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Caitlyn had just stepped out of her 11 a.m. lecture, the heavy wooden doors of her building closing behind her with a muted thud as she made her way down the familiar stone steps. The midday air was crisp, carrying the low hum of campus life. Distant chatter, the shuffle of students, the occasional rush of someone running late.
She adjusted the strap of her bag over her shoulder and set off toward the engineering building across the road.
It was a route she knew by heart. She doubted she could forget it even if she tried.
Back when she had been a student, she had walked this very path hundreds of times, usually with a purpose and in a hurry on her way to meet Jayce for lunch. It had been routine then, something she never thought twice about.
And now she was doing the exact same thing again. Only now, she was an overworked professor instead of an overworked student. Well, not much has changed.
“Good morning, Mrs. Kiramman!”
Caitlyn’s head lifted at the sound of her name, her steps faltering just slightly as her attention was pulled toward the voice. A student stood a few paces away, offering her a bright, almost disarmingly cheerful smile.
“Good afternoon,” she corrected smoothly, though she couldn’t quite keep the note of surprise from slipping into her tone.
Students didn’t usually go out of their way to greet her and she didn’t blame them.
Caitlyn wasn’t particularly approachable, she was aware of that much. She kept her lectures structured and efficient, leaving very little room for digressions or personal engagement. Ninety-seven percent of her time was dedicated to the material; the remaining three percent was reserved for necessary interaction and even that she handled with restraint.
She wasn’t there to entertain her students with her personal life, she wasn't there to throw smiles and small talk at them. She was there to teach.
There was a reason she wasn’t the favourite professor among the students, but Caitlyn had never found that especially concerning. As long as they left her classroom having learned something, having absorbed as much knowledge as they could possibly take from her, that was enough.
As long as no one could accuse Professor Kiramman of standing at the front of the room and turning her lectures into something akin to a podcast, droning on without substance, she was satisfied. Caitlyn grew her mind just so it can help grow the others, not using it for the sake of pleasantries wasn't an option.
Still, she couldn’t help but admire her wife in that regard.
Vi had a way of doing both teaching and connecting, effortlessly balancing the two as if it required no thought or effort at all. She could command a room and make it feel alive, turn even the most obscure myth into something vivid, something memorable. Students gravitated toward her, even those who had never attended a single one of her classes.
There was a reason Vi was a favourite across the entire campus. Caitlyn certainly couldn’t blame them. It was, after all, exactly why she had put a ring on her finger.
“Mrs. Kiramman?”
Another voice pulled her from her thoughts, more tentative this time, edged with hesitation. Caitlyn stopped mid-step, turning fully to face the student, ensuring she gave him her complete attention.
“Yes?”
She recognized him after a brief moment. Paul. He sat somewhere near the middle rows. He was attentive enough, if not particularly remarkable. And he looked mildly nervous now.
“Uh, sorry, I just—” He shifted awkwardly under her gaze, then straightened as if remembering why he had approached her in the first place. “I was wondering if you know when Professor Hund will be on campus today?” Paul asked, and Caitlyn felt herself go very, very still.
According to their last exchange which was mere minutes ago, Vi was due to arrive in fifteen minutes to meet both her and Jayce for lunch at Beanie’s. The message had been brief, informal, entirely Vi.
But that was information Caitlyn decidedly should not have. Not in this context. Not as a professor who had a casual, definitely not married relationship with her colleague. Technically speaking, she had no reason to know where Professor Hund was on her day off.
“I…” Caitlyn began, then stalled, her mind moving quickly as she tried to recalibrate. “I wasn’t aware I keep track of Professor Hund’s whereabouts?”
It had been intended as something sharper, something dismissive, just enough to suggest that the question itself bordered on inappropriate. A subtle reprimand, nothing more.
However, the sentence tilted upward at the end, betraying a flicker of uncertainty she hadn’t quite managed to suppress. It came out less cutting than she’d planned, more inquisitive than authoritative.
Paul, fortunately or perhaps unfortunately didn’t seem to take offence.
“Oh, no,” he said easily, giving a small shrug. “I just thought maybe she mentioned it over breakfast or something. I know I wouldn’t survive the next day if I didn’t tell my girlfriend where I’m going.”
Caitlyn blinked.
Her brows lifted, the movement slow but pronounced, and for a brief, unguarded moment, her composure slipped entirely. Surprise and confusion crossed her features in equal measure, her lips parting into a small, incredulous o before she found her voice again.
