Work Text:
SUBJECT: NEW PR STRATEGY ( READ BEFORE PANICKING !)
Suffice to say, Caitlyn is panicking.
“‘Caitlyn Kiramman: Too Cold, Too Perfect, Too Boring?’” Caitlyn’s voice pitches as she reads the headline aloud, brows furrowing. “‘A perfect mirror of her Arcane character, in the worst way’?”
She looks up at her manager, eyes wide. Alex winces at the sight of it, like he’s staring down a baby deer that he’d just knocked over with his car. It’s not his fault, really. It’s not as if he’s one of the “fans” throwing a miserable bitchfit on Twitter, or the journalist that wrote this article that’s basically smearing dirt over Caitlyn’s family name.
(Her mother had told her that moving from theatre to showbiz was not going to be easy, but Jesus , Caitlyn didn’t expect this.)
“It’s not a criticism of your acting, Caitlyn—” he tries to say, even though it is. “But your audience thinks you’re unrelatable. And in Hollywood, unrelatable is a death sentence.”
“B—But, I—”
“Luckily,” Alex cuts her off, his voice soothing as he attempts to placate her. “Your PR team and I have been coming up with a solution.”
That gives her some semblance of comfort, at least. Caitlyn sighs in relief, reaching for her drink on the table as she silently muses on how having a mother well-established in this business has given her the advantage of having someone actually competent in his job.
“Thank goodness,” she takes a sip. “Well, what is it?”
“A public romance. A good one,” Alex slides a folder across the table, giving her a smile. “With Vi Lanes.”
Caitlyn promptly spits out her matcha latte at his face.
🎵
The issue with Vi Lanes isn't that he and Caitlyn are on bad terms. It's that Caitlyn has had a massive crush on him since she was 18 years old.
It should have just been a crush. That's all it was supposed to be. It wasn't as if she was manifesting the sexy butch rockstar to come swooping her off her feet when she arrived in Hollywood to read for a character from some popular game that her younger cousins raved over. It wasn't some nepotism baby magic at work when she so happened to land the role, alongside some of her closest friends in the industry.
Though there was definitely some sort of lesbian magic at work when Vi Lanes came walking in for their first table reading, in his ripped jeans and combat boots and that sexy as all hell back tattoo poking out of the hem of his tank top where it rode up when he stretched those muscular arms.
Caitlyn had to bribe Jinx to keep her mouth shut about her little crush the entire fucking time they were filming season 1.
And now she's lost an absurd amount of money from buying Jinx's silence. What good was it if it wasn't going to prevent her from being where she is now, sitting awkwardly in this conference room with Vi and his team sitting on the other side. The air is thick with the scent of overpriced coffee and desperation, the way it usually does with Hollywood vultures in the vicinity, looking for scraps they could turn into profit.
"Neither of you are obligated to sign this contract by any means. We mean it when we say it's just a recommendation, for the sake of the show and both of your public images," the lawyer at Caitlyn's side is saying, even though the two have already heard this same spiel before. "Either one of you can back out anytime, so long as it's after two weeks. Execs won't give you any hell for it, but we can't say the same about the public."
Caitlyn winces. She knows how some fans get about parasocial relationships with, well, their favourite celebrity's relationships.
"Do we really have to do this?" Vi speaks up.
Caitlyn jerks, nearly dropping her pen when she realises Vi is talking to her . His brows are furrowed and his jaw is set, and those startling grey eyes make Caitlyn lose all train of thought when she looks up at Vi, blinking owlishly.
"Uh, wuh?" she says wisely.
"It's industry standard," Alex jumps in, coming to her rescue so Caitlyn doesn't look like the dumb lesbian in love that she actually is. "Many co-stars have done this, actually. Publicity relationships generate buzz, and buzz sells."
"I've told you this, Vi," her co-star's manager—Amanda—chastises him. "The Caitvi fanbase is massive. Their relationship is trending daily. Hashtags, fan edits, polls—people are invested. This could skyrocket your careers. More interviews, magazine covers, even better contract negotiations for season Two. You’d be stupid not to consider it."
