder blades to remind her to engage her back. Each adjustment was professional, necessary. But Caitlyn found herself hyperaware of every point of contact, the warmth of Vi's palm through her shirt.

She told herself it was just because she wasn't used to being touched. That was all.

 

Thursday brought stretching, and with it, a shift in dynamic.

They met at the pool before dawn, mats spread on the deck. The air was cold and still, carrying the sharp tang of chlorine. Vi groaned her way through each position, her flexibility exactly as limited as Sevika had warned. Meanwhile, Caitlyn's body opened easily—dedication turning range into muscle memory.

"How the hell are you doing that?" Vi muttered, watching Caitlyn sink into a deep center split.

"Practice." Caitlyn shifted her weight, deepening the stretch. She'd been in this position for a minute without issue. "Your turn."

Vi tried. Failed spectacularly. Tried again. Something in her hip pinched and she winced.

"This is torture."

"It's supposed to be uncomfortable." Caitlyn's eyes flicked to Vi's form. "And you're not even close to the right position. Hip forward, not tilted."

"There's uncomfortable, and then there's whatever fresh hell this is." Vi collapsed onto her side with a dramatic thud. "Seriously, how do you make it look so easy?"

Caitlyn folded forward until her chest touched the floor. She exhaled sharply through her nose. "I don't complain every five seconds. That helps."

"Ouch." Vi pushed herself up. "Just saying it's hard."

"I know it's hard. That's the point."

They moved through the routine, but Caitlyn's corrections grew sharper with each repetition. Tighter. More precise. Her shoulders were rigid, jaw set. Vi's own teeth clenched as she struggled through another hold, sweat beading at her temples despite the morning chill.

"Okay, but like—" Vi grunted, trying to force her leg higher. "How long did it take you to get this flexible? Because I feel like I'm gonna snap something."

"Years." Caitlyn's tone was getting thinner. "Which is why you need to focus instead of talking."

"I am focused. I'm just also in pain."

"Then work through it."

"Easy for you to say." Vi dropped out of the position again, shaking out her leg. "You're basically made of rubber."

Caitlyn's hands pressed flat against the mat, knuckles whitening slightly. "Vi."

"What? I'm just saying—"

"You've complained more in the last twenty minutes than you have during any actual swim session." Caitlyn straightened, voice clipped. "If you can handle Sevika's workouts, you can handle this."

"Yeah, but Sevika doesn't act like I'm personally offending her when I struggle." Vi's tone shifted, defensive now. "You know, you don't have to be so intense all the time. It's just stretching. You're allowed to, like... have fun."

Caitlyn went still.

"I mean, you're focused, I get it," Vi continued, oblivious to the change in atmosphere. "But you could relax a little. We're not in competition right now. It doesn't have to be this serious."

The words landed the wrong way. Relax. Fun. As if precision were something to apologize for. As if Caitlyn's standards were unreasonable. As if she were the problem here.

"I'm not here for fun," Caitlyn said, voice flat and cold. She stood, meeting Vi's eyes directly. "I'm here because you asked me to team up. You asked me to help you with this."

"And you think I don't appreciate that?" Vi stood too, hands spreading wide. "I do. All I'm saying is you don't have to make it feel like boot camp every single—"

"If you're not taking this seriously, just say so." She was already rolling up her mat with quick, jerky movements. "I won't waste my time."

Vi's expression hardened. "That's not fair. I am taking it seriously."

"Are you? Because from where I'm standing, you've spent the entire session complaining instead of actually trying."

"I am trying—"

"You always do this?" Caitlyn cut her off. "Make excuses when something's difficult?"

Vi's jaw dropped. "Wow. Okay. And you always do this? Walk away the second someone isn't perfect enough for you?"

Caitlyn’s grip crushed the mat, foam creasing under her fingers. Her chest felt tight, breath coming faster. "It isn't about perfect. It's about effort."

"Right. Then stay and we'll work through it."

"No." Caitlyn grabbed her bag, slinging it over her shoulder with enough force that the strap bit into her skin. "I'm not interested in being told to relax when I'm the only one here who actually cares about improving."

"That's not—" Vi's voice rose. "That's bullshit and you know it."

But Caitlyn was already walking away, her footsteps echoing sharp and final across the empty deck. The silence she left behind was jagged, unresolved.

She didn't look back.

---

The shift was immediate.

Vi still showed up to their sessions—on time, prepared, focused. But the easy banter was gone. She kept their interactions professional, almost clinical. Demonstrations without commentary. Corrections without encouragement. The touches during spotting became brief, perfunctory—hands withdrawing the moment Caitlyn found her balance.

 

Caitlyn knew why. Of course she knew why.

 

She'd been the one to shut Vi down, to take a harmless comment and turn it into something personal. It was a pattern she recognized in herself—the same reason she had so few friends, the same reason people kept her at arm's length. Someone would get too close, say the wrong thing, and Caitlyn's walls would slam up before she could stop them.

The rational part of her knew Vi had been trying to help. Had been genuine, even kind. But the other part—the part that was always braced for criticism, always waiting for someone to confirm she wasn't good enough—had heard something else entirely.

And now she didn't know how to fix it.

An apology felt too vulnerable, too much like admitting she'd overreacted. Small talk felt forced after the way she'd left things, her own footsteps still echoing in her memory as she'd walked away.

 

So she did nothing. And Vi matched her energy—distant and polite.

It should have been easier this way. More efficient. They were training partners, not friends.

But the absence gnawed at her.

She hadn't realized how much space Vi's attention had occupied until it was gone. The casual compliments when Caitlyn pushed through a hard set. The way Vi would laugh at her dry observations. The feeling of being seen, not just as "Piltover's best" but as a person.

Now it was just silence. The kind that pressed against her eardrums during their sessions, broken only by the mechanical counting of reps and the splash of water.

The meal reminders still went off. And Vi still sent pictures. A protein smoothie with a green tint that looked borderline toxic. Scrambled eggs on slightly burnt toast. A sandwich from the campus deli, wrapped in crinkled paper.

Got mine. You?

Caitlyn would respond.Yes. Eating now. Never more than necessary.

 

But she was keeping up with it. The meals, the schedule. She'd committed, and despite everything, she refused to let that slip. Her body was responding—more energy, less lightheadedness between classes, fewer moments where the locker room tilted sideways. It was working.

She just wished it didn't feel like she was losing something in the process.

---

Friday's practice ran late.

By the time Caitlyn finished her cooldown laps, most of the team had already cleared out. The locker room echoed with the sound of showers running, voices calling goodbyes that bounced off tile walls. She took her time, letting the hot water ease the tension in her shoulders, watching steam curl up toward the fluorescent lights.

When she finally emerged, towel-drying her hair, she found Melanie and Tessa waiting by the door. They were bundled in the team jackets, gym bags slung over shoulders.

"Hey," Melanie said. "A few of us are heading back to the dorms. Tessa's roommate is out of town, so we're doing a movie night. You in?"

Caitlyn hesitated, fingers stilling in her damp hair. The invitation was kindhearted—they'd been trying to include her more lately, though she kept turning them down. Between classes, training, and the extra sessions with Vi, there was never enough time.

"I appreciate it," she said and offered a smile. "But I'm exhausted. I think I'll just head straight to bed."

"Come on," Tessa nudged her, playful. "It's just a movie. We won't keep you long."

"Really, I can't. Maybe next time."

Melanie shrugged, unbothered. "Alright, suit yourself. But if you change your mind, we'll be in 304."

They left in a cluster of overlapping conversation, the door swinging shut behind them with a hydraulic hiss. Their voices faded down the hallway.

 

Caitlyn stood alone in the empty locker room. She should go back to her dorm. Shower properly. Eat. Study. Fall asleep to wake up to the same routine.

Instead, she walked back toward the pool.

 

The overhead lights had been dimmed for the night, leaving only the underwater bulbs glowing. The water looked impossibly still, a perfect mirror reflecting nothing but itself. Caitlyn sat on the edge, legs dangling, toes breaking the surface. Small ripples spread outward, distorting her wavering reflection.

She waited for the exhaustion to settle, for the day to drain away. Instead, everything that had been building all week rose up—a pressure in her throat that wouldn't release, couldn't be swallowed down.

Her eyes stung. She blinked hard and the ceiling blurred, the ceiling splitting into tiny fragmets.

She reached for her bag with shaking fingers. Found her phone. Thumb moving on instinct. Jayce.

 

He picked up on the third ring.

"Hey! Wasn't expecting to hear from you tonight. Everything okay?"

"Hi." She exhaled slowly, some of the tension easing at the familiar voice. "Yeah, everything's fine. I just... wanted to check in."

"Well, now that you're here—" She heard rustling on his end, the sound of him moving around. "hold on, let me switch to video. You have to see this."

The call connected, and Jayce's face filled the screen—broad smile, messy dark hair falling across his forehead, eyes bright with excitement.  Behind him, she could see his apartment—papers stacked neatly, coffee mugs lined up on the windowsill. Cluttered, but in a Jayce sort of organized chaos.

"Look." He flipped the camera to show his desk. Spread across it was an intricate mechanical model, all brass gears and delicate moving parts catching the lamplight. "It's a proof of concept for the project I've been working on. Took me a month to get the calibration right, but—"

He touched something, and the whole thing sprang to life. Gears turning in perfect synchronization, a small platform rising and lowering with the faint tick of metal on metal.

"Jayce, that's incredible."

"Right?" He flipped the camera back to himself, grinning wide enough to show teeth. "You're the first person I'm showing this to, by the way. Well, outside of my team."

Despite everything, Caitlyn smiled. Small, but sweet. "I'm honored."

"You should be." His grin softened. "It's good to see your face, kid. How've you been?"

"Good. The usual."

"Uh-huh." Jayce leaned back in his chair, studying her through the screen with that look that meant he saw more than she wanted him to. "And how are you actually?"

Caitlyn looked away from the camera, focusing on the pool's surface. "I'm fine."

"Cait."

"I am. Grades are good. Training is... going well."

"That's great. But grades aren't everything."

Silence. Caitlyn's throat closed up.

"Your mom called me a few days ago," Jayce said after a beat. "She was asking about you."

Caitlyn's grip tightened on her phone. "Oh."

"She's worried. Said you haven't been returning her calls."

"I've been busy."

"I know." He sighed. "I'm not trying to guilt you or anything. I told her you were probably swamped with midterms and college stuff."

The guilt settled heavier in her stomach. She knew she was being childish by avoiding it.

"I'll text her. I don't really have time for a call right now."

"Cait." Jayce's tone was gentle but firm. "You called me."

She opened her mouth to argue, then closed it. He was right.

"I just—" She swallowed hard. "It's complicated."

"it is." Jayce's expression softened. "But she's your mom. And she misses you. Even if she's not great at showing it."

Caitlyn nodded, not trusting her voice.

They talked for a few more minutes—Jayce telling her about work, about the cat that had started hanging around his building. Normal things. Easy things. When they finally said goodbye, Jayce's last words lingered.

 

"Take care of yourself, okay? And call your mom. She needs to know you're alright."

 

She locked the phone and stood, steadying herself against the pool's edge.

Calling her mother would be the same script. The same polite knives. Leaving home. Wrong degree. Wrong priorities. That quiet rebellion still charging interest.

Her phone lit up with a notification. A photo from Vi, probably her dinner.

She scoffed at herself. God, she hated the way she was—standards so high they suffocated, courage evaporating whenever she needed to stand her ground. Her voice always went cold and cutting when she was only trying to protect herself.

How she'd dismissed Vi and walked out like a coward. Vi, who kept her end of things even after Caitlyn had thrown her sincerity back in her face. Who deserved better than a cold shoulder.

She wanted the warmth back—if that’s what it had been. The smiles. The easy hand at her elbow, the fingers at her waist when Vi spotted her. Casual touches that meant nothing, probably, but had felt like more attention than she’d let herself have in years.

But she didn't know how to ask for it. Didn't know how to say I'm sorry without it feeling like she was cracking herself open, tipping every hidden insecurity into the light.

She didn’t respond to the message. Better silence than another apology she’d bungle, another edge she’d have to swallow and never properly explain.

The pool's surface had gone still again, perfectly smooth. Caitlyn stood there a long moment, watching her reflection slowly re-form in the dark water, whole but wavering.

Then she grabbed her bag and left, the automatic lights clicking off behind her one by one.

Chapter 4: Like a Chump

Notes:

This is basically Vi sleeping like a dead victorian child x Cait trauma dumping in an empty pool. Both of them are speedrunning how not to communicate. Powder is the only one qualified to give situation/friendship advice and she’s like 15. 😭

✨ Overthinking queens ✨

The last customer left at eleven-forty, and Vi was still wiping down tables when she should've been halfway back to Piltover.

"You don't have to stay," Vander said from behind the bar, counting out the register. His voice carried that particular tone he used when he meant the opposite—when he was glad she was there but wouldn't say it outright.

"I know." Vi dragged the rag across another table, collecting empty glasses. "Almost done anyway."

Across the room, Powder sat in their usual corner booth, textbooks spread out in what was supposed to be a study session. Her phone lit up her face in the dim bar lighting. She'd been glued to it for the past twenty minutes, smiling at the screen like it held the secrets of the universe.

Vi dumped the glasses in the bus tub and circled back toward Powder's booth.

"Who're you texting?"

Powder's head snapped up. The phone disappeared into her lap so fast Vi almost laughed. "No one."

"Right. No one makes you smile like that." Vi leaned against the booth, arms crossed. "Spill."

Powder's cheeks went pink. "We're talking about the science project."

"At midnight?"

"It's due Tuesday!"

"Uh-huh." Vi reached for the phone. Powder jerked it away, but not before Vi caught a glimpse of the name at the top of the screen. "Little man, huh?"

"Shut up." Powder shoved the phone into her hoodie pocket, face burning. "We're lab partners. That's it."

"Lab partners who text at midnight." Vi grinned. "Does he know you're obsessed with him, or—"

"I'm not obsessed—"

"—or are you still in the tragic pining stage?"

"Vi, I swear to god—"

"Girls." Vander's voice cut through, warm with amusement. He'd finished with the register and was wiping down the bar top, watching them with that look he got when his kids were being his kids. "Powder, leave your sister alone. Vi, stop antagonizing your sister."

"She started it," Powder muttered.

"I started it?" Vi straightened, hand to her chest in mock offense. "You're the one texting your boyfriend—"

"He's not my boyfriend!"

"—in the middle of studying—"

"We're talking about the project!"

Felicia emerged from the back office, jacket over her arm, and caught the tail end of the argument. "What project requires that much giggling?"

Powder made a sound like a strangled cat.

Vi couldn't help it. She laughed. "She likes Ekko."

"I don't—" Powder's voice cracked. "We're just friends. God, can everyone stop—"

"That's how it starts," Felicia said, setting her jacket on the bar and crossing to the booth. She smoothed Powder's hair back, ignoring the way Powder tried to duck away. "They grow up. Start texting boys at midnight."

"Mom—"

"Next thing you know, they're off at college." Felicia's eyes cut to Vi, something fond and sad in them. "Coming home less and less."

Vi felt the words land heavier than they should have. She pushed off the booth and crossed to her mother, wrapping her arms around Felicia's shoulders from behind and leaning her full weight forward. Felicia bent under the pressure with an oof, a surprised laugh breaking out of her.

"Can't get rid of me that easy," Vi said into her mother's hair. "I'll be back after graduation. You can baby me all you want then."

"Vi, you're crushing me—"

"That's the point."

Felicia reached back and swatted at Vi's arm. "When did you get so heavy?"

Vi straightened, grinning. "I've been training. I'm stronger now."

"Clearly." Felicia turned in Vi's arms, hands on her daughter's shoulders, looking her over with that assessing motherly gaze. "You look good. Healthy."

"Feel good too." Vi flexed an arm. "Want to see?"

"Oh lord," Vander muttered.

But Felicia was already smiling, eyes crinkled, and Vi bent down, got her arms around her mother's waist, and lifted.

"Violet—"

"See?" Vi set her down carefully, grin splitting her face. "Strong."

Felicia shook her head, smoothing her shirt. "Show off."

"Learned from the best." Vi nodded toward Vander, who was watching them with his arms crossed, expression soft in a way that made Vi's chest ache a little.

He cleared his throat. "It's late. You heading back tonight?"

Vi glanced at the clock above the bar. 12:07 AM. If she left now, she'd get back to her dorm around one-thirty, maybe two if the trains were slow. Sleep by three if she was lucky. Training with Caitlyn was at ten.

Training with Caitlyn.

Her stomach twisted.

Things had been awkward all week. Distant. Cold, even, since that day she'd snapped during stretching.

Maybe showing up tomorrow would just make things worse.

"Vi?"

She blinked. Vander was watching her, patient.

"You could stay," he said. "If you want. Head back tomorrow. When's the last time we had a Sunday together?"

Vi opened her mouth. Closed it.

She should go back. She had training. She'd made plans. Caitlyn would be expecting her.

But would she? Or would she be relieved if Vi didn't show?

"Yeah," Vi said. "Okay. I'll stay."

Vander's expression didn't change, but something in his shoulders relaxed. "Good. Powder, bed. You too, Vi. We'll finish up."

"But—"

"Bed." Vander pointed toward the back stairs. "Both of you."

Powder grumbled but gathered her things, shoving books into her bag with the particular violence of a teenager being told what to do. Vi followed her up the narrow stairs to the second floor, their footsteps creaking on the old wood.

 

Their room was exactly as Vi remembered and completely different. Her bed—the top bunk—was buried under clothes, half-finished gadgets, and a truly impressive amount of random electronics. Powder had clearly claimed the space as her own.

"Sorry," Powder said, not sounding sorry at all. She started grabbing things off the bed, tossing them onto her desk in a pile. "Wasn't expecting you to stay."

"It's fine." Vi climbed the ladder, shoving a few stray wires aside to make space. The mattress dipped under her weight. God, when was the last time she'd slept here? Winter break?

Powder flopped onto the bottom bunk, springs creaking. The room fell quiet except for the muffled sounds of Vander and Felicia moving around downstairs.

"So," Powder said after a minute. "Piltover sucks, right?"

Vi snorted. "It doesn't suck."

"You're staying home on a random Saturday night."

"I came home to see you idiots, not because I'm too tired to go back."

"Uh-huh." Powder's phone buzzed. She checked it, smiled, typed something back. "Training good at least?"

"Yeah. Really good, actually."

"So what's with the face?"

"What face?"

"The sad puppy face." Powder's tone was flat, bored almost. "You've had it since you got here."

Vi sighed. "It's just—different than I thought. Everyone's kind of closed off."

"Shocking. Rich kids don't want to be friends with the scholarship zauntie."

"It's not like that—"

"Whatever. You make any actual friends outside the program?"

"There's this girl I train with sometimes. Caitlyn."

Powder glanced up. "And?"

"And what?"

"Is she cool or is she also a stuck-up Piltover type?"

"She's—" Vi paused. "She's good. Like, really fucking good in the water. I thought maybe we could train together more, you know? Learn from each other."

"But?"

"But I think I pushed too hard. Asked too many questions, tried to get too close too fast. Now she barely talks to me."

Powder was quiet for a second, then shrugged. "So back off."

"What?"

"You said you pushed too hard. So stop pushing." Powder typed something on her phone. "Not everyone wants a new best friend, Vi. Maybe she just wants to swim."

"I don't know if it's that simple—"

"It kind of is." Powder's voice had that teenage certainty to it. "Just give her space. If she wants to be friends with you, she will."

"Yeah, but—" Vi stopped. What was she arguing? That she deserved another chance after forcing her way in? "I don't usually give up on people."

"I'm not saying give up. I'm saying chill out." Powder's phone buzzed again. She grinned at the screen. "You can't make someone like you."

Vi stared at the bottom of Powder's bunk. When did her little sister get so blunt?

"That Ekko?" she asked, grateful for the subject change.

"Shut up."

"It is. You're smiling."

"Oh my god, you're the worst."

"You literally just told me to chill out about my problems. I'm allowed to tease you."

Powder threw a pillow up at her. "Go to sleep."

Vi caught it, huffing a laugh. Below, she heard Powder giggling at another message.

"Pow?"

"What?"

"Thanks."

"Whatever." A pause. "Also, I miss you."

"Yeah," Vi said quietly. "Me too."

Powder's breathing started to even out. Vi stared at the ceiling, her sister's words playing on repeat. You can't make someone like you.

She'd wanted this so badly. Had seen Caitlyn in the water—perfect and effortless—and thought, that's someone worth knowing. Someone who gets it. Training at Piltover was incredible, sure, but it was lonely in a way she hadn't expected. Mylo and Claggor were great, her teammates were solid, but they all belonged to the same world. The Zaun kids, stuck together because that's all they had.

But Caitlyn was different. Piltover through and through, the kind of swimmer everyone wanted to be, the kind Vi had looked up to before they'd ever exchanged a word. And maybe that was the problem. Maybe Vi had built her up too much in her head, forced a connection that was never meant to happen.

The phone number thing gnawed at her. She'd taken it without asking, convinced herself it was harmless, just a way to get her foot in the door. But that's exactly what Powder meant, wasn't it? Forcing her way in instead of letting it happen naturally.