“Excuse me?” she said, the words sharper than intended, her tone pitching just slightly higher with clear exasperation. “Professor Hund and I are certainly not dating.”
Paul froze.
The shift in her tone seemed to hit him a second too late, his expression faltering into something unmistakably panicked. He knew, quite clearly, that he had said something wrong but he just hadn’t the faintest idea what it was.
“Of course not, no, that’s not what I meant,” he rushed, one hand coming up to scratch at the back of his neck, as if that might somehow undo the situation.
Caitlyn regarded him coolly, though there was still a lingering edge to her posture, the remnants of her earlier surprise not entirely smoothed over.
“I know you two are married, of course.”
The words came out in a rush, Paul grasping at the first explanation that crossed his mind, as though saying anything might somehow fix what he had already broken.
“That’s not the same, of course,” he added quickly, nodding to himself as if that clarified anything at all. “You’re right.”
Caitlyn stared at him.
Her expression tightened by the second; brows drawing together into a sharp frown, lips parting as if to respond, only to press together again when no immediate words came. For a brief moment, she simply… couldn’t speak.
How, exactly, had this happened?
The question echoed loudly in her mind, growing more incredulous with every passing second. She had worked at this university for nearly a decade. Ten years of careful separation, of deliberate professionalism, of ensuring that her personal life remained precisely that. Personal.
Not once, not a single time had she allowed this particular detail to slip.
Their first year had been chaotic enough, yes. There had been whispers back then, the inevitable rumours of dating, students gossiping in corridors. It had been irritating, but manageable.
But this? People thinking, no, knowing they're married?
Oh, she was going to kill Vi.
Caitlyn could already feel the familiar rise of frustration creeping up her spine, settling at the base of her skull. How many times had she told her that she had no interest in becoming part of the university’s gossip ecosystem? That she had no desire whatsoever to be known as Professor Hund’s wife?
Vi’s students—her fans, really—spread information with the efficiency of a naval fleet. Once something was out, it travelled fast, wide, and completely beyond control.
Goodness.
Caitlyn exhaled slowly, but it did very little to steady her. She could feel her blood pressure climbing, could feel the beginnings of a migraine pressing insistently behind her eyes. Judging by the way Paul’s expression shifted from anxious to outright alarmed, none of this was particularly well concealed.
“I’m so sorry, Mrs. Kiramman,” he blurted, words tumbling over each other in his haste. “I don’t even know why I asked.. uh… I’ll just email her. Probably. Uh… have a nice day.”
He didn’t wait for a response. With that, he turned and all but fled, his retreat quick and unmistakably panicked. Caitlyn watched him go for exactly one second before reaching for her phone.
Her movements were sharp now, precise with irritation as she unlocked it, already scrolling to Vi’s contact. She was fully prepared and eager, even, to call her immediately and demand an explanation, consequences be damned.
Her thumb hovered over the call button but paused.
Then, with visible restraint, she exhaled and instead switched to her messages. A brief text to Jayce informing him she would meet them both at Beanie’s was sent with far more force than necessary. She slipped the phone back into her bag, adjusted her posture, and without another glance toward the engineering building, turned on her heel.
A detour to the nearest restroom would do.
If she was going to confront Vi, and she was, she would at the very least do so without looking as though she was on the verge of committing a crime in broad daylight. A splash of cold water, perhaps. And then… Then she would deal with her wife.
☆ミ☆ミ☆ミ☆ミ☆ミ☆ミ☆ミ☆ミ☆ミ☆ミ☆ミ☆ミ☆ミ☆ミ☆ミ☆ミ
After washing her face, lingering perhaps a moment longer than strictly necessary, palms pressed briefly against the cool porcelain of the sink as she let the last of her irritation settle into something more controlled, Caitlyn finally straightened and made her way out, composure restored in appearance if not entirely in substance. By the time she stepped back into the open air, her expression had returned to its usual measured calm, the only trace of her earlier agitation lingering somewhere deep beneath the surface.
The walk to Beanie’s was a familiar one, too, though slightly longer than what convenience might have dictated. The café sat just beyond the immediate boundaries of the campus, tucked along a quieter street where the constant tide of students thinned into something far more manageable. There were, of course, countless alternatives within university grounds. Cheaper, closer, more practical in every conceivable way but Beanie’s offered something those places never could.