"Right. I know that, but, like," Vi says. He sounds unsure, and Caitlyn's stomach does a little flip when his lip juts out in a small pout. "I was just wondering. Aren't we lying to our fans if we do this? I mean, I get that acting is literally our job, but for the sake of publicity..."
OH MY GOD, HE’S SO FUCKING SWEET , Caitlyn thinks. She begins rambling off prayers in her head to the lesbian pantheon or whatever higher power deals the cards to the little lesbians running around on planet Earth.
…Then she pulls herself together and clears her throat.
"I mean, it's not technically lying," Caitlyn says, her voice small as she glances at Vi shyly. "We get along well enough, don't we? We could just... hang out, and be more, ahem, touchy with each other? We're not essentially fabricating a relationship if we already have... one... l—like, not a romantic one, but, like, a relationship t—that's, um, you know?"
God, she's never blubbered like this before. The cool exterior she's managed to preserve all throughout filming alongside her crush is something that could only be attributed to her years in theatre, but now their relationship is becoming something more , and Caitlyn has no idea how to act.
A contemplative look takes on Vi's handsome features then, looking as though he's seriously considering it.
Amanda nods eagerly. "Yes, yes. Exactly what Caitlyn says."
"You can back out now," the lawyer reiterates. "Or you can give it a two-week trial before breaking things off. It's up to you."
Vi nods his head slowly. There's a long, agonising moment before he clicks top of the pen in his hands to sign his name on the paper. Caitlyn watches, mesmerised by the quick and messy strokes that make up the signature that she has seen so many times.
There's a rustle of paper, and Caitlyn's heart jumps to her throat when the contract is turned and pushed to her side of the table. Swallowing the lump at her throat, she looks up, cerluean blue meeting soft greys.
Vi gives her a crooked smile. "At least it's you, Cupcake."
...Oh, she is so fucked.
🎵
And so it begins.
Carefully staged hand-holding. Strategic "candid" dates. Instagram stories that Caitlyn and Vi’s PR team curate down to the finest details.
To the general public, they're the perfect pair.
In reality? A disaster waiting to happen, and it's all going to be because of Caitlyn.
She's predicted it all: the carefully constructed orchestra of sweet lies and deceit for the paparazzi, twisting instead into a cacophony of her bumbling stutters and the staccato rhythm of her heart and maybe a random recorder playing in the background like that one NCT 127 title track. She's going to make a fool of herself—not in front of the public, no, she could care less about what the media thought of her, but in front of Vi?
Oh, just take her out back and shoot her in the head.
It does not help that despite Vi's initial reservations, he takes to their new arrangement like a fish to water. It's one thing to be dully aware of the subtle flirtations Vi indulged in, whether it be with a pretty assistant on set or one of his bandmates in some interview—Caitlyn can handle that , having resided with her jealousy since she figured out she liked girls and had to suffer with watching other fangirls on Twitter ship her favourite idols with mediocre men—but it's an entirely different thing to have such flirtations directed at her , under the pretense of an actual romantic relationship.
He's good at it, to a dangerous degree that has Caitlyn's Apple Watch noting her sudden rise in her heart rate whenever Vi is in her vicinity. He opens doors for Caitlyn, drapes his leather jacket over her shoulders when it's chilly, whispers jokes in her ear just to make her blush when he notices that she's a little stiff.
Sometimes she thinks he's playing with her too, like a cat with its food before it eats it whole. Caitlyn sure wouldn't mind getting eaten whole by Vi Lanes of all people, but it's a different thing when they're doing an interview in front of so many cameras. It's one of those where they've got the huge cardboard screenshot of what's been searched the most with their name, and Caitlyn knows that she's not surviving this when Vi peels his next question away and reads aloud, with all the shamelessness of Hollywood's favourite rebel:
" ’Does Vi Lanes own a strap-on? ’"
He snorts, while Caitlyn looks mortified. The staff snicker behind the camera. Really, they should not have expected any less from Vi's fans. Those are probably some of the thirstiest lesbians to ever exist in the world.