Maybe they just weren't compatible. Maybe Caitlyn didn't want a friend, didn't want Vi specifically, and that was—

Vi's thoughts started to blur at the edges, exhaustion creeping in like fog. Her eyes burned. The week had been long, the shift tonight even longer, and now her brain was trying to process things it didn't have the energy for.

She should text Caitlyn. Let her know she wouldn't be there tomorrow. That was the responsible thing to do.

She reached for her phone, the screen too bright in the dark room. Opened her messages. Found Caitlyn's name.

Her thumb hovered over the keyboard.

What was she supposed to say?

Hey, I'm staying home. Probably good for both of us. Give you a break from me.

No. Too pathetic.

Can't make it tomorrow. Family stuff.

True, but it felt like a cop-out.

She started typing:

 

hey sorry i can't make it tomorrow, something came up with|

 

Her vision swam. The letters doubled, then tripled. She blinked hard, but her lids felt like they had weights attached.

She'd finish it in a second. Just needed to close her eyes for a minute.

No. Tomorrow. She'd finish it tomorrow. Text Caitlyn properly. Explain. Powder was right about the space thing. Maybe that's what they both needed right now.

Her phone slipped from her hand onto her chest, screen still lit, cursor pulsing where the sentence died.

---

Caitlyn arrived at the pool at 9:47 AM with her gym bag and a small tupperware container.

She'd packed it that morning with the same precision she applied to everything else: two hard-boiled eggs, a protein bar cut into thirds, a handful of strawberries arranged so they wouldn't bruise. The container sat on the bench beside her bag, aligned with the edge.

She changed into her suit, tucked her hair into her cap, adjusted her goggles. The motions were automatic, soothing in their predictability.

Vi would be here at ten. They always started at ten.

 

Caitlyn slipped into the water and began her warm-up. The pool was empty except for her—just the hum of the filters and the echo of her strokes against tile. She counted laps in her head, let the rhythm settle her thoughts.

By 10:15, she'd finished her warm-up and moved on to technique drills.

She checked her phone. No messages.

Vi was running late. It happened.

She put the phone back, face-up on the bench where she could see it, and did another set of sprints. Her form felt tight today, her breathing slightly off. She pushed through it anyway.

10:30.

Nothing.

She'd overslept, probably. Vi didn't strike her as the type to set three alarms.

 

Caitlyn dried her hands and picked up the phone, scrolling through her notifications. The exam notes she'd saved yesterday. A group message from her team about next week's schedule. A reminder about the International Relations paper due Friday.

Nothing else.

She set the phone down—carefully, in the exact same spot—and got back in the water.

10:45.

This time when she checked, her stomach had started to tighten in a way that had nothing to do with hunger.

Vi wasn't just late. She wasn't coming.

 

Caitlyn sat on the edge of the pool, feet dangling in the water, phone in her lap. The screen stayed dark. No missed calls. No texts.

She waited another five minutes, counting them, before she accepted it.

Vi had made a choice this morning. Woken up, seen the time, and decided that training with Caitlyn wasn't worth the effort anymore. That the awkwardness from last week was reason enough to just stop showing up.

She pulled herself out, toweled off, and sat on the bench. The tupperware stared at her, neat and optimistic and suddenly very stupid.

She'd brought breakfast. Had planned to eat it after training, to show—what? That she was trying? That she was listening to the reminders she'd set, the promises she'd made to herself about eating properly, about not letting stress win?

It was pathetic.

But she'd packed it. And she was here. And the rule was: if you bring food, you eat it.

 

She opened the container.

The eggs were still slightly warm from the dining hall. She peeled one slowly, mechanically, each strip of shell placed in a neat pile on the napkin beside her. The first bite tasted like nothing. She ate it anyway. Then the second egg. The protein bar, one piece at a time. The strawberries last, because they were the only thing with any flavor.

When the container was empty, she sat there staring at it.

Victory and defeat, wrapped in plastic.

Her phone sat beside her, heavier than it should be.

She unlocked it. Opened her browser. Typed: how to apologize to someone you hurt.

The results loaded—articles, advice columns, forum posts. She clicked the first one. Skimmed it. Opened another tab. Then another. Each one offering the same variations: be sincere, take responsibility, don't make excuses, give them space.

She switched to her notes app. Scrolled past study outlines and training schedules until she found the ones she'd been working on since yesterday.

 

1.- I'm sorry for how I acted during stretching...

2.- I know I overreacted and made you feel...

3.- I messed up...

4.- What I said last week was unfair and I should have...

5.- I've been thinking about what happened and I want you to know...

6.- ...

 

None of them sounded right. Too formal. Too stiff. Too much like she was reading from a script instead of actually meaning it.

She rubbed her eyes. They stung—from the pool water, she told herself.

She could text Vi now. Just send something. Anything. Ask if she was okay. Pretend this was normal and hope for the best.

But Vi didn't owe her anything. Nobody did. And that was her mistake all along—thinking that effort alone entitled her to understanding, to patience, to forgiveness.

The pool room pressed around her, quiet and vast. The loneliness she usually craved felt suffocating now, too much space with nowhere to put all the things she didn't know how to say.

She closed all the tabs. Stared at her contacts.

She could call Jayce. Ask for advice. Or Maddie—though she'd already put her through enough of these spirals. Same problems, different week, always looping back to the same place: Caitlyn not knowing how to connect with people, not knowing how to be anything other than difficult.

She scrolled over the list. People she knew but didn't trust. People she'd learned to keep at arm's length.

Then it stopped on "Dad."

She bit her lip. Her heel tapped against the tile in a rapid, uneven rhythm.

She knew she had to do this. It had been months. Jayce had told her to call. And if he'd said it, it was for a good reason.

She pressed the name before she could think any further.

The line rang. She waited, phone pressed tight against her ear, pulse hammering in her throat. Part of her hoped no one would answer. Part of her hoped desperately otherwise.

After three rings, the line clicked open.

"Is this my sweet, lovely Caitlyn, or am I dreaming?"

Despite everything, she smiled. "Hi, Dad."

"Well, this is the best part of my week." She heard him moving, the familiar creak of his study chair. "I was just thinking about you, actually. I found one of your old drawings yesterday at my office. The one with the very beautiful purple horse."

"That was supposed to be a giraffe."

"Ah." He chuckled, warm and easy. "Well, it's on the fridge now. Your mother walked past it three times before asking what it was."

Caitlyn's smile wavered. She bit the corner of her nail. Her mother.

"How are things at home?"

"Busy. The charity gala planning, you know how it gets." He paused. "We miss you, sweetheart. The house feels too big without you."

"I miss you too."

"You're not far. We could have dinner one of these days, when you're not too busy." His voice lifted with the kind of enthusiasm only fathers managed. "Dinner and dessert. I'll get those cupcakes you love so much—extra, so you can take some back to school and share." He laughed. "Though I'm not sure you'd actually share them."

She laughed, the sound startling even herself. "Probably not."

"That's my girl. We'll make a whole day of it. Your mother's been asking when—Oh, she's here."

"Dad, wait—"

But she heard the shuffle, the muffled voices as the phone changed hands. Her finger flew to the red button, hovering, heart racing.

Too late.

"Caitlyn."

She pulled the phone away from her ear for a second, staring at it. Then, slowly, she brought it back, fingers trembling faintly.

"Mom."

"You have my number," Cassandra said, her voice crisp and immediate, cutting through whatever comfort her father had built. "It wouldn't hurt to call now and then."

Caitlyn winced. "I know. I'm sorry."

"Well. You're calling now." A pause. "How is school?"

"Good. I've got the best times on the team right now, and next season's coming up, so I'll probably get picked for—"

"I'm not asking about that, Caitlyn." Her mother's voice was even, matter-of-fact. "How are your grades?"

Caitlyn's jaw tightened. She'd expected it. It still hurt.

"Grades are good." She cleared her throat, fighting the tightness building there. "I’ll show you my transcript when the semester ends."

"Good. Don't let swimming distract you from your academics."

"I—" Her hand snapped to her mouth, pressing hard. She tried to swallow the knot in her throat, but it wouldn't go. It burned. "I won't."

She heard movement on the other end. A door closing. The background noise of the house fading.

"Are you crying?"

"No." Her voice came out steady even though her cheeks were wet, her nose running.

"There’s nothing about you I don’t recognize. You’re my daughter." Her mother’s voice was still firm, but the edge had softened slightly. "Now tell me. What’s wrong?"

"I—" Her voice cracked. She pressed her palm harder against her lips, but it was useless. The sob came anyway. "I don't know how to say it, Mom. I don't like it here. Everything's so different and I feel like—" She sucked in a breath. "I feel like shit."

She expected a reprimand. Watch your language. Instead, her mother was quiet for a long moment.

"I knew this would be too much for you." A pause. "Would you like to take a year off? I could arrange something. A trip, perhaps. Time to reset."

The suggestion hit like cold water.

A year off. That's what her mother heard when Caitlyn said she was struggling. That she couldn't handle it. That she needed to be rescued, pulled out, sent away like a child who'd bitten off more than she could chew.

"No, please don't—" She sniffed hard, suddenly aware of how she must sound, even alone in this empty room. Embarrassed. "I'm just stressed. About everything. It's—it's getting to me. Not keeping up with things."

Another pause. Then, quieter: "Is it happening again, Cait?"

She nodded even though her mother couldn't see. She couldn't force the word out. Couldn't say yes.

Her mother went silent.

Caitlyn wasn't.

The quiet stretched between them, filled only by Caitlyn's ragged breathing, the hitching sounds she couldn't quite muffle.

Finally, Cassandra spoke. "As much as I don't like the idea of you being there by yourself, it hurts me to hear you like this. I'm your mother. You can trust me with this."

Caitlyn pressed her knuckles against her eyes, trying to breathe.

"We've been here before," her mother said, quieter now. "Do you remember? Senior year of high school. The same symptoms. The same spiral." A pause. "You know what helped then."

Caitlyn did remember. The therapist's office with the too-soft couch. The weekly appointments that had felt like failure at first, then like the only thing keeping her together.

"If you're so determined to stay, fine. I won't press further." Her mother's voice was steady, practical. "But I will arrange for you to go back to therapy. Once a week. Nothing that will interfere with your studies. And I won't accept a no for an answer."

Relief washed through Caitlyn, so sudden it nearly made her dizzy. She hadn't even thought of that. Hadn't let herself consider it, because asking felt like admitting defeat. But hearing her mother say it—decide it, arrange it, take that weight off her shoulders—felt like coming up for air.

"Okay," she whispered.

"Good." A pause. "Caitlyn, you need to understand something."

She waited.

"You're an adult now. You made these choices—going away for college, continuing to train, taking on this workload. We may have... sheltered you too much. Given you resources but not tools. Solved your problems instead of teaching you how to solve them yourself."

Caitlyn's throat tightened again, but this time it wasn't tears.

"But you chose this path," her mother continued, voice firm. "And now you need to grow up and take responsibility for those choices. We can provide the therapy. We can support you financially. But you have to do the actual work. You have to face things like an adult. Responsibly."

The words landed heavy, settling into the hollow space in Caitlyn's chest.

"Do you understand?"

"Yes," Caitlyn said quietly. "I understand."

"Good." Her mother's voice softened, just barely. "Call more often. Your father worries."

"I will."

"I mean it, Caitlyn."

"I know. I will."

 

They said their goodbyes. Caitlyn sat there after, phone still in her hand, staring at the empty pool.

You need to grow up and take responsibility for those choices.

The words settled over her like a weight. Take responsibility. Do the work.

Her mother would arrange the therapy appointments—probably Thursdays, like before. Once a week, an hour she'd have to carve out of an already impossible schedule. Less time for training. Less flexibility.

Less time for Vi.

If Vi even wanted to train with her anymore.

Caitlyn looked down at her phone. At the notes app still open, filled with half-finished apologies that all said the same thing in different ways. All of them trying to find the perfect words. The right formula. The safest approach.

None of them actually taking responsibility.

Her mother was right. She couldn't keep drafting perfect versions of things she was too scared to say. She needed to be honest. About what she'd done wrong. About what was happening now. About what it meant for them moving forward—if there even was a moving forward.

She deleted the drafts. All of them.

Opened her messages. Found Vi's name.

No research. No scripts. Just the truth.

She typed:

 

「I owe you an apology. I know I messed things up last week. Can we talk? Whenever works for you.

 

She stared at it. It wasn't enough. If she was taking responsibility, she needed to be honest about everything.

She added:

 

Also—my schedule's about to get more complicated. I'll explain when we talk. But I still want to train together if you're willing.」

 

She read it once. Her heart hammered. It was vulnerable in a way that made her want to delete it and start over.

But that was the point. Being brave enough to not have all the answers.

She hit send.

The message went through. Delivered.

Caitlyn stared at the screen, pulse loud in her ears.

And waited.

Chapter 5: Lean Wit' It

Notes:

This chapter is sponsored by: PAINFUL awkwardness and turning simple things into Olympic-level challenges 🏅✨

Professor Chen was mid-lecture, something about performance anxiety in competitive sports. Vi had her laptop open, a sparse document with maybe three bullet points she'd managed at the start of class.

Her phone sat beside her notebook, screen dark. She'd checked it twice in the last ten minutes.

"The athlete's response to high-pressure situations," Dr. Chen continued, "is largely dictated by their stress regulation systems. When we examine the physiological response—elevated cortisol, increased heart rate, disrupted sleep patterns—we see a cascade effect that impacts not just performance but decision-making and emotional regulation."

Vi glanced at her phone again. Still nothing new.

She'd woken up the previous Sunday afternoon disoriented and groggy, her phone buzzing insistently on her chest. Seventeen notifications. Most from Powder. Two from Caitlyn.

I owe you an apology. I know I messed things up last week. Can we talk? Whenever works for you.

Also—my schedule's about to get more complicated. I'll explain when we talk. But I still want to train together if you're willing.

Vi had stared at the messages, her stomach dropping. She'd fallen asleep trying to text Caitlyn, and now Caitlyn had texted first. Had apologized first. Like Vi was the one who'd been wronged when really she'd just been pushy and overwhelming and—

She'd forced herself to breathe. Read the messages again. Waited until her head felt less foggy and her hands stopped shaking before typing back.

I'm sorry I didn't show. I was going to text but fell asleep. I want to talk too. Monday after practice?

Caitlyn had replied within the hour. Yeah. See you then.

 

That was yesterday. Now it was Monday afternoon and Vi had been checking her phone all day like Caitlyn might suddenly cancel. Like the whole thing might disappear.

She checked again. 2:34 PM. Practice started at four.

An hour and twenty-six minutes.

"Now, the distinction we need to understand," Dr. Chen said, pulling up a new slide, "is between athletes who receive comprehensive support—sports psychologists, nutritionists, mental health resources—and those who don't. The neurochemical impact of chronic stress without intervention can lead to severe burnout, depression, and in some cases, complete withdrawal from the sport."

Vi's attention sharpened. She started typing.

• Athletes without support systems = higher burnout rates
• Chronic stress → withdrawal behaviors
• Not just physical - mental/emotional regulation affected

She thought about Caitlyn. The tight expression she'd worn all last week. The way she'd barely looked at her, like making eye contact cost too much energy. Going through the motions because that's what you did when you were drowning but couldn't ask for help.

• Perfectionism = can't show weakness
• Isolation as control mechanism

Caitlyn wasn't being difficult. She was trying to survive.

Vi finished the bullet points as the lecture wrapped up. Students started packing. She had Biomechanics next—another hour of trying not to watch the clock—and then training.

Then the conversation.

Her mouth went dry just thinking about it. She closed her laptop and headed to her next class.

---

By the time Vi got to the athletic center, her palms were damp. She wiped them on her shorts as she changed in the women's locker room, took longer than necessary adjusting her goggles, and finally headed out to the pool deck.

The teams were already separated. Zaunties on the left, Pilties on the right. Sevika stood at the edge of their section, arms crossed, already barking instructions about today's focus: back and backstroke drills, then freestyle intervals.

On the other side, Coach Greyson had her team doing butterfly sets.

Vi dropped her towel on the bench and scanned the Piltover side automatically.

Caitlyn was already in the water, cap on, moving through warm-up laps while the rest of her team thrashed and splashed around her. Clean lines in the chaos.

Vi forced herself to look away and got in the water.

 

The practice was brutal in the way Sevika's practices always were—technical work that demanded focus, then volume that left no room to think about anything except the next stroke, the next breath, the next wall.

Vi threw herself into it. Back drills until her shoulders screamed. Backstroke sets that had her counting ceiling tiles to keep rhythm. Freestyle intervals that burned through whatever nervous energy she'd been carrying.

By the time Sevika called for warm down, Vi was exhausted in the good way. The way that meant she'd actually worked instead of just going through the motions.

"Free form," Sevika said. "Whatever you need. Ten minutes."

Vi did slow, easy laps with Mylo and Claggor, letting her breathing settle and her muscles unwind. Across the pool, the Piltover team was finishing their own workout.

When the ten minutes were up, Sevika cleared out. "Good work. Get out, shower, go home."

Vi pulled herself out and grabbed her towel, wrapping it around her shoulders. Her hair dripped down her back, cold against her skin. Mylo and Claggor were already at the benches, chugging water from their bottles.

She sat down between them, reaching for her own bottle. Took a long drink.

"You've been weird today," Mylo said.

Vi nearly choked. "What?"

"Weird. Off. You barely said anything at lunch and you've had this look on your face all day."

"I don't have a look."

"You definitely have a look," Claggor confirmed.

Vi was about to argue when movement across the pool caught her eye. The Piltover team was clearing out now, heading toward their locker rooms. Caitlyn pulled herself out of the water, reaching for her towel.

Her pulse jumped.

"I need a minute," she said, standing abruptly.

"Why?" Mylo asked. "What's going on?"

But Claggor was already watching her, following her line of sight to the other side of the pool. His expression shifted. Understanding.

"Come on," he said, standing and practically dragging Mylo up with him. "We'll wait outside."

"Wait, what—"

"Outside," Claggor repeated firmly. He caught Vi's eye and nodded once before steering Mylo toward the exit.

Vi watched them go, then turned back to the pool.

Caitlyn was at the bench on her side, toweling off, movements precise. The weird tension from last week was back—like they were strangers who just happened to share a pool.

Vi took a breath and started walking.

---

Caitlyn looked up as Vi approached. For a second, neither of them said anything.

"Hi," Her voice was careful. Neutral.

"Hey." Vi stopped a few feet away, suddenly unsure. "Do you want to—" She gestured toward the bleachers. "Talk?"

Caitlyn's shoulders were tight. She nodded once. "Okay."

They walked over to the bleachers. The lowest bench felt too exposed, so Vi climbed up one more level. Caitlyn followed.

They sat. Three feet of space between them. Maybe more.

The pool was nearly empty now. The overhead lights cast everything in that flat, clinical brightness that made shadows too sharp.

Silence.

Vi could hear her own breathing. Could feel her heart beating too fast in her chest.

Caitlyn sat perfectly still. Spine straight. Hands folded in her lap, fingers pressed together so hard the knuckles had gone white.

"So," Vi said.

Nothing.

She tried again. "Thanks for—for texting. I wasn't sure if you'd want to."

"I did." Caitlyn's voice was thin. She cleared her throat. "Want to. Talk, I mean."

Vi rubbed the back of her neck. This was harder than she'd thought it would be. All the things she'd planned to say felt stupid now, like lines from a script that didn't fit the actual moment.

"Last week," Caitlyn started. Her jaw tightened. "I need to—I should—"

She trailed off.

Vi waited.

"I snapped at you," Caitlyn said finally. Flat. "During stretching. That wasn't—you didn't deserve that."

"It's okay—"

"It's not." Caitlyn's eyes stayed fixed on her hands. "You were trying to help and I—" Her hands twisted. "I made you feel like—like you'd—" She broke off. "You didn't do anything wrong."

Vi's chest ached. "I thought I pushed too hard. That I was being too much."

"You weren't." Caitlyn's voice cracked. "That was me. I just—" She paused. Swallowed. "Things have been hard. This semester. And I don't—I'm not good at asking for help."

The admission settled between them. Heavy.

"So you shut down," Vi said quietly.

Caitlyn nodded. Her throat worked like she was trying to swallow something that wouldn't go down.

Vi picked at a loose thread on her shorts. Didn't know what else to say. The filters hummed somewhere below them.

"I get it. Kind of. The shutting down thing."

Caitlyn glanced at her. Just for a second. Then away.

"I thought maybe you didn't want to train together anymore," Vi continued. Her voice came out smaller than she meant. "Like you realized I wasn't—that it wasn't worth it."

"That's not—" Caitlyn's shoulders tensed. "I did want to train together. That's the problem."

Vi frowned. "I don't understand."

Caitlyn was quiet for a long moment. When she spoke again, her voice was barely audible.

"You're good. At swimming." Her hand moved in a vague gesture. "And I'm supposed to be—I have the times, but—" Her breath hitched. "Watching you, I felt like I had to—" The words came out shaky. "Prove something. That I could—" She let the sentence die.

"Could what?" Vi prompted gently.

"Keep up." Bitter. "That I deserved to be in the same pool as you."

The words landed like a punch. Vi blinked.

"You're—" She laughed, but it came out wrong. "You're Piltover's best. Everyone knows that."

"So?" Caitlyn's voice dropped. "I'm still drowning."

The words settled there. Simple. Unforgiving.

Vi didn't know what to say to that. How to respond to something that raw.