Distance. And with it, a certain blessed absence of students.
It was an unspoken agreement among many of the faculty: if one wished to eat in relative peace, one paid the price for it. Quite literally, in fact. The coffee was overpriced, the food modest at best, and yet it remained preferable. Caitlyn, for one, would take that trade without hesitation. Paying twice as much was a small sacrifice in exchange for not being approached mid-meal by a question about deadlines or essay structures.
After several minutes of walking, the café came into view, its modest exterior as unassuming as ever. Caitlyn pushed the door open, the small bell above it chiming softly to announce her arrival, the sound cutting gently through the low murmur of conversation inside.
Her gaze swept the room once, out of habit more than necessity and landed on them almost immediately.
Jayce and Vi were seated in a booth directly across from the entrance, as though they had made no attempt whatsoever to be difficult to find. Vi was leaned forward, one arm braced against the table as she held her phone out between them, clearly in the middle of showing something. Jayce, for his part, had his glasses perched low on his nose, squinting slightly as he tried to make sense of whatever was on the screen.
Caitlyn paused for just a fraction of a second, taking the scene in.
There was something undeniably endearing, painfully so, about the sight of her brother like this. The first of them to be struck, as he so dramatically put it, by the “boomer truck,” fumbling with his glasses and leaning in far too close to a screen he would have effortlessly read years ago. It was, in its own way, almost beautiful.
A small smile found its way onto her lips, softening her features as she watched him, and for a fleeting moment, she forgot entirely why she had arrived in such a state of restrained fury.
And then Vi laughed.
Not a quiet chuckle, not a restrained breath of amusement, but a full, unabashed, belly laugh. Loud, bright, utterly unconcerned with anything or anyone around her. One that made Caitlyn fall in love again anf again, in any other situation. But now, the sound cut straight through Caitlyn’s brief calm and reignited her irritation in an instant and her smile vanished.
I can’t believe she’s not even remotely panicked about blowing up ten years of work, Caitlyn thought sharply, the frustration rising again with renewed intensity as she started toward their table.
She closed the distance between them in measured steps, her posture straight, her expression composed in that way that only just barely concealed the irritation simmering beneath. Coming to a stop beside the booth, she didn’t sit, didn’t even acknowledge the seat, choosing instead to remain standing, a quiet, unmistakable presence at the edge of their table.
Her gaze settled on Vi.
Vi, who looked entirely unbothered. Entirely unaware. Still caught in the remnants of her laughter, shoulders relaxed, attention half on Jayce and half on whatever she had been showing him just moments ago. As Caitlyn approached, Vi turned slightly, instinctively, already reaching out. Her hand moving with casual familiarity toward Caitlyn’s waist, as though this were any other day, any other lunch, any other moment untouched by consequences.
“Hey, Sprout!” Jayce greeted brightly, the nickname slipping out with easy fondness, completely oblivious to the shift in atmosphere.
Caitlyn didn’t so much as glance at him.
Instead, her hand came up sharply, swatting Vi’s away before it could settle against her waist. The contact was quick, not harsh but firm enough to make a point. Her eyes locked onto Vi’s immediately after, her glare cool and unwavering, carrying far more weight than raised volume ever could.
“Bathroom. Now.”
Her voice was controlled, low, and edged with something that left very little room for interpretation. She didn’t wait for a response, turning on her heel, Caitlyn walked away from the table without another word, already heading in the direction of the restrooms at the back of the café. The sharp rhythm of her heels followed her, cutting through the low hum of the room with quiet authority.
Behind her, there was a brief pause just long enough for the shift to register.
“…What did you do?” Jayce’s voice carried, tinged with both confusion and poorly concealed amusement.
Vi let out a small breath, somewhere between a sigh and a resigned huff. “I don’t know,” she admitted, though there was a certain acceptance in her tone, as if the exact reason hardly mattered. “But I probably deserve whatever’s coming.”
Good.
Caitlyn’s lips pressed into a thin line as she reached the restroom door, pushing it open without slowing.
At least she’s aware of her mistake.
The door swung shut behind her with a soft click as she stepped inside, already preparing herself for the conversation that was about to follow.
Vi slipped into the bathroom almost immediately after her, the door barely given time to settle before it swung open again. She entered like she always did: casual, unhurried, entirely too at ease for someone who had very likely caused a campus-wide revelation and there it was, that familiar smirk already playing at the corner of her lips.