Vi gives a mocking hum of contemplation, pushing his hair back.
"I mean, if I answer that honestly, they're probably gonna have to cut this portion from the video. And I'm sure y'all don't want that," he gives a wink to the camera, one that Caitlyn is sure she'll be contributing to the absurd amount of replays once the video is posted. "All I can say is that you all probably know the answer already."
Then his head lolls to the side to give Caitlyn a knowing smile. "I know Cait definitely does."
(Caitlyn confronts him about it after filming ends, her face burning red as she corners him.
"Why would you say that!" she squeaks, mortified. Oh my god, her mother is going to see that video.
"Well, we're dating, aren't we?" Vi asks her, and his greys are wide and innocent like a little puppy after he's ripped up your favourite pair of panties.
"W—Well, yes!" Caitlyn stutters. "B—But not like— I didn't— I didn't know you owned a strap-on !"
And Vi just grins at her, something mischievous and heated in equal parts glinting in his eyes.
"So now you know.")
The internet goes wild over them, predictably so. Fan edits, reaction videos, theories—every social media platform is flooded with speculation about their ‘relationship.’ Caitlyn had expected it, but she had not expected Vi to be so good at his part in the whole thing.
They're on a picnic one day, and Caitlyn is indulging in a little cupcake when Vi snickers a little.
“What?” Caitlyn asks, covering her mouth by habit as she speaks through a mouthful of the tasty snack
“You’ve got frosting," Vi tells her, looking amused. "Right there.”
He points. Caitlyn rubs the side of her mouth daintily with a thumb, looking at him with wide eyes. “Did I get it?”
“No, you—You know what, let me just—“ Vi pushes himself up from where he was laying back on the picnic blanket, reaching over to swipe over Caitlyn's lip with his thumb.
Caitlyn's breath hitches, an undignified squeak slipping out of her pink lips as Vi slips his thumb into his mouth, licking the frosting off.
"There," he says cheekily.
“I could’ve gotten it,” Caitlyn chokes out, her face beet red.
“Don't worry about it,” Vi says, grinning at her. "I like doing stuff like this for you."
The words make her heart flutter with something dangerously akin to hope, but she knows the disaster is on the horizon, looming over them both.
🎵
The disaster ends up being because of Caitlyn, but not for the reason she assumed.
She's been so worried about making a fool of herself in front of her crush that she's completely forgotten what it means to be a Kiramman in Hollywood. It's only a matter of time before what should have been a carefully orchestrated date at some swanky restaurant ends up careening out of control when the singular photographer or two capturing pictures of them outside turns into a whole mass of rogue paparazzi, screaming to be heard over each other.
"Oh, god," Caitlyn says in dismay when she turns to look out the window.
Cameras flash in a blinding frenzy, the cockroaches of Hollywood pressed against the restaurant’s entrance, the unmistakable cacophony of gossip and potential public ruin humming in the air.
"Caitlyn! Caitlyn ! Have you introduced your new partner to your mother!?"
"Has there been any confirmation for season 2!?"
“Caitlyn, is this real or just another PR move?”
“Caitlyn, what do your parents think of your punk boyfriend!?”
"How long have you been dating!? Is it true that Vi slept with you to get the part in Arcane!?"
It's a public nuisance, and it's because of her . Caitlyn's expression scrunches up at that last question, just about to get out there and give that man a piece of her mind, when Vi grabs her hand and pulls her gently out of her seat.
"C'mon, let's get out of here," he murmurs to her.
Vi steps out first, Caitlyn shortly after him. The streetlights and the flashing bulbs of the paparazzi's damned cameras catch on the sharp angles of his handsome face. The warmth of his fingers close around Caitlyn's, steady and protective.
The moment their hands touch, the flashing lights double. Even Caitlyn flinches; can't help but get overwhelmed by all the flashing lights, the bodies pressing too close, the relentless wave of voices.
Vi's calloused hands squeeze around her slender fingers, grounding her to reality. Caitlyn exhales shakily as he begins to holler.
