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No one bats an eye when Vi Vanderson, captain of the boxing club, shows up to school in pants. It's almost like the school hasn't just allowed free choice of uniforms starting today, almost like Vi's been wearing them this whole time.
She looks good in them, in her tie clearly once done up properly but now a little loose and a little askew, the top button of her shirt open underneath it.
Vi knows that she looks good.
Don't get her wrong, the bow of her usual uniform was honestly kinda cute too and it was fun as fuck to manspread in a skirt (with safety shorts underneath, perv) but she really likes how the tie and the pants make her feel. It's hard to put into words but it's something she's known for the longest time, a little secret deep inside her that she's held that well, no one seems very surprised by.
Akali fistbumps her, Ahri’s gold eyes clearly drag all the way from her beat up sneakers up to her tie before grinning and flouncing off. Jinx has already offered to fight everyone who looks her wrong. Even Caitlyn Kiramman’s eyes linger longer than they usually do.
Yeah, Vi knows she looks great.
Feels great too.
Vi Vanderson is cool and charming and effortlessly funny. People love her because she's what they call chill. Caitlyn’s never quite managed chill in her whole life. The more generous call her collected. The meaner ones call her pretentious, stuck-up, cold. She’s heard them. It doesn’t quite bother her because she understands where it all comes from.
Beneath the surface, Caitlyn’s awkward. She knows that. She knows that if she keeps talking for too long that people start zoning out, that there’s a polite curiosity sustained more by the sounds Kiramman than by the sounds she utters with her own lips. She doesn’t quite fit in her skin. She can’t put a finger on it, doesn’t know what that’s all about but she’s not quite right and if she’s not quite right then being chill feels impossible.
But she is curious to know what it must be like to be chill, to make people laugh like that, to be comfortable in her own skin.
That’s probably where it started, curiosity.
Caitlyn watches Vi because she's curious.
That’s all.
That’s all, she tells herself today too as she keeps an eye out for that shock of pink hair in the corridor, idly wondering if it’ll be Jinx’s powder blue or someone else today. That’s another thing. Vi’s never really alone, always with one of her friends or teammates.
Never, besides today. Something must be different in the air today. Something is different about today, Caitlyn realizes the moment she sees Vi. Vi’s taken the first opportunity to wear what’s traditionally been the boys’ uniform today, the pants and tie instead of the usual skirt and ribbon. It looks good on her, like it fits, like it’s something she should have always have done, like it’s natural. She looks so comfortable in it that Caitlyn almost missed it, almost hadn’t noticed the difference at all, caught up in that same scowl on Vi’s face that she always has when she checks her locker and realizes they’re starting the day with chemistry instead of literature.
It’s… endearing.
Vi’s locker closes with a thud. Caitlyn realizes she’s been caught looking and averts her eyes, hands pressing down the pleats of her skirt that she’s starting to realize might not have to be a skirt at all.
Gym isn’t exactly Caitlyn’s favorite class though it has the distinct benefit of getting her out of that ribbon and skirt and into shorts and a simple t-shirt instead.
Gym’s difficult because she’s still sort of growing into her too-long limbs, still trying to get a good handle on where she ends and the world begins. She’s sort of constantly growing taller too, unfortunately, which means that even if people don’t really care to talk to her much that she makes a decent pick on teams for their current cycle of sports, volleyball and basketball.
Today’s basketball and by a stroke of fortune or misfortune, Caitlyn doesn’t know which, she’s on Vi’s team. She hadn’t really been paying attention when folks had started calling names, honestly doesn’t like it when people call her ‘Kiramman’ instead of ‘Caitlyn’ but at least she isn’t picked last.
It can always be worse. Remind her next time to not so blatantly tempt fate.
The game itself is well, the same way it always is when there are kids on the team who play sports and kids who don’t. Caitlyn does, but not this kind. The kind of cardio she does for riflery helps her keep her breath fairly steady and she has the hand-eye coordination to see where the ball is coming from and where it is going. It’s her feet. It’s keeping her feet under her and making sure that she’s not tripping over her legs that don’t seem to ever be the same length that’s tough.
She just—she turns as the ball smacks hard into her face.