"Yeah," she said quietly. "Me too, I guess. Just—different."

Caitlyn looked at her then. Something shifted in her expression. Not understanding exactly. But recognition. Like they'd both admitted to the same secret.

"I'm sorry I didn't show up Sunday," Vi added. The guilt still fresh. "I fell asleep trying to text you and when I woke up—I thought I'd made everything worse."

"You didn't."

"I made you wait."

"You're here now." Her voice slipped out on a breath, so faint Vi almost missed it.

The weight between them shifted slightly. Still there, but less suffocating.

Vi wanted to say something else. Something that would fix this. Make it better. But she didn't know what that was.

"My mother's making me go back to therapy," She added. "Once a week. On Thursdays."

Vi nodded slowly. "Is that—do you want to?"

"I need to." Caitlyn's hands finally loosened slightly. "I did it before. In high school. When things got—" She waved a hand. "Bad."

"Okay."

"My schedule's going to be tighter," Caitlyn continued. Her voice had gone steady again. Empty. "Less flexibility. And I'm going to have days where I'm—where I'm not good to be around."

"Okay," Vi said again.

Caitlyn's brow furrowed. "That's it? Just okay?"

"I mean—yeah?" Vi shifted slightly. "If your schedule changes, we'll figure it out. I'm not going anywhere."

"You say that now."

"I mean it."

Caitlyn looked at her like she was trying to figure out if Vi was lying.

"Look, I don't have a lot of friends here." The admission felt too big. "Outside my program, I mean." Vi's fingers found that loose thread again, pulling at it. "Mylo and Claggor—we're kind of stuck together. Scholarship kids. We don't really fit."

She paused. Rubbed her palms on her thighs.

"I thought maybe—if we trained together—" She let the words drop. "I don't know. Maybe I'd feel less—" Her hand lifted slightly, fell. "Less like I didn't belong."

Caitlyn was watching her now.

"That's probably not fair," Vi added quickly. "Putting that on—on something that wasn't even—" She cut herself off. "Sorry."

"Don't apologize," Caitlyn said softly. "I didn't know you felt that way."

"Now you do."

They sat with that for a moment.

"Maybe we should—" Caitlyn's jaw worked. "Take a break. From the extra sessions. Just this week."

Vi felt something drop in her stomach. "Oh."

"Not—" Caitlyn's fingers pressed white against each other. "Not because I don't want to. I just—therapy's starting. I should probably focus on that. Get my head straight."

"Yeah. Yeah, that makes sense." Vi nodded, maybe too quickly. "And honestly, I've got a group project that's killing me. I'm drowning in reading."

"So—just this week," Caitlyn said. "We'll figure out next week?"

"Okay."

The agreement stretched between them—practical, necessary, but it still felt like a small loss.

"We will though, right?" Vi asked. She hadn't meant to say it out loud. "Figure it out?"

"I want to."

Not yes. Not of course. Just "I want to."

It wasn't certainty. But it was something.

"I'm just—" Caitlyn's voice dropped to almost a whisper. "I'm scared I'll mess it up again."

The admission sat there. Raw. Unguarded.

Vi's hand moved before she thought about it. An instinct to comfort, to reassure—reaching toward where Caitlyn's hands rested between them.

Then she caught herself.

Pulled back.

Her fingers curled into her palm. The few inches between them suddenly felt impossible to cross.

Caitlyn's eyes flicked down. To where Vi's hand had been. Back up to Vi's face.

Neither of them said anything.

The almost-touch lingered. Heavy. Unspoken.

"We should—" Vi cleared her throat. "We should probably go."

"Yeah." Caitlyn stood first. "I have class at six."

They climbed down from the bleachers together. Started walking toward the locker room doors. The space between them was still there—that careful distance—but it felt less like a wall now. More like they just didn't know how close they were allowed to be yet.

As they reached the split where the hallways diverged—left for Piltover, right for Zaun—they both slowed. Stopped.

Turned to face each other.

An awkward beat.

Neither knew quite how to end this. A hug felt too intimate for how fragile things still were. But just walking away felt too cold after what they'd shared.

Caitlyn's arms twitched slightly. Like she'd started to lift them, then thought better of it.

Vi saw it. Interpreted it as an opening. Stepped forward.

At the exact same moment Caitlyn stepped forward.

They nearly collided. Both pulled up short, too close now, barely a breath between them.

"Sorry—" Vi said, stepping back.

"I didn't mean to—" Caitlyn stepped back too.

Space again. Safe distance restored.

Another beat of painful awkwardness.

Vi settled for a small wave, feeling ridiculous even as she did it. "See you around?"

"Yes." Caitlyn's expression softened slightly, something almost like amusement flickering there. "See you."

She turned left toward the Piltover facilities. Vi watched her go for a second—the careful way she walked, spine straight even now—then headed right.

---

The week passed in a blur of obligations.

Tuesday morning, Vi dragged herself to the gym alone. The weight room was nearly empty at 5:30 AM, just her and a few dedicated souls grinding through their routines. She worked through the strength plan she and Caitlyn had made, but training solo felt different now. She'd gotten used to having someone there—to talk to between sets, to share the quiet morning routine with. Mylo and Claggor would've laughed if she'd asked them to meet her this early. It wasn't the same.

 

Wednesday, she saw Caitlyn in the library. Vi was leaving, arms full of books for her Biomechanics reading. Caitlyn was at a table near the window with a blonde girl—Maddie, maybe? Vi had seen them together before. They had textbooks spread between them, heads bent close in concentration.

She looked up as Vi passed. Their eyes met. Vi lifted her hand in a small wave. Caitlyn's expression softened slightly and she nodded back. A moment of acknowledgment. Casual.

Vi kept walking.

That night, alone in her dorm room while her roommate studied at her desk, Vi found herself thinking about the library moment. The way Caitlyn had looked up. The small nod. The fact that it hadn't been weird.

That was good, right? That they could be normal around each other?

Except they'd barely been normal to begin with. And now they were taking a break from trying.

Vi stared at her textbook, the words blurring together. She hadn't texted Caitlyn since Monday. Didn't know if she should. They'd said a week.

Her phone sat next to her notebook. Dark. Silent.

She turned back to her reading.

 

Thursday afternoon, Sevika caught Vi after practice. "Small training room. Fifteen minutes. Flexibility work."

Which sounded ominous.

And it was.

"Your hip flexor's tighter than Piltover's budget," Sevika said, watching Vi attempt a lunge stretch. "Down. NO—lower."

Vi grimaced, trying to sink deeper. Her muscles screamed in protest.

"I don't understand how you swim like that," Sevika continued, circling her like a predator. "You're going to blow something out before championships."

"I'm trying—"

"Try harder." Sevika crouched beside her, one hand pressing firmly between Vi's shoulder blades. "Drop your hip. Forward. Not tilted."

Vi adjusted. The pinch in her hip intensified.

"Hold it."

"How long?"

"Forty-five seconds."

Vi wanted to die. "This is torture."

"This is what happens when you neglect your body." Sevika's voice was matter-of-fact. "You want power without range, you end up broken. Now breathe."

Vi breathed. Counted. Tried not to think about how Caitlyn's hands had been on her during corrections. How her voice had been—not gentle exactly, but less harsh than this. How she'd gotten annoyed when Vi complained but at least hadn't made Vi feel like she was actively failing at being human.

"Time. Switch sides."

Vi groaned but complied. The other hip was somehow worse.

"You know what your problem is?" Sevika said.

"Please enlighten me."

"You think this is optional. It's not. It's foundational." She pressed her palm against Vi's lower back, adjusting her position. "You want to compete at the level you're swimming? You fix this. Or you flame out."

The bluntness should've stung. Instead, it felt oddly clarifying. Sevika didn't coddle. Didn't make excuses. She just told you what needed to happen.

"Stretching makes everyone miserable," Sevika added after a moment. Almost conversational. "But you do it anyway. That's the job."

Vi held the position until her muscles shook. When Sevika finally released her, she collapsed onto her side, breathing hard.

"Better," Sevika said, already standing. "We'll fix this before you embarrass yourself at championships."

"Can't wait," Vi muttered.

Sevika grabbed her clipboard from the bench. "Fifteen minutes after every training. Don't make me hunt you down." She headed for the door without looking back.

Vi lay there, hips screaming, staring at the ceiling.

Stretching made everyone an asshole. Caitlyn had snapped at her. Sevika was somehow worse. Maybe flexibility just did that to people.

She groaned and pulled herself up.

---

Thursday night arrived with all the grace of a freight train.

Vi had been in the library since six PM, hunched over a table with Mylo, Claggor, and two other students from their Biomechanics class. The group project was due next week and they were nowhere near finished.

"This graph makes no sense," one of the students said, stabbing at her laptop screen.

"That's because your data's wrong," Mylo replied.

"My data's not wrong—"

"Then explain why the trajectory looks like that."

Vi rubbed her eyes. They'd been at this for hours. The fluorescent lights were too bright. Her coffee had gone cold. She had highlighter smudges on her hands and probably her face.

"Can we just—" Claggor held up both hands. "Let's table the graph. Focus on the write-up. Vi, you're good with words. Can you draft the conclusion?"

Vi blinked. "What? Now?"

"Yes, now. We're running out of time."

Vi pulled her laptop closer and started typing. The words came slowly, each sentence feeling like it weighed a thousand pounds. Around her, the others argued about methodology and citation format and whether their hypothesis was even testable.

Finally, mercifully, Claggor closed his laptop with a decisive snap.

"I think we're done for tonight."

"We're not even close to done—" Mylo started.

"Then we'll finish this weekend. I can't think anymore."

They gathered their things and went their separate ways. Vi shouldered her bag and checked her phone for the first time in hours.

9:47 PM.

And one new message.

From Caitlyn. Sent at 7:47 PM.

 

「Are you free Sunday? I could use some time off-campus.」

 

Vi stared at the screen.

Thursday. Today was Thursday.

Therapy day.

Caitlyn had mentioned it Monday. Which meant she'd come from her first session back. And instead of retreating, shutting down like she had all last week, she'd reached out.

Vi's psych classes had drilled it into her: people in crisis either withdrew or connected. Caitlyn was choosing connection.

Good sign.

Vi typed back.

「Yeah, I'm free. What do you want to do?」

The response came within a minute.

「I don't know. Just need to get away from campus for a bit.」

Vi's fingers moved carefully over the keyboard.

「Long week?」

A pause. The typing indicator appeared. Disappeared. Appeared again.

「Something like that.」

Vi smiled despite her exhaustion.

「I get it. We'll decompress Sunday.」

「That sounds really good actually.」

Something warm unfurled in Vi's chest.

「Noon? Main gate?」

「Sure.」

Vi set her phone down and stared at it.

Sunday. Caitlyn had reached out first. After therapy. After a long week. She wanted to spend time together. Off-campus.

A smile tugged at Vi's mouth before she could stop it.

Caitlyn knew Piltover—actually knew it, not just the campus bubble. She could show Vi parts of the city Vi had never seen, the places locals went instead of tourist traps. Maybe they'd grab lunch somewhere, walk around.

It wasn't a date. Obviously. They were barely friends. But the idea of spending an afternoon with Caitlyn—no pool between them, no stopwatch, no plan—sent a strange, warm little jolt through her. It felt good. Too good.

Vi caught herself grinning and shook her head. Don't be weird about this.

She pulled up her banking app, checked her account. Last weekend's tips had been solid. She had enough to cover them if Caitlyn wanted to go out. Not a lot, but enough that she wouldn't have to stress about splitting a bill.

Just in case.

 

She headed back to her dorm. Her roommate was already asleep when she got there, room dark except for the glow of her charging phone.

Vi changed into sweats and flopped into bed. Stared at the ceiling.

Two more days. Friday at the bar. Saturday the same. And then Sunday.

A nervous energy hummed through her, electric and eager. But underneath, quieter, something uncomfortable waited.

She'd have to tell Caitlyn. About how they started. The truth.

Her stomach tightened.

She wasn't someone who lied. Wasn't someone who hid things or took the easy way out. Powder had called her stupidly honest more times than Vi could count. So why was she acting like this? Like some coward who couldn't own up to her own shit?

Because this—whatever it was—mattered. And Vi didn't want to lose it before it even started.

But that was exactly why she had to say something. Caitlyn deserved the truth. Deserved to know Vi's actual intentions—that she'd wanted connection, friendship, not just some parasocial training thing. That it had been clumsy and pushy but real.

She closed her eyes. Excitement and dread twisted together, neither one winning.

She'd figure it out. She'd find the right moment and be honest. Like she should've been from the start.

The uncertainty gnawed at her anyway.

She exhaled. Turned onto her side. Tried to sleep.

Sunday. Two days.

She could do this.

Notes:

This might as well be Cait

Chapter 6: Enough is Enough

Notes:

Pockets, excessive walking, a confession, Vi absolutely staring, and anxiety-fuelled little rituals 👀

Tiny heads-up about Cait—her weirdness around food is mostly anxiety killing her appetite, not a fully fleshed-out ED storyline. It still brushes up against disordered eating vibes though, so please take care of yourselves while reading 💙

Caitlyn stopped in the middle of the narrow passageway and turned to face her.

Brick on both sides. The distant hum of traffic at the far end. No one else around.

"Okay." Her voice was controlled, but something sharp edged beneath it. "Now we talk."

Vi's heart hammered. She nodded.

"You know what's bothering me?" Caitlyn's arms were crossed tight, but her eyes were sharp, focused. One hand came up to gesture at Vi. "I spent so much time thinking of you as—I don't know. This person I had to measure up to. My competitor." The hand dropped. "And you're so bad at this. At lying. You can't even look me in the eye when you do it." Her mouth twisted. "Makes me feel stupid for ever being intimidated."

Vi flinched. The idea that Caitlyn—polished, brilliant Caitlyn—had looked at her and felt like she wasn't enough was backwards.

"Do you know how I knew?" Caitlyn continued. Her weight shifted to one hip. "Every time I asked you, the answer seemed oddly convenient. You said you got it from the team roster. But every time my teammates share my number, they let me know. Professional courtesy. So this would be the first time it just... appeared. Pretty convenient timing."

"I—"

"I had a feeling," Caitlyn said quietly. "But I didn't want to believe it."

Caught. She'd been caught the whole time.

"Why now?" Caitlyn asked after a moment. Her arms loosened slightly. "Why tell me now? Why not just keep it to yourself?"

"Because you don't deserve that." Vi's voice cracked. She pressed her palm flat against the brick wall behind her, needing something solid. "I wanted to tell you earlier, but I was scared. That you'd—" She gestured helplessly. "That you wouldn't want to be around me anymore. Which—yeah. I'd get it."

Silence stretched between them. Caitlyn stared at the ground, teeth worrying at her bottom lip. Her fingers drummed once against her arm, then stilled.

Vi leaned back against the wall. There was nothing else to say. "I'm so sorry."

Finally, Caitlyn looked up. "Have you lied about anything else?"

"No. I swear. Nothing else."

"Just my privacy, then." Caitlyn's voice was flat.

Vi winced. "I—yeah. I really fucked up."

"That's weird, Vi. Really weird. And utterly ridiculous."

"I know." Vi hunched her shoulders. "I just—I wasn't thinking."

Caitlyn exhaled sharply. She turned toward the street at the end of the passageway, watching a car drive by. Her jaw worked like she was chewing through something difficult.

Then she held out her hand, palm up. Curled her fingers once. Give it.

Vi blinked. "What?"

"Your phone. Unlocked."

Her stomach dropped clean out. But she still pulled it from her pocket, thumb already slick with sweat. She unlocked it and set it in Caitlyn's palm, trying not to notice how badly her hand shook.

Caitlyn took it without looking at her. She scrolled for a moment. Typed something. Then looked up.

"Done. My number's deleted."

She handed the phone back.

Vi stared at the screen. Caitlyn's contact was gone—completely erased, like it had never been there at all. Her chest tightened, panic flaring—this was it, she'd blown it completely—

"Oh," was all she managed.

---

Hours earlier, Vi had changed her shirt three times.

 

Which was stupid. It was just a day off-campus. Just—

 

She stared at herself in the small mirror above her desk. Black tee, dark jeans, her usual. Nothing special. But she'd still stood there that morning, pulling shirts out and putting them back, second-guessing every choice.

Her buzzcut needed touching up. She'd noticed it yesterday—the shaved side growing out just enough to bother her. She spent twenty minutes with her clippers that morning, checking and rechecking the lines until they were clean.

Her roommate had left for the library an hour ago with a pointed look that said you're being weird.

Vi grabbed her jacket—the grey one, then changed her mind and went with the black—and headed out.

Checked the time: 11:15.

Forty-five minutes.

She grabbed coffee from the student center, burned her tongue on the first sip, and ended up dumping half because her stomach couldn't handle it. At 11:30, she gave up pretending to study and started walking toward the main gate.

She arrived eleven minutes early.

Found a spot against one of the stone pillars and leaned back. The sky was that sharp, clear blue that came with early spring—bright and promising even if the air still bit at exposed skin.

She should have brought a scarf.

Or maybe worn the grey jacket after all.

Or maybe she should've figured out what the hell she was going to say.

Hey, so remember how I got your number? Yeah, funny story—

No. That was shit.

Let's say, purely hypothetically—

Worse.

Stop.

Vi closed her eyes and breathed. This was fine. She was fine. She'd tell Caitlyn the truth, and whatever happened after—she'd deal with it.

If Caitlyn would let her.

Her phone buzzed.

 

「Running a few minutes late. Be there soon.」

「no worries. take your time」

 

---

Caitlyn appeared at 12:07, walking briskly from the direction of the dorms.

Vi straightened as she approached, then went still.

Caitlyn looked—different. Her hair was pulled back in a loose ponytail, a few strands framing her face. She wore a dark skirt, tights, and a soft sweater, but it was the details that caught Vi's attention: the subtle color on her lips. A hint of definition around her eyes that made the blue stand out more than usual.

She looked really good.

"Hi." Caitlyn's smile was cautious as she reached the gate. "Sorry I'm late."

"It's fine." Vi pulled her hands from her pockets, suddenly hyperaware of how she was standing. "You look—" She caught herself. "Nice. Different."

Pleased and self-conscious flickered across Caitlyn's face at once. "Thanks. I don't usually bother with makeup, but..." She trailed off with a slight shrug.

They stood there for a beat. The almost-collision from last week hung between them—that awkward fumbling goodbye, the uncertainty of what came next.

"So," Caitlyn said. "Do you want a ride? I have my car. We could drive somewhere, or—"

"No, walking's good." Vi said it too quickly, then softened. "I mean—if that's okay. I want to actually see the city. I haven't explored much outside campus."

Caitlyn's shoulders relaxed. "Okay. Walking it is. I know some good spots."

They headed into Piltover proper, walking side by side.

 

For the first block, neither spoke. Not uncomfortable silence exactly, but careful—like they were both testing the ground between them, seeing if last week's fragile truce would hold.

"So," Vi started, then stopped. "Uh—"

"This way." Caitlyn turned down a side street, relief in her tone at having direction to offer.

The streets opened up before them—wider than campus, cleaner, lined with old trees just starting to bud. Shops with pristine windows displayed things Vi couldn't afford to look at too closely. The sidewalk smelled faintly of fresh bread from a bakery they passed, mixing with the green scent of new leaves.

After another block of quiet, Caitlyn gestured ahead. "That bookshop. My friend Jayce used to drag me there when we were kids. He's an engineer now—even back then he was hunting for technical manuals."

"My sister would love this place," Vi said. "She's into that engineering stuff—still in high school, but already looking at programs up here."

"She sounds so smart. Does she know what kind yet?"

"Not exactly. She just wants to build stuff." Vi's mouth curved. "Figure out how things work, then make them better. Or explode trying."

Caitlyn's expression warmed. "She and Jayce would either be best friends or destroy a lab together."

"Probably both."

The tension eased between them. They kept walking, the quiet less stiff now. Vi realized she'd stopped rehearsing lines in her head somewhere in the last few blocks.

She should probably bring it up. The confession. That's what today was supposed to be about.

But Caitlyn looked more relaxed than Vi had ever seen her, and the morning anxiety felt far away now, almost unreal. They had time. She'd find the right moment.

 

At a vendor stand, they bought a pastry to share—something flaky and sweet. Caitlyn tore it in half, handed Vi one piece. Their fingers brushed briefly.

They kept walking, eating as they went. The pastry was gone before Vi realized it. She looked down at her fingers, sticky with sugar, and without thinking brought them to her mouth, licking them clean one by one.

When she looked up, Caitlyn was watching her. Just for a second. Then she turned away, a smile tugging at her lips.

"Come on," Caitlyn said, her tone lighter now. "There's one more place I want to show you."

---

The path climbed steadily, winding up through a hillside park Vi hadn't known existed. Her legs burned by the time they reached the top, but when she looked up, the view stole whatever breath she had left.

The overlook stretched before them—a wide stone platform jutting out from the hillside. From here, they could see everything: Piltover spread below in neat, organized blocks, and beyond it, across the river, Zaun's sprawling chaos of buildings and smoke.

"Wow," she breathed.

The air up here was colder, sharper. The wind knifed through her clothes, but Vi barely noticed. She moved to the edge of the overlook, leaning against the stone barrier, eyes fixed on the view.