She chuckled softly to herself as she approached, hands tucked loosely into her pockets for a moment before she let them fall free.
“You know what?” Vi started, her tone light, teasing, as though they weren’t standing on the edge of an argument. “This reminds me of the good old college days when you’d drag me into the bathroom at The Last Cup to scold me because of the flirty batista, only to end up angrily making out with me five minutes later.” She tilted her head, as if genuinely trying to recall. “What was her name again? That ginger barista with the bob. Maggie?”
Caitlyn rolled her eyes, though the motion lacked its earlier sharpness. The irritation was still there, yes, but something softer had begun to creep in around the edges, dulling it. Familiarity, perhaps, or the weight of memory settling in.
She remembered those days very well. Far better than she would ever admit out loud.
And she knew that Vi remembered the name too. The way she feigned ignorance, the deliberate wrong guess, it was all part of it. A small, calculated effort to take the edge off Caitlyn’s temper before it could fully sharpen again.
“Maddie,” Caitlyn corrected, her voice even, though there was a faint, reluctant fondness threaded through it now. “It was written on the name tag over her chest.”
Her arms crossed over her chest as she spoke, posture firm, a clear attempt at maintaining some semblance of distance as she watched Vi draw closer.
“Is it?” Vi replied, feigning surprise, though the corners of her mouth betrayed her, curling upward despite her best efforts. “Had no idea. I wasn’t exactly looking at anyone’s chest back then.” A beat. Then, with a grin she didn’t bother hiding anymore, “Well, anyone’s except my wife’s. What’s it been now? Twenty-five years?”
“Oh, do shut up,” Caitlyn groaned, though the exasperation rang hollow, softened entirely by the warmth that had settled into her tone despite herself.
Vi took that as permission. Her hands found Caitlyn’s waist easily, naturally, as though they had always belonged there and perhaps they had. She stepped in close, circling her arms around her, drawing her in with quiet certainty.
Caitlyn allowed it, but she didn’t uncross her arms. The barrier remained, deliberate and unmistakable, her forearms pressed lightly between them as if to remind Vi and perhaps herself that this conversation was not over, no matter how easily she melted into familiarity.
“Did you know she’s been shagging Commander Medarda lately?” Vi added, entirely unbothered, as if they weren’t standing in the middle of a confrontation she had yet to properly acknowledge.
Caitlyn’s eyebrows shot up so high they nearly disappeared into her hairline.
“You’re joking,” she said immediately, the words coming out half in disbelief, half in hope because surely, surely, this had to be one of Vi’s exaggerated, poorly timed jokes.
Vi only snorted, shaking her head with far too much certainty. Caitlyn’s arms fell apart from their defensive cross without her even realizing it, her hands coming forward to press lightly, then not so lightly against Vi’s chest, pushing her back just enough to properly look at her face, as if searching for any sign of deception.
“Violet,” she hissed, her voice dropping into an incredulous whisper that somehow still managed to sound like a shout, “the Commander is halfway into the coffin.”
Her eyes were wide, comically wide like something startled and caught under bright light, and still, she waited. Waited for Vi to crack, to laugh, to admit she was making it all up.
Vi didn’t. Instead, she shrugged, laughter still bubbling under her words. “It’s not like she’s taking the fortune with her,” she said, far too casually. “And it’s not like Maddie’s with her for her… other qualities.”
That did it.
A laugh burst out of Caitlyn before she could stop it, sharp and sudden, her hand flying up to cover her mouth almost immediately after, as if she could shove the sound back in. Her shoulders lifted slightly with the effort of containing herself, eyes squeezing shut for just a second in disbelief.
“Goodness,” she muttered against her palm, voice muffled, “that’s…”
She didn’t even finish the sentence, because really, what could one say to that?
She lowered her hand slowly, composure attempting a return, though the lingering amusement made it far less convincing than before.
“Does Mel know?” she asked then, curiosity slipping in despite everything.
Vi nodded without hesitation. “Jayce said that’s why she’s in Noxus now.”
Caitlyn’s eyes widened again, somehow. “She lied about having a business trip?” The question came out almost scandalized, her mind already racing ahead, piecing together implications.
Vi tilted her head, considering it for a moment before answering with a shrug. “I mean… trying to get rid of an inheritance vulture is a kind of business, right?”
Caitlyn hummed, slow and thoughtful, as if genuinely weighing the argument.
