Chapter Text
The click of Caitlyn Kiramman's heels echoed lightly across the tiled floor as she moved through the quiet house, a half-finished cup of coffee in one hand, her phone in the other. The Mercedes was already warming up in the driveway, and she was precisely on time — not early, not late, just... on schedule.
“Celeste!” she called toward the hallway. “Shoes. Backpack. Do not make me come in there.”
A muffled voice answered back. “I’m brushing my hair!”
“You were brushing your hair ten minutes ago.”
“That was round one!”
Caitlyn sighed and leaned against the edge of the kitchen counter. She scrolled through her inbox, scanning the usual flood of messages. She flagged a few and reminded herself to breathe.
Celeste finally emerged from the hallway, backpack slung over one shoulder, one shoelace untied, and her hair only half-brushed.
“You look like you lost a fight with a dragon,” Caitlyn said, lips twitching.
Celeste squinted at her. “I won the fight. This is what victory looks like.”
Caitlyn reached for her daughter’s shoe, crouching to tie the laces herself. “Next time, try winning faster.”
“I had to negotiate with a tangle. It was complicated.”
“Mm-hm. Are you ready for the spelling test today?”
Celeste shrugged. “I studied. I’ll either pass or I’ll live in a treehouse forever.”
Caitlyn stood, smoothing down her blazer. “If you live in a treehouse, you’ll need to learn how to file taxes. Might as well pass.”
They headed out the front door, the morning crisp and cool. The Mercedes sat gleaming in the driveway, spotless as always. Caitlyn slid into the driver’s seat while Celeste climbed in beside her, pulling the seatbelt across with a dramatic sigh.
Celeste watched the neighborhood roll by through the window. She didn’t speak for a while, and Caitlyn let the silence stretch. It wasn’t uncomfortable, lately she’d grown a little more withdrawn. Nothing dramatic, just... subtle shifts. Less eye contact. More unfinished sentences.
Caitlyn noticed everything. She always had.
“Are you nervous about the new class?” she asked gently.
A pause. Then, “A little. But I kinda want to go.”
“Good. Trying something new doesn’t have to mean you’re ready. Just willing.”
Another pause. “Why now?”
“You asked me last week what to do when someone doesn’t listen when you say stop.”
Celeste nodded slowly.
“I didn’t have an answer I liked,” Caitlyn added. “So maybe this class will help you find your own.”
They pulled up to the school drop-off zone. Kids streamed past in puffy jackets and backpacks, some laughing, some shouting. Celeste lingered in her seat.
“Will you stay and watch the class later?” she asked.
“Of course.”
Celeste opened the door, then paused again. “They’re not gonna make us scream or anything, right?”
“I have no idea.”
“Well... if they do, I’m going to scream really professionally. Like a lawyer.”
Caitlyn grinned. “That’s my girl.”
She watched her daughter disappear into the crowd, her small frame swallowed up by the chaos of morning routines and playground noise. Then the door clicked shut and Caitlyn was alone again.
She didn’t drive off right away. Instead, she sat there for a moment, her hands resting on the steering wheel. The car purred softly beneath her, the dashboard glowing faintly.
She didn’t hate her life. She wasn’t lost, or broken, or even particularly sad. But something in her had been on autopilot for a while now, and she wasn’t sure when that had started. Maybe after the nights she spent explaining to Celeste that none of this was her fault. Maybe even before that.
The gym smelled like rubber mats and eucalyptus spray.
Caitlyn stepped inside, adjusting her coat against the blast of cool, filtered air. Celeste walked a step ahead of her, her backpack bouncing lightly with each step, tight with nervous energy she was pretending not to have.
The Last Drop wasn’t what Caitlyn had expected. She’d pictured something more clinical or fluorescent lights, echoing halls, maybe banners that tried too hard to be empowering. But this place felt... real. Lived-in. The kind of place that didn’t need to prove anything.
The front desk sat just a few steps from the door, a sleek, waist-high counter with a small sign-in tablet and a bowl of wrapped protein bars. The woman behind the desk sat with her arms folded, head tilted slightly to the side like she was listening to something intently.
She wore a black baseball cap backward on her red hair, black shades, and a dark gray tank top that showed off sculpted arms covered in tattoos black ink winding from shoulder to wrist, bold and unapologetic. One leg was propped up on the bar of her stool, and her foot bounced in time with the low thrum of the gym’s music.