"I found this place a few years ago." Caitlyn stood beside her, close enough that their shoulders almost touched. "It helps. Getting some perspective."

Vi glanced at her. "Does it?"

"Sometimes." Caitlyn's gaze stayed on the horizon. "It's easier to think when you can see the whole picture. Not just the part you're stuck in."

Her words held weight—not just sharing a place, but sharing what it meant to need it.

Vi looked back at the view. Zaun looked different from here—smaller, maybe. Less overwhelming. She could see the streets she'd grown up on, the places she knew by heart, but they didn't feel so heavy from this distance.

"I've never been up here."

"I figured." Caitlyn said softly. "It's not exactly a tourist spot."

They stood quietly for a while. Vi watched the smoke rise from Zaun's factories, the way it drifted and dispersed in the wind. From here, it almost looked peaceful.

"It's strange," Vi said after a moment. "Seeing it like this. I grew up down there, but I never thought about what it looked like from—" She gestured vaguely. "From here."

"What was it like? Growing up there?"

Vi considered the question. "Loud. Crowded. Everyone knows everyone, which is good and bad depending on the day." She paused. "But it was home, you know? Still is, I guess."

"I get that." Caitlyn's fingers traced the edge of the stone barrier. "Piltover's different. Quieter. More space. But also more... expectations."

"Like what?"

"Everything. How you look, how you act, what you achieve. It's all very..." She trailed off, searching for the word. "Curated."

"That sounds exhausting."

"It is." Caitlyn's voice dropped lower. "Sometimes I think that's why I like swimming. In the pool, none of that matters. It's just you and the water. You can't fake it there."

Vi nodded slowly. She knew that feeling too well.

Beside her, movement caught her eye. Caitlyn rubbed her hands together, blowing on them softly.

"You cold?"

"A bit." Caitlyn tucked her hands under her arms. "The wind's stronger up here."

Vi hesitated, then spoke before she could second-guess herself. "Here. Give me your hands."

Caitlyn looked at her, confused.

Vi pulled her hands from her jacket pockets and held them out, palms up. "Trust me."

Caitlyn stared at Vi's hands for a moment, then slowly placed her own on top of them. Her fingers were cold, almost icy against Vi's warmth.

Vi's heart kicked in her chest. She tried to ignore it, focusing instead on gently pulling Caitlyn's hands forward and guiding them into her jacket pockets.

"There." The words came out rougher than intended. "My sister used to hate wearing gloves. Too stubborn for her own good. So I'd do this."

Caitlyn stood very still, Vi's hands still loosely holding hers. The position put them closer than they'd been all day—close enough that Vi could count her eyelashes, see the way the cold had brought color to her cheeks and nose.

The awkwardness from earlier—that careful distance they'd been maintaining—cracked. Broke open. Left just the two of them standing too close on a cold overlook, breath misting in the space between them.

She didn't want to break this. Didn't want to say the thing that would make Caitlyn pull away, make that openness in her expression shutter closed. Not yet. Not when Caitlyn was looking at her like this.

"This is—" Caitlyn started, then stopped. Her eyes caught on something. She tilted her head.

"Your hair."

Vi's breath caught. "What?"

"Your undercut." Caitlyn's gaze traced the line along Vi's temple. "The edge is really clean. You touched it up, didn't you?"

Warmth flooded Vi's face. Of course Caitlyn would notice. They were close enough—Caitlyn tall enough—to see every detail.

"This morning," Vi admitted. "It was getting fuzzy."

"I can tell." Caitlyn's eyes followed the fade, like she couldn't help herself. "The line's perfectly even. Must be hard to do it on yourself."

One perfectionist spotting another's work.

"Thanks." She forced herself to look back at the view, playing it cool even though her heart was doing something stupid in her chest.

Vi could feel Caitlyn's fingers curl against hers, a small unconscious movement. After a long moment, Caitlyn slowly pulled her hands free.

"Better?" Vi tried to sound casual.

Caitlyn nodded. Her lips pulled into a smile. "Yeah. Much better."

That's when Vi saw them. Dimples. Small dents at the corners of Caitlyn's mouth, barely visible but there.

Vi stared. She'd never seen them before—never been this close when Caitlyn actually smiled. The whole picture could fuck itself. This was better.

Under the scrutiny, Caitlyn's expression faltered. She ducked her head, the flush on her cheeks deepening to something Vi couldn't quite blame on the cold.

"We should—" Caitlyn cleared her throat. "We should probably eat. Actual food, I mean."

"Sure." Vi shoved her hands back in her pockets. "I'm starving."

They made their way back down the hill, neither speaking much. The easy comfort from before had shifted into something more electric—every accidental brush of hands on the narrow path, every sideways glance when the other wasn't looking.

By the time they reached level ground, Vi's pulse had almost returned to normal.

---

The restaurant sat halfway down a side street—faded yellow awning, mismatched chairs, a potted lemon tree by the door.

A middle-aged lady looked up from behind the counter as they approached, her face breaking into a grin.

"Cait! Haven't seen you in weeks."

"Hi, Ms. Adler." Caitlyn's expression softened. "Just busy with school."

"The usual?"

Caitlyn hesitated. "Actually, I'll have the soup special. And tea."

Ms. Adler's eyebrows rose slightly, but she just nodded approvingly. "And for your friend?"

Vi ordered a wrap and coffee, and they took one of the outdoor tables—a small two-top where their knees almost touched.

"You come here a lot?" Vi asked.

"Used to. When I was younger." Caitlyn's fingers traced the edge of the table. "My parents brought me here after swim practice sometimes. They have the best cupcakes."

Vi glanced at the display case. "I could get you—"

"I ordered soup," Caitlyn said, something careful in her tone.

Vi looked back at her.

"Trying to eat more normally," Caitlyn explained quietly. "My therapist—it's something we're working on. Real food first."

"Makes sense." Vi leaned back. "Soup's good too."

Their food arrived—steaming bowls and plates that smelled incredible. They ate in comfortable quiet for a bit. The soup sent up wisps of steam that Caitlyn watched before each careful spoonful. Vi's wrap dripped sauce onto her plate.

"How was it?" Vi asked. "Therapy. If you want to talk about it."

Caitlyn set her spoon down, considering. "It was... a lot. First session is always just crying. I didn't even get to half the things I meant to talk about." She rubbed her temple. "I'm supposed to go back Thursday and actually, you know, use words."

"Crying probably means you're getting somewhere," Vi said. "Even if it doesn't feel like it."

"Maybe." Caitlyn's fingers circled the rim of her mug. "My therapist said I'm exhausted because I'm working twice as hard. Once to keep things together, and once to hide how hard I'm trying."

"Shit." Vi's voice was quiet. "That sounds like hell."

"It is." Caitlyn picked at the edge of her napkin. "So I'm trying something different. Being honest with myself. About what I need. What I actually want." She paused, glancing around at the small restaurant, the street beyond. "Like this. Being here. I'm actually enjoying myself."

"That's—" Vi paused, biting back a smile. "That's good. You deserve that."

"Yeah." Caitlyn's mouth curved slightly. "So I'll be honest. I'm not used to being around people like you."

"Like me?"

Caitlyn looked almost shy. "You're just—you're direct. You don't seem to second-guess yourself."

The words landed like a punch.

Direct.

Oh fuck. Vi had been sitting here, comfortable, almost forgetting what she'd come here to do. And now Caitlyn was talking about honesty while praising Vi for the exact thing Vi wasn't.

Her stomach dropped.

"You're wrong." The words jumped out before she could think better of them. "I mean—it's not like that."

Caitlyn tilted her head. "What do you mean?"

Vi opened her mouth but her tongue felt useless. Her hands gripped the edge of the table. Of course. The one time she needed words, they bailed. All that guilt she'd been shoving down crawled up into her face, obvious and pathetic.

"Vi?" Caitlyn's posture shifted, spine straightening. Her teacup clinked softly as she set it down. "What do you mean?"

"I—" Vi's throat knotted. She forced her gaze up from the table. "There's something I need to tell you." She looked at Caitlyn's face, tried to memorize it before everything changed. "But I don't want you to go away."

Caitlyn stilled. Her jaw set. "Go on."

Vi took a deep breath and held it. Her nails dug into her palms. "Weeks ago, in the pool. When I asked to see your schedule." Her voice was quiet but steady. "I wasn't just looking at it."

Caitlyn's eyes widened slightly.

The words rushed out. "I scrolled up. Found your number. And I saved it to my phone while you weren't looking." Her shoulders hunched forward. "And then when you asked me how I got it—I lied. Both times."

Quiet settled between them.

Caitlyn stared at her. Her brows knitted together. She looked like she wanted to say something—started to, maybe—but nothing came out. Her hand moved to her napkin, fingers gripping the fabric.

Shame burned hot in Vi's chest, but she couldn't stop herself. "I just wanted to get to know you, and I didn't know how to just ask, and I thought—"

"Stop."

Vi's mouth snapped shut.

Caitlyn looked down at her soup. "I need to eat, and I'd rather do it in silence. We can talk after."

The dismissal took the air right out of her.

Vi nodded mutely.

Caitlyn picked up her spoon again. Took a bite. Chewed slowly, deliberately. Swallowed. Methodical, each movement precise and contained.

Vi watched her, stomach churning. This was worse than a fight—worse than getting yelled at. At least with a fight, you knew where you stood. You took your hit and it was done.

But Caitlyn just kept eating, neat and silent, one careful spoonful after another.

Around them, the restaurant hummed with quiet conversation—other tables, other people having normal Sunday lunches. Ms. Adler moved behind the counter, occasionally glancing their way with a small frown.

Caitlyn finished her soup. Picked up her tea. Sipped it slowly, hands steady.

Vi had managed maybe half her meal. Each bite sat heavy in her stomach. She set it down, couldn't force any more.

Caitlyn's eyes flicked to Vi's plate. "Are you going to finish that?"

Vi shook her head.

"Then let's go." Caitlyn stood.

Vi caught the lady's attention, pulled out her wallet with shaking hands. Paid for both of them quickly—too much, probably, but she didn't check the change. Just wanted to be outside, away from the weight of that awful silence.

 

Vi hung back half a step. Ahead of her, Caitlyn's spine was rigid, each step deliberate.

They turned a corner into a narrow passageway—brick walls on either side, the kind of shortcut locals knew. Caitlyn stopped abruptly and turned.

---

"Oh," was all she managed.

Caitlyn let out a slow breath, eyes on the phone in Vi's hands. "That was really stupid, Vi."

"I know."

"Really, really stupid."

"I know." Vi's voice cracked.

Caitlyn tilted her head slightly. "So are you going to ask for it properly or not?"

Vi's head snapped up.

"My number." Caitlyn's face was still serious, but something had shifted in her eyes. "You want it, don't you?"

Vi nodded. "Yeah." Her voice came out small. "I really do."

"Okay. So ask me."

"Can I—" Vi swallowed hard. "Can I have your number?"

Caitlyn reached out and took the phone back. She typed quickly, and handed it back.

"There. Was that so difficult?"

"No." Vi muttered. "Not at all."

Caitlyn studied her for a moment, then seemed to decide something. "Good." She turned and started walking back toward the main street. Glanced over her shoulder. "I'm taking the bus. You coming?"

Vi pushed off the wall. "Yeah."

---

They walked back toward the street, footsteps out of sync. Vi wanted to say something—thanks, maybe, or sorry again—but everything sounded wrong in her head. Caitlyn's invitation to the bus was something, at least. She hadn't pushed her away.

They reached the bus stop just as one pulled up. Climbed on, made their way to the back.

Vi half-expected Caitlyn to pick a different row, put some distance between them. But Caitlyn slid into a seat and didn't move over to block the space beside her.

Vi sat down next to her.

For the first few minutes, Caitlyn stayed angled toward the window, one knee pulled up slightly onto the seat. Processing. The bus rumbled through an intersection, and Caitlyn's posture slowly loosened—knee dropping, back settling against the seat.

The adrenaline was starting to drain out of Vi now, leaving her hollow and wrung out. She'd done it. Told the truth. And Caitlyn was still here.

Through the window, Piltover slid past—streets they'd walked, neighborhoods they'd crossed. Caitlyn shifted slightly, her shoulder brushing Vi's. She didn't pull away.

Vi glanced at her. "Are you still mad at me?"

Caitlyn hummed. "Not mad." She turned to look at Vi. Her expression was tired but not angry. "Just annoyed, I guess."

Vi nodded slowly, letting that sink in.

Caitlyn breathed out softly. Leaned back against the seat, head tilting toward Vi. "I don't think you did it out of malice." Her voice dropped lower, almost a murmur.
"You just made a stupid decision and—" She paused, eyes unfocused for a moment before finding Vi's again. "Please don't lie to me again."

Vi leaned back too, mirroring her. Close enough to hear Caitlyn breathe, to catch the faint scent of her perfume.

"Never," Vi said quietly. "I promise."

Caitlyn nodded, something easing in her expression. She turned back to the window, shoulders relaxing.

"Vi?"

"Yeah?"

"'Caitlyn Kiramman Piltover University Swimming Division I'?" One eyebrow arched. "Really?"

Vi let out a breath—half laugh, half relief at the teasing in Caitlyn's voice. "I typed it fast. I didn't know what to put."

"It's like a full address."

"I panicked, okay?"

Caitlyn's mouth twitched. "Well, I changed it," she said quietly, letting her eyes close.

Vi pulled out her phone. Scrolled to contacts. Found it.

This time it said Cait.

Vi's thumb hovered over the name. Nothing formal, nothing distant. Just Cait.

A moment passed in quiet. Then, softer: "I had a good day, you know."

Vi looked over at her.

Caitlyn's eyes opened, meeting Vi's. "I mean it." Her voice was gentle. "Even with—all of that. I'm glad you told me now." She paused. "If you'd waited more... that would've been worse. This way we can just—" She gestured vaguely. "Move forward."

Vi's throat tightened. She nodded, ducking her head to hide how much those words meant.

Caitlyn's mouth curved. Her hand slipped down from where it had been resting, settling in the small space between them. Palm up. Relaxed.

Vi's eyes fell to it. She remembered how icy Caitlyn's hands had been on the overlook, how slowly they'd warmed. The bus wasn't much warmer than outside. Were they cold now?

If they were, she could help. Thread their fingers together. It would be easy—just slide her hand over, let their palms meet. Her fingers would fit between Caitlyn's, and she could keep them warm. Like before.

That wasn't why she wanted to do it.

And even if it was, that would be too much. Her hands itched for it anyway, but she stayed still. Maybe Caitlyn would pull away. Maybe she wouldn't.

Vi didn't want to find out. Not yet. This was enough.

She pocketed her phone and turned back to her own window.

It was real.

Finally, it was real.

Notes:

I will be respectfully leaving this little hand-holding picture here as evidence that we have officially reached the “your hands live in my pockets now” stage of whatever-the-hell-they-are. 🫡✨

Chapter 7: Fight or Flight

Notes:

Cait's brain is her biggest hater and Vi is God's strongest little warrior. 🤌🏻

Caitlyn checked her phone.

9:47 AM.

 

She was missing International Political Economy. Third row, five minutes early—that was her spot. Professor Webb would notice the empty seat.

Her thumb hovered over the screen. She could still leave. Walk out. Pretend she'd never made the appointment.

The waiting room was beige. Generic landscape prints. White noise machine in the corner. She'd filled out the intake forms—pages of questions, circles on scales. How often do you feel hopeless? How difficult is it to concentrate?

"Caitlyn?"

A woman in her fifties. Grey hair, wire-rimmed glasses. "I'm Dr. Zhao. Come on back."

The office was smaller than expected. Desk, computer, two chairs, bookshelf. Dr. Zhao gestured. Caitlyn sat. Ankles crossed, hands folded.

"Can I get you water or anything?"

"No, thank you."

Dr. Zhao settled across from her with a tablet. "So. Your therapist referred you—Dr. Mirren?"

"Yes."

"You've been seeing her for two weeks?"

Caitlyn nodded. Two sessions of circling the same things. Sleep. Appetite. The anxiety that woke her at four AM. Dr. Mirren had been gentle: You need to see someone about medication. We can't talk through this alone.

"I've reviewed her notes." Dr. Zhao's fingers moved over the screen. "Before we discuss treatment, I need some medical history. Medications, allergies, family history."

The questions rolled out. Caitlyn answered. Her voice sounded far away, like someone else was using it. No medications. No allergies. No family history of mental illness that she knew of.

"Your intake form mentioned weight loss—eight pounds in the last month?"

"Yes."

"Intentional?"

"No. I just—I haven't been eating much."

"Tell me about that."

Caitlyn heard herself explain. Restriction during stress. Forgetting to eat. Realizing at night she'd gone all day without food. A few times a week. More during competition season.

Dr. Zhao made notes. "You're a Division I swimmer?"

"Yes."

"Significant demand on your body. How's your performance?"

Caitlyn's throat tightened. "I'm still competitive."

A pause. "Where do you need to be?"

The question just sat there. Caitlyn didn't have an answer.

They moved on. When did the anxiety get worse? Sleep patterns? Eating—guilt, shame, control? Mood changes after bad performances?

Caitlyn answered each one. She watched herself from somewhere else. The girl in the chair responding appropriately. Someone else observing how easy it was to reduce everything to symptoms.

Self-harm? Suicidal thoughts?

"No." Too sharp.

"I'm required to ask," Dr. Zhao said gently.

Caitlyn looked at her hands. Fingers folded tight. Knuckles pale.

"Based on what you've told me and Dr. Mirren's notes," Dr. Zhao said, "I think medication could help. An SSRI—it can address both anxiety and some of the obsessive thought patterns you're describing."

Antidepressant.

"I'm also concerned about your nutrition. The weight loss with your training volume—we need to address that. I'd like to start you on a multivitamin and a low-dose appetite stimulant." Dr. Zhao's fingers moved across the screen. "And I'm prescribing a benzodiazepine for acute anxiety—panic attacks. As needed only, not daily."

Four bottles. Four different admissions.

"How long would I need to take them?"

"That depends on your response. SSRIs typically take four to six weeks to reach full effect. We'd reassess after a few months—"

The words started blurring. Side effects. Timing. Dosages. Banned substances. S.O.S pills.

A water stain marked the ceiling. Roughly circular. Faded at the edges.

"Caitlyn?"

She blinked. Dr. Zhao was watching her.

"Sorry. What?"

"I asked if you had questions."

Caitlyn shook her head.

Dr. Zhao stood and closed the tablet. “I’ll send these prescriptions to your pharmacy and set a follow-up for about four weeks,” she said. “We’ll see how you’re doing on the dose and adjust if we need to.”

She offered her hand. “Keep checking in with Dr. Mirren in the meantime. And if anything feels off—worsening mood, anything unusual—call. We can change the plan.”

Caitlyn shook her hand. Her palm was damp.

"Thank you."

---

She walked out of the office, through the waiting room to the parking lot. Unlocking her car, she sat there for a moment, eyes fixed on the building. Lost, or so she thought. 

Her phone rang and her heart kicked. She jumped in her seat.

An email from Dr. Zhao's assistant. The prescription was ready to pick up.

She started the car and drove, radio off.

Antidepressant. Appetite stimulant. Multivitamin. Benzos.

Missed class. Notes to catch up on.

Train. Study. Eat three meals. Pills thirty minutes before. SSRI at night. Sleep. Wake up. Again.

Championship in eight weeks.

She turned without thinking. The street was unfamiliar. She almost missed a red light, slamming the brakes too hard. The car jerked forward. A man behind her threw up his hands, brow furrowed, mouth moving in words she couldn't hear.

Stupid girl, probably. Can't even drive properly.

She kept going. Her mouth went dry, fingers numbing. She squeezed the steering wheel to force her hands to feel something solid.

She managed to park at the pharmacy. Her heart pulsed in her ears.

Her hand rested on the door handle. She could leave. Drive away. Pretend the prescription didn't exist.

She got out.

Muffled conversations filled the space. The pharmacy felt too small, narrowing at the edges. A kid ran in front of her as she approached the counter. She gasped, stopped, waited for her heart to slow.

"Hi. Uh—pick up, please."

The young technician looked up from the computer and smiled.

"Sure. Name?"

"Kiramman."

He typed quickly, humming.

"Looks like we just got it in. Give me a minute to fill it."

She stood at the counter. A woman nearby glanced at her, then away.

Could she tell?  Could people tell?

The technician returned, bottles in hand with her name printed on each label. He explained the instructions. Every day, each of them. No breaks—that would interrupt the process and worsen side effects.

Caitlyn nodded at each word, even though she could barely grasp what he was saying.

As soon as she swiped her card and took the bag, she walked to her car, eager to get back to campus.

---

She climbed the stairs to the third floor. Unlocked the door.

The room looked exactly the same. Bed unmade. Laptop open. Textbook abandoned.

She set the pharmacy bag on her nightstand, then drew the curtains.

She kicked off her shoes, stripped off her clothes and threw them in the laundry basket. She could still smell the faint antiseptic scent of the psychiatrist's office. Or maybe she was imagining it, her mind still clinging to that place. She couldn't tell anymore.

In the bathroom, she stepped into the shower. Movements automatic: shampoo, hair mask, conditioner, soap, shaving.

She'd have to tell her parents.

Ask Dr. Mirren if it'd be okay to skip the meds just after the championship. They could still talk about things, right?