“…I suppose it is.”
There was a brief pause just a few seconds where the absurdity of it all settled fully into place and then, almost at the same time, the two of them broke.
The giggles started small, barely contained, before growing into something warmer, freer, shared amusement over something entirely ridiculous, entirely inappropriate and yet impossible not to indulge in.
For a moment, the tension that had brought them there dissolved completely, replaced by something far more familiar.
“Here’s my beautiful girl,” Vi said, her voice softening just enough to wrap around the words, a smile tugging at her lips as her hand came up to cup Caitlyn’s cheek. Her thumb brushed lightly along the edge of Caitlyn’s mouth, tracing the faint curve of her smile as if committing it to memory. “You know I always say you’re hot when you’re mad but your tooth gap’s unfortunately not visible when you are.” Her grin widened, entirely unapologetic. “I’d appreciate it if you walked around smiling like you’re high on antidepressants instead of whatever that was a few minutes ago.”
The teasing was unmistakable, threaded through every word, and Caitlyn huffed in response, though the sound lacked any real bite. Fondness bleeding through far too easily to conceal.
“For someone who claims to prefer me not being angry,” she replied coolly, though her tone carried that same softened edge, “you do seem rather committed to doing things that irritate me on a regular basis.”
Vi nodded immediately, far too quickly, as if she’d been waiting for the accusation.
“Yeah. You’re so right,” she agreed without hesitation, expression settling into something almost mock-serious. “The rightest, even. I’m sure I’ve made many critical errors that have driven you to this point.”
Her tone was dismissive in that particular way only Vi could manage. Careless on the surface, but undermined entirely by the way her hand remained warm against Caitlyn’s face, her thumb still absentmindedly brushing along her cheek. To anyone else, it might have been grating.
To Caitlyn, it was familiar. Predictable. Safe.
She knew Vi well enough to recognize the line, knew that if she had been genuinely upset, if there had been even a hint of real anger beneath the surface, Vi wouldn’t be joking like this. Wouldn’t be pushing, wouldn’t be teasing, wouldn’t be testing the edges of her patience just to pull that softened reaction out of her.
So Caitlyn didn’t mind, not really.
Instead she reached up and pinched Vi’s side, quick and precise, earning herself exactly what she expected.
“Ow!” Vi recoiled slightly, more dramatic than the action warranted, her hand dropping as she rubbed at the offended spot, brows knitting together in exaggerated pain. “If your domestic violence is over, Mrs. Kiramman,” she said, sniffing lightly as though deeply wronged, “I’d very much like to know what sin I’ve committed to deserve such awful treatment.”
Caitlyn’s gaze lingered on her for a moment, measured though the faint curl at the corner of her lips made it difficult to take the severity too seriously. “Well, if you insist,” Caitlyn said at last, drawing in a small breath as she straightened, her posture shifting almost imperceptibly into something more formal. She cleared her throat, as though preparing to deliver a lecture rather than confront her wife in a café restroom.
Then her eyes fixed on Vi: sharp, expectant.
“Pray tell,” she began, her tone crisp and edged with restrained disbelief, “why the bloody hell does Paul Matthews think we’re married?”
She held the look, waiting.
Vi blinked at her. For a moment, there was nothing. Just that familiar, easy expression before confusion slowly began to settle in, her brows pulling together as she turned the question over in her head, clearly trying to piece together what, exactly, had gone wrong.
“Well, I don’t know, Cupcake,” she started, her voice casual, almost dismissive at first. “Maybe it’s because we are married—”
And then it hit. The shift was immediate.
“Fuck.”
“Oh, fuck indeed,” Caitlyn echoed, exhaling sharply as she shook her head, disbelief threading through every movement. One hand came up briefly, pressing against her temple as though to stave off the beginnings of another headache. “I was wondering why everyone has been behaving so… peculiarly ever since we returned from Ionia.”
Her gaze snapped back to Vi. “Why didn’t you tell me you’d snitched?”
Vi winced slightly, her hand coming up to scratch at the back of her neck before catching the collar of her shirt instead, tugging at it absentmindedly as she thought.
“Shit, I didn’t know either,” she said quickly, a hint of defensiveness slipping in, though it lacked any real force. “No one’s asked me anything about it, and I swear, if I’d said something about you, they would’ve reacted right there in the lecture. You know they would’ve.” She gestured vaguely, as if indicating a room full of students. “I remember everything people say.”