Caitlyn assumed she was the kind of person who worked out here more than she worked here. She looked like she belonged in a back alley fight club, not behind a front desk.
Still, she was the only staff member in sight.
Caitlyn cleared her throat. “Hi. We’re here for the kids’ trial class?”
The woman’s head turned slightly, but her eyes didn’t meet Caitlyn’s. She reached for something just to the left of the tablet, a clipboard, Caitlyn realized and slid it across the counter.
“Waiver. You’ll want the second page if she’s under twelve,” the woman said, her voice low, almost lazy. Not rude, just casual in a way Caitlyn wasn’t used to.
Caitlyn took the clipboard. “Thanks.”
“You’re early,” the woman added. “Class starts at four. Studio B. You’ll hear them yelling soon.”
Celeste gave her mother a sideways look. “Yelling?”
The woman smirked. “Not the scary kind.”
Caitlyn offered a polite smile and pulled a pen from her bag. As she filled out the form, she kept glancing up, curious, though she didn’t quite know why.
There was something about the woman’s posture. Relaxed, but precise. She didn’t even look at the clipboard when she passed it over. Just... knew exactly where everything was.
Caitlyn’s eyes flicked to the sunglasses. Indoors. But they didn’t feel performative, not the kind of fashion statement she’d seen on twenty-somethings in university hallways.
It wasn’t until the woman leaned back and reached for a nearby water bottle, her hand landing on it with unerring accuracy, that Caitlyn felt the first twinge of realization.
The shades. The way she hadn’t made eye contact. The stillness.
She was blind.
Caitlyn blinked, her pen pausing on the waiver. She didn’t say anything, didn’t want to. It wasn’t her business. But the realization shifted something in her. Not in a condescending way, just... surprise. The way you realize you’ve been looking at something wrong, and now you can’t unsee it.
The woman seemed completely at ease, like she had nothing to prove. Like she’d already fought whatever fight the world had tried to throw at her and come out the other side, not untouched, but unmoved.
“Name’s Vi, by the way,” the woman said suddenly, as if sensing the silence had stretched too long. “If you’re waiting, there’s a bench by the window. Good lighting, if you brought a book.”
Caitlyn blinked again. “Caitlyn. And... thank you.”
Celeste tugged on her sleeve. “Can I go in early?”
Caitlyn glanced down the hall, then back at Vi.
“She’ll be fine,” Vi said. “Instructor’s in there setting up. You’ll hear the kids before you see ‘em.”
Celeste didn’t wait for permission — she darted off toward the studio. Caitlyn watched her go, then turned back.
Vi hadn’t moved. Just sat there, one hand resting lightly on the edge of the counter, the other lazily tapping one finger to the beat of the music. Her head was tilted slightly again — listening. Her index finger tapping on the counter.
Tap, tap, tap
“You’re staring,” Vi called out.
Her voice wasn’t sharp, but it wasn’t joking either. Neutral, like she was pointing out a fact. Caitlyn froze mid-step, caught between denial and explanation.
“I wasn’t—” she started, then stopped herself. Lying felt ridiculous.
Vi didn’t turn. She just kept tapping her finger, her chin angled slightly toward the window, the mirrored lenses of her sunglasses catching the light.
“It’s fine,” she said after a beat. “People do when they’re trying to figure it out.”
“I wasn’t trying to figure anything out,” Caitlyn said, more defensively than she meant to.
Vi gave a small, one-shoulder shrug. “Sure.”
Caitlyn stepped back toward the desk, just slightly. “You’re very good at reading people.”
“Makes up for the whole not-reading-the-room thing,” Vi replied, internally cringing at the poor attempt of her joke when Caitlyn didn't laugh.
Caitlyn exhaled through her nose, the corners of her mouth twitching. “Right. The glasses, the way you didn’t even glance at the clipboard.” She folded her arms, not unkindly. “I thought it was just a look. The whole... mysterious energy.”
Vi smirked. “It is a look. Just happens to be functional.”
There was something disarming about her. Not because she was trying to be — if anything, Vi felt like someone who’d spent a long time not trying to be anything in particular. She sat like the world didn’t owe her interest or explanation, and Caitlyn wasn’t used to that.
