Chapter Text
The train pulls in with a screech that sounds far too eager to leave her behind.
Caitlyn doesn’t blame it.
She steps off, one boot and then the other, the cold biting immediately through the expensive wool of her coat. Her breath fogs in the air. The platform is quiet. Not empty, but no one’s here for her, and somehow that feels louder.
She adjusts the strap of her duffel bag. Keeps her chin up. If anyone sees her, she wants them to see certainty.
Not the homesickness sitting low in her throat. Not the fact that her gloves are new, untouched, because her mother insisted she wouldn’t last a week out here.
Piltover had grown into a nation of brilliance and structure — with New Piltover as its shining capital. Her family’s golden city.
But deep within its borders lay Zaun, a fractured state clinging to the ruins of its forgotten glory.
And Caitlyn had just arrived. With a purpose burning in her chest.
She hails a cab that smells like tobacco and something vaguely floral. The driver barely talks, and she’s grateful.
The apartment is…
Small. A little crooked in places. It smells faintly of dust and pipe smoke, like someone’s grandfather lived here once and left his scent behind.
Caitlyn stands in the middle of it for a moment, just looking.
One window. One lamp. A mattress rolled up against the far wall. The radiator hisses like it’s trying to breathe.
She doesn’t unpack immediately. Instead, she opens one of her trunks, pulls out her writing kit. Sits on the floor and balances the paper on her knee. The pen is familiar. The rest of her life, less so.
She writes the letter in one sitting.
“Dearest Mother,
I’ve arrived safely. The journey wasn’t long but it was uneventful. The apartment is modest but livable. You’ll be pleased to know the neighborhood is relatively quiet—though the same cannot be said for the plumbing. Still, I imagine I’ll grow used to the sound eventually. I always do.
Training begins tomorrow. I’m nervous, if I’m being honest. Not because I doubt my ability, but because I feel eyes on me already. The kind that expect me to fail.
I won’t give them the satisfaction.
Love,
Caitlyn”
She doesn’t sign it your daughter. Not this time.
The second letter is for Jayce.
“Jayce,
You absolute bastard—you told me the cold here wasn’t that bad. I nearly froze to death just getting off the train.
The flat’s got character, if by character you mean “pipes that scream like banshees” and exactly one working radiator. But the walls are mine, and the silence too. I think I might like that.
Training starts at dawn. I already hate everyone I haven’t met yet. Wish me luck. Also, send chocolate. Lots of it.
C.”
She folds them both. Seals them. Her fingers smell like ink for hours afterward, and she doesn’t mind.
The first few days in Zaun pass in a strange blur of discipline and aching limbs.
The military academy is nothing like her private tutors. She has to stay there every day, except for her day off. No one cares who her mother is. That might be the best part. There, at the Zaun military base — the strictest in the nation of Piltover — the Council kept their distance. So, far from her parents’ influence, she has to earn respect from scratch. No last names, no favors. Some even say that if you come from influence, certain sergeants are even harder on you.
They care how far she can run, how steady her aim is, how much she can carry without dropping.
The sergeants bark orders like they’re trying to crack something inside her open. Maybe they are.
Caitlyn doesn’t crack.
She writes. She trains. She showers in cold water and tapes her blisters at night.
By the fourth day, she starts referring to the apartment as “home” in her head, just to see if the word will stick when she get her first week of training done.
It doesn’t. Not yet.
It’s a Monday when she finally lets herself breathe.
Her first official day off. No drills. No shouting. No bruises forming under her ribs. She wakes up early anyway. Tries to read in bed, but the mattress is still too firm and the light too gray.
Eventually, she gets dressed. A navy wool coat over a cream turtleneck. Trousers neatly pressed. A book tucked under her arm: Wuthering Heights. Comfort in misery.
The city is wider than it looks. Cobblestones and narrow alleys, the kind of place where everything smells like chimney smoke and wet bark.
She walks until her feet start to ache, until her breath fogs thick and stubborn in the cold.
She finds the café by accident.
It’s tucked between a sports store and a bookstore that looks closed no matter the hour.
There’s no sign on the door. Just a warm glow inside, and the sound of soft jazz bleeding through fogged glass.
Caitlyn hesitates.
Then she reaches for the handle.
The door gives way with the soft jingle of an old brass bell, the kind that feels too gentle for a world that rarely is.
Warm air hits her like a memory. It smells like roasted coffee beans, burnt sugar, and something faintly floral—lavender, maybe, or the ghost of it lingering from someone’s perfume. Caitlyn steps in fully, blinking against the dim amber light that fills the space like a held breath.
It’s small. Cluttered in the way only places with soul are allowed to be. Wooden shelves line the back walls, full of mismatched mugs and old novels and potted plants that seem to lean toward the light with quiet longing. There’s a long counter to the right, polished but scratched with use, and behind it—
She sees her.
Wild pink hair, pulled back messily under a dark green beanie. A fitted white shirt with the sleeves rolled past strong forearms, suspenders clipped to worn black trousers, combat boots kicked back slightly on the floor. She’s bent at the waist, fiddling with something under the espresso machine, and Caitlyn’s eyes catch the line of her jaw, the pale freckles dusting her cheekbones, the way a small furrow rests between her brows like it belongs there.