“Clearly not,” Caitlyn shot back, the retort immediate. There was irritation there, yes, but it was dulled. Softened around the edges, lacking the bite it might have carried earlier.
“Oh, come on, Cait, don’t be like that,” Vi said, her tone slipping easily into something coaxing, almost playful, as she tried to smooth the tension she herself had very likely caused. “I’m sure they just…” she waved a hand vaguely, searching for something even remotely plausible, “I don’t know, found our super discreet usernames and hacked our private accounts to make them public or something. They didn’t hear it from me.”
She nudged Caitlyn lightly at the side as she spoke, an attempt to soften her words, to pull her just a little further away from the edge of irritation.
Caitlyn merely exhaled, long and controlled, her shoulders rising and falling with the effort. She didn’t immediately respond, instead letting the silence stretch for a few seconds as she turned the possibilities over in her mind, searching for something, anything, that made sense.
And then… It clicked. Her posture stilled.
Of course.
They didn’t need much, did they? Just one open door, one overlooked detail. Their colleagues were careful, painfully so,everyone in their circle understood the importance of privacy when one taught hundreds of students each semester. Social lives were kept tightly sealed, accounts locked, boundaries maintained.
Everyone adhered to that unspoken rule. Everyone except…
“I think they found Lavender’s Instagram account,” Caitlyn said suddenly, the realization landing all at once. Her hand came up to rub at the bridge of her nose, eyes closing briefly as the full weight of it settled in.
Vi let out a long, drawn-out, “Ooooh…” her hands planting themselves on her hips as she nodded, the pieces clearly falling into place for her as well.
“Yeah,” she admitted, almost impressed. “That would make sense. I did introduce her to the class and I might’ve mentioned she’s starting the engineering course here next year…”
Caitlyn’s eyes snapped back open, fixing Vi with a look sharp enough to cut. Vi immediately raised both hands in surrender.
“Hey! You said no talking about you,” she defended quickly. “You didn’t say anything about Lavender.”
Caitlyn sighed again, the sound heavier this time, though lacking any real heat. Annoying as it was, Vi wasn’t wrong. It wasn’t really her fault. Not entirely, at least. The logic tracked, the pieces fit together a little too neatly to deny. And yet, the frustration remained, lingering without a proper target.
Because really, who was she meant to blame here? Certainly not Lavender. And picking a fight with a group of twenty-year-olds over their investigative enthusiasm hardly seemed like a dignified course of action.
“And what’s so bad about it?” Vi pressed, her eyebrows lifting as she looked at Caitlyn more carefully now, the earlier teasing giving way to something more deliberate, more grounded, as though she had decided, quite consciously, to meet her wife where she actually was instead of where she’d been a few minutes ago. “I know exactly why we set those rules when we did. You were just starting out. You came in later than me, you didn’t want anyone thinking you only got here because of me, you didn’t want to get dragged into the gossip chain, all that,” she went on, gesturing loosely, almost lazily, as if the reasons were still valid but no longer quite as heavy as they once had been. “But it’s been, what, ten years now? People know you, Cait. Your students respect you, they take you seriously. So why would it matter now that you’re married to me?”
She paused, just long enough for the question to linger between them, before adding, more pointedly, “Be honest… are you ashamed of me?”
It wasn’t a question born from insecurity, far from it. Vi didn’t believe that for even a second. But she knew Caitlyn well enough to understand that sometimes the fastest way to pull her out of a spiraling line of thought was to present her with something so plainly wrong that she’d be forced to confront it head-on, to reframe the entire situation whether she wanted to or not.
“Gods, Vi, you know it’s not like that,” Caitlyn protested immediately, the response sharp and instinctive, almost affronted in its urgency, as though the very idea had struck a nerve she hadn’t even realized was exposed.
Her hand reached out without hesitation, seeking Vi’s, offering connection rather than distance, something softer to counter the tension that had been building between them.
Vi took it easily, her fingers closing around Caitlyn’s with quiet familiarity before she lifted her hand to her lips, pressing a slow, grounding kiss to her knuckles, lingering there just long enough to make the gesture feel intentional rather than fleeting.
“I know, sweetheart, I know,” she murmured, her voice low and warm, though there was still the faintest trace of a smile tugging at her mouth. “But that’s just how insane you sound right now.”
