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It goes like this.
You see her blue hair first. It’s dark, several shades deeper than Powder’s, and she brings you something you haven’t had for years. Hope.
She says she’ll get you out and, surprisingly, she does.
You think about ditching her. As you jump down beam after beam, sliding across awnings and down rails to the undercity, you think of how easy it would be to slink away in the shadows and never see that woman again. But you figure you owe her one. She may be an enforcer, but there’s something different about her. You’ve never seen an enforcer so… curious. So interested in helping someone like you.
So you beat up some guy. It feels nice to work your fists, even though they got plenty of practice during your many years at Stillwater. You hope she doesn’t ask you again about what got you in there. You don’t think you even know the answer.
You toss her the guy’s cloak and she hesitates, but puts it on anyway.
She looks kind of cute dressed as a trencher.
When you lead her into the brothel, all her questions and offhand comments are really starting to get on your nerves.
So you tell her what her problem is. You tell her she’s hot. Maybe it’s too forward, especially when you back her up against the wall, but it’s the truth and something in you wants to see how she’ll react. She doesn’t disappoint.
You ask her, “Man or woman?” and you can’t tell if it’s intuition or some poorly masked hope that takes her hesitation as an answer.
You smile to yourself later when you’re proven right—when you catch a glance of her in a room with a woman, a suave smile on her face. Good for her. You didn’t think she had it in her.
You plan on going back for her, after your fight with Sevika, but it doesn’t go your way. Maybe it’d be easier if you also had a fucking robot arm full of shimmer, but you don’t, so you find yourself crumpled in the street, an inch away from getting sucker punched in the face.
But a shot rings out and a part of you knows it’s her before you turn around.
Damn she’s good.
She helps you up and you can’t help but say she’s sweet, like a cupcake, which earns you an annoyed sigh.
You figure her nickname is here to stay.
Later, when she’s set you down against the wall of your old makeshift home, the pain in your stomach is almost enough to distract you from the memories of you and Powder here so many years ago.
But not quite.
Her drawings are on the wall, still—not like anyone would care to paint over them down here—and it makes you want to cry. But you don’t cry, not ever. And even if you were to, it would be because of your stab wound. You know, the one you’re bleeding out from. Not the thought of your baby sister laughing across the room before you left her screaming and crying in a burning street.
Caitlyn reaches to wipe the blood off your face but you stop her. You don’t really know this girl, not really. No one tears down your walls that quickly. And that’s not even factoring in that she’s a topsider.
But then she says you have a good heart, and you’re struck speechless.
You see Powder that night, after Caitlyn saves your life.
Her hair’s longer and you feel so guilty so guilty so guilty because when you left her on the worst night of your life, you realize not only did a part of you die, but a part of her did, too.
You want to tear Silco limb from limb.
Soon you’ve reunited with Ekko and Caitlyn is doing something you’ve never seen an enforcer do before. She’s listening. She’s empathizing with Ekko and you can’t stop looking at her as she speaks of a better world, one where maybe the people of the undercity wouldn’t have to spend their lives hiding.
She really believes all this. She really thinks she can change things.
And, hell, with that glimmer in her eyes—you think maybe she’s the only one who can.
You don’t know exactly when it happened, but when you’re on that bridge and hugging Caitlyn you realize that you never want to let go.
When you say, “It’s been real, Cupcake. Thanks for everything,” you mean every word. And when she pulls you in tighter, you feel a part of your heart break.
You can’t help but reach up and stroke her cheek, just once, to feel the softness of her skin against yours.
In just minutes, you’ll hear a gunshot and you won’t be thinking of finding Powder anymore. You’ll only be thinking one word over and over again. Caitlyn.
You won’t make the decision to turn around and run toward the chaos. Your feet will move of their own volition, taking you back to her.
A thousand small, green explosions will light the bridge, but you’ll make it to her and you’ll search her face and find that she’s okay, she’s alive, and you’ll realize right then that if anything happened to her you would set the world aflame.
You shouldn’t be surprised to learn Caitlyn is a councilor’s daughter, but you are.
You explore her room as she speaks to her parents, undoubtedly about you and all the mayhem you’ve brought to her life. Everything is so neat and so clean that you can see your dirty, scarred reflection everywhere you turn.