Then, as if summoned by the weight of Caitlyn’s gaze, the woman straightens. Looks up. Meets her eyes.
And Caitlyn forgets how to breathe.
Eyes. Blue—bluer than blue, the kind that feels impossible in this light, or any light. Like staring up through ice. Like something about her should burn, but doesn’t.
Caitlyn clears her throat too late, caught in the look. She straightens instinctively, fingers clutching her book tighter.
The pink-haired girl doesn’t smile. Doesn’t look away, either. She just leans one elbow on the counter and raises an eyebrow. Her mouth is slightly parted, pink and chapped from the cold.
“You lost?” she asks. Voice low. Rough. And absolutely not the kind of voice Caitlyn had expected. There’s a smirk curling at the edge of it, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes.
Her years of etiquette classes kick in like a muscle memory. Caitlyn tilts her chin up and says, evenly, “No.”
The woman snorts, barely. “Then what are you doing just standing there?”
Caitlyn blinks, flustered. “I—right.” She clears her throat again and steps further in. “I was just… looking.”
“You find what you’re looking for?”
Caitlyn doesn’t answer. She’s still watching her. And being watched in return.
The woman breaks eye contact first, glancing down at the book Caitlyn’s holding.
“Wuthering Heights,” she says, unimpressed. “Figures.”
Caitlyn raises both brows, more amused than offended. “Do you mock all your customers, or just the new ones?”
That gets her a smile, small and crooked. Sharp at one end like it could bite. “Only the ones carrying Brontë before coffee. Bit dangerous.”
She looks down again, flipping a towel over her shoulder. There’s something in her posture—easy, but not lazy. She moves like someone who always knows where the exits are. Someone used to handling messes before they spill.
Caitlyn can’t quite look away from the curve of her neck where her collar’s undone. She doesn’t want to be obvious, but the moment feels held in suspension, quiet and thick. The kind of quiet that wants something to happen.
Eventually, the woman nods toward the nearest table. “Sit wherever. I’ll come take your order in a sec.”
Caitlyn nods, and wordlessly obeys.
The café is warmer than anywhere else she’s been since arriving. It hugs her, wraps around her shoulders like the coat she shrugs off and drapes across the back of the chair. She chooses a small table by the window, where the condensation blurs the view of the street and the people passing feel far away and forgettable.
There’s a flickering candle on her table. A real one. Wax dripping slowly down its ceramic holder. She likes that. She likes everything about this, more than she can say.
She opens her book, not because she intends to read but because it gives her hands something to do.
Her heartbeat still hasn’t quite settled. She blames the cold. And also the eyes. And maybe the way that woman said “figures” like it was personal.
She catches herself glancing back toward the counter.
The woman is talking to a lanky kid with wild blue hair now, gesturing toward the back. She nods once, then wipes her hands on her apron and heads toward Caitlyn’s table.
Caitlyn tries to look composed. Puts her bookmark neatly into place. Reminds herself that she is not fifteen, and that it’s absurd to be this affected by someone whose name she doesn’t even know.
Still. When the woman stops in front of her, she looks up like it matters.
“You ready?” she asks.
Caitlyn folds her hands politely. “Yes. What do you recommend?”
The muscular girl tilts her head, sizing her up again. “You look like you take your coffee seriously.”
“I do.”
“Hm.” A pause. “Black, no sugar?”
Caitlyn blinks. “That obvious?”
The woman shrugs, one corner of her mouth twitching. “You’ve got that look. You probably fold your laundry in military corners, too.”
Caitlyn swallows. That’s… oddly accurate.
“I’ll get it started,” she says, turning away with a flick of her fingers. “Don’t die of frost while you wait.”
Caitlyn watches her go. Watches the way her boots thud softly against the wood, the way her shoulder blades move under her shirt. The back of her neck, the flash of ink just peeking from under her collar.
She presses her lips together.
So.
Zaun isn’t so empty after all.
And this café—this place—feels like something she didn’t know she’d been missing.
______
The coffee machine hisses in protest, a grumbling sigh that echoes Vi’s own mood. She wipes down the counter with a damp cloth more aggressively than necessary, jaw tight, eyes flicking back toward the girl by the window.
Girl doesn’t feel right. Too casual. Too soft.
She’s clearly not from around here. Everything about her says somewhere else. The long, dark coat that still has the stiffness of recent tailoring. The leather gloves she removed with precision. The careful way she arranged herself at the table, like posture could protect you from the cold.
Vi didn’t mean to stare. Not really. But there was something about her the second she walked in—something clean-cut and razor-sharp, all wrapped in that pressed, elegant confidence. The kind of girl who drinks her coffee black and reads Wuthering Heights for fun, and Vi knows that kind. They don’t usually come to places like this. They don’t usually look at her like that.
And gods, those eyes.
She pulls the lever on the machine too hard and nearly spills the espresso.
“Smooth,” Jinx comments from where she’s crouched behind the pastry case, stacking napkins into tiny origami triangles like she’s solving a puzzle no one else can see. “Real subtle, sis.”