Caitlyn exhaled, the sound quieter this time, some of the tension finally slipping from her shoulders as the edge of her frustration dulled into something more manageable, more introspective. She took a small step forward, closing what little distance remained between them, her head tilting slightly to the side as she looked at Vi. Not with irritation now, but with something far more vulnerable, far more honest.
“I just don’t want people to know too much about me,” she admitted, her voice softer, more measured, each word chosen with care as though she were navigating something delicate beneath the surface. “It’s…”
She hesitated, searching not for the meaning but for the language that could contain it without unraveling everything else along with it.
“Nostalgic in a scary way?” Vi finished gently, her thumb brushing slow, absentminded patterns over the back of Caitlyn’s hand as she gave it a small, reassuring squeeze, the kind of touch that said I understand without needing anything more.
And she did understand.
After all these years, after everything they had lived through, everything they had built together, Vi knew exactly where that feeling came from. She knew how deeply Caitlyn’s need for privacy had been shaped by growing up in the shadow of Cassandra’s political life, where nothing had ever truly belonged to her alone, where every piece of her identity had been subject to scrutiny, expectation, and public consumption.
Caitlyn’s lips curved faintly at that, something soft and almost grateful settling into her expression as she nodded, her lower lip briefly caught between her teeth before she released it. “Yeah,” she said quietly, the words carrying more weight than their simplicity suggested. “Nostalgic in a terrifying way.”
“Well, you know how I’ve always loved sneaking around with you, Cupcake,” Vi said, clearly trying to steer the mood somewhere lighter, somewhere familiar and playful instead of tense and introspective. She took a slow step forward as she spoke, that signature smirk settling back onto her face as though it had never left, her confidence returning in full.
“Getting into two different cars only to end up at the same house anyway,” she continued, her tone dipping into something almost nostalgic, “sneaking out of the building just to kiss like we were twenty again, throwing my best devastatingly seductive look at you in the hallway so you’d spend the rest of the day missing me…” She trailed just slightly, watching Caitlyn’s reaction with clear amusement.
Caitlyn couldn’t help it as she let out a small giggle, rolling her eyes even as the sound escaped her, her earlier tension dissolving further under the weight of shared memory.
“But,” Vi added, lifting a finger as if to make a very important point, “I think we might be a little too old to keep up the whole secret-lovers routine now, don’t you think?” She tilted her head, one eyebrow arching in playful challenge. “Besides, what exactly were we supposed to do next year when Lavender starts here? Pretend we’re… what? co-parenting her in a strictly professional, colleague-adjacent capacity?”
Caitlyn hummed, as if genuinely considering the logistics of that, her expression shifting into something mock-thoughtful.
“Well, no,” she said after a beat, her tone adopting a carefully measured seriousness that didn’t quite hide the mischief beneath it. “I was thinking of an alternative cover story.”
Vi’s grin widened immediately. “Oh, yeah?”
“Yes,” Caitlyn went on, completely composed, as though she were presenting a perfectly reasonable solution. “Something along the lines of your wife leaving you because you’re still hopelessly in love with your ex and she discovered this unfortunate truth when your daughter turned out to look exactly like said ex. so, who else to help raise your kid than the said ex?”
There was a split second of silence. And then Vi broke.
“What?!” she burst out, doubling over almost instantly as laughter hit her full force, one hand clutching at her stomach as she shook with it. “You are so fucking evil, Kiramman. How do you even come up with that?!”
Caitlyn merely shrugged, the picture of composure despite the clear satisfaction in her expression, a small, pleased smile tugging at her lips as she watched Vi laugh so openly, so genuinely.
“Well,” she replied lightly, “I’m simply an evil resident like that.”
She let the moment linger just long enough to soften completely, before stepping forward and closing the remaining space between them, her hand lifting to Vi’s arm as she leaned in and kissed her. Something unhurried, familiar, grounding. She exhaled softly into it, as though releasing the last remnants of her earlier frustration.
When they pulled apart, Caitlyn rested there for just a moment, close enough to feel the warmth of her, before speaking again.
“Well,” she said, quieter now, though there was a hint of something lighter in her tone, “at the very least, we can go to work together from now on.”
Vi’s reaction was immediate. She punched the air with a sharp, triumphant motion, her face lighting up with unfiltered excitement.
“So that means we’re giving your car to Lavender and not buying her a new car!” she declared, far too pleased with herself.
This time, it was Caitlyn’s turn to laugh.