“How was your class?” Caitlyn asked as Celeste hopped into the passenger seat.
“It was okay... Nothing special.”
“Would you like to continue attending the classes?”
Celeste paused, tugging at her hoodie sleeve. “Hm… the girls there were really nice, but I’m not sure.”
“You should continue the classes then.”
Celeste hummed in response, noncommittal, but not dismissive.
Vi took out a pack of pre-seasoned chicken breast from the fridge, then crouched to reach into the lower drawer for a few potatoes. She laid the ingredients out on the counter in a neat line, like always.
She pressed the button on the side of her watch.
“Six thirty-four, p.m.”
She sighed and picked up the potatoes, placing them on the chopping board. Her hand slid open the drawer smoothly, fingers immediately finding the knife without hesitation.
The front door burst open.
Vi jumped, her body instinctively bracing, head snapping toward the sound. Her grip tightened on the counter—until a familiar voice cut through the tension.
“Vi! We got takeout from Jericho’s!”
The adrenaline dropped all at once. Vi exhaled harshly, the breath shaky in her chest.
“Jesus, Powder,” she muttered, adjusting her stance. “You have to stop barging in like that. I’m gonna have a heart attack one of these days.”
“We wouldn’t want that now, would we?” Powder said cheerfully, dropping a takeout bag on the table.
“Wassup, Vi,” came Ekko’s voice behind her.
“Hey, lil man.”
Vi set the knife aside. “Pow, I was literally just about to cook dinner.”
“Yeah, and now you don’t have to. You’re welcome,” Powder said, already moving to put Vi’s ingredients back in the fridge. “A full dinner and you save a round of groceries. You should be thanking your best sister.”
“I only have one sister,” Vi said dryly. “And if I had another, you’d still be my least favorite.”
“Too bad you’re stuck with me.”
Vi rolled her eyes and took a seat at the dining table, her fingers tapping mindlessly against the smooth surface — a habit she refused to acknowledge, even to herself.
Tap, tap, tap.
“How’ve you been?” Ekko asked, pulling out a chair.
“Same as usual. Nothing exciting.” Vi shrugged. “I’m surprised you’re still putting up with her shit.”
“She’s manageable,” Ekko replied, deadpan.
“Dipshits, I’m still here,” Powder cut in, flicking Ekko’s forehead. He winced, while Vi chuckled under her breath.
Powder set out the plates, Vi’s in front of her, exactly as she always did. Plate in the center. Fork on the left. Spoon on the right. A box of tissues directly in front of Vi. She was never a clean eater, and Powder never let her forget it.
They began to eat, conversation flowing easily. Powder never ran out of things to say — not that Vi or Ekko minded. She filled the air so Vi didn’t have to.
“You want me to trim your hair again?” Powder asked between bites. “It’s getting long.”
Vi paused, fork halfway to her mouth. “Is it?”
“I’m taking that as a yes.” Powder didn’t wait for permission — she knew better. Vi needed to be nudged, not asked.
Vi had always been the protector. Since they were kids, she’d stood in front of Powder like a shield. And after the accident, she’d fought even harder to keep that role, even when everything in her body said she couldn’t do it alone anymore.
She’d insisted she didn’t need help. Pretended she wasn’t scared. But Powder had seen through her from the beginning. Vi could lie with silence, with stubbornness, but Powder had always known better.
Vi smiled faintly and returned to her food. She only ever let Powder trim her hair. No one else. Not since the scar.
The one that curved along the side of her scalp, the one she’d not shown to anyone outside of people close to her, a cap or a beanie depending on the weather.
“You know,” Powder said, mouth full, “you need a social life.”
Vi groaned. “Not this again. I have you, Ekko, Loris, Vander, guys at the gym and Purrcy.”
“At least someone who isn’t your sister, or people twice your age, or your dad OR your cat” Powder said, glancing toward the cat tree where Purrcy sat perched. The feline glared down at her with the quiet judgment of a creature deeply wronged.
“Ugh…Purrcy hates me because I booted he off your chest when you were having a migraine. I was saving you.”
“He’s never going to forgive you.”
“I’ve tried! I give him treats. I talk to her. He eats the food and then climbs back up there and glares like I killed her family.”
Vi didn’t respond. She just pressed the button on her watch again.