Vi doesn’t answer.
“Ohhh, she’s pretty,” Jinx sings in a low whisper, craning her neck to peek at the girl across the room. “Like, in that ‘I-own-a-violin-and-judge-your-life-choices’ kind of way. Think she’s slumming it? You gonna ask her out or just die mad about it?”
“I’m gonna make her coffee,” Vi mutters, turning away.
“That’s tragic,” Jinx says, popping to her feet and swinging toward the back, clearly bored already.
Vander’s voice rumbles from where he’s drying mugs at the sink. “She new?”
Vi doesn’t look up. “Never seen her before.”
“Polite?”
Vi hesitates. “posh.”
Vander chuckles. “So that’s a yes.”
She shoots him a look, but he only raises a brow, like he sees more than he says. He always does. It’s annoying, and comforting, and entirely Vander.
Vi tamps the grounds with a little more force than necessary. The rhythm of the café moves around her: the whir of the grinder, the soft clink of cups, the low hum of conversation and chairs dragging over wood. Familiar sounds. Things that usually settle her.
Not today.
Today, her heart’s still doing something weird in her chest.
Because when that girl had looked at her—really looked—there was a flicker of something there. Something warm. Curious. And Vi’s not used to that. Not anymore. Not from strangers, and definitely not from people like her.
She grabs the ceramic mug—one of the good ones, heavy and warm in the hands—and pours the espresso with care this time. Clean pour, deep color. No sugar. No cream. Just as she guessed.
She sets it on a tray. Takes a breath.
And carries it over.
The closer she gets, the quieter the world feels. Like sound’s folding in around this one moment.
The girl has her nose in her book, fingers curled around the spine, legs crossed neatly beneath the table. Her hair is falling perfect in her shoulders, and the firelight from the candle paints auburn shadows across the pages.
She doesn’t look up until Vi stops beside her.
“Your coffee,” Vi says, setting the mug down gently.
Caitlyn lifts her gaze, and for a second, they just look at each other again.
It’s different up close.
Vi can see the color of her eyes now. Not just blue—stormcloud blue. The kind that looks calm until it swallows you whole. There are faint circles under them, like she hasn’t been sleeping well. Or maybe like she thinks too much. Vi gets it. She doesn’t sleep, either.
“Thank you,” Caitlyn says, and the words are so soft, so elegant, that Vi feels them more than hears them.
She nods. Starts to step back. Though she wants to linger a little more.
Back behind the counter, she doesn’t look again for a while.
But she feels her there.
Still seated. Still reading. Still tucked into this little corner of the world that suddenly feels different. She feels the need to talk to her.
Like maybe, for a minute, she’s not the only one who feels a little out of place.
Vi fills a small glass with water, and grabs one of the dark chocolate cupcakes from the pastry display—her personal favorite. Not too sweet. A little bitter. Bold, Even.
She returns to the table and sets the plate and glass down gently.
“You looked like the kind of person who forgets to hydrate,” Vi says.
Caitlyn glances up, a little surprised, eyes flickering to the cupcake. “And this?”
Vi shrugs, hand resting on her hip. “It goes well with coffee. And books about morally gray people.”
That earns her a small smile. It’s polite, but there’s a glint behind it, one Vi can’t quite name. Amusement? Appreciation?
Caitlyn picks up the fork delicately. “Thank you.”
Vi’s about to say something else—something casual and unmemorable, probably—when a blur of motion sidesteps into the scene.
“Vi,” Jinx calls out, bounding over with the casual chaos of someone who never learned what indoor voice means. “Can you cover me this afternoon?”
Vi exhales. “Seriously? You promised Vander you’d do the stockroom.”
Jinx claps her hands together in an overly dramatic prayer. “Pretty please? Ekko’s taking me to that old train wreck outside the eastern district. For… art.”
She turns to Caitlyn mid-rant like she just remembered manners exist. “Hi, I’m Jinx. I’m the fun one. Vi’s the grump.”
Vi groans.
Caitlyn blinks, startled but composed. “Lovely to meet you.”
“Likewise.” Jinx winks, then back to Vi, nudging her elbow. “You’ll say yes because deep down you’re a softie and also because you owe me for that time I—”
“Okay,” Vi cuts in. “Fine. Just go.”
“Legend!” Jinx kisses the air in her direction, twirls dramatically, and skips off, leaving an aftershock of chaos in her wake.
Vi pinches the bridge of her nose. “She’s… a lot.”
“She seems spirited,” Caitlyn offers carefully, in that particular accent that makes even sarcasm sound like a velvet glove. “So. Your name is Vi?”
Vi blinks. It takes a second to recalibrate. “Yeah. Short for Violet. But no one calls me that.”
“Well, Vi,” Caitlyn says, folding the corner of her page with that same precise grace, “thank you for the water. And the cupcake.”
Vi grins, scratches the back of her neck. “You’re welcome.”
She turns and heads back behind the counter, wiping her hands on a towel she doesn’t actually need. She should be restocking the milk fridge or cleaning out the grinder, but instead, she leans against the bar and lets her eyes drift back to the girl with the book.