Caitlyn stumbles back as the gym goes silent but for the sound of the bouncing ball, her hands going to her cheek which honestly she can barely feel. Her eye waters from the shock of the impact, her teeth jittered.
“Shit,” breathes a familiar voice. “Sorry. You ok?”
She nods, rubbing at her face, trying to straighten up. Her eye continues to sting and she rubs at it, coming away with clear liquid. There’s a warm hand on her shoulder, concerned gray eyes swimming almost in her face. Too close.
Caitlyn gently shrugs off the touch, gives Vi a thumbs up, and goes to pick up the ball. Would be great if they could just continue the game and pretend this never happened…
“Kiramman,” says the teacher. “Best to go get that iced.”
Caitlyn nods, trying to keep her face clear and even, doing her best to keep the sullen pout she knows is right there from bubbling up from all the pairs of eyes she can feel on her skin.
She hates attention.
Part of Caitlyn wonders if she can just go home in gym clothes. That part isn’t very big and is very quickly crushed by logic so she sighs quietly to herself in the nurse’s room as she unfolds her skirt and slips it on, buttoning her blouse to the top and tying that accursed navy ribbon back around her neck.
There’s a mirror here, ostensibly for folks to make sure they’re properly dressed. Caitlyn wishes it weren’t here.
She stares back at herself, gangly limbs, knobbly knees, the skirt too short, the ribbon the wrong shape. She’s never liked this uniform. Never had a choice.
Well, no point wallowing. She eases the door open, holding the ice pack to her face.
“Hey uh—”
Caitlyn’s head turns.
It’s Vi.
Vi in those pants and that tie that’s come even looser, hair tousled from sports, the top two buttons of her shirt clearly undone, her undershirt peeking through that gap, almost collarbone—Caitlyn catches herself hurriedly, shifting the ice pack like it'd hide her eyes.
“Hello Vi,” she says. “Is there something I can assist you with?”
Vi stares back at her, eyes roving across her face, a small frown on her brow.
“Vi?” Caitlyn prompts gently, tongue-in-cheek. “Is there something on my face?”
Now Vi’s stare turns incredulous, like Caitlyn said something ridiculous. Which is somewhat true and was much the point.
Caitlyn shrugs, shifting the ice pack again. She has presented the new conversation topic. It is now on Vi to engage. Vi would know how to engage. Vi has probably never had to think about any of this in this way in her life, unlike Caitlyn who has had to learn how to converse like a regular human being.
“Uh, I—” Vi’s hand reaches up to scratch nervously at the shaved side of her hair the same way she does when the chemistry teacher catches her zoning out. “Thought I’d check on you.”
Caitlyn blinks a few times, attempting to process this.
“Oh,” she says before she gathers herself. “I’m perfectly fine, thank you. I doubt this will bruise. It wasn’t a particularly hard throw and I know you didn’t mean to injure me.”
Vi is still staring.
Caitlyn thinks this is her cue to shut up but she does have one more point she’d really like to make, perhaps the most important one.
“I do appreciate you coming to check on me.”
Vi’s cheeks pink a little.
“Yeah well,” says Vi, hands shoved into her pockets. “I threw that ball. So it’s kinda my fault. Sorry.”
Caitlyn shrugs. “I saw it coming but caught it with my face. I’d say the blame resides with me. Please stop trying to claim it, Vi.”
Vi’s mouth closes.
Caitlyn nods, now that the conversation has concluded. “Thank you for coming by.”
Vi nods too. Now her face relaxes into that usual easy expression.
“I’ll see you tomorrow?”
Caitlyn’s eyes widen at the question.
“Yes,” she says, finding the edges of her lips curling up even though she knows this is simply the way people end conversations. “Of course. I will see you tomorrow.”
Vi’s never understood Caitlyn Kiramman, captain of the rifle team. She’s never even realized that high schools could have a rifle team, to be honest. Feels kinda scary knowing that the country’s best under-19 marksman goes to your school, sits next to you in literature class, got hit in the face by a basketball you threw a little too hard.