“ Seven fifty-two, p.m. ”
“Hey,” Powder said, narrowing her eyes. “You don’t get to ignore me, you need a better social life sis.”
Vi continued chewing her noodles, louder now. Purposefully obnoxious.
Ekko snorted.
Powder rolled her eyes, but smiled anyway. “Stubborn lil shit.”
“You know, Mum, you don’t have to sit in the lobby every time I’ve got class,” Celeste said casually as Caitlyn drove.
“I know.”
“You know… you can talk to her.”
Caitlyn blinked, her grip tightening slightly on the steering wheel. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she replied a little too quickly, already feeling the heat rise in her neck.
Celeste snorted. “You are so not slick, Mum. I catch you staring at her sometimes when I look out the window.”
Caitlyn rolled her eyes. “God, you are way too young to be discussing this with me.”
Caitlyn arrived at the gym twenty minutes earlier than usual. She didn’t like being late to anything — not lectures, not school drop-offs, and certainly not awkward drop-ins where she might accidentally see someone she’d been pretending not to think about all week.
The desk was empty when she walked in. She glanced around, suppressing the irrational pang of disappointment. Maybe Vi had the day off.
She shook the thought off quickly and sat down on the lobby couch, scrolling aimlessly through her phone. Celeste plopped down beside her, swinging her feet.
“I have to use the toilet,” Caitlyn murmured. “Don’t wander off.”
“Mum! go. I’m not a toddler.”
“You’ll always be a baby to me.”
Celeste groaned as Caitlyn walked off, amused.
As she passed the weightlifting section, movement caught her eye — a redhead, cap backward, sunglasses on, curling dumbbells with casual precision.
Vi.
Caitlyn didn’t know how long she stood there staring. She realized it just as quickly, guilt blooming in her chest. She snapped her gaze away and walked briskly into the bathroom, cheeks burning.
When she came back out, her stomach dropped.
Celeste was talking to Vi.
Vi was crouched slightly to hear her better, nodding along, her expression open and focused. Caitlyn’s panic kicked in. She sprinted over and gently pulled Celeste back.
“Shit—Sorry! She tends to wander off without asking sometimes,” Caitlyn said, flustered.
Vi smiled, scratching the side of her neck. “It’s alright. We had a nice chat. She’s a smart kid.”
Caitlyn’s eyes flicked to the tattoo on Vi’s neck before she forced herself to look away. Her daughter was grinning at her now.
“This one’s always ahead of herself,” Caitlyn said, managing a tight smile. “Sorry again. We won’t bother you.”
She turned and practically dragged Celeste back to the lobby.
“What did you say to her?” Caitlyn whispered once they sat.
“Just asked what she was doing.”
“Are you sure ?”
“Yes! I didn’t tell her you have a big fat crush on her,” Celeste said sweetly.
Caitlyn slapped a hand over her daughter’s mouth, eyes wide, scanning the room for witnesses.
“ Celeste! ”
Celeste giggled into her palm.
They sat back down. Caitlyn was still recovering.
“It wouldn’t hurt to talk to her, you know,” Celeste said casually.
“I’m not having this conversation with an eight-year-old.”
“If you don’t ask for her number, I’m not coming to this class anymore.”
“I—you—” Caitlyn sputtered.
“Your choice, Mum,” Celeste said with a mischievous shrug before skipping off to greet a classmate.
Caitlyn prayed her daughter would forget.
She didn’t.
After class, Caitlyn was halfway out the door when Celeste stopped her.
“Let’s get ice cream?” Caitlyn offered, desperate for a change of subject.
“Yes! But not until you talk to her.”
“Lest—”
“Come on. Just as friends. I like her. She seems fun.”
Before Caitlyn could protest, she was being pulled by the hand toward the desk — where Vi now sat, calm as ever, tapping her finger rhythmically on the counter.
Tap, tap, tap.
The moment Caitlyn stepped into her shadow, Vi’s tapping stopped.
“How can I help you?” Vi asked, her voice even — but with the faintest curve of amusement. Caitlyn hadn’t expected her to notice so fast.
She froze. Mouth open. Nothing came out.
Celeste didn’t hesitate.
“My mum here has something to tell you.”
There was a pause. Vi tilted her head slightly.
“Oh? Is something wrong… Miss Kiramman?”