She’s still reading, fingers trailing slowly along the lines of text like she’s trying to absorb every word. Her mouth curls slightly as she reads something she finds clever. She reaches for the cupcake, takes a delicate bite.
And pauses.
Vi watches—just long enough to catch the subtle widening of Caitlyn’s eyes. The faint raise of her brows. A reaction that says: damn.
The corner of Vi’s mouth lifts involuntarily.
But then she catches herself. Groans under her breath. What the hell is she doing staring? Acting like a schoolkid with a crush over some posh girl who probably grew up learning etiquette at breakfast?
“Get a grip,” she mutters, ducking down to rinse a perfectly clean mug. “You’re not twelve.”
Still, her gaze flickers up again before she can stop it.
Caitlyn’s brushing crumbs off her lap, finishing the last sip of her coffee, movements unhurried but intentional—like she doesn’t waste time, but she also doesn’t rush it.
And Vi hates how soft the lighting makes her look. Hates that she notices.
Caitlyn stands, brushing invisible dust from the pleats of her coat. She pulls a few folded bills from the inside pocket and places them neatly on the table, adding a coin for the tip—generous, Vi notices.
Then Caitlyn lingers.
It’s not awkward. It’s not not awkward either. There’s a beat where neither of them moves, and the air holds something unspoken but very present between them. Something warm and unfamiliar.
Caitlyn finally breaks it. “I’ll likely be back. If you’re still open on Mondays.”
Vi shrugs, playing casual. “We’re always open. Except Sundays. Vander’s rule.”
“Good to know.” A pause. Then—“I’m Caitlyn, by the way.”
Vi nods. “Nice to meet you, Caitlyn.”
The way she says it makes Caitlyn’s name sound less like a label and more like a small secret she’s just been let in on.
Caitlyn’s smile returns—smaller, but somehow more genuine. “Nice to meet you too, Vi.”
And then she walks away, coat fluttering behind her, book tucked under her arm, the bell above the door chiming softly as she slips out into the pale Zaun’s afternoon.
Vi watches her go. Long enough for Jinx to poke her head back in from the hallway and raise an eyebrow.
“What?” Vi mutters.
Jinx grins. “Nothing,” she singsongs. “Nothing at all.”
________
The Monday night air hung still in Zaun. Caitlyn moved through her small apartment in practiced quiet, feet bare on the cool tile floor, her military uniform neatly folded at the edge of her bed, ready for dawn.
She hadn’t turned on the lights. The dim golden hue from the streetlamp outside her window was enough. Her hands moved gently, reverently, as she opened the envelope. The letters had arrived earlier that day—one from her mother, as curt and clean as expected, and one from Jayce, longer, scattered with half-formed thoughts and too many crossed-out lines.
Cait sat at her desk, spine straight despite the ache between her shoulders. She read Cassandra’s reply again, lips pressed into a thin line.
“Dear,
If you believe this makes you stronger, then so be it. I still think you’re wasting your time, your home is here, your family is here, we love you, despite our differences.”
And Jayce—
“Proud of you, Cait. This can’t be easy, I know. Let me know when you’re allowed a real break—I’ll bring tea and your favorite chocolate for sure, I miss you already. Hey! Don’t be stupid and get some dates!”
She traced his messy signature with the tip of her finger and set the letter aside.
The quiet was heavy, but not unwelcome. She pulled a blank page from the drawer and began to write, her pen moving with careful intention:
“Mother,
I received your letter. Thank you for replying.
It’s harder than I thought it would be.
The days blur. The nights ache. But for the first time, I feel like I’m doing something that is entirely mine. Not for the sake of legacy, or performance, or anyone’s expectations. Just… mine. You don’t have to understand. But I hope one day, you might try to.
Caitlyn”
She folded it neatly, set it aside, and began a new one.
“Jayce,
I miss you too, little dork.
Tell Mel she was right—I did cry the first time we ran night drills in the rain.
It’s strange, being away from all of you. I miss tea that doesn’t taste like chalk. I miss conversation. I miss people saying my name like it means something soft.
I Don’t know about dating but I think I met someone…
She doesn’t know what she’s doing to me.
And I’m not sure I do either.”
She paused, the pen resting gently against the corner of her mouth. The clock ticked. Somewhere below, a tremble. She looked out the window, as if the wind might carry a whisper of something familiar.
Cait didn’t sign the second letter. She folded it anyway.
And as she placed both envelopes by the door to post in the morning, she felt the soft press of hope beneath the loneliness—like something growing quietly under the snow.
__________
Vi’s appartment was Above the coffee shop, Vi tightened the last strap of her wrist wraps. Her hands were raw. She hadn’t planned to train tonight—she’d covered Jinx’s shift, stayed late helping Claggor fix a busted fridge, then walked a little under the haze of neon and drizzle.
But something kept her up. Kept her buzzing.
“My name is Caitlyn by the way,” Caitlyn had said, her voice still echoing between Vi’s ribs.
Vi let out a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding and threw a punch. And another. And another.
The heavy bag swung, groaned under the pressure. So did she.