What she does know (outside of all the rumors and things people say about Caitlyn Kiramman only daughter of a politician) are a few things. One, Caitlyn’s somehow constantly growing taller. Two, she’s what Ekko would call reserved and what Jinx would call weirdly quiet. Three, she’s very observant. Four, she has the bluest eyes Vi has ever seen. (Vi’s not going to think too hard about the way Caitlyn’s eyes had gone to her undone buttons.)
None of these, however, combine enough to really help her understand who Caitlyn is which is why Vi finds herself thinking back through their exchange on her walk home. She’s not sure what she’d expected but she’d known she’s a good enough captain of the boxing club that even Little Miss Rich’s parents would have a hard time getting her expelled over an accident.
Even then she’d been braced for some form of confrontation, ready to do some grovelling because she has pride but she also knows she made a mistake.
For her to brush it aside like it was no matter, like it didn’t matter?
For her to make a little joke and shrug it off?
For her to smile when Vi blurted out that silly question? (Of course they’ll see each other tomorrow. They share enough classes.)
Vi’s not usually surprised by people but count her surprised by Caitlyn.
There’s a pretty large flesh-colored bandage on Caitlyn’s face when Vi sees her the next day in the hallway. Well, shit, Vi thinks as she sneaks another glance before Caitlyn realizes. Everything else seems fine. Ribbon perfectly done up, skirt perfectly ironed, socks the same old perfect height. Not a hair out of place. Caitlyn herself is organizing whatever it is that she organizes in her locker, seemingly unconcerned by the low murmur of chatter that always goes on when she’s in the space.
Today the gossiping seems a little worse though and to be honest Vi’s been thinking about the blue eyes far more often than anyone should.
“Hey,” she says as she taps Caitlyn’s shoulder. “You alright?”
Caitlyn whirls around so quickly Vi’s almost slapped in the face by that ponytail of hers. She does her best to not think of the soft scent of rose and the woodier undertone of cedar.
“Vi,” says Caitlyn. “Is something the matter?”
Vi gestures to her own cheek.
“Oh.” Caitlyn’s smile is rare but Vi doesn’t know why she doesn’t do it more because her whole face eases up and it’s unfortunately really cute for a moment before it settles into a wrier look. “Yes, uhm well, despite the ice, my cheek has decided to color rather spectacularly—” at the look of horror that Vi knows must be growing on her face, Caitlyn’s hands come up quickly “—it doesn’t hurt in the slightest, not unless I touch it or hit it, not that I would have reason to do so. But uhm. I thought it’d be somewhat less conspicuous to have it covered while it heals.”
Caitlyn’s head tilts ever so slightly.
“Isn’t that what you do after boxing?”
Vi nods.
Wait.
Caitlyn knows what she does after boxing?
“Right,” says Vi because there are only so many words that she can manage right now when Caitlyn is looking at her like that and smiling bashfully like this and none of them are appropriate. “Cool. I’ll see you around then.”
Caitlyn does that thing where she’s thinking about what she’s going to say next. It’s refreshing, actually. Then she smiles and this smile is a little different. This smile is a little wicked.
“Vi,” says Caitlyn. “We have the same next class.”
“Right.”
She is having her usual lunch outside by the tree when she hears footsteps. Caitlyn briefly considers putting her food away then decides she's quite outgrown the need to hide it from anyone else. There's nothing wrong with steamed bao, especially not the ones Father made last night.
She takes another small bite.
Most people would leave anyway. Most people would take one look at Caitlyn Kiramman sitting on a bench at the back of the school grounds under an otherwise entirely uninteresting tree and head back. (Caitlyn isn't always a loner, it just gets tiring sometimes and she has riflery later this afternoon so she'll meet her teammates then anyway, doesn't really have to force the issue now.)
Then pink hair bobs into view and Caitlyn realizes very quickly that Vi isn't most people.
Vi stares at her.
Caitlyn stares back, chewing.
She swallows when she realizes Vi isn’t about to say anything.
“Vi,” she says. “May I be of assistance?”
She doesn't know what this look is, why Vi looks at her like she's confused and a little conflicted, doesn't know enough about Vi to be able to make an educated guess.
There's certainly nothing in Vi's clothing to suggest any form of altercation. Her tie is still loose, her shirt still unbuttoned, hands still shoved in her pockets.
There's a bun wrapped in plastic clenched in her teeth, revealing sharp incisors.