Caitlyn’s throat went dry. “I—well—no, nothing’s wrong. I was thinking, maybe—um—”
Her accent caught Vi’s attention again. That soft, refined curve to her vowels. Vi’s head tilted again, just slightly, like she was memorizing the sound.
“She wants your number,” Celeste said.
Both women went still.
Then—
“ YES! ” a voice exploded from under the counter.
Caitlyn jumped. A girl popped up holding a screwdriver in one hand and an impish grin on her face.
“My sister would love to give you her number.”
“Pow—” Vi started.
“What?” Powder said innocently, then turned to Caitlyn. “Here, give me your phone.”
Caitlyn, too stunned to argue, fumbled through her coat and handed it over.
“Name?”
“Caitlyn.”
“Alrighty,” Powder said, typing fast. “This is Vi’s number. She’s awesome. You can call her whenever”
“Powder,” Vi said, her voice sharp, her face and ears visibly red.
Powder handed the phone back to Caitlyn with a wink. “Good luck, British lady.”
Caitlyn stared at the screen. Vi’s number was now saved under Vi (Gym Girl 💪).
She didn’t remember breathing for the last two minutes.
Vi cleared her throat. “Um… sorry about her.”
“No, it’s… fine,” Caitlyn said, still dazed. “She’s… efficient.”
Celeste beamed. “Ice cream now?”
Caitlyn nodded, still clutching her phone like it might vanish.
Caitlyn stared at the contact on her phone the entire ride home. She was not a very safe driver.
Vi (Gym Girl 💪)
The emoji was Powder’s doing, obviously. But the name... the name was hers now. In her phone. Permanently. Like it had always been there.
Celeste was in the back seat, humming softly to herself between licks of her ice cream cone. She’d chosen mint chip again — her favorite. Caitlyn had barely touched hers.
She wasn’t sure if she was nervous, annoyed, or something in between. Probably both.
“You’re welcome, by the way,” Celeste said, casually, like she hadn’t just upended Caitlyn’s emotional equilibrium in a public gym lobby.
“For what?”
“For helping you make a move,” she said proudly.
“I didn’t make a move,” Caitlyn muttered. “You did. Without asking.”
Celeste shrugged, licking her cone. “Same thing.”
Caitlyn rolled her eyes and focused on the road. The streetlights were starting to flicker on, casting long shadows across the windshield. Her mind, however, remained stubbornly back at the gym. At the counter. At the half-smile on Vi’s face when she heard her voice.
She hadn’t said much. But she hadn’t said no.
And that was something.
Back home, Caitlyn closed the door behind her and leaned against it, just for a moment. The house was quiet — the kind of quiet that came from routine. Celeste dropped her shoes by the door and disappeared into her room without needing to be asked.
Caitlyn stood in the entryway, coat still on, holding her phone like it might bite her.
She opened it.
Vi (Gym Girl 💪)
She stared at the message field for a solid minute. Her thumbs hovered over the keyboard.
Hi, it’s Caitlyn. From the gym.
No. Too bland.
Thanks for not being alarmed by my daughter ambushing you.
Ugh. Too apologetic.
I hope Powder didn’t add any emojis to your contact in her phone.
Too presumptuous. Too familiar. Too—
She locked her phone and tossed it onto the kitchen counter like it had offended her.
Nope.
Not tonight.
That night, as she got ready for bed, she found herself brushing her hair slower than usual. Her eyes drifted to her own reflection — tired, a little flushed. She looked… unsettled. Not in a bad way. Just off-kilter.
It wasn’t like her.
She’s never indulged herself in any of those thoughts since her ex-fiance left. The heartbreak was painful, a hard adjustment for Celeste and herself.
She didn’t text that night. Or the next.
But the contact stayed in her phone, quietly waiting.
And every time she opened her messages, her eyes drifted to it — just for a second longer than before.
Vi just walked out of the shower, wearing a t-shirt and shorts.
“Meow… purrcyyyyy” Vi’s voice a few octaves higher to summon her orange cat, She was snapping her fingers.
From above, she heard the soft jingle of a bell, followed by a muffled thump and the sound of fur brushing the floor. A second later, something warm and heavy nudged her leg.
“There you are, you little menace,” she grinned.