It wasn’t anger. Not really. It was something deeper, quieter. Like missing something she hadn’t even let herself have.
She moved faster, muscles burning, sweat dripping down her spine. Her mind flooded with flashes—Caitlyn’s laugh, that damn smirk, the way her fingers brushed the book like it was nothing and everything.
“Stop it,” she muttered, and hit harder.
But Caitlyn’s name clung to the walls. To the air. To her.
After a while, Vi sank to the floor, breath shallow, hands trembling with adrenaline and something else. She sat in silence, head resting against the base of the bag, eyes unfocused.
Eventually, she stood. Showered quickly. Wrapped herself in an old sweater.
She lay on her mattress, one arm draped across her stomach, eyes flicking toward the rickety wooden shelf across the room. Her gaze drifted across the battered spines, titles long worn off. A few novel collections. A stolen guidebook to Zaun’s industrial history. A yellowing copy of Best Poetry of piltover, god knows why.
“Would she like that one?” she mumbled to herself.
A pause.
“Too dramatic.”
Still, she wondered. Wondered what Caitlyn read at night, what she kept on her bedside table. If she turned the pages slowly or fast. If she made notes in the margins.
Vi didn’t know how to name what was pulling at her ribs. But she felt it all the same.
And even though sleep didn’t come easy, she didn’t mind the ache so much tonight.
________
It’s been almost a week.
Caitlyn stood stiffly in formation under the pale dawn, the sharp cold biting at her cheeks. The voice of Commander Grayson was clipped, each order delivered with the precise cadence of someone used to command — and Cait was all business, all control. Discipline, she told herself, focus. The regimented drills went on, muscle memory sharpened, body pushed beyond limits.
But when her boots hit the cracked pavement on the way back to her apartment, her steps slowed, thoughts drifting. The memory of Vi’s laugh—the rough, unpolished sound like gravel turned sweet.
“Violet” She murmured softly.
Later, in the quiet of her small room, Cait curled beneath the threadbare blanket. Beside her, an old book—one she’d borrowed from the tiny Piltover library before leaving—lay open to a passage marked with a faded ribbon. She read the words softly, a posh accent threading through the silence:
“Love at first sight is the sudden spark that lights the soul, a moment so brief yet so fierce it can alter the course of a lifetime.”
Her lips curved in a rare, almost shy smile.
Caitlyn’s fingers brushed the page, then closed the book with gentle care. The room was quiet except for the ticking clock and the soft hum of the city.
Tomorrow is her day off, she whispered to herself. Maybe she’ll see her again.
Meanwhile, Back in her cramped apartment above the shop, Vi wiped the sweat off her brow, she sank onto the worn couch, peeling off her jacket. The day felt heavier than usual, as if the weight of the week pressed down on her shoulders.
Her thoughts, too frecuently that week, found Caitlyn.
“Monday…” she said. Tomorrow she’ll be back.
Vi chuckled to herself, shaking her head. The idea of Caitlyn, all prim and proper with that sharp accent, actually looking forward to a day off was almost funny.
But the truth was—Vi counted the days, too eager.
She pulled a well-worn paperback from her shelf—some stupid romance novel Vander had given her once. She flipped to a random page and read aloud, voice rough but sincere:
“Sometimes, you just know. Not because of words or promises, but because a person’s presence feels like coming home.”
Her eyes drifted to the window where the neon lights blurred against the rain.
“Maybe that’s what I’m waiting for…”
Her voice softened, almost a whisper: “Caitlyn…”
She didn’t say it loud, but the word hung in the room like a secret vow.
Both women, held the same fragile hope wrapped around their hearts—two stubborn souls craving something soft and real amid the chaos.
_____________
The door chimed softly as Caitlyn stepped into the warm, bustling café, her sharp boots clicking confidently on the wooden floor. Her eyes scanned the room almost instinctively—heart ticking a little faster—until they landed on the familiar figure behind the counter.
Vi.
Vi was wiping down the espresso machine, sleeves rolled up, hair tied back messily, that perfect scowl still firmly in place.
Cait swallowed, smoothing the crease in her blouse. Calm, Cait. It’s only coffee.
Vi’s head snapped up at the bell. Her eyes caught Cait’s instantly—a flicker of surprise, then something softer, almost like a smile tugging at the corner of her lips. She glanced down quickly, trying to mask the flutter she felt.
Jinx, perched nearby with a mischievous grin, winked. “Look who’s back. You guys gonna do the staring contest all day, or…?”
Vi shot Jinx a sharp look, but the grin didn’t fade from the younger girl’s face. Vander, standing in the back with a calm presence, gently waved Jinx away before she could say anything more.
“Hey,” Vi said, voice rough but warm. “How was your week?”
Cait stepped forward, smoothing the crease in her blouse. “Exhausting, to say the least. And yours?”
Vi shrugged, leaning casually on the counter. “Same old chaos. But I survived.”
Cait smirked, a bit of her usual sharpness softening. “Glad to hear it.”
Vi grabbed a cup and began preparing the coffee. “Want me to bring it over to your table? Same as last time?”