Vi looks cool even as she sheds the bun from her mouth.
“Can I sit with you?”
Caitlyn cannot think of a reason why Vi would want to but also cannot think of a reason to decline, not with the way Vi's capture hers, the cloudy early morning sky before a sunrise.
She nods and shifts over a little on the two person bench.
Vi nods and sits down.
This close, their legs almost touch, Vi's pants to her bare knee. This close, Vi carries with her the warmth of sandalwood and citrus. This close, she can see the tips of Vi's ears are pink.
Caitlyn looks at the bun in Vi's hand and fishes in her brain for something to say or ask. That's what people do, isn't it? Make a comment? Throw out an observation? People like knowing that you see things about them, sprout, Jayce had said once, you just want to make sure it's not something they may find embarrassing.
Would it be embarrassing to ask about the quantity of food? Is that enough food? Vi has boxing later, does she not? There might be reasons. If Vi wanted more food she would get more food. Maybe she's already had the rest of her food and this is a dessert.
No, that’s not safe.
Maybe she can ask about the pants. When had Vi known? What did it feel like? Did it sit in Vi’s stomach the same way? How did she know?
That’s even more personal, isn’t it?
“Is there something on my face?”
Up close under the noon sun, Caitlyn discovers that Vi Vanderson has freckles.
“You have freckles,” she says because none of the pants talk or food talk felt safe. Then quickly because she wants to clarify, “They look nice. I mean.”
Vi flushes.
“Thanks,” she mutters as she rips into the plastic and takes a large bite.
Red bean, Caitlyn notes. Dessert. Maybe she should have asked.
She takes another bite of her own food, not knowing what else to say, sneaking another glance at Vi who's taken another huge bite.
There's only about a third of the bun left.
Caitlyn has better manners than to comment on the speed at which Vi has demolished the bun but it must still show on her face because Vi looks at her, chewing quickly before she swallows.
“Penny for your thoughts.”
Caitlyn blinks, sorting through her thoughts and discarding the first option.
“You eat quickly,” she says instead.
“Is that bad?”
Caitlyn pauses. “I've been told that chewing one's food thoroughly is how one should eat but we're also ‘young and foolish and have bodies that will let us get away with just about anything’ so I suppose it's fine.”
She freezes when she realizes she's just done her best impression of Father.
Vi looks at her like she’s never seen her before and then Vi laughs. Vi laughs with her full belly, shoulders shaking, mouth uncovered, teeth glinting in the light. Vi laughs like the roar of a fireplace, like the sun coming out after rain, like she’s so comfortable in her skin nothing could shake her.
Caitlyn’s never been that comfortable in her skin. Not since she can remember. She smooths her hand nervously on her skirt, freezing when her fingers touch the bare skin of her thigh. Her knees press closer, further from Vi’s which are spread and still shaking with laughter.
Caitlyn wonders what it’d be like to be like that, wonders if she could be like that, wants to be like that.
So she asks. It is the simplest solution.
It takes her a week to work up the courage.
A week of Vi dropping by with more dessert. Caitlyn brings mochi and cornbread from home, trades flaky sweet bean pastries for pudding cups and donuts, makes notes of the kinds that Vi likes. Vi likes buttery desserts and blushes like the setting sun. Vi finds the chewy texture interesting, isn’t used to it but she likes black sesame and salted egg yolks and she keeps coming back.
Vi tells her about boxing. Caitlyn talks about riflery. They commiserate about the physics teacher who teaches entirely in monotone. Vi fiddles with her tie. Caitlyn watches, fingers aching to loosen the ribbon around her neck. She knows Vi knows.
Vi sits next to her on the bench.
Their knees touch.
When Vi comes to join her for lunch the next day with another red bean bun between her teeth, tie now entirely loose, Caitlyn asks, eyes fixed on the lacquer of her now empty lunch box.
“How did you know?”
The silence isn’t heavy between them. Caitlyn knows this is just Vi’s way of waiting for her to form her sentences, to figure out how to ask her question. She’s very thankful for this.
“How did you know you didn’t want to wear the skirt?”
Vi hums, softly.
“How did you?” comes the question in return.