She ran the razor over the same spot on her shin. Again. Again.

Maybe start a diary with her symptoms to keep track. Bring it to her next appointment with Dr. Zhao. Maybe that would make the next appointment easier, quicker—

Caitlyn flinched. She looked down. A chunk of skin was caught between the blades. Blood welled up, thinning in the water.

She yanked the blade back, cold tightening in her gut. She bit down hard on her lip. Turned off the water. Grabbed a towel, dried her shin, then fumbled through the drawer for a band-aid.

She slapped it down as the edges lifted from the water running down her leg.

Her hands gripped the edges of the sink, breathing hard enough to feel dizzy.

She looked up. Blue eyes stared back, but it weren't hers. Who was this girl?

She furrowed her brows. Smiled. Scanned her teeth. The same gap in her reflection. The same bones, the same flesh.

She ran a hand over herself, trying to recognize the feel of her body. Through her sides, arms, hips, neck, breasts. All borrowed.

A person suit.

She walked back to her room, leaving wet footprints on the floor. Her heart kept aching, a burn clawing its way up her throat. Her breathing came in shallow gasps. The urge to cry burned behind her eyes, but nothing came out. Just stuttered huffs.

She dropped onto the bed, eyes glued to the ceiling, hands on her chest.

In. Out. In. Out.

Just like Dr. Mirren had taught her.

The sheets grew damp beneath her naked skin. Cold, sticking, swallowing her.

She heard a ring, far away, cutting through her ragged breathing.

Her phone had dropped to the floor. She hadn't noticed it fall. She managed to pick it up. An incoming call. Vi.

She tried to swipe up to answer, but her thumb slipped and the call declined.

The screen returned to normal.

Notifications flooded down. Missed calls. Texts from group chats about the project due Friday. Multiple messages from Vi

「hey, you coming to practice?

 

You ok?

 

Seriously, text me back

 

calling you」

Her chest tightened. The room pressed in from all sides.

She'd missed everything. All day. Everyone waiting for responses she didn't give. The project needed to be done in two days. She hadn't even started. Practice. The whole team wondering where she was.

Her skin went hot and cold at the same time. Goosebumps running through her thighs and arms.

In. In. In. Nothing out.

Not again. Not now.

Her heart slammed painfully against her ribs, too fast, wrong rhythm. She was going to pass out. Or worse. Her vision blurred.

The pharmacy bag.

She lunged for the nightstand. Yanked open the bag. Three bottles rattled inside. Her hands shook too hard to read the labels. She grabbed one, squinted at the tiny print.

Take one tablet as needed for anxiety. Do NOT exceed two per day.

She twisted the cap. It wouldn't open. Child safety lock. She pushed down, twisted again. The cap popped off, and the pills scattered across the bed.

She grabbed one. Shoved it in her mouth. Dry swallowed.

It stuck halfway down. She coughed, gagged. She grabbed the water bottle from her nightstand and drank until it went down.

She pulled her knees to her chest, wrapped her arms around them. Pressed her forehead down. Made herself small.

Her pulse thudded in her ears. Too loud.

Please work. Please.

She squeezed her eyes shut. Counted breaths. Lost count. Started over.

Gradually—ten minutes, maybe twenty—her breathing slowed. The knot in her chest eased. Her hands stopped shaking.

The panic ebbed, pulling back like a wave. Her body beached and hollow.

She let her legs slide out, stretched flat on the bed.

Her lungs didn't hurt anymore.

Everything was distant now. Muted. Like she was wrapped in something thick and warm. The thoughts that had been screaming were still there, but quiet, background noise she couldn't quite make out.

She exhaled, long and slow.

Her phone buzzed somewhere near her hip. She turned her head, watched it vibrate against the sheets.

Vi again.

She picked it up. Swiped to answer. Brought it to her ear.

"Mhm?"

Her own voice surprised her. Breathy. Light.

"Cait?" Vi rasped, "You okay? You just hung up on me."

"Oh—Yeah, I did." The words drifted out easy. "Didn't mean to. My hand slipped."

A pause on the other end. "You sound... Weird. Everything's alright?"

Caitlyn blinked slowly at the ceiling. Was she?

"Yeah."

"You weren't at practice."

"I know."

She heard Vi sigh at the other end, a beat passed, maybe longer.

"What's going on?"

"I had an appointment this morning."

"An appointment... Are you sick?"

"No. Psychiatrist."

"Do you want to talk about it?" Vi's tone shifted, soft, careful. "I can come over if you want."

She should say no. Should tell Vi she's fine, just tired. Sleepy.

But the part of her that would've said those things was miles away. Unreachable.

"Yeah."

"Where are you?

"My dorm."

She heard a short huff on the other side. Was that a laugh?

"Well, what floor and room?"

"312."

A sigh again. "Okay, I'll be there in ten."

The line went dead.

Caitlyn let the phone drop beside her. Didn't move. Just floated in the warm quiet, feeling her weight sink deeper into the mattress.

Ten minutes. She should get up and tidy up.

She closed her eyes anyway, feeling the seconds pass like honey.

Time folded over itself. She wiggled her toes, squeezed her thighs. Strong. Her legs were actually strong. The thought was so stupid it almost made her laugh, but a small, warm feeling crept in anyway, this urge to just hold onto herself for a second—

A knock on the door.

She blinked. Sat up slowly.

When she stood up, she tilted slightly. The floor was solid under her feet but it took a moment to trust it.

When her hand hovered over the knob, she looked down. Still naked.

"Oh."

No panic this time, not even embarrassment. A problem so easy to solve.

She pulled open her closet. Grabbed a shirt and dragged it over her head. Found sleep shorts, stepped into them.

Another knock.

She unlocked the door and opened it.

Vi stood in the hallway, hair still damp, gym bag over her shoulder. Her eyes scanned Caitlyn's face and something shifted in her expression.

"Hey," Vi said quietly.

"Hi." Caitlyn's voice still had that breathy quality. She stepped back. "Come in."

---

Vi stepped inside and the door clicked shut behind her.

The first thing she noticed was Caitlyn's eyes. Relaxed in a way Vi had never seen—lids slightly heavy, pupils dilated. Not quite focused.

The second thing was the room.

She'd imagined it differently. Neater, maybe. Color-coded binders, bed made with hospital corners, everything in its place. But it wasn't. Papers scattered across the desk in half-organized piles like someone had started tidying and given up.

Caitlyn stood there in an oversized t-shirt—flipped inside out, the tag visible at her collar—and thin sleep shorts. Barefoot. Hair damp and loose, not pulled back in her usual neat ponytail.

She looked soft. Wrong.

"Come in," Caitlyn said, even though Vi was already inside. She drifted back to the bed and dropped onto it, settling against the headboard with her legs sprawled out. "Make yourself comfortable. There's water in the fridge. Juice too, I think."

Her voice had that same breathy quality from the phone. Faint.

Vi's stomach tightened. She set her bag down by the bed, slow, buying time to figure out what the hell she was looking at.

"Thanks," Vi said carefully.

Caitlyn just nodded, gaze drifting to the window.

Vi moved closer, pulled out the desk chair, and sat. From here she could see Caitlyn better—the way her hands rested loose in her lap, the slight slump in her shoulders, the band-aid on her shin with a dark spot seeping through the edge.

"What happened to your leg?"

Caitlyn glanced down like she'd forgotten about it. "I was shaving. Cut myself."

No inflection. Just fact.

"Looks like it's still bleeding."

"Maybe."

Vi leaned forward, elbows on her knees. "You want me to change it?"

"You don't have to."

"I know. But it should probably get cleaned up properly."

A pause. Then Caitlyn shrugged. "Sure."

Vi stood. "Where's your first aid stuff?"

"Bathroom. Under the sink."

Vi went to find it, grateful for a second to breathe. The bathroom smelled like Caitlyn’s shampoo, warm and a little caramel-like, caught in the leftover steam on the mirror. It tugged at her for half a second before she focused on the cabinet. The kit was under the sink—basic, half-empty—and she brought it back.

Caitlyn hadn't moved. Still in the same position, watching Vi with that calm, uncanny expression.

Vi sat on the edge of the bed, closer this time. "Can you put your leg up here?"

She gestured to her lap.

Caitlyn shifted without hesitation, extending her leg across Vi's thighs.

The easy compliance sat wrong in her gut. Caitlyn never made anything easy.

Vi peeled back the band-aid carefully. The cut wasn't deep but it was messy—a chunk of skin taken off, edges tender, more blood than there should've been for something this small.

"This might sting," Vi said, pulling out an alcohol wipe.

"It's fine."

Vi cleaned it gently, dabbing away the dried blood. Caitlyn didn't flinch. Just watched Vi's hands with curiosity, like she was observing someone else's body.

Vi pressed a fresh band-aid over the cut, smoothing down the edges. Her hand stayed there, thumb resting against Caitlyn's shin.

"So," Vi said. "Psychiatrist appointment."

"Yeah." Caitlyn's gaze stayed on Vi's hands. "This morning."

"What'd they say?"

"She prescribed medication." Caitlyn gestured vaguely toward the nightstand.

Vi glanced at the pills scattered across the sheets. "You took one?"

"About half an hour ago. The benzo. It's for panic attacks." Caitlyn said it simply, reading off facts. "I had one after you called the first time."

Her grip on Caitlyn’s leg firmed. “A panic attack.”

"Mhm."

"Are you okay now?"

"I'm better." Caitlyn tilted her head slightly. "Everything's... Quieter."

Vi took her in: Too-smooth face, blinks half a beat late.

Benzo-soft. Medicated.

Vi slid her free hand out from under Caitlyn’s leg without lifting it and leaned across the bed, sweeping the pills off the sheets into her palm. One had rolled up by Caitlyn’s hip; she reached for it, close enough to feel her breath. Cait blinked at her with a muzzy, crooked almost-smile. Vi’s mouth twitched back before she straightened, plastic rattling as she tipped the pills into a bottle.

“You know, the antidepressant takes four to six weeks to work,” Caitlyn said, gaze on Vi’s hands. “Full effect. Championship’s in eight weeks.”

"Okay."

"So if it takes six weeks, I'll only have two weeks to feel normal before the biggest meet of the season." Caitlyn's fingers curled slightly. "And she said there might be side effects. Fatigue. Nausea..."

She trailed off, staring at nothing.

"How am I supposed to train through that?"

Vi twisted the cap back on and set the bottle on the nightstand. “You’ll figure it out.”

"What if I can't?"

"Then you'll figure that out too."

Caitlyn's mouth twitched, lips pressed together, then she laughed.

Vi froze.

Nothing about this was funny. Nothing. But Caitlyn was laughing like Vi had told a joke instead of offering the most useless advice in the world.

"That's not very helpful."

"I know. But it's true."

Vi's thumb moved in a small circle against Caitlyn's skin. Absent-minded.

"I couldn't go to class after the appointment," Caitlyn said eventually. "I came back here and just stayed in bed for hours. Didn't move. Wasted the whole day."

"You didn't waste anything," Vi said. "You went to a hard appointment and survived it. That counts."

Caitlyn hummed, thoughtful.

“What’s got you like this?” Vi asked gently.

"Telling my mother, I guess."

The words came out flat. But something flickered across her face. Brief. Gone.

“She’s going to think I’m weak. Or dramatic. Like I’m looking for attention.” Caitlyn’s jaw tightened slightly. “She already thinks swimming is a waste of time. This just proves I can’t handle pressure.”

Vi’s hand stilled. “Why does she think swimming’s a waste of time?”

“Because it doesn’t fit the plan.” Caitlyn stared past her. “She wanted pre-law. Corporate…whatever. Something she can brag about at dinner parties. I picked political science because I thought it was close enough.”

"Do you like it?"

"I hate it." Simple. Factual. "Every second of it."

"Then why—"

“Because swimming was already the fight.” Caitlyn looked at Vi. “I couldn’t fight her on everything. So I gave her the major. I thought if I did that, she’d let me keep the pool. She’d see I could do both.”

“And?”

“It didn't happen.” Caitlyn’s fingers opened and closed in her lap. “When I was twelve, I begged to join the team. She said no—hobby, distraction. So I proved her wrong. Straight A’s. Conference times. All of it.”

Her breathing stayed slow; the words didn’t.

“I did everything right,” she said. “Her major. Her grades. And I still can’t even be good enough at the thing I chose to make the fight worth it.”

Vi exhaled slow through her nose. Her free hand curled into a fist against her jeans, then released. The words sat between them, heavy and final. She had nothing for this. No joke, no fix, no platitude that wouldn't sound hollow.

Caitlyn’s gaze dropped to Vi’s hand on her knee. Her fingers slid over it, curling gently.

“You’re really sweet for being here,” she murmured. “I don’t know why you are, but… thank you.”

Sweet.

The word sat wrong in Vi's chest.

"It's not a big deal," Vi managed. "That’s what friends do."

The word felt unfamiliar in her mouth, but she let it sit there.

Caitlyn went quiet for a beat.

"Friends," she echoed, the corner of her mouth tipping up like she was trying the word on. "It is a big deal to me. Maddie’s going to lose her mind when she finds out my friend Vi was the one who showed up."

"What?"

"She’ll be so jealous." Caitlyn’s tone was distant, almost amused. "She likes to think she’s the person I call when things are bad. But she never picks up, so you got stuck with me instead."

"I called you," Vi muttered.

"And I didn’t hang up," Caitlyn tilted her head. "That means something."

"Is she... are you two...?"

“God, no.” Immediate, the clearest thing she’d said all evening. “Not a chance. I’m not into girls like Maddie.”

The words hung there. Girls. Like Maddie.

Vi’s brain caught on that and quietly filed it away. Later. Not now.

“Right,” Vi said.

She looked at their hands, Caitlyn’s lying loose over hers.

This felt different than the overlook. Wrong timing. Caitlyn was medicated, unfiltered, saying things she might regret tomorrow.

Instead her fingers curled, just a little, fitting around Caitlyn’s. A test. An out, if Caitlyn wanted it.

She didn’t take it. Her hand stayed, warm and heavy.

So Vi stayed too.

“Have you eaten today?” Vi asked.

Caitlyn thought about it. “No.”

“Okay. Time to eat.”

Vi eased her hands and stood, legs prickling. She dug in her gym bag and came up with a protein bar and a pack of puffed rice cakes, dropping them on the bed.

“Those are yours now. Go.”

Caitlyn turned the bar over once, then unwrapped it and took a small bite. Chewed. Swallowed. Her eyes were somewhere past Vi’s shoulder.

Vi stretched her hips out, watching from the corner of her eye as the bar disappeared, then half a rice cake. Cait grimaced and set the rest aside.

“I can’t. It’s dust.”

“Close enough.” Vi grabbed a bottle of juice from the mini-fridge and pressed it into her hand. “Drink.”

Caitlyn obeyed, slow sips. Some of the hollow look eased.

“I should get ready for bed,” she muttered.

“Yeah. Come on.”

Vi slid an arm under hers and helped her up. Cait swayed once; Vi steadied her and steered her to the bathroom door.

“I’ll brush my teeth. Don’t go anywhere,” Cait said, catching the frame.

“Wasn’t planning to,” Vi said.

The door clicked shut. Water ran. Vi sat back on the bed, checked her phone.

9:54 p.m.  
Eight a.m. class tomorrow. Her back ached, stomach empty, legs buzzing from holding still too long.

Her hand brushed a cold, damp patch on the sheet by where Caitlyn’s back shoulder had been.

She stilled, then knocked lightly on the bathroom door. “Cait. Toss me a towel.”

A towel appeared through the crack. Vi took it and smoothed it over the damp spot, pressing it flat with her palms.

When Caitlyn came back, there was a smear of white at the corner of her mouth. Her eyes looked heavier.

“Time for my meds,” she mumbled, sitting on the edge of the bed and pulling the pharmacy bag closer. She opened bottles slowly, shook two pills into her palm. The appetite stimulant and S.O.S stayed capped.

Their gazes met. Vi stepped to her side and set a hand on her shoulder, a quiet you’ve got this.

Caitlyn nodded. She tipped the pills into her mouth, chased them with water, throat working as she swallowed.

She let out a shaky breath. Vi eased her back and pulled the blanket up over her legs.

A yawn dragged out of Caitlyn; one ripped out of Vi right after.

“I’m sorry I kept you so long,” Cait murmured, words blurring. “You probably had other plans.”

"I didn't have other plans." Vi dropped to a knee, hands circling Caitlyn's knee. "Being here is enough."

Caitlyn’s smile went wobbly and loose. She leaned forward, arms sliding around Vi’s neck, chin resting on her shoulder.

“Thank you, Vi,” she whispered into her hoodie. “I mean it.”

Vi’s arms came up around her, one across her back, the other bracing her weight. She patted once, then held on.

“Anytime,” she whispered back.

Notes:

Anyway, thank you for being here and letting Cait be messy and medicated and soft with Vi for a bit. I appreciate you sm 🥺

Chapter 8: That's The Way It Is

Summary:

CW: puke / vomiting
Slightly chonky chapter ahead, just complicated friendship dynamics and people learning to use their words. Thanks for reading 💫

Day three. Six more weeks to go.

Caitlyn brushed her teeth for the second time that morning. The toothpaste still tasted wrong—bitter, chemical.

In the kitchenette, she forced down two pieces of toast. Generously buttered despite the uneasiness of her stomach. Chamomile tea to soothe it. She waited ten minutes.

It stayed down. Small victory.

When her phone rang the meds reminder, she took them one by one: Antidepressant. Appetite stimulant. Multivitamin at the end—the biggest pill that usually got stuck.

Her body felt heavy, like moving underwater. Brain fog settling in already as she slipped her clothes on. Everything slightly unreal. Everything distant.

She didn’t mind it. It was comfortable, in a way, not to hear herself think.

Her phone buzzed.

She blinked. She was sitting on her bed. Jeans unbuttoned. One shoe half-laced.

How long had she been sitting here?

She stared at the screen, reading twice.

「Still on for lunch after class?」

Right. She'd made plans with Maddie the night before.

「Yeah. Library café?」

「Perfect. See you then.」

Caitlyn finished getting dressed, then pulled every snack in sight into her bag. Appetite stimulant would kick in in a few hours. Best to be prepared.

She stood at the door, bag over her shoulder, hand on the knob.

Already exhausted.

Barely 8 AM.

---

Foreign Policy Analysis. Same lecture hall. Third row, five seats from the aisle.

Her group was already there—single desks arranged in a messy circle. James, Sofia, both buried in their laptops. Finals season.

"Hey," Sofia said. "You ready?"

"Yeah." Caitlyn opened the shared presentation. "Finished my section last night."

"Can you check the data again?" James looked over his laptop. "There's a few things that need polishing."

Caitlyn opened her part and read slowly. The words took longer to process than they should.

Fuck.

Notes she'd meant to fix before the presentation—still there. She backspaced, typed, read again. Her teeth worried at her bottom lip.

Her stomach rolled. Nausea or hunger? She couldn't tell anymore.

Granola bar from her bag. The wrapper crinkled as she opened it. She kept her eyes on her screen and took a bite.

The first group was called. Trade policy, developing nations.

The professor's voice sounded far away, muffled. Caitlyn split her focus—the presentation on screen, her corrections on her laptop. The cursor blinked. Words swam.

James's fingers tapped on his desk. Quick, impatient.

Delete. Retype. Read. Her hands shook.

Halfway through the first presentation, her stomach growled—loud.

Heat crawled up her neck. She took another bite of granola bar, chewing slowly, eyes fixed on her screen.

She finished typing. Reviewed once, twice, three times. Almost right.

Had to be right.

"Next group."

"That's us. Come on, Cait." Sofia stood.

Caitlyn's legs felt disconnected from her body as she pushed herself up.

They set up slides. Sofia handled introduction, James the analysis.

Caitlyn's section: case study. Piltover trade agreements.

The room tilted slightly. She gripped the edge of the podium.

Everything felt far away—her voice, the faces in front of her, even her own hands advancing the slides.

She started talking. The words came out slow, uncertain—someone else speaking through cotton.

Next slide. Wrong slide.

Her face went hot. Sofia shifted beside her. "Sorry—" Click back, hand shaking. "This data shows—"

She found her notes. Kept going. The rest came in fragments, delivered on autopilot.

She made it through. Somehow.

When they sat down, Sofia leaned over. "You good? You seemed kind of out of it up there."

"Just tired. I'm sorry."

"Don't be. We all are." Sofia squeezed her shoulder.

The remaining presentations passed. She worked through the rest of her snacks—banana, another granola bar. James pushed his pretzels across the desk without a word. She took a handful, whispered thanks.

By the time the last presentation finished, she'd eaten more than her usual breakfast and lunch combined.

Still hungry.

The professor dismissed them.

Done. Presented. Project complete.

Not her best work—she knew it, James knew it, Sofia probably knew it too.

She waited for the shame to hit. The spiral. The voice that would tell her she'd failed, wasn't good enough, let everyone down.

Nothing came.

Just the cotton-wool feeling in her brain.

She pulled out the trail mix and kept eating as she walked to the library.

---

By the time she arrived, it was time for her next dose.

The library café was loud. Students everywhere, laptops open, coffee cups scattered.

Caitlyn grabbed a sandwich at the counter—turkey and swiss, Maddie's favorite—then found a table in the middle. Pulled out her pill organizer. Second dose of the stimulant. Swallowed it dry, waiting for it to settle.