Cait nodded. “Black. No sugar. And the cupcake you recommended—the bitter chocolate one.”
Vi’s lips twitched into a genuine smile. “Figured you’d like that.”
They shared a small laugh, the kind that melts the space between strangers.
Vi took a deep breath, wanting to say more, to stay close, but the words tangled in her throat. “You’re an idiot” she thought, kicking herself inside.
Instead, she leaned back, watching Cait settle at a corner table, eyes darting around nervously.
Vi watched Cait from behind the counter, pretending to wipe the same spot on the espresso machine for way too long. She wasn’t exactly sure what she was waiting for—maybe a glance, a smile, maybe for Cait to look like she was looking for her.
And when it happened—when Cait’s eyes flicked up from her notebook and met hers—Vi looked away like she’d been caught doing something illegal. She hated how warm her neck felt all of a sudden.
She poured the coffee with a focus she didn’t usually reserve for anything besides late-night boxing or making sure Jinx didn’t accidentally light something on fire. Then she carefully picked out the bitter chocolate cupcake—the same one Cait had liked before.
As she crossed the floor, carrying the mug and plate like they were made of glass, she tried to think of something casual to say.
Ask her if she reads. No, dumb—she clearly reads.
Say something about the weather. What are you, eighty?
Comment on the book. Too obvious. She’ll know you were staring.
Just say literally anything—
“Here you go.” Vi set the coffee down gently, voice a little hoarse. “Black. No sugar. Same cupcake as last time.”
Cait looked up at her with that soft, surprised smile again—like Vi had done something remarkable just by remembering.
“Thank you,” she said, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “You’re very kind.”
Vi scratched the back of her neck, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. She didn’t want to leave. She wanted to stay right there, maybe sit across from Cait and ask her about the book she was reading, or what her laugh sounded like when it wasn’t so quiet, or what she’d look like in the morning, messy and real.
But her throat went dry. The café buzzed around them, and Vi’s brain—usually quick, sharp—offered nothing.
So she just nodded. “Let me know if you need anything else.”
Idiot.
She turned, ready to head back behind the counter, but caught it—the way Cait reached to grab her cup, her sleeve riding up just enough to reveal the edge of a deep purple bruise on her forearm.
Vi froze. Then, quietly, “What happened?”
Cait blinked, mid-motion. “Oh. It’s nothing. Just—training accident.”
Her voice was smooth, practiced. But Vi didn’t move, and she didn’t look away.
“You should be more careful,” she said, low, earnest. And it wasn’t teasing, wasn’t casual. It was full of something unspoken. Worry. Tenderness. Something softer than either of them were probably ready for.
Cait’s breath caught.
It was stupid, honestly—being moved by a simple sentence. But Vi’s voice had shifted. It wasn’t gruff or sarcastic. It was protective, and careful, and somehow kind.
Cait wanted to say something in return. Something equally sincere. Something like thank you or I’ll be alright or God, don’t look at me like that unless you plan on staying forever.
But all she managed was a quiet, “I’ll try.”
Their eyes lingered.
And it was too much, that moment. Too much and not enough. Like standing at the edge of something you weren’t supposed to touch.
Vi swallowed and gave her a half-smile, stepping back. “Good.”
Cait watched her walk away, the empty space across the table suddenly feeling like it mattered. Like it meant something.
And as she sat there, fingers curled loosely around the warm mug, she couldn’t help but wonder what Vi’s hands would feel like instead. Rough and solid and careful. Like her voice had just been.
Maybe it was foolish—falling a little in love with someone over coffee and cupcakes and a look.
But maybe that’s how it always started.
Maybe that was enough.
For now.
Vi shut herself in the staff bathroom, bracing her palms against the edge of the sink like it could hold her together. She stared at her reflection, chest still tight, the words “I’ll try” looping in her head like a song she couldn’t stop humming.
“She should not do that to you,” she muttered to herself. “It’s coffee. She’s a customer. You are not twelve.”
She ran cold water and splashed her face, letting out a groan somewhere between frustration and longing. Water dripped down her jaw, into the collar of her shirt. “Pull it together.”
The door creaked open behind her without a knock. “The hell are you doing?” Jinx’s voice rang out, half amused, half exasperated. She leaned in the doorway, eating the last bite of someone else’s blueberry muffin.
Vi turned, scowling. “Privacy, ever heard of it?”
Jinx ignored that completely. “She’s leaving.”
Vi’s heart dropped. “What?”
“She’s getting up, dude.” Jinx shrugged dramatically. “She’s probably walking out right now while you’re in here playing schizophrenic with your feelings.”
Vi cursed under her breath and grabbed a towel, wiping her face roughly. “Damn it—”
She shoved past her sister, pushing open the bathroom door fast and stepping into the front of the café—
Only to see Caitlyn still at her table, sipping her coffee, utterly unbothered and fully not leaving.
Vi froze mid-step, blinking.
Jinx strolled out after her, grinning like the devil. “Oops,” she sang, and slipped behind the counter.
Vi didn’t look at her. Couldn’t.