“Alright, back it up,” Vi barks, shifting so that Caitlyn is shielded behind him, hidden from the flashing cameras by the broad expanse of his back and shoulders. The rockstar's tone is easy, but brokers no negotiation with the unmistakable warning there.
Vi squeezes her hand again, her thumb brushing over Caitlyn’s wrist—a silent question. It's too loud for Caitlyn to respond, and she shifts anxiously.
"You good?" Vi leans in close to whisper in her ear.
Caitlyn swallows, nodding as she leans in against him.
With that, Vi maneuvers them through the crowd effortlessly, clearing a path with ease. The paparazzi are still yelling and snapping their little candids, but they keep their distance, no doubt because of Vi. He tugs Caitlyn close, wrapping a leather-clad arm securely around her shoulders as they duck into the car waiting for them.
It’s only when the door slams close behind Vi and the cacophony of the paparazzi becomes muffled that Caitlyn can feel she can breathe.
“You good, cupcake?” Vi murmurs, voice softer now.
Caitlyn is breathless. She nods. "Y—Yeah. I'm fine now."
The driver puts the engine in gear, leaving the paparazzi in the dust.
But even then, Vi does not let go of her hand.
🎵
Caitlyn stands awkwardly in the middle of Vi's apartment as the rockstar shrugs off his leather jacket, slinging it over the sofa. She feels out of place, standing in the middle of the most intimate and personal space Vi is allowed here in Los Angeles, where celebrities' personal information are collateral to be traded like photocards of her favourite idols. She's too scared to take a seat or even lean against the wall, lest she disturb the sanctity of the place.
“T—This is a nice publicity stunt,” she squeaks out.
Vi looks at her, tilting his head in confusion.
“Bringing me back to your apartment,” Caitlyn elaborates. "You know, we probably didn't shake all of the paparazzi off our tail, so..."
"Oh, you don't have to worry about that," Vi shakes his head, waving a dismissive hand. "Trust me, I have my ways. They don't know my address."
"...Oh," Caitlyn realises, her cheeks tinting pink. "So you just brought me here..."
"To hang," Vi answers easily, giving her that crooked grin that makes her weak in the knees. "Hope you don't mind that it's my apartment though. It was nearby, and I thought you'd want to get away from the public eye for a while."
What an odd thing to say, Caitlyn thinks, because it goes against everything that's said in the contract they both signed, willing themselves to this supposed charade. They're supposed to be public. They're supposed to be acting lovey-dovey where someone can easily see them, because it's a quick and easy way to gain some traction, to stay relevant, to get good press.
But she doesn't say it, because she'll be damned if she isn't clinging to what's real between her and Vi, like a damsel in distress clinging onto a piece of drywood out in the open sea.
"Make yourself comfortable," is all Vi tells her before he retreats into the kitchen to make a quick snack for them both.
And Caitlyn tries , at the very least. She doesn't sit, but she at least wanders around, peering around the humble living space. There's a display of guitars hanging from rubber pegs built into the walls, a testament to Vi's life before Arcane —and after too, Caitlyn reckons, seeing as that Vi has made it publicly known that he'll be returning to play with the Chem Sisters as soon as the show is over.
She moves away from that wall, gravitating towards a bookshelf in the corner. It's stuffed full of video game cases, CD cases, and books alike. Caitlyn doesn't know much of the games beyond their titles, and she tries not to linger too much on the CD of Bound (1996), leaving just the books.
They're all aged, the spines worn and tattered; she pulls one out of the shelf and realises that they've lost their original form due to how frequently the pages have been turned. She wonders about the notes scribbled in the margins—what they reveal. Would Vi let her read them? Would he grant her this glimpse into his thoughts?
"Hope you don't mind just having mac 'n' cheese," calls Vi, coming back from the kitchen with two steaming plates of the familiar comfort foods. "I'd cook you up something better, but I forgot to do my grocery run this week."
"You cook?" Caitlyn asks.
"Hell yeah," Vi sets the plates down on the coffee table, winking as he flexes his bicep. "You're looking at an ex-gastronomy major, baby."