A wave of nausea rolled through her. She tucked the pills away, willing it to pass.

Maddie arrived ten minutes later with two iced lattes.

"Hey stranger." She slid one across the table. "Figured you could use this."

"Thanks." Caitlyn looked at it—pale, creamy. Her stomach turned. She pushed a sandwich toward Maddie instead. "Brought you something too."

"Oh my god, yes." Maddie unwrapped it immediately, took a huge bite. "These are so good. How was your presentation?"

"Fine. We got through it."

"Just fine?" Maddie's eyebrows went up. "You didn't eviscerate James's slide transitions or anything?"

Caitlyn's fingers traced the condensation on the cup. Cold under her fingertips. She should drink it. Maddie brought it for her.

"Not really in the mood for that today."

"You okay?"

"Yeah." Caitlyn brought the straw to her lips. Took a sip.

Cold. Sweet. Thick.

Wrong.

Her throat worked. She forced it down. Saliva flooded her mouth—that metallic warning taste.

"Cait?"

Her vision narrowed. Cold sweat broke across her forehead.

She stood fast, hand over her mouth. Pointed toward the bathroom.

Maddie's chair scraped. "Hey—"

Caitlyn was already moving. Through the café, into the bathroom, into a stall.

She went down hard, barely catching herself. The coffee came up first—bitter, acidic. Then the trail mix. Then nothing but bile, her throat burning, sinuses on fire. Her whole body convulsed with it.

It kept going. She retched past empty, arms shaking, cold tile pressing into her knees.

The door opened. Footsteps.

"Cait?" Maddie's voice. Close.

Caitlyn couldn't answer. Another wave hit.

Maddie knelt beside her. Pulled her hair back, hand steady on her shoulder blade.

When it finally stopped, Caitlyn slumped against the stall wall. Shaking.

Maddie flushed, grabbed toilet paper, wiped Caitlyn's mouth gently.

"God, Cait." Maddie's voice was quiet. Worried. "I knew something was wrong, but I didn't know it was this bad."

"It's the meds." Caitlyn's voice came out hoarse. "Side effects."

"Meds? What meds?"

"I'm seeing someone. A psychiatrist." Caitlyn wiped her nose with the back of her wrist. "She put me on stuff last week. It's supposed to help but—" She gestured weakly at the toilet.

Maddie sat back on her heels. "Since when?"

"Since Wednesday."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

Caitlyn stared at the space between them. "I don't know. I thought you were busy with midterms and everything. I didn't want to add to it."

"Add to it?" Maddie's face twisted. "Cait, you don't—you're not—" She broke off with a frustrated breath. "You could've told me."

"You've been so stressed," Caitlyn said. "Every time I see you, you're running to the library or pulling an all-nighter. I kept thinking, 'I'll text when things calm down,' and they never did. It felt like you didn't have time for—" She made a vague motion toward herself.

"I thought the same thing about you." Maddie's voice went smaller. "You're always at practice or with your study group or—" She shrugged. "I kept opening our chat and then putting my phone away. I figured you'd answer when you could."

They looked at each other.

"We didn't make this easy on ourselves," Caitlyn said finally.

Maddie let out a wet little huff. "No. I guess not."

Caitlyn's tailbone was starting to ache against the tile. She shifted, and Maddie mirrored her, pulling her knees up.

Silence stretched between them. The bathroom door opened, closed. Water ran, shut off.

"Can I... Say something?"

Caitlyn nodded.

"You've been training with Vi a lot."

Caitlyn's chest tightened. She kept her eyes on the grout between the tiles.

"Every time I text, you're either at the pool with her or just finished something with her." Maddie picked at a loose thread on her sleeve. "And I kept telling myself you were just… busy. But—" She stopped.

Caitlyn waited.

"But what?"

Maddie took a breath. "It started to feel like maybe you didn't need me around anymore."

"No—" Caitlyn's throat closed. "That's not—"

"Like you traded up." Maddie's words came out barely above a whisper. "New teammate, new person to lean on, and I was just—extra."

Caitlyn's hands curled into fists against her thighs. Her mouth opened. Closed.

"I didn't mean to make you feel that way,"

"But I do." Maddie finally looked at her. "I know you didn't mean to. But I do."

Caitlyn's jaw worked. She looked down at her hands. Uncurled them slowly.

"Vi and I—we started training together. And she's easy to talk to." The words came out halting. "But that doesn't cancel you out."

"It felt like it did."

Caitlyn's fingers found the edge of her jeans. Twisted the fabric.

"You're right." The admission scraped out of her. "I got close to Vi and I stopped making space for you. I told myself you were too busy, but..." She pressed her palms flat against the tile. The cold bit into her skin. "That wasn't fair."

Maddie's shoulders dropped.

"I wasn't exactly reaching out either," she said quietly.

The word settled between them. Heavy.

A toilet flushed somewhere down the hall. Footsteps passed outside. The fluorescent light overhead buzzed.

"I don't want that to happen again," Caitlyn said.

"Me neither."

"So we have to actually talk." Caitlyn forced herself to look up. "Not assume. Not guess."

Maddie nodded.

"Can we?" The question came out harder than Caitlyn meant it. Her throat felt tight. "We just spent weeks not talking. And that was easier than this."

Maddie pulled back slightly. Her face went still for a moment.

Then she gestured at the stall around them. "I'm here, Cait. On a bathroom floor. Trying."

Caitlyn's breath caught.

"You're right. I'm sorry." She rubbed her face with both hands. "I just—"

"I know." Maddie's voice softened. "I'm scared too."

They looked at each other.

Maddie's eyes were red-rimmed. Caitlyn could feel her own pulse in her throat.

"We both did this," Maddie said. "So we both have to fix it."

Caitlyn nodded.

Maddie reached over and took her hand.

"I miss you," Maddie whispered. "So much."

The words slotted into place inside Caitlyn. Simple. True.

She curled her fingers around Maddie's. "I miss you too."

Maddie's face crumpled. She ducked her head.

Caitlyn shifted closer. Their knees touched. She wanted to pull Maddie into a hug but her arms felt shaky, her body still wrung out.

"I don't want to lose you," Maddie said.

"You're not losing me." Caitlyn's voice came out rough. "You're my best friend."

"Promise?"

"Yes." Caitlyn squeezed her hand. "But we have to actually talk. Not just… guess what the other person is thinking."

Maddie swiped at her cheeks with her free hand. Laughed, wet and breathless. "God, we're a mess."

"Yeah." Caitlyn's mouth tugged up despite everything. "We really are."

Maddie took a breath. Let it out slow. "Okay. Deal."

They sat there another moment. Hands linked. The bathroom quiet around them.

Caitlyn's phone buzzed in her pocket. Practice. Fifteen minutes.

She looked at the screen, then at Maddie's face. At the toilet.

She could push through. She always did.

"You have practice," Maddie said.

"I know."

"You should go."

Caitlyn stared at the screen. Her body felt hollow.

Coach, championship prep, her name getting a second empty circle.

The old spike of panic barely flickered.

She slid the phone back into her pocket.

"I'm skipping. I want to—" She met Maddie's eyes. "I want to actually spend time with you. Not just say we should and then never do it."

Maddie let out a shaky little breath. "But you never skip practice."

"Doesn't matter." Caitlyn stood slowly, testing her legs, and offered her hand. "This is more important."

Maddie took it and pulled herself up.

They left the stall to wash their hands. Caitlyn rinsed her mouth, carefully avoiding her reflection.

"Come on," Maddie said, tugging her sleeve. "Let's find somewhere quiet."

They grabbed their bags from the café table, and Maddie led them deeper into the library, away from the noise. Past the stacks to a reading alcove with oversized chairs and a couch.

Empty.

Caitlyn pulled out her phone first. Opened email. Typed quickly to Coach Grayson, letting her know about today’s absence and mentioning the meds.

The response came within minutes.

Caitlyn,

Please come to my office before practice on Monday. We need to discuss your training plan going forward.

Best regards, Coach Grayson

Right. Consequences.

She switched to Vi's chat.

「Hey. Not coming to practice today (again). Just wanted to let you know.」

Three dots appeared immediately.

「shit. you ok?」

「Yes. I'm with Maddie. Let me know if you want to hang out after practice?」

「sure. text you when i'm done」

Caitlyn pocketed her phone.

"Vi?" Maddie asked.

"Yeah. Just letting her know I'm not coming."

Maddie opened her laptop. "Okay. Then we're officially off-duty." She started scrolling through streaming options. "I vote for something that requires zero brain cells."

Caitlyn managed a small smile. "Sounds perfect."

They landed on a trashy reality dating show—the kind with too many hot tubs and dramatic music stings.

For a while they just watched, the noise of it filling the quiet.

"We're kind of like them," Maddie said eventually, eyes still on the screen. "Terrible at saying what we mean."

Caitlyn huffed a soft laugh. "Yeah. A little."

They kept watching. On screen, someone was ugly-crying into a champagne glass.

Maddie made quiet commentary here and there—mostly mocking the over-the-top confessionals. Caitlyn didn't have the energy to respond much, but she smiled. Let Maddie's voice fill the space.

An episode passed. Then another started.

The couch was deep and warm. Caitlyn's eyes got heavy.  The medication fog pulled at her, everything blunted and soft, the show slipping into background noise, Maddie’s breathing steady beside her.

She let herself drift—not quite asleep, not quite awake. Aware of voices somewhere in the library, of her own body finally at rest.

When her phone buzzed, she surfaced slowly.

The library was dimmer now, late afternoon light slanting through the windows.

Caitlyn blinked, disoriented. Pulled out her phone.

Maddie was still beside her, now reading something on her laptop with one earbud in.

「practice was brutal. glad you skipped」

「i'm in my dorm if you still wanna hang out. roommate's gone for the weekend」

She sat up carefully, rubbing her face.

"Everything okay?" Maddie asked.

"Yeah." Caitlyn hesitated, thumb hovering over the screen. "It's Vi. Sounds like practice was rough. She's back in her dorm."

Maddie's expression shifted—something careful settling over her face.

"You can go," she said after a moment. "I'm not going to… I don't want to be the person who makes you choose."

"You're not," Caitlyn said quietly.

"I kind of am, though." Maddie picked at the couch cushion. "Or I was. Earlier."

Caitlyn waited.

"I know she's important to you," Maddie said. "I can see that. And I don't want to be jealous about it, but—" She exhaled. "I am. A little. But that's my thing to deal with, not yours."

"It's not just your thing," Caitlyn said. "I should've—we should've been talking this whole time. So you didn't have to guess."

"Yeah." Maddie met her eyes. "But we're talking now. So… go. Check on her. Just—" She gestured between them. "Keep doing this. Don't disappear again."

"I won't." Caitlyn squeezed her arm as she stood. "Text later?"

"Yeah." Maddie's smile was smaller this time, but real. "Go."

---

Vi's building was across campus. Caitlyn checked the address on her phone and started walking.

Her legs were still weak from earlier. The walk felt longer than it should have. But she kept going.

The cold air helped. Sharp in her lungs, clearing some of the fog.

When she reached the building, she noticed the difference immediately.

No card reader at the entrance. Just a regular lock. The door was propped open with a brick.

She stepped inside.

Older building. The walls needed paint—patches where posters had been torn down, corners dinged and scuffed. Fluorescent lights overhead, one of them flickering. The stairwell was narrow, concrete, echoing.

She climbed to the second floor. Pulled out her phone to check the room number Vi had sent, then started down the hall, checking doors.

Found it.

She knocked.

"It's open!"

Vi's voice, muffled through the door.

Caitlyn stood there for a moment. Her mouth still tasted sour from earlier—she'd thrown up at the library, hadn't brushed her teeth after.

She couldn't go in like this.

She dug a mint out of her bag, popped it in her mouth. Waited a beat, rolling it under her tongue.

Then turned the handle.

The room was smaller than hers. Two beds crammed against opposite walls, barely three feet between them. Two desks shoved into corners. Zaun team photos taped to the walls—some curling at the edges. A duffel bag spilling clothes near the door. Weights in the corner beside a foam roller. A small microwave on top of a mini-fridge.

Lived in. Cramped. Real.

Vi was on the bed by the window, stretched out on her back. Oversized t-shirt—some band Caitlyn didn't recognize, the logo faded from washing. Gray sleep pants. Hair still damp from the shower, dark against the pillow.

One arm behind her head. The other holding a plate balanced on her stomach.

Rice, chicken, vegetables. She was eating slowly, fork moving from plate to mouth in steady rhythm.

"Hey," Vi said.

"Hey." Caitlyn closed the door behind her, dropped her bag by it. "Smells good."

"Made it this morning. It's cold now but—" Vi gestured with her fork. "Want some?"

Caitlyn shook her head, let the mint show at the tip of her tongue for just a second.

Vi chuckled. "Bad timing."

She pulled the mint back in. "Rain check?"

"Sure." Vi's smile lingered as she stabbed more chicken. "I batch cook on Sundays. You could come by. Eat something hot for once."

"I might actually take you up on that." Caitlyn sat on the edge of the bed. "I'm starving constantly. The medication messes with my appetite."

"Damn, that sucks." Vi nodded, still chewing. Swallowed. "You managing okay?"

"Yeah. I just don't really know how to cook, so—" Caitlyn shrugged.

"I could teach you. It's not hard."

It was so easy for Vi, offering help like it cost nothing.

Vi set the plate on the nightstand, then shifted to sit up straighter.

The movement made her wince—sharp and sudden. Her face twisted before she could control it.

"You okay?" Caitlyn asked.

"Yeah. Just—" Vi's hand went to her left hip, pressing through her sleep pants. "Fucking hip."

"From practice?"

"From everything." Vi's voice came out bitter. She tugged her pants down a few inches, showing the thick black strap hugging her hip. "Got me wearing this thing. Extra support or whatever bullshit Sevika said."

The brace was tight. Digging into skin.

Caitlyn leaned forward slightly. "Can I see?"

Vi's brow raised. A slight smile pulled at her mouth. "What, you a doctor now?"

"No. But my dad is." Caitlyn shifted closer, angling toward her. "Orthopedic surgeon. He works with athletes all the time. Showed me some things."

"Things like what?"

"How to find where it's pulling. Work out the knots." Caitlyn hesitated. "I could try. If you want."

Vi studied her face for a moment.

Caitlyn's heart beat a little faster. This was about helping. Just being useful.

"You know what you're doing?" Vi asked.

"Enough not to make it worse. Probably."

Something shifted in Vi's expression—curious, open.

"Okay," She said. "Yeah. Show me."

Vi reached under her waistband with both hands; the velcro ripped loose—thigh first, then hip. She slid the brace free and dropped it on the bed between them. Then she pushed her sleep pants down to mid-thigh. Hooking her fingers under both hems on the left side—pants and boxers together—she tugged them low enough to expose the hip joint, her other hand pulling her shirt up and bunching it at her ribs.

The hip was bare now, red marks from the brace striping her skin in narrow lines, some deeper than others.

Caitlyn kept her eyes on the red marks striping Vi's skin, the tight band of muscle along the front of her hip. Didn't let herself look anywhere else.

"Do you have lotion or anything?" she asked. "Massage works better with—"

"Probably. Somewhere," Vi said. She glanced around helplessly. "If I own it, it's buried."

"It's okay. I have hand cream."

Caitlyn fumbled in her bag until she found the small tube. Her fingers felt clumsy as she squeezed some into her palm. She warmed it between her hands, then settled them carefully on Vi's hip.

Vi's fingers curled into the bedsheet.

Caitlyn started working in slow, careful circles, finding the knots and pressing into resistance. The muscle beneath was tight—pulled taut like a cable under tension.

Vi's breath came out sharp, then slow.

"Too much?"

"No. It's—" Vi's jaw clenched. "Keep going."

Caitlyn kept the pressure steady. After a moment, she felt the tension ease slightly. Not much. But some.

Her hands moved on autopilot, following patterns her father had shown her years ago. The medication kept everything at arm's length—even this. Vi's skin under her palms, the small sounds Vi made when she hit the right spot, the weight of the trust implied in letting someone touch you like this.

She registered it all from a step back. Knew it mattered without quite feeling why.

"Is this what we do now?" Vi asked quietly.

Caitlyn's hands paused. She blinked, looking up. "What?"

"This." Vi gestured vaguely between them. "Show up at each other's dorms. Take care of stuff."

Her hands moved again, gliding gently along the ridge of Vi's hip bone. "I guess it is."

The room went quiet except for the soft drag of skin on skin and the slow pull of Vi's breaths. Caitlyn let her thumbs wander higher, following the line of muscle toward her lower back.

Vi let out a low grunt, nose scrunching.

"Want me to work on that?"

"Sure," Vi mumbled. "If you're offering."

She rolled carefully onto her stomach. Caitlyn tugged her sleep pants and boxers back into place first, then hesitated at the hem of her shirt.

"Can I pull this up?"

"Go ahead."

Caitlyn eased the fabric to her mid-back, exposing the curve of her waist and the dark sweep of tattoo ink across pale skin.

The muscles under her hands were knotted—ropey bands running along either side of Vi's spine. Caitlyn worked slowly, methodically, sinking her thumbs in until she felt the muscle give by degrees.

Vi's exhales grew longer, deeper.

Caitlyn's wrists were starting to ache. Her own muscles could probably use this—someone working out the knots, easing the tension. But Vi was finally relaxing under her touch, so she kept going.

"You should probably see someone," Caitlyn said. "A doctor. PT. Get it checked properly."

Vi was quiet for a beat. "Can't afford it."

"My dad could look at it." Caitlyn kept her hands moving, working up Vi's spine. "Tomorrow, maybe. You're off, right?"

"I'm off because I called out. Today and tomorrow both." Vi's voice went flat. Hard. "Which sucks."

"Why?"

"I work at my family's bar." Vi's shoulders tensed. "Weekend's only days I see them. Dad works nights all week, so weekends are—" She stopped. "It's when we actually talk. Me and him. And Powder helps out on weekends too. It's our time."

Caitlyn's thumbs traced along Vi's spine. Gentle. Steady. Listening.

"So now I'm out two shifts. Two days of tips. And I don't see them at all this week."

"I'm sorry."

"Not your fault. Hip's too fucked to be on my feet all night." Vi exhaled hard.

"Well, since you're already off..." Caitlyn said, taking her time with each word. "Maybe we could go the clinic tomorrow. Get you back to work sooner."

"It'd be free," She added quietly.

"Nothing's free." Vi muttered.

"Vi." Caitlyn's voice went soft. "You came for me Wednesday. Remember? You showed up."

Caitlyn leaned in until Vi had to look at her. Up close she could see the flat line of Vi’s mouth, the way her jaw worked.

"You helped me," She said. "This is just… the other half of that."

Vi watched her for a beat, eyes flicking between hers like she was checking for a catch. Then her jaw loosened; her cheek sank a little deeper into the pillow.

"Okay," she murmured. "Yeah. Thanks."

Caitlyn let out a breath she hadn't realised she'd been holding and kept her hands moving, lighter now, following the curve of Vi's back.

Eventually she let her hands still and drew them away. 

The space between them felt different now—warmer, closer. She flexed her fingers once, suddenly aware of how long she'd been touching her.

Vi tested her hip with a small shift, then rolled carefully onto her side. The movement came smoother this time, less guarded.

"Did it help?" Caitlyn asked.

"You have no idea." A smile pulled at Vi's mouth—small, genuine. Her fingers tapped once against Caitlyn's thigh. "Seriously. Thank you."

"You should probably rest now." 

Vi's expression shifted—something uncertain crossing her face.

She started to push herself off the bed, but Vi's hand came up, fingers brushing the inside of her wrist. It wasn’t quite a grab, just two fingers resting there like she’d thought about holding on and changed her mind.

"Wait. I—" Vi's voice caught. She looked away, then back. "You don't have to go yet. If you don't want to. Are you too busy to stay a little longer?"

Caitlyn glanced at the hand retreating back to the mattress, then at Vi’s face.

She was exhausted. But she was already here. And Vi had asked.

"Not at all," she said, easing back into her spot on the edge of the bed.

Relief slipped out of Vi on a breath. "Yeah," she said quietly, then huffed a soft laugh like she'd surprised herself. "That's—good."

She cleared her throat. Glanced at the plate on her nightstand, picked it up, and set it between them on the bed.

"You sure you don't want some?" Vi asked, fork poised. "I've got enough."

"I could eat a little," Caitlyn admitted.

Vi got up, rummaged through her desk drawer, and came back with a plastic-wrapped fork. She tossed it to Caitlyn.

Caitlyn caught it, then kicked off her shoes. Shifted to sit cross-legged, mirroring Vi's position.

"Okay," Vi said. "Let's have dinner."

They ate from opposite sides of the plate, forks occasionally colliding in the middle. Vi kept talking between bites—filling Caitlyn in on practice.  Sevika's new set, Claggor nearly slipping on the pool deck and pretending he'd meant to do it.

Caitlyn listened. She didn’t have much to add, just small questions here and there—“Did Sevika buy it?” “Is Claggor okay?”—but Vi kept filling the space, hands moving as she talked, shoulders loosening the longer she went.

The fog in Caitlyn's head didn't lift, exactly. Everything still felt cushioned at the edges. But the knot in her chest—the one that had been there since she woke up, maybe longer—stayed quiet. Didn't tighten when Vi laughed. Didn't pull when the conversation lulled.