She swallowed, tugged at the sleeves of her shirt, then walked over to Cait’s table again, trying very hard to look like she hadn’t just had a minor breakdown in the staff bathroom.
“Hey,” she said, clearing her throat. “You, uh… still here.”
Cait looked up, setting her cup down gently. “Should I not be?” she asked, lips curving slightly. Her eyes sparkled, just a little.
Vi scratched the back of her neck, suddenly aware of how wet her face still probably was. “No—no. I mean. Stay. As long as you want. I just—uh—”
She stared at the table. At Cait’s fingers. Anywhere but her eyes.
“I’m going to this stupid carnival thing tonight,” Vi blurted, too fast. “Like, fairgrounds. Lights, music, overpriced sugar. That kind of crap.”
She hesitated. “I’m going with my friends. And, I dunno. Figured you might wanna see it. If you’re new and all.”
She was already regretting everything. Her ears were on fire.
Cait blinked, but didn’t laugh. Didn’t tease. She tilted her head slightly.
“You’re inviting me?”
Vi shoved her hands in her pockets. “I mean, if you want. I get it if you’re busy or too classy for cotton candy or whatever—”
“I’d love to.”
Vi stopped breathing. “Wait. Really?”
Cait smiled, warm and kind and just a little smug. “I’ve had a very long week,” she said. “And your carnival sounds precisely like the sort of chaotic mess I should be indulging in.”
Vi grinned before she could stop herself. “Alright. Cool. Cool, cool. Uh—seven? Outside?”
“I’ll be there,” Cait said. And she meant it.
Vi turned to go again, this time walking backward like a complete idiot. “Okay. Good. Great. Gonna be… fun. Definitely.”
She tripped a little on a chair leg. Cait bit back a laugh.
Vi gave her a mock glare, pointed a finger at her own eyes and then at Cait’s. “Don’t judge me, posh girl.”
“I wouldn’t dare,” Cait said smoothly, sipping her coffee with a perfectly unreadable expression.
Vi made it to the back before she let herself exhale.
Jinx was waiting with her arms crossed. “You’re welcome.”
“Shut up,” Vi muttered. But she was smiling.
_____
Caitlyn checked her watch with a soft sigh, then stood up and smoothed the sleeves of her sweater. She took one last sip of her now-cold coffee and glanced toward the counter.
They were all there—Vi, Vander, and Jinx, clustered together like some chaotic little family sitcom caught between shifts. Cait hesitated for a second, then walked over, steps precise and graceful even in her casual clothes.
Vander looked up first, greeting her with the kind of warm, genuine smile that made people trust him without question. “Hey there,” he said, drying his hands on a towel slung over his shoulder. “Glad to see new faces ‘round here. Especially ones that come back.”
Cait offered a polite smile. “I’ll take that as a compliment, then.” Her accent, crisp and lilting, made even that sound aristocratic.
“It is,” Vander nodded. “If you ever need anything—coffee-wise or otherwise—don’t be shy. We’re friendly.” He glanced at Vi, then at Jinx. “Well. Most of us.”
“Hey!” Jinx grinned, unabashed, licking frosting off her thumb. “I’m delightful.”
Vi just folded her arms and looked at the ceiling like she was too cool for all of this. Which, of course, meant she was absolutely panicking inside.
Caitlyn’s gaze shifted to her, soft and steady. “Thank you for the coffee, again. And the cupcake. Excellent taste, as promised.”
Vi shrugged like it was nothing. “Told you. I’m basically a dessert oracle.”
That earned her a breath of laughter from Caitlyn—quiet and impossibly lovely.
There was a beat. Something in the air. A pause stretched between them, buzzing with unspoken things, before Cait straightened her shoulders with that composed elegance Vi was already weak for.
“I’ll see you later,” Cait said. Just that. But her eyes lingered on Vi’s face a second longer than necessary, full of quiet promise.
Vi’s stomach did a somersault.
She nodded. Tried for chill. Failed a little. “Yeah. Later.”
Cait turned to Vander and added, “Lovely place you have, truly. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome any time,” Vander said warmly.
With one last glance at Vi—soft, charged, like a secret—they watched Caitlyn push the door open and disappear into the afternoon light, coat fluttering behind her.
There was silence for a moment.
Then Jinx leaned forward on her elbows and wiggled her eyebrows. “So… is that what flirting looks like when it’s got a fancy accent and emotional restraint?”
Vi threw a towel at her. “You little rat.”
Jinx ducked, cackling, as Vander just chuckled into his beard and returned to wiping down the counter.
Vi tried to keep her cool. Tried to look normal. Casual. Unbothered.
But her heart? Her heart was somewhere halfway out the door with Caitlyn, beating like she’d just been punched and kissed at the same time.
Because Cait had looked at her like she mattered. Like she was seen.
And damn it, that filled Vi in places she didn’t even know were empty.
_________
Vi was pacing.
Well, not exactly pacing—more like making aggressive laps between her room, the mirror, and the couch, where Jinx was dramatically flopped upside down like a bat, tossing popcorn into the air and missing half of it.
“You look fine,” Jinx muttered, catching a piece mid-air. “Actually, you look hot. Which is gross. Stop it.”