She extended her arm, palm steady by her side. A beat passed…then a muffled “oof” escaped her as a bundle of fluff landed squarely in her hand. Purrcy, her orange tabby, now very much not a kitten, climbed his way up her arm and settled around her shoulders like a scarf.
The orange feline was a lot heavier then it was as a kitten. The last image of him Vi remembers was a young teenage orange cat with green eyes that looked peaceful beneath the sun.
Vi adopted Purrcy when he was a little kitten, she found him in the garden outside of her old house. The two immediately bonded with the orange cat being extra clingy towards Vi. Purrcy’s 8 years old now, he was around 1 when Vi lost her sight, the poor cat was scared shitless when he had to stay at Loris’ house since Vi was in the hospital for quite some time.
When she finally came home, Powder had fitted Purrcy with a collar and a tiny bell. Vi hadn’t asked, but it helped. Even if the cat hated it at first. He eventually accepted his fate with the same theatrical disdain he gave Powder every time she entered the apartment.
Purrcy liked sitting across Vi’s broad shoulders or even on top of her head occasionally, even though he was gaining quite some weight for the lack of exercise, he still found a way to keep himself on Vi.
Vi walked to her nightstand fluidly, memorising the outline of her one bedroom apartment which Powder helped her decorate. She was told by Powder that her belt was hanging on top of a cabinet, along with other trophies, medals and framed pictures. Other than that, everything was placed systematically, easier for Vi to navigate.
Her closet was filled with simple clothing, nothing could go wrong with simple. T-shirt, hoodies, tank tops, and some other clothes buried in the back of her closet for said special occasions which she had never touched.
She had specifically ordered for Powder to keep her clothes of simple colour as well, only grey, white, black and blue so no funky combinations, not that she would notice. And of course, her special selection of headwear of caps and beanies, although Powder had tried many times to convince her that she didn’t have to wear it all the time when they were out, she still did.
Vi picked up the phone from her nightstand, “Hey Siri, read my notifications.”
She found herself checking her notifications more then she should, waiting for a specific someone to send her a text, though a part of her still thinks that the day would not happen.
Her heart did that stupid skip thing again, the one she hated.
“One new message from Pow Pow:
Sis! I’m coming over now. Just sister bonding time.
Sent twelve minutes ago.”
“Fuck” she muttered to herself. She’s been ignoring her sister since the incident in the gym, not replying to her messages.
She picked up her phone, “Hey Siri, call Powder.”
“Pow! I’m going to bed now! No point in coming.”
“Well too bad, I’m unlocking your door now.”
Then Powder hung up. Vi wanted to sink into her bed and never wake up.
Vi groaned, dragging herself to the living room, Purrcy still comfortably wrapped around her shoulders. The light flicked on, stabbing into her squinting eyes.
“Pow, you didn’t have to-”
“I brought you ice-cream.” Vi always had a soft spot for desserts.
She rolled her eyes, “Fine.”
“Gotta take a piss, gimme a sec.” Powder said while eyeing the cat on Vi’s shoulders, leading to an intense staring battle that lasted for three seconds before Powder gave up. She flipped the cat off before walking into the bathroom.
Vi’s hand reached for the table, feeling where the ice-cream was before bringing it into the kitchen. She took two bowls and a spoon out. Vi opened the tub of ice-cream smelling the flavor. Strawberry, her favorite, she smiled while she shook her head.
She pulled out two bowls. Her movements were practiced as if she could do this with her eyes closed. And, well, she did. She placed the bowls on the table, already indulging in the treat. If she could, she would lock herself inside her room just so she could avoid the conversation with Powder.
“So… Caitlyn.” Powder broke the silence.
“Hm?” Vi replied innocently.
“The British mum.”
“Ah. Yeah I heard from Loris she’s a good kid.”
Powder narrowed her eyes at Vi then the cat glaring at her on Vi’s shoulders.
Just as Vi thought she would give up the topic, Vi’s phone vibrated,
“You have received a notification on Messengers from a new contact, Caitlyn K, would you like me to read the message?”
Vi froze. Spoon paused mid-air.
“No fuck,” she muttered under her breath.
Of all the times.
She’d been waiting for this text. Days. Every quiet moment she'd checked. And of course it had to come now , with her sister across the table like a smug hawk.
Vi attempted to continue eating her ice-cream ignoring the text.