It was the first time all day her body had felt like it was hers.

She watched Vi's face—how her mouth curved around a joke, how her whole expression softened when she laughed at her own story about Mylo's dramatics.

She took another bite when Vi nudged the plate closer with a little tap of her fork. Swallowed. Breathed.

It wasn't better.

But sitting cross-legged on a too-small bed, sharing cold chicken and the leftovers of Vi’s day, it felt—if nothing else—like enough for tonight.

Notes:

In my heart Vi canonically owns at least three pairs of BAPE boxers. She’s just that kind of eccentric LMAO

Chapter 9: The Fool

Notes:

A milkshake of complicated feelings. Hands and a phone show. LMAO.

Vi flipped her phone over, using the black screen as a mirror. Her hair stuck up on one side. She smoothed it down. It popped back up.

Fuck it.

She'd changed shirts countless times before settling on the black henley. Clean, no graphics, buttons she could actually do up. The piercings came out—nose ring, hoops, the small stud in her cartilage. Her ears felt wrong without the metal. Naked.

The jacket was unnecessary. Almost warm out, sun climbing higher. But she tugged it on anyway, pulled the sleeves down over her forearms.

Caitlyn had seen the tattoos. But her dad hadn't.

Different worlds, even if they walked the same campus.

Her phone read 9:48. The silver car pulled into the lot moments later.

Caitlyn waved through the windshield.

Vi's stomach dropped. She walked over, opened the door, slid in.

The car smelled like leather and something sweet underneath—vanilla, maybe, or whatever expensive air freshener came standard. Everything pristine. No clutter, no loose change in the cupholder, no takeout napkins shoved in the door pocket.

"Hey," Caitlyn said. She smiled at her, genuine and a little nervous. "You look nice."

Vi glanced down at the henley. "It's just a shirt." She looked at Caitlyn. "You okay?"

"Yeah. Just… glad you’re here." Caitlyn pulled out, checking her mirrors twice before merging onto the main road.

Music played softly through speakers. Acoustic guitar, a woman's voice doing that thing where every song sounded like an apology.

Vi's fingers drummed once against her thigh. She made them stop.

Caitlyn reached over, turned the music up slightly. Didn't say anything. Just—noticed.

They drove through campus first, then into residential streets Vi had never had reason to visit. Houses with actual yards. Flowerbeds. Mailboxes shaped like tiny versions of the houses they served. Everything manicured, deliberate. No chain-link fences or cracked driveways.

"Is your dad..." Vi started. Stopped. "What's he like?"

"He's nice. Really." Caitlyn's voice went softer, careful. "He'll like you."

"How do you know?"

Caitlyn's hands shifted on the wheel, thumbs pressing into the leather. "Because you're easy to be around."

Vi looked out the window instead of responding.

Caitlyn reached into the cupholder between them. "Here. Brought water. Figured you'd be thirsty after."

Two bottles. Cold enough that condensation had already formed on the plastic.

Planning ahead for Vi. Thinking about what she'd need.

Vi took one. "Thanks."

---

The parking lot was small, tucked behind a building that looked more like a big house than a medical facility. Pale brick, blue trim, a wooden sign with gold lettering: Kiramman Orthopedic & Sports Medicine.

Vi's boots sounded too loud on the brick pathway.

The lobby hit her immediately.

Cold air, controlled and measured. Polished hardwood floors, dark and gleaming. Abstract art on soft gray walls—large canvases with shapes Vi couldn't quite parse. A leather sofa and matching chairs in one corner, low coffee table with magazines whose edges were perfectly aligned.

And the espresso machine.

Sitting on a side table like it belonged in someone's kitchen. Stainless steel, complicated-looking, with multiple spouts and knobs Vi wouldn't know how to operate.

Her fingers curled at her sides.

A woman behind the desk looked up. Her face lit up immediately. "Caitlyn!" She came around—not quickly, but warmly—and pulled Caitlyn into a hug that Caitlyn returned easily. "Good to see you."

"Hi, Monica." Caitlyn's voice shifted into something familiar. "This is my friend Violet. She has an appointment."

Monica's smile turned toward Vi, still professional. But her eyes moved—quick assessment. The worn jacket with frayed cuffs. Scuffed boots. The edge of a tattoo just visible at Vi's wrist despite the pulled-down sleeves.

Something flickered across her face. Not quite disapproval—her mouth stayed in its curve—but her nostrils flared slightly.

"Okay. Let me grab your paperwork."

She returned with a clipboard and an expensive-looking pen. "Just fill out what you can, and let me know if you have questions."

Vi took the clipboard. Her insurance card was in her wallet—edges worn soft, plastic scratched and faded.

"Here." Caitlyn gestured to the chairs. "I'll help."

They crossed the floor. Vi's boots still too loud. She sank into the chair and immediately sank too far—the leather was butter-soft, giving way under her weight. Like she might leave an impression.

The clipboard sat heavy in her lap. She stared at the first page.

Patient name. Date of birth. Those were easy.

Insurance provider. Policy number. Group number.

Her fingers tightened on the pen.

"Let me," Caitlyn said gently, leaning closer. Their knees touched. "I know this stuff."

Caitlyn's handwriting was neat as she filled in sections. She explained abbreviations Vi didn't recognize, wrote the clinic's address from memory.

"Coffee?" Monica called over, already reaching for a small white cup by the espresso machine. "Tea?"

Vi looked at the machine. The ceramic cups beside it. The small shelf with sugar cubes in a glass container, real cream in a pitcher.

Caitlyn glanced at Vi. Vi shook her head slightly.

"We're okay," Caitlyn said. "Thank you."

Monica nodded and returned to her desk.

Caitlyn handed the clipboard back. "All set."

The lobby was quiet except for soft piano music from hidden speakers.

Vi's knee bounced. She pressed her palm against it, made it stop.

Caitlyn’s fingers brushed Vi’s wrist—brief, grounding. “It’s going to be fine.”

A door opened down the hall.

"Caitlyn."

Vi looked up.

Tall—taller than Caitlyn by a few inches. Black scrubs, wire-rimmed glasses. He crossed the lobby in three strides and pulled Caitlyn into a tight hug that she returned, her face pressing briefly into his shoulder.

"My sweet baby." He pulled back, gripping her shoulders, and studied her face. Something passed over his expression—concern, quickly smoothed.

Caitlyn's shoulders tightened under his hands.

When he turned toward Vi, she saw it clearly. The same deep blue eyes, same dark hair graying at the temples. Same way of tilting his head when focusing on someone.

He extended his palm. "And you must be Violet."

Vi stood quickly. Shook his hand. His grip was firm but gentle. "Yes, sir."

"Tobias, please." He held her hand with both of his. "I'm glad you came in. Let's take a look at that hip."

The hallway was bright, lit by recessed lighting that didn't flicker. Framed photographs lined the walls—athletes mid-motion. A runner's stride at full extension, a swimmer's butterfly at moment of entry, a climber suspended on a wall.

In the exam room, Tobias washed his hands at a small sink. Medical degree framed on the wall. Certifications. A photo of younger Caitlyn in swim gear, maybe fourteen, standing next to him at what looked like a meet.

"So Caitlyn tells me you're having hip pain. How long?"

"Few weeks. Maybe a month."

"And you're a swimmer?"

"Yeah. Distance events mostly."

"Training for anything specific?"

"Championships."

He nodded, drying his hands. "That's probably our culprit. Overuse injuries are common in distance swimmers. But let's make sure." He turned to Caitlyn. "Would you mind waiting outside while I examine Violet?"

Vi's palms went damp.

The word came out before she'd fully decided. "Actually—can she stay?"

Her voice cracked slightly. She heard how it sounded. Young. Needy.

"Of course," Tobias said immediately. "Your choice entirely."

Caitlyn moved to the side of the exam table without being asked. Something in her expression shifted—relief, maybe. Like she'd wanted to stay but hadn't wanted to assume.

Vi's shoulders dropped.

"Can you remove your jacket and loosen your jeans to your hip bones?"

Vi's hand went to the zipper. Paused for half a second. Then she shrugged off the jacket. The tattoos were fully visible now—dark ink running from wrist to shoulder on both arms.

She unbuttoned her jeans, pushed them down a few inches on the left. Enough to expose where her hip met her pelvis.

Tobias glanced at the tattoos. His expression didn't change.

"Go ahead and lie down."

The exam table was higher than expected. Vi had to hop slightly. The paper crinkled under her back, loud in the quiet.

"I'm going to palpate the front of your hip. Let me know what hurts."

His fingers pressed into her hip. Firm, methodical. Doctor hands.

Vi tensed.

Not just from the pain—though there was pain, sharp where his fingers found inflamed tissue. But from being touched like this in a clinic that cost more per visit than Vi made in tips in a month. From lying on crinkly paper while Caitlyn stood right there.

"Pain?"

"Yeah." Her voice came out rough. "Right there."

Her eyes found Caitlyn's.

Caitlyn was looking at her face, not the exam.

She took a step closer. Her hand came to rest on the edge of the exam table. Not touching, but close enough that Vi could feel the warmth.

"I'm going to check your range of motion. This might be uncomfortable."

Tobias moved her leg through positions—flexion, extension, rotation. Each one worse than the last. Vi's jaw clenched.

Each time the pain spiked, her eyes went to Caitlyn—and each time, Caitlyn was there. Steady.

"Does this hurt?" He moved her leg into external rotation.

"Fuck—yes." Vi's hand flew to the edge of the table.

Caitlyn's hand found Vi's knuckles. She mouthed: Easy.

Vi's breathing slowly evened out.

Tobias brought her leg back to neutral. "Hip flexor tendinopathy. Overuse injury. Are you wearing any support?"

"Yeah. My coach gave me a brace." Vi glanced toward her bag on the chair.

Caitlyn grabbed it quickly, brought it over.

Vi pulled out the thick black compression gear.

Tobias turned it over. "This is too restrictive. Wearing this constantly is probably making it worse—you need support without limiting range of motion." He opened a cabinet, sorted through boxes, and pulled out a different brace. Lighter material, adjustable velcro straps. "Try this one instead."

Vi took it. The difference was obvious—lighter, more flexible.

"How much—"

"It's a sample. We have dozens." He pulled out kinesiology tape too. Several rolls. "These will help with daily support. Save the brace for training."

Vi stared at the supplies in her lap.

She'd never been in a place like this before. Not as someone worth the good equipment.

The one time she'd broken her wrist—ten years old, fell off her bike—she'd waited four hours in the ER. Plastic chairs, fluorescent lights. They'd given her a brace from a bin, thick blue fabric that chafed for weeks.

This one was different. Light enough she'd barely notice it.

Tobias called them samples. Maybe they were.

But Vi had never been the person who got samples.

"I can pay you back—"

"Violet, please." Tobias's voice was kind. Too kind. "These sit in cabinets collecting dust. Let them help someone who needs them."

Her fingers tightened around the fabric.

She wanted to push it back. Wanted to say she'd figure it out herself, like always. Like she'd figured out everything since she was fifteen and Vander's bar started struggling.

But her hip was screaming. And she had two shifts next weekend. Needed to eat. Books for next semester were already on her credit card.

This was accepting help from Caitlyn's father, in Caitlyn's world, because she couldn't afford to be here on her own. She couldn't afford pride.

"Thank you."

Tobias nodded once, then pulled up a diagram on his computer. Anatomical drawing of hip flexors, muscle groups highlighted. "Three stretches, twice daily. I'll demonstrate."

He had Vi lie on the carpeted floor. Guided her through each stretch, his hands positioned to show exact angles.

"Place your knee here. Hold for thirty seconds. You should feel pulling, not pain."

Caitlyn crouched beside them, eyes tracking the adjustments as he shifted Vi’s hip into place.

"What if the muscle is too tight to stretch properly?" Caitlyn asked.

"Start with heat. Heating pad for fifteen minutes, then stretch."

"And the tape—"

"I'll send you the tutorial links," he said to his daughter. "Start with basic hip flexor support."

Caitlyn asked two more questions. Specific, detailed.

From the floor, Vi tracked the conversation. The way Caitlyn memorized positions and angles, already learning this so she could help later.

No one aside from her family had ever done that before.

When they finished, Tobias helped Vi stand.

"Thank you, sir. I mean—Tobias."

He smiled, looked between them. Understanding in his expression. "Take care of each other."

At the door, he pulled Caitlyn into another hug. Kissed the top of her head. "Visit more, sweetheart. Or at least call."

"I will."

"And eat." He pulled back, cupping her cheeks. His eyes serious now. "We need to talk about that. Properly. Soon."

Caitlyn's whole body changed. Shoulders curving inward, spine straightening like armor. Her face went carefully neutral. "I know."

"This week. Come by for dinner."

"I have—"

"This week, Caitlyn."

Something passed between them. A conversation they'd had before.

"Okay," Caitlyn said quietly. "This week."

He studied her face, then seemed to accept it. He shook Vi's hand again—both hands. "Good to meet you, Violet." Then to Caitlyn: "Bring her back in three weeks."

---

Outside, the sun was bright. Vi blinked against it.

She was holding the samples. Free medical care from a surgeon who'd given up part of his Saturday morning.

Because Caitlyn had asked.

They got in the car. Caitlyn started the engine but didn’t put it in reverse yet. She leaned back, exhaled, eyes fixed on the windshield.

Vi turned the brace over. The material was soft, almost silky.

"Your dad's really nice,"

"Yeah." Caitlyn was quiet. "He is. He's just—" She stopped. Started again. "He worries. A lot."

"The eating thing?"

"That's part of it." Caitlyn's jaw tightened. "He's been on me about it since I was sixteen. Every time I see him it's 'are you eating enough' or 'you look thin' or—" She cut herself off. "Sorry."

"No, it's okay."

"It's not that he's wrong," Caitlyn's voice dropped. "He's not. But it makes it worse somehow. Him being right about it."

Vi watched her profile. Late morning light catching the dark hair, the hard line of her jaw.

"When I started college," Caitlyn added, "before the meds, he kept calling. Every day. Sometimes twice. I stopped answering because I knew what he'd ask." She glanced at Vi. "That's why he said 'visit more.' I've been avoiding him for months."

"Because he worries."

"Because he worries the right amount and I hate that he has to."

"You're doing better now though," Vi said carefully. "With the meds."

"I am." Caitlyn's voice softened. "A lot better actually."

"Then maybe—I don't know. Maybe you could tell him that? Instead of avoiding him?"

Caitlyn looked at her for a long moment. "Maybe," she said. Then quieter: "Thank you."

"For what?"

“For—” Caitlyn’s hand lifted to the wheel, gestured vaguely. “For saying it like it’s simple.”

It wasn't simple. Vi knew that. But the way Caitlyn was looking at her made her chest feel warm and tight in equal measure.

Caitlyn held her gaze another moment. Then looked back at the windshield and put the car in reverse.

The drive back was quieter. The neighborhoods scrolled past—nice houses giving way to campus, wealth fading into student housing and chain restaurants.

She tried not to look at her.

Failed repeatedly.

Every red light, every turn, Vi's eyes went to her profile. The way Caitlyn checked mirrors before changing lanes. The way her lips pressed together and rubbed the lipgloss. Again and again.

When Caitlyn pulled into Vi's dorm lot, she left the engine running.

They sat there.

"Thanks for coming with me," Vi said.

"Of course."

“No, I mean—your dad. The appointment. All of it.” Vi held the brace a little tighter. “You didn’t have to do this.”

Caitlyn's hand lifted from the wheel. Hesitated. Then crossed the space between them. Vi met her halfway. Their palms met and settled, and neither of them moved away.

“I wanted to,” Caitlyn said simply. Three words. Matter-of-fact. But they sat heavy in Vi’s chest.

Her thumb moved across Caitlyn’s knuckles—back and forth, slow—then stilled.

She should let go.

Vi eased her hand back, fingers sliding free. "See you Monday?"

“Monday,” Caitlyn echoed, voice soft. “Yeah.”

She got out. Closed the door carefully. Waited on the curb while Caitlyn backed out.

She waved through the window. Vi lifted a hand.

The silver car pulled away. Vi watched until it turned the corner.

Her hip still ached. But the rest of her felt different. Warm in a way that didn't quite make sense. She stayed there a moment longer.

 

Shit.

 

Inside, Vi dropped her bag by the bed. Set the brace and tape on her desk.

Her roommate was still gone. The silence pressed in.

The screen lit up when she touched it. No new messages.

She set it down. Picked it up again.

I wanted to.

The words kept replaying. Vi dragged a palm down her face—too hard—then left the phone face-down on the desk.

She got down on the floor and did the stretches anyway—slow, counted breaths, held until her thigh started to shake.

The ache backed off a notch.

Better. Everything was better because of Caitlyn.

That was the problem. That was the oh fuck problem.

---

Sunday morning, Vi's hip woke her up.

She did the stretches first. Heat pad for fifteen minutes, then the three positions Tobias had shown her.

Then she tried the tape.

She pulled up the tutorial Caitlyn had sent last night.

“Apply tension here, smooth down, anchor at the hip—”

Vi’s tape stuck to itself before she could position it. She peeled it off, tried again. It bunched down her thigh. Wrinkled.

Third attempt got halfway before the loose end rolled back, caught in the hair below her hipbone.

“Fuck—”

She yanked it carefully. It pulled. She hissed.

The last attempt looked better. Not great—edges not smooth, one strip probably too tight—but functional.

She stood, rolled her hip once. The tape held.

She should let her know.

Vi grabbed her phone. Angled it from above—her face, the red stripe at her hip, the start of a grin. Took the picture.

Messy hair. Amateur tape. She stared at it a second too long.

Then she sent it anyway.

 

「living the dream」

The three dots appeared immediately.

「That's a good look on you.」

Vi's thumb froze.

She read it again.

「the tape or the hair?」

「Both.」

「Let me know if you need help with anything. I'm around today.」

An image loaded. Caitlyn at her desk in front of a small mirror, face mask on. The white sheet mask covered her face, leaving only her eyes and lips visible, and even then Vi could see the small smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.

Vi stared at it.

This was the first time they'd exchanged pictures. Just—existing. Sending it like it was nothing. Like Vi was someone she wanted to share this with.

That's a good look on you.

Her heart was beating too fast.

「will do, thanks Cait」

Vi sent it and immediately opened her group chat.

「Vi: yo anyone free today? need to get out of my head

Mylo: what's wrong with ur head

Claggor: I'm free after 2. Want to grab food?

Mylo: i'm down. vi's buying since she's been MIA

Vi: fuck off I'm not buying

Mylo: u didn't come to gaming thursday

Mylo: u owe us

Claggor: He's not wrong

Vi: fine. 2pm. but we're going somewhere cheap

Mylo: pizza truck?

Claggor: Pizza truck.

Vi: fine」

When the chat quieted, her thumb drifted—back to Cait.

She zoomed in. Caitlyn's collarbone where the shirt dipped. The loose strand of hair by her temple. That small smile. Back to her eyes.

Her finger traced the outline of her face on the screen.

She paused. What the hell was she doing?

 

She locked her phone. Set it under the pillow.

Got up. Made herself shower. Get dressed. Do something other than sit here thinking.

At 1:55, she headed out to meet her friends.

Her phone stayed where she'd left it.

She made it halfway down the hall before going back for it.

Just in case, she told herself. Just in case Mylo changed the location or Claggor was running late.

Not because Caitlyn might text.

She shoved the phone in her pocket and left.

---

The food truck was parked in its usual spot near the engineering building. Mylo was already there, leaning against the side with his arms crossed.

"There she is. The ghost."

"Shut up." Vi shoved his shoulder.

Claggor appeared from around the truck balancing three plates. "Line was dying down. Got you pepperoni—you're buying next time."

They found a bench in the shade. Vi sat carefully, her hip protesting despite the tape.

For a minute, it was just eating. Grease on fingers, paper plates bending under the weight.

Vi's thumb moved without thinking—screen lit, nothing. She locked it. Set it aside.

She looked up. Mylo was staring at her.

"What?"

"You're doing it again."

"Doing what?"

"The thing." Mylo looked at Claggor. "She's doing the thing."

Claggor looked at her for a beat. "Oh."

"What thing?"

"You going ghost on us. Glued to the damn phone." Mylo said. "You pulled that exact shit sophomore year when you had that crush on—"

"That was different."

"Was it though?" Mylo grinned.

"Who is it?" Claggor asked, not teasing. Just curious.

Vi took another bite. Chewed longer than she needed to.

“There's a friend,” she said finally. “From the swim team. She’s been helping me with my hip.”

Claggor’s expression didn’t change—until it did. Something small, like a puzzle piece sliding into place.

Mylo shrugged. "Helping you with your hip. Sounds boring."

Claggor’s eyes flicked to Vi. He knew.

A tiny shake of her head. He dipped his chin and let it drop.

"That why you need to get out of your head?" Claggor asked gently.

Vi studied her plate.

"Is she hot?" Mylo waggled his eyebrows. "Does she know you're into her?"

"It's not—" Vi stopped. "No. And she's not going to."

"Why not?" Claggor asked.

"Because she's dealing with her own shit. And she trusts me." Vi set her plate down. "I'm not going to fuck that up by making it weird."

“So you’re just gonna suffer in silence forever?” Mylo said. “Very noble. Extremely dumb.”