“I’m not doing this for her,” Vi snapped, smoothing down her jacket for the fifth time.
Ekko glanced up from his science book. “You literally said, ‘Do you think Cait would like this one or the dark red one?’ And then you put on perfume. So.”
“Shut up! all of you.” Vi ran a hand through her hair, instinctively going for the tie that wasn’t there. She’d left it down tonight—half-wild, half-styled, the undercut sharp against her jaw. It felt… vulnerable. Which she hated. And liked. Maybe.
She smelled like sandalwood and something darker—musk and citrus and just a little bit of panic.
Claggor gave her a thumbs-up. “You look great. You gonna tell her you like her, or just stare at her the whole night like a haunted Victorian bride?”
“I don’t—ugh. I’m not—this isn’t even a date,” Vi grumbled, grabbing an old newspaper, putting it down.
“It’s not not a date,” Mylo said, already halfway out the door.
“She’s gonna be outside and she’s gonna be early,” Jinx sing-songed as they piled into the hall. “And you’re gonna lose your damn mind.”
Across town, Caitlyn was buttoning up her navy coat with practiced hands. Simple, elegant, and tailored—like everything she owned. A soft cream sweater peeked out from underneath, and her long scarf was wrapped neatly around her neck. Not overdressed, not underdressed. Just… correct.
Of course, she’d changed twice.
She checked the time. She’s early. Of course.
She turned toward the small table by the entryway where her mail sat unopened—mostly junk, save for the one cream-coloured envelope with her father’s handwriting.
She hesitated. Then opened it.
“Darling girl,
We miss you. I miss you.
Will you come home for Christmas? The house is quieter without your music. Your mother’s asking about you—though in the usual way. You know how she is. She loves you. We both do.
News from the border is worrying. Ionia’s unrest seems to be escalating. I know you’ve been training hard. I trust you. But I worry, nonetheless.
Come home if you can. Let us know you’re safe.
With all my love,
Father.”
Caitlyn sat for a moment, letter folded in her lap. The words ached in her chest. Her parents had always been complex—distant and overbearing in turns—but her father had always written to her with a kind of softness that steadied her.
She pressed her lips together, then slipped the letter into her coat pocket. Not tonight. Tonight was not for hard thoughts.
Tonight, she would meet Vi under glowing carnival lights, and maybe—maybe—let herself feel light again.
And then there she was.
Cait stood just outside the coffee shop, gloved hands tucked neatly into her coat, scarf fluttering in the cool breeze. The evening was buzzing with laughter and the distant hum of the carnival somewhere not far away.
The door burst open.
And Caitlyn looked up.
Vi stepped out with her usual stomp, but Caitlyn’s breath caught the moment her eyes landed on her.
Gone was the beanie or the tight hair. Her hair was down now—windswept and soft except for the sharp line of the buzzed undercut that framed one side of her face. The jacket hugged her frame perfectly, and her cheeks were a little pink from the cold. There was a glint of something shy in her expression, and that scent—that godforsaken scent—drifted through the air like a spell.
Caitlyn’s chest tightened.
“Hi,” Vi said, and then immediately winced. Hi? Really? That’s what we’re going with?
But Caitlyn smiled—wide, genuine, eyes shining like she’d just found something she’d lost for years.
“Hello,” she replied, and Vi swore her knees nearly buckled. That accent, again. Sharp and velvet.
“You ready?” Vi asked, jamming her hands into her pockets, like her heart wasn’t slamming against her ribs.
“I’ve been ready,” Cait said, eyes flicking over Vi’s form once—just once—and then settling on her face with a kind of reverence. “Lead the way.”
Vi opened her mouth to say something else—something witty, maybe—but the door behind her swung open again.
“Hey fat hands! You’re just gonna leave us behind?” Jinx bounced down the steps like a human firecracker, hair in two mismatched buns, scarf trailing behind her.
“Jesus,” Vi muttered, stepping aside just in time to avoid getting trampled.
Behind her, the rest followed—Ekko, Claggor chatting with Mylo about which ride was most likely to break and kill them all.
Jinx landed beside Cait with a grin too wide and eyes too bright. “So, you came to the totally not dating date”
Vi’s soul visibly left her body.
“Jinx,” Ekko warned.
“What? I’m just being friendly.” She offered her hand dramatically. “This chaos is Mylo, that’s Claggor, and that one with the earings who never leaves me alone is Ekko.”
“Charmed,” Cait said smoothly, shaking Claggor’s hand with a tiny quirk of a smile. “Caitlyn.”
“Of course it is,” Claggor muttered under his breath. “She looks like a Caitlyn.”
“Shut it,” Vi barked, cheeks flushing as she elbowed him not-so-lightly.
“Are we walking or what?” Ekko asked.
And just like that, they were off—feet crunching over early frost, chatter rising around them like static.
Vi fell into step beside Cait, hands deep in her jacket pockets, trying not to think about how close their arms were. Cait looked over once, met her eyes, and smiled like it was only for her.
And Vi’s heart tripped over itself like an idiot.
Not a date.
Definitely not a date.
But maybe the beginning of something real.