Powder perked up immediately. “Well well well …”
“Ignore it. My phone’s broken. Dropped it two days ago,” Vi lied flatly.
“Like hell it is,” Powder grinned, already lunging across the table.
“POW—!”
Too late. Powder grabbed the phone and hit the read-aloud function.
“Good evening. This is Caitlyn from the gym. Would texting or calling work better for you?”
Powder blinked. Then frowned. “Why is this woman so proper?”
“POW! Give it back.”
At this point, Vi’s stomach was doing full-on backflips. Caitlyn’s voice echoed in her head — soft, polished, careful in a way that made every word feel like it meant something.
It was... sexy, to say the least.
“You don’t want to miss out on her,” Powder said, leaning back in her chair with a grin. “She’s hot as fuck .”
“Powder—!”
Vi felt her whole body jolt. Her insides did another involuntary somersault. Because Powder saying a girl was hot? That meant she wasn’t joking . That meant Caitlyn was perhaps actually hot.
“I mean, if I wasn’t dating Ekko,” Powder added with a shrug, “I’d absolutely be on top of her right now.”
“Jesus Christ, Pow ! ” Vi covered her face with both hands, the heat crawling up her neck like wildfire.
Powder just smirked. “I could describe her to you, but it seems like you’re not interested.”
Vi paused. Goddamnit.
She wanted to know. She didn’t want to want to know… but she wanted to know.
Still, she forced her voice into a flat drawl. “Yeah. I’m not interested.”
“Suit yourself, sis,” Powder teased, stretching like a cat. “But she’s got these blue eyes that sparkle like sapphires.”
Vi’s fingers twitched.
Shit.
Powder saw it. She definitely saw it.
There was a pause.
“At least tell her you’re not interested,” Powder said, clearly playing her. “I’ll help you write the text.”
“No!” Vi blurted, a little louder than intended. “I’ll… think about it. Let me sleep on it.”
Ha. Bingo.
Powder grinned like she’d just won a bet with herself.
Vi got her sister out of the apartment as quickly as she could.
The second the door clicked shut, she exhaled like she'd been holding her breath for an hour. She leaned against the wall, palms pressed to her face.
“God,” she muttered.
Purrcy meowed from the corner, hopping down from the cat tree with the grace of a slightly overweight ninja. He followed her into the kitchenette, curling around her legs until she reached his tub of food.
She hadn’t let anyone new into her life in seven years. Not really. Not since everything went to hell. Not since the accident. And there was no way it was going to change for Caitlyn…
Fans and media offered their sympathy for the young star's sudden retirement, she liked the attention she had when she was on the top of her career, though not after when everything crumpled down.
She hated it. Sold her old house. Cut ties. Disappeared.
No more interviews. No more statements. No closure. Just... silence.
The sympathy had been unbearable.
They called her a “tragedy.” A “what-could-have-been.”
Let them think what they wanted.
People still recognized her sometimes. She hated those moments most. The awkward “Hey, aren’t you—?” followed by that look — part awe, part pity.
But Caitlyn…
Caitlyn didn’t look at her like that.
She hadn’t even seemed to realize who she was. And if she had , she didn’t show it. She just spoke to Vi like she was still someone . Like she wasn’t broken. Like she hadn’t vanished.
And her voice—
Vi shook her head and cursed under her breath.
She couldn’t stop thinking about her.
And now the woman was in her phone.
Waiting.
She sat on the edge of her bed, playing the message again and again
“Good evening. This is Caitlyn from the gym. Would texting or calling work better for you?
Sent 35 minutes ago.”
“Good evening. This is Caitlyn from the gym. Would texting or calling work better for you?
Sent 38 minutes ago.”
Vi wasn’t sure what Caitlyn wanted.
Maybe it was nothing. Maybe she just wanted to be polite. Maybe Powder had forced this whole thing and Caitlyn was trying not to be rude.
Vi had no idea.
But she couldn’t stop thinking about her voice. The shape of the words. That subtle accent that made everything sound just a little more careful.
She sighed and let her head fall forward into her hands, elbows resting on her knees.
Fuck it.
Then her fingers hovered over her phone and she pressed the voice recording button.
“Uhh. Hey, it's Vi. Um texting works.”
She released her finger and a swoosh noise rang in her ears indicating that the text was sent.