"I'm figuring it out."

Claggor was quiet for a moment. "You know you can tell us this stuff, right? You don't have to figure everything out alone."

Vi looked at him. At Mylo. At the two people who'd been showing up for her since they were kids.

"Yeah," she murmured. The rest stayed stuck in her throat. "I know."

"Good." Mylo stole a piece from her plate. "Now shut up and eat. You're getting weird when you're hungry."

Vi shoved him. But she smiled.

They talked for another hour. Mylo went on about the girl from his psych study group who kept borrowing his notes and never giving them back—"But like, she smiles when she asks, so what am I supposed to do?" Claggor pitched a spring break road trip to the coast, showed them campsite photos on his phone like they had any money for gas. Dreamy shit they'd probably never do, but it was nice to pretend.

Her phone stayed untouched.

Almost.

When they finally split up—Mylo heading to his shift at the campus bookstore, Claggor to the gym—Vi walked back to her dorm alone.

Halfway there, she pulled it out from her pocket.

Two messages. Her stomach fluttered. Stupid.

A picture angled down at textbooks and a cup of tea. Caitlyn's legs crossed on the bed, bare feet just visible at the edge. The blonde girl sat somewhere behind her, out of focus.

「Exciting Sunday over here.」

Sent an hour ago.

「at least you're being productive. i just ate my weight in pizza」

 

「Great. Now I'm craving pizza.」

Vi smiled—then caught herself.

「we could get some this week, after practice?」

 

「That'd be lovely. It's a date.」

「looking forward to it」

Notes:

Denial is a river in Egypt and Vi is building a vacation home on the damn shore. 😔🤝

Chapter 10: Won't Escape My Attention

Notes:

The AO3 curse is FUCKING REAL cause I sprained my HEEL and now I have too much time on my hands.
I can’t wait until Sunday so… here. Thanks for reading, folks. 🫶🫶🫶

The knock came at 2:58.

Caitlyn opened the door. Her heart was already racing.

Vi stood there in a faded Piltover Athletics t-shirt and jeans, canvas bag slung over one shoulder. Her hair was down—loose and damp at the ends like she'd left before it fully dried.

"Hey." Vi looked her over. Quick.

Her ribs went tight. They'd been doing that all week.

"Hey yourself." She stepped back. "You sure you don't mind doing this instead?"

"Are you kidding? Way better." Vi dropped her bag by the bed, already grinning. "Ready to ruin your dad's recipe?"

"I'm going to be so bad at this."

"That's why I'm here. Moral support."

"Moral support and supervision." Caitlyn grabbed the grocery bag from yesterday—flour, mozzarella, the good tomatoes. "I've never made dough in my life."

"Can't be harder than a 500 free."

"I'd rather swim the 500."

Vi laughed. The sound filled the small room, settled something in Caitlyn's shoulders she hadn't realized was tight.

They headed down the hall. The shared kitchen was empty—Sunday afternoon, most people still sleeping off Saturday or pretending homework didn't exist. Caitlyn set the bag on the counter and stared at the ingredients like they might arrange themselves into pizza through sheer force of will.

"Okay." Vi rolled up her sleeves. Her forearms were pale, scattered with small scars—chlorine burns, mostly. "First thing—"

"Wash your hands. I know."

"Just checking, princess." Vi grinned. "Never know with you."

Caitlyn's mouth twitched. She turned to the sink so Vi wouldn't see it.

The water was cold. Caitlyn scrubbed her palms, her wrists, between her fingers. Watched the soap foam white and disappear down the drain. When she looked up, Vi was beside her at the other sink, hands moving through the same motions. Their elbows almost touched.

Caitlyn pulled up her dad's texts. The screen was covered in messages from earlier that week—measurements, all-caps warnings, little notes like TRUST THE PROCESS and DON'T SKIP THE RESTING TIME.

"He's very passionate about this," Vi said, reading over her shoulder. Close enough to smell mint shampoo—clean and sharp.

"He's very passionate about everything." Caitlyn scrolled. "Okay. Flour, yeast, salt, warm water, olive oil."

"Measurements?"

"He says—" Caitlyn squinted at the screen. "'You'll feel when it's right.'"

Vi snorted. "Helpful."

"That's my dad."

Caitlyn poured flour into the bowl. A cloud of white puffed up. She coughed, waved her hand through the air.

"Too much?" she asked.

"Maybe add a little more."

"But—"

"We can fix it if it's too dry. Better than too wet." Vi leaned against the counter, arms crossed, watching. Not helping. "Go on."

The yeast went in next. Then warm water—"not hot," her dad had written, "warm like a bath." Caitlyn tested it with her finger. Pulled back.

"Too hot?"

"I don't know. Is this bath temperature?"

Vi reached over, stuck her wrist under the faucet. Let the water run over her skin for a few seconds.

"That's good." She turned off the tap, shook her hand dry. "Pour it in."

Caitlyn poured. The water hit the flour and everything clumped together into a shaggy, uneven mess that stuck to the spoon when she tried to stir it.

"That's not right."

"Keep going."

Caitlyn stirred. The dough fought her, pulling the spoon sideways, clinging in wet lumps. She switched to her hands and immediately regretted it. The mixture was cold and sticky, webbing between her fingers when she tried to pull them apart.

"This is disgusting."

"More flour."

"He said not to add too much."

"Does that feel right to you?"

It felt like wet cement. Caitlyn grabbed a handful of flour, dumped it in. The texture shifted—less wet, more solid. She pushed her palms into it. The dough resisted, then gave way. Almost warm now from the friction of her hands working it.

"Here." Vi's hands appeared next to hers in the bowl. "Push with the heel of your palm. Like this. Then fold it over. Turn it. Push again."

Their knuckles bumped. Vi's hands were broader than hers, stronger, rough calluses at her palms from the weight room. They worked in silence—push, fold, turn. The dough smoothed out under their hands, became something elastic and alive.

Caitlyn's forearms started to burn. The dough pulled at her palms, stuck under her nails. Vi's shoulder pressed against hers, solid and steady.

"Good." Vi pulled back first, wiped her hands on a towel. "Cover it. Twenty minutes."

Caitlyn draped a towel over the bowl. Her hands were shaking. Just exertion. Had to be.

She checked the next message while her heart rate settled.

"Sauce. Tomatoes, garlic, basil, olive oil, salt—" She stopped. "And a square of dark chocolate."

Vi blinked. "Chocolate."

"He says it cuts the acidity."

"In tomato sauce."

"Don't look at me like that."

"I'm not looking at you like anything." But Vi's mouth was doing something complicated, like she was trying not to smile. "Okay. Chocolate in the sauce. I trust the man."

The tomatoes were harder than Caitlyn expected. She positioned the knife the way she'd seen people do on cooking shows, brought it down. The blade skidded off the skin.

"You're going to lose a finger." Vi caught her hand, adjusted her grip. Thumb on top of the blade, knuckles curled under. "Like this. Let the knife do the work."

Caitlyn tried again. The tomato split under the blade, juice and seeds spilling across the cutting board. Her fingers were wet. The knife kept slipping.

"Curl your knuckles more."

"I am."

"No, like—" Vi pressed Caitlyn's fingers down, demonstrating. Heat from her palm against Caitlyn's knuckles. "The knife should touch your knuckles, not your fingertips."

Caitlyn's breath caught. Not from fear of the knife.

She cut slowly. Each slice uneven, some chunks, some paper-thin. Vi stayed close, watching her hands, occasionally reaching in to adjust her angle.

The garlic was worse. Caitlyn's eyes watered immediately, her nose running. She swiped at her face with her shoulder.

"Breathe through your mouth," Vi said.

"I am."

"No you're not."

Caitlyn breathed through her mouth. It helped. Barely. Her vision blurred and she blinked hard, kept cutting. The pieces were a mess—some minced, some practically whole cloves.

"Rustic," Vi said, grinning.

"Shut up."

Vi grabbed the pan, drizzled olive oil across the bottom. Set it on the stove. The oil shimmered, started to pop.

"Garlic first."

Caitlyn scraped the cutting board into the pan. The garlic hit the hot oil and the smell exploded—sharp and green and so strong her eyes watered again. She coughed.

"Stir it or it'll burn."

Caitlyn grabbed the wooden spoon, pushed the garlic around. It sizzled, started to turn gold at the edges.

"Now tomatoes."

She added them. The pan hissed, oil spattering up and catching her hand. She jerked back.

"You okay?"

"Fine."

Vi pulled her hand under the cold water before Caitlyn could even process the sting. The burn screamed and then went numb.

"Hold it there." Gentle fingers around her wrist. "Just a second."

Caitlyn held it. Watched Vi's face instead of her hand. Vi frowned at the burn like it had personally wronged her.

"It's fine," Caitlyn said. Her voice came out quieter than she meant.

"Should've warned you about the splatter." Vi turned off the water, but her hand stayed on Caitlyn's wrist. Her thumb rested against Caitlyn's pulse point. "Better?"

Caitlyn nodded. Couldn't quite make herself pull away.

Vi let go. Went back to the stove, stirred the sauce like nothing had happened.

Caitlyn's wrist still felt warm where Vi had touched it.

They stood over the pan while the sauce bubbled. Vi stirred in slow circles, scraping the bottom so nothing stuck. The tomatoes had broken down into something thick and red, the garlic smell mellowing into something sweeter.

"Taste it," Vi said, holding out the spoon.

Caitlyn leaned in. The sauce was hot enough that steam hit her face. She blew on it, then tasted.

Bright. Acidic. Sharp enough to make her jaw tighten.

"Needs something."

"Salt." Vi added a pinch. Stirred. Held out the spoon again.

Better. Rounder. Still missing something.

"Chocolate," Caitlyn said.

"Chocolate," Vi agreed.

Caitlyn broke off a square from the bar. It snapped clean, the sound sharp in the quiet kitchen. She dropped it into the pan and they both watched it melt—dark brown swirling into red, the edges going glossy before disappearing completely.

Vi stirred it in. Lifted the spoon. Tasted.

Her eyebrows went up.

"Okay. Your dad's a genius."

Caitlyn tried it. The difference hit immediately—deeper, rounder, the sharp edges smoothed into something almost sweet. The tomatoes tasted more like themselves somehow. Richer.

"Told you."

Vi bumped Caitlyn's hip with hers. Grinned. "Okay. It's done."

"You sure?"

"Taste it."

Caitlyn did. The sauce was perfect—balanced, deep, the kind of thing that tasted like time and care. Like her dad's kitchen on Saturday afternoons.

Her throat got tight.

"Yeah," she said. "It's done."

The dough had risen. Caitlyn pulled back the towel and it had doubled in size, pressing against the edges of the bowl. She poked it with one finger. It gave way, soft and springy, and slowly reinflated.

"That's so weird."

"That's yeast." Vi grinned. "Okay. Turn it out."

Caitlyn grabbed the bowl, turned it upside down. The dough plopped out and immediately started to spread.

"Shit—flour—"

Vi grabbed the bag. Dumped too much. A white cloud exploded between them.

Caitlyn coughed, waved her hand through the air. When it settled, Vi's face was dusted white.

Vi grinned. Grabbed a pinch of flour. Flicked it at Caitlyn's face.

"Oh, you're dead."

Caitlyn lunged. Vi shrieked, dodged around the island. Flour everywhere—in their hair, their clothes, coating the floor. Vi upended the bag over both of them.

They stood there gasping, covered head to toe in white.

Then they both started laughing. Real laughing, the kind that made Caitlyn's stomach hurt.

"Truce," Caitlyn managed. "Truce. We have to clean this."

"You started it."

"You deserved it."

Vi straightened up, still grinning. Eyes bright, cheeks flushed pink under all that white. A piece of hair had come loose from behind her ear, hanging across her face.

She looked ridiculous.

She looked—

Caitlyn turned back to the dough.

They salvaged what they could. The dough had survived the chaos, somehow. Caitlyn tried to roll it but it kept sticking, tearing at the edges.

"Just stretch it," Vi said. "With your hands. From the center."

Caitlyn tried. The dough pulled thin in one spot, stayed thick in another.

"It's not a circle."

"It's pizza, not geometry."

"It looks like—" Caitlyn stepped back. The shape was vaguely oblong, one side thicker than the other, a tear along the bottom edge. "It looks like a blob."

"A delicious blob." Vi took the edge, stretched it gently between her fingers. The dough thinned out, evened slightly. "See? Just coax it. Don't force."

Caitlyn tried again. Slower this time. The dough responded, stretching where she pulled. She pressed the torn edge back together. It held.

"There." Vi smiled. "Not so bad."

It wasn't a circle. But it was pizza-shaped. Close enough.

They spread the sauce—Caitlyn going slow, Vi watching without comment. The mozzarella went on in careful slices that Vi immediately ruined by scattering basil everywhere with no pattern at all.

"That's a mess."

"It'll melt." Vi drizzled olive oil over everything in a spiral pattern. "There. Art."

They slid it into the oven together. Set the timer. Twenty minutes.

The kitchen was a disaster. Flour on every surface, coating the floor, dusted across the stove. Sauce splattered on the wall behind the pan. A puddle of olive oil near the sink.

"We're disgusting," Caitlyn said.

"We're accomplished." Vi hopped up onto the counter, legs swinging. Flour fell off her jeans in little puffs. "That's the first pizza you've ever made."

"We made."

"You made. I supervised."

Caitlyn leaned against the counter next to where Vi sat. Close enough to feel the heat coming off her. Close enough to catch that smell again—clean and sharp underneath all the flour dust.

"Thank you," Caitlyn said. "For this."

"For what? Making a mess?"

"For being patient with me. For teaching me."

Vi was quiet for a second. When Caitlyn looked up, Vi was watching her. Soft. Careful.

"You're not hard to be patient with," Vi said quietly.

Heat flooded her face. She looked away first.

---

They carried the pizza back to Caitlyn's room on a cutting board, plates balanced on top, napkins tucked under Vi's arm. The hallway was quiet. Someone's music playing faintly from behind a closed door, bass thumping through the walls.

Caitlyn set the board on her bed. Vi settled cross-legged at the other end, back against the wall.

"Moment of truth," Vi said.

Caitlyn cut into it. The crust crackled under the knife. Cheese stretched in long golden strings, steam rising up and fogging her vision. She blinked through it, slid the first slice onto Vi's plate.

Vi picked it up. The tip sagged, cheese sliding forward. She caught it with her mouth, bit in.

Caitlyn watched her chew. Watched her take another bite without saying anything. Then another.

"Well?"

Vi swallowed. "The feedback is I'm eating."

"That's not feedback."

"It's good, Cait." Vi took another bite, spoke around it. "Really good."

Caitlyn took her own slice. It burned the roof of her mouth—too hot, too eager. She didn't care. The crust was chewy and charred at the edges, the sauce bright and deep at the same time, the cheese salty and rich.

It tasted exactly like her dad's kitchen. Like being twelve and sitting on the counter, legs swinging, watching him work.

Her eyes stung. Not from the heat.

"Good?" Vi asked.

Caitlyn nodded. Didn't trust her voice.

They ate in silence. Caitlyn finished her first slice, reached for another. Her stomach felt full—actually full, the kind of satisfied she'd forgotten existed. She took a third slice without thinking about it, realized halfway through that she was still hungry. When had that last happened?

Vi was watching her. Not obviously. Just glancing over between bites, that small smile at the corner of her mouth.

"What?" Caitlyn asked.

"Nothing. Just—" Vi gestured at Caitlyn's plate. "Good to see you eating."

"Of course. It's good pizza," Caitlyn said.

"It's great pizza."

They finished what they could. The cutting board between them still had two slices left, cheese congealed and glossy. Caitlyn leaned back, satisfied.

Vi shifted, pulled her bag closer.

"Almost forgot." She reached inside, pulled out something wrapped in tissue paper. Set it on the bed between them. "Saw these. Thought of you."

The tissue paper was light blue. The same blue as—

Caitlyn's hands moved before her brain caught up. She pulled away the paper.

A bakery box. That specific shade of pale blue. White string tied around it.

"Vi."

"It's nothing. Just—" Vi wouldn't look at her. Her ears were going pink. "Open it."

Caitlyn pulled the string. It fell away. She lifted the lid.

Two cupcakes. Delicate. Perfect.

"You remembered." Her voice cracked.

"You mentioned it once." Vi studied the bedspread like it held answers. "That place your dad used to take you after swimming classes. I was in the area, so."

She wasn't in the area. That bakery was on the other side of town. They'd been there together months ago—Caitlyn had mentioned the cupcakes but said no. Vi had remembered.

"Vi, this is—" Caitlyn couldn't finish. The words stuck.

"It's just cupcakes."

"It's not just cupcakes."

Vi finally looked at her. Vulnerability there, raw and unguarded. Like she wasn't sure this was okay. Like maybe she'd done too much.

"Thank you," Caitlyn managed. "Really. Thank you."

Vi's shoulders dropped. "Try one. Make sure they're still good."

Caitlyn lifted a cupcake from the box. The frosting was lilac, swirled perfectly, slightly glossy. She peeled back the wrapper. The smell hit her first—vanilla and lavender and something else, butter maybe.

She bit in.

The cake was soft. Light. The frosting floral without being perfume, sweet without being cloying. Exactly how she remembered.

"Good?" Vi asked softly.

"Perfect."

"Yeah?" Vi reached for the other cupcake. "Guess I picked right."

She bit in. Frosting smudged at the corner of her mouth, pale purple against her skin.

Vi's eyes closed. A small hum of satisfaction escaped her throat.

"These are really good," Vi said around a mouthful.

"I know." Caitlyn smiled. "Vi—you have—"

She gestured at her own mouth. Vi swiped at the wrong side.

"Here." Caitlyn reached over. Her thumb found the frosting at the corner of Vi's mouth.

Vi went completely still.

Caitlyn's thumb stayed there. Vi's breath warmed her hand—uneven, quick. The frosting was soft. Vi's lip was softer.

She wiped it away slowly.

Their eyes met.

Vi's pupils were huge. Her lips parted slightly.

Caitlyn pulled back. Her hand dropped to her lap.

"Sorry." The word came out breathy. "You had—"

"It's fine." Vi's voice was barely there. She cleared her throat. "Thanks."

They finished their cupcakes in silence. Vi crumpled her wrapper. Her hand went to the back of her neck—scratched once, hard—then dropped.

She stood too quickly.

"I should go."

The words felt wrong. Too soon. Too abrupt.

"Yeah." Caitlyn stood too. "It's getting late."

It was barely 6:47. Still light outside.

They walked to the door. Vi's bag over her shoulder, hand on the doorknob. She didn't turn it.

"Today was fun," Vi said. Still facing the door.

"It was." She forgot to breathe. "Thank you. For the cupcakes. For teaching me. For everything."

"Anytime."

Vi turned around.

They were close. Closer than Caitlyn had realized. Flour caught in Vi's hair. A faint red mark on her cheek. Her chest rising and falling too fast.

"Thank you," Caitlyn said again. Softer. "For being patient with me."

Vi's expression cracked open. Her eyes went soft, her mouth parting slightly like she wanted to say something and couldn't.

Caitlyn stepped forward and wrapped her arms around her.

Vi went rigid. Just for a heartbeat. Then her arms came up and pulled Caitlyn in tight.

Caitlyn's chin hooked over Vi's shoulder. Vi's hand splayed across her back, fingers spread wide.

Her hand found the back of Vi's neck—bare skin just below the hairline. Vi exhaled, shaky, and pulled Caitlyn closer.

When they pulled apart, Vi's hands stayed on Caitlyn's arms. Her eyes moved over Caitlyn's face, searching.

"Are you okay?" Caitlyn whispered.

Vi's smile didn't reach her eyes. "Yeah. Just—" She stopped. Swallowed hard. "Today was really nice."

She squeezed Caitlyn's arms once. "Take care."

The door clicked shut.

---

Caitlyn cleaned up on autopilot. Threw away the napkins, stacked the plates by the door to wash later.

Her hand hovered over the bakery box. Trash, technically.

She left it on her desk.

Shower. That would help.

The water ran too hot. Caitlyn didn't adjust it.

Steam filled the small shower stall. She closed her eyes, let the heat blur everything.

Her hands moved over her arms. Soaping. The motion came naturally—slow circles, steady pressure. Push and slide.

Her hands stilled on her ribs.

Just coax it. Don't force.

Vi's voice. Vi's hands over hers in the bowl.

Caitlyn's breath hitched. She kept going. Over her sides, her stomach. The same rhythm. Her skin felt raw under her palms. Hypersensitive. Every touch landing somewhere she couldn't name.

Her heart kicked hard. She pressed her hand flat against her sternum—trying to slow it, failing.

Her thumb brushed her mouth.

She froze.

Her finger stayed there. Against her bottom lip. The same place she'd touched Vi. She pressed slightly. Felt the give.

Her tongue followed. Salt. Soap. Underneath—lavender.

Her forehead hit the tile. Cold shocked through her skull. Her breath came in short bursts against the shower wall, fogging the air between her face and the tile.

She couldn't catch her breath.

She turned off the water. The silence pressed in.

She dried off and pulled on a t-shirt, sweatpants. Her hands shook.

The bakery box sat on her desk—lid open, lavender crumbs dusting the bottom. She closed it carefully, tucked it into her desk drawer behind her notebooks.

She lay back and stared at the ceiling.

Sleep felt impossible.