"Ex?" Caitlyn echoes, her curiosity piqued now.
Vi nods, sitting down on the leather sofa at the center of the living room. He pats the space next to him, then passes Caitlyn a plate of mac 'n' cheese and a clean fork.
"Yeah. That's what I was doing in college. Played with the Chem Sisters on the side, until I dropped out when we went big."
"That's... really interesting," Caitlyn says honestly, though it's all she can manage as thoughts of Vi in a chef's outfit, hollering at the other staff members like Syd from an episode of The Bear . It shouldn't be as appealing as it is.
(The mention of the Chem Sisters has her nearly jumping at her seat too, though for a different reason entirely.)
"Yeah?" Vi looks to her, tilting his head. The pink undercut that he'd gotten for Arcane has begun to grow out in a long mullet, and it makes Caitlyn's heart race dangerously. "What about you?"
"M—Me?" Caitlyn squeaks. "I—I mean, I'm—"
A nepo baby , to put it frankly. Despite her mother's best efforts, every piece of information the paparazzi have manage to dig out of the garbage cans outside the Kiramman family house can easily be accessible through a single Google search. There's really not much to know about her, not really.
But Vi seems unperturbed, still expecting. "You're... what?"
"I'm... I'm just me, really," Caitlyn admits, her voice turning small. She does not want to admit that she's a lot less interesting than the spotlight makes her seem to be—a mirrorball at best, shining bright with the light of the roles she's given to play.
But then Vi just smiles, laughs loud and uncontrolled and real , and Caitlyn's stomach does a little flip.
"Yeah," he affirms, nodding. "That's why I'm asking. I want to know more about you. Won't you tell me?"
She tells herself that she shouldn't. This feels like it's teetering dangerously over the line between them that has already begun to blur, with hands brushing together in inopportune moments and lips that linger a little too long during kisses in front of the camera and dates that extend a little too long beyond how long they're supposed to be.
But she trusts Vi. Maybe foolishly so, especially in a place like Hollywood. But he smiles at her so openly, his eyes crinkling like crescent moons with something Caitlyn wants to say is akin to fondness, and how is she not supposed to believe that if she falls, he won't be right there to catch her?
So she gives in.
"What do you want to know?"
🎵
Vi is an attentive listener in a way that makes Caitlyn's heart flutter— oh, what joy it is to be heard, to be paid attention to for something that isn't just her family name or her acting! —but it's when he hears that she's always wanted to learn how to play a new instrument and lights up like a Christmas tree in the Philippines once September rolls around.
"God, you should have said something sooner, babe!" he exclaims.
While Caitlyn is reeling over the little pet name— babe, babe, babe, he called me his BABE —Vi hops to his feet and plucks a bass guitar from his wall of beloved instruments, plugging in the cord and flipping the switch to the amp.
"I'd say this is the best one to start with," Vi grins as he settles back down beside Caitlyn, plucking the top string of the bass. Caitlyn hums along with the floor beneath their feet as it seems to thrum with the vibrations of the note. "And not because I'm biased.”
"Sure," Caitlyn giggles, totally convinced as Vi reaches over and sets the bass on her lap, wrapping an arm loosely around her shoulders to guide her.
He murmurs instructions to her in a low voice— Put your hand on the neck. Rest the other hand right here, no, here. Good girl. Now try plucking one of the strings —and Caitlyn follows eagerly, cheeks pink as Vi leans over, his hot breath brushing over the shell of her ear.
He doesn’t bother teaching her the basics besides how to hold the bass properly. He goes straight into teaching her the progression for a song that Caitlyn doesn't recognise without the lyrics.
It doesn’t become any less unfamiliar until her playing is less abysmal and Vi's amused laughs turn into proud hums of encouragement as the notes that Caitlyn plays actually resemble something close to the original melody. Her fingers begin to move without her actually having to think about it, and as she begins to find the notes more easily with time, she realises:
"Isn't this one of your songs?" Caitlyn asks.