There’s a map spread across her floor and hundreds of scribbled notes in a handwriting, you think with a small smile, that’s worse than your own. Just because Caitlyn has a posh accent doesn’t mean she writes everything in pristine cursive, apparently.
You successfully fight the urge to open her drawers and rifle through her things, even though you’re dying to know everything about this woman who seems so full of idiosyncrasies.
You’re on her bed when she comes back. Your heart starts beating a little faster when she joins you.
You wouldn’t have told her this just twelve hours ago, but a part of you wants to tell her not only so she understands where you’re coming from but to see if she wants to know more about you, too. You talk about Powder, about the monsters you’d create when you were little. You tell her about your worst regret. And Caitlyn turns to you, blue eyes gazing into yours, entranced, and you get your answer.
She reaches to stroke your face and it’s the most comforting touch you’ve ever felt. You grab her hand in yours before she can pull it away.
Don’t let this moment end, you think.
Thank you for being here, you think.
You don’t say anything out loud, but you think Caitlyn already knows, anyway.
You hate how much the Council meeting shakes you. You hate how you got your hopes up, even if just for a moment. You thought Caitlyn was someone who could change things, but she can’t if she’s the only one in all of Piltover who gives a fuck about you or any of your people.
You stomp out and you know Caitlyn will follow, even if it would be so much easier if she didn’t.
She asks, “What about us?” and you hear the hope in her voice, though there’s an undercurrent of worry that there won’t be a you and her anymore.
And there can’t be. They’re from different worlds. And you guess you’ll have to be the one to break it to her, to spell it out for her clear as day.
“Oil and water. Wasn’t meant to be.”
You’re glad it’s raining so she can’t see the tear that streaks down your cheek.
You tell her to forget you. You figure it’ll be easy enough.
And you leave.
***
It goes like this.
You and Caitlyn are alone, after your sister shoots a bomb into the sky. Caitlyn’s fighting back worries about her mom and the Council and part of you wants to go after Powder—no, Jinx—but you know that’s pointless.
The only thing you can think about is being tied up on that chair, terrified of losing Caitlyn. That moment before Jinx uncovered the tray when Caitlyn’s blue eyes—her fucking beautiful blue eyes that seem to transcend everything you’ve ever known about color—flashed in your mind.
You care about her. A lot.
Caitlyn’s hand brushes yours and you look up at her, heart pounding, and breathe a sigh of relief. Piltover may be crumbling, but Caitlyn is here. She’s safe. And she’s electrifying your fingers with her touch.
She goes to move her hand away, but you catch it in yours and you move to touch her arms, her sides, her neck and pull her closer to you. You need to feel that she’s here, that she’s real, that she’s not in danger. She leans into your touch. Your foreheads make contact and her heavy breaths warm your lips.
“I know everything’s fucked, but—” you begin, but she cuts you off with her mouth.
Her lips are slightly cracked, but they’re still the softest things you’ve ever felt. You kiss her back with so much desperation it would be embarrassing if she were anyone else.
But she’s not anyone else. She’s Caitlyn. And you almost lost her but she’s here now and she’s against your lips and kissing you like she’s been wanting to for days.
You wonder if she can tell you’ve been wanting her, too.
As her tongue glides across yours and her fingers run through your hair, a thought flashes in your mind. Maybe the two of you aren’t oil and water. Maybe you’re somewhere in between, or something else entirely.
Maybe it doesn’t matter if you’re from different worlds if she looks at you like she can see into every dark, angry corner of your being and she still wants to hold you close.
Caitlyn pulls away and she looks wrecked, and you know your expression is likely no different. But she looks fierce, too, like she’s ready for whatever lay in both of your paths ahead.
“We have to go back to Piltover,” she says, a strength in her voice that wasn’t there just moments before.
“I know.”
“My mother—”
“I know,” you say again, your eyes locked on hers. You raise your hand to her face, thumb brushing along her cheek just like you did on that bridge. But this time, it’s not a goodbye. It’s a promise.
It’s an I’m with you every step of way, no matter what happens.
It’s an I’m never leaving you again.
And, even though you’ve only known her for days (but, in all honesty, you don’t think it’d be any different if you’d known her for years), it’s an I love you.