Caitlyn’s head shoots up.
“There’s no right way or wrong way to know—” Vi shrugs, head going back. The leaves above cast dancing shadows across her face “—it probably feels different to everyone.” Her head tilts and even now under the tree her grey eyes glow. “I’ve always known,” she says. “It’s never felt right.”
Caitlyn swallows as a shiver shoots down her spine.
“Does it feel right now?”
Now Vi’s grin grows.
“Yeah.”
Something grows inside Caitlyn’s heart. Something warm, a little tender, a little sweet. She swallows.
“Will it feel right for me?”
Vi’s look grows serious.
“Cait,” she says. “That’s something only you’ll know. All I know is you won’t know if you don’t try.”
Vi always gets to school before Caitlyn does. It’s both a blessing and a curse today. It’s usually a blessing because she’s gotten to meet Caitlyn’s eyes, gotten to see the way they light up when they see her, gotten to watch Caitlyn’s steps get just that little bit faster as she hurries over.
It’s a curse because today she has to wait.
She’s still getting to know Caitlyn—they haven’t been talking for all that long—but already she knows that Caitlyn will try it. It’s been long in coming, the lingering looks at her collar, the way Caitlyn doesn’t move her knees away, the way Caitlyn studies how Vi shoves her hands in her pockets. Caitlyn fiddles with the pleats and the hem of her skirts and Vi knows Caitlyn hates, hates, hates that stretch of bare skin on her thigh.
It’s one thing to try at home, and another to show up to school in the new uniform and boy if Vi doesn’t know that difference. The moment it’d been announced she’d taken her savings right to Vander to get the new clothing and even then she’d stood in front of the mirror for so long that Jinx had ditched her, that she’d almost been late.
Her eyes flick to the clock. Caitlyn’s definitely running later than she usually does.
Vi’s heart pounds in her chest as she stands by her locker in the hallway, trying to pretend she doesn’t care and isn’t waiting. If someone says anything even remotely mean to Caitlyn today Vi knows she will probably tear them a new one.
She thinks she’s lucky Caitlyn’s tall, knows it won’t take her long to pick Caitlyn out of the crowd when she shows up, midnight blue hair pulled into that usual ponytail, eyes a little nervous until they relax.
She’s not relaxed. Vi’s fingers are gripped so tightly around the door to her locker she can see the blood pooled in her fingertips. Should she have volunteered to meet Caitlyn outside? She should have, shouldn’t she? It’d have been the nice thing to do, as a friend. A friend.
They’re friends.
They’re definitely friends.
They’re—
Vi hears the murmurs, a fervid frantic rise that’s so different from every other day. She bites her lip even if she can’t hear what they’re saying. She’s not really sure she can fight the whole school if she has to but she’d be damned if she doesn’t try.
Then she sees Caitlyn and she understands.
Gone is the stilted gait, the hesitancy. Gone is the way Caitlyn’s eyes would skate quickly over the crowd, gaze held at the right height but seeing nothing. Gone is the ponytail and the skirt, that navy ribbon that had honestly looked like it fit her perfectly but Vi and maybe only Vi knows chokes her. Gone are the high socks and that stretch of skin, gone are those boots.
In their place Caitlyn’s hair is loose and Vi’s always guessed from the way the strands that used to escape were just that side of wavy but these gentle midnight waves that cascade down just past her shoulders, smooth, silky are definitely a far cry from the straight utilitarian ponytails she used to sport. Caitlyn’s new navy tie is perfectly done up, the crease on those trousers so sharp Vi just knows someone’s going to cut themselves on the fabric, the shine on those dress shoes immaculate.
But above everything else, there’s an easy smile on Caitlyn’s face that’s never been there before, there’s a comfortable set to those shoulders deceptively broad, a lightness to every single step.
Storm grey meets the blue of the sparkling ocean on a blinding summer’s day and it seems impossible, it seems entirely impossible but somehow Caitlyn grows even more radiant, her smile widening even further.
Vi can’t help the grin that rises to her face in answer, can’t help the sheer joy bubbling up, knows exactly how this feels and wants it to last forever, wants to hold this in her own two hands and protect this euphoria with all that she’s got.
She thinks she might get to.