The name eludes her now—it's something quiet and harsh; heavy and soft; something like Vi's voice, reverberating and curling in Caitlyn's stomach, rising to a sensation that hums in her chest.
It's one of Chem Sisters', she knows this, but a track that isn't available on Spotify—or on any streaming platforms, for any matter. It's one of those songs that are only known to some of the band's earliest fans, something that Caitlyn has probably illegally burned into some CD so she can listen to it on her player—
Caitlyn realises her slip-up too late.
"You a Chem Sisters fan?" Vi asks, eyes wide in surprise as he looks at Caitlyn in a whole nother light.
Shit.
Caitlyn stutters over her words in a way that she knows is betraying the little white lie that slips from her mouth, unbidden. "N—No, I mean—that is to say—I'm not, like, a groupie or anything, I just—"
Vi is unconvinced, but doesn't push it. He just grins, hand curling along Caitlyn's where her fingers grip the neck of the bass like a lifeline.
"Guess there's a lot I've still gotta find out about you, huh?"
And Caitlyn sees it in his eyes that he'll make it a point to figure it out, one way or another.
🎵
See, the thing is, The Chem Sisters weren't even her usual genre of music. Much like her character onscreen, Caitlyn loved the fun, bubbly pop of Seraphine types, like Red Velvet or LOONA. Girls as pretty and sweet as ones she liked to kiss, their lip gloss like candy on her mouth.
It was Jinx, who she'd known from the theatre scene before they were both casted in Arcane , who had insisted on having her listen to their latest album, and Caitlyn found herself hooked on the booming bass and drum beats. Soon enough, she went from listening to Jinx's playlists and adding her recommendations to her playlists, to scouring every record store in her vicinity for their vinyls and CDs and making her own playlists of her favourite tracks.
Then Jinx had shown her a picture she'd taken with them after being able to meet them backstage, and Caitlyn Kiramman was a goner as soon as her eyes landed on the bassist, with the broad line of his shoulders and bulging muscles and crooked grin.
(It's hard to believe that she's come from having his face plastered on her bedroom wall, the grunge aesthetic of The Chem Sisters' posters stark against the bubbly pop of all her other favourite bands; hard to believe that for the past year, she's been kissing that same face, going on dates with him, living the dream that 18 year-old Caitlyn Kiramman would have probably traded her parents' fortune for.)
"I'm surprised you've kept it a secret this long," Jinx says as they're ushered past the crowd of screaming fans lined up outside the venue—it's supposed to be a small gig, but " small " has an odd connotation to it when you've gotten as big as The Chem Sisters have in record time.
"It doesn't matter now, does it? He's figured me out, and now he wants to rub it in my face," Caitlyn huffs, plastering on a smile as she raises a hand to wave at some fans. Since they've started dating, some of her own fanbase have mashed with the punk rock enthusiasts of Vi's usual audience—it's a strange match that works oddly well, just like her and Vi.
"I mean," Jinx throws her an easy grin over her shoulder as they settle at the barricade. "Is it really that bad?"
Caitlyn says nothing to that.
She'd worried that Vi might have seen her differently, knowing now that she'd been a fan of his band for who knows how long. God, she doesn't even want to think about what he'd say if he found out the extent of her obsession, the fact that she's been burning The Chem Sisters' most niche and underground tracks into CDs just so she can listen to it on repeat; the fact that she's had his face on her bedroom wall since she was 18; and fuck , don't even mention the fucking tweets.
But, on the contrary, the thought of her being a fan of The Chem Sisters had somehow invigorated Vi. Their dates had slipped out of the public eye, turning into hang-outs at Vi's apartment, where he'd play her songs and rave about all the literary references he sneaks into their lyrics, strumming his guitar and asking her—her!—for her opinion, like it actually matters to him.
Maybe it does.
"I think I'm in love with him," Caitlyn confesses to Jinx.
The other girl starts to laugh, before she registers the grave tone to Caitlyn's voice that implies that this is definitely not the usual confession that slips unbidden from her lips whenever Vi Lanes Daily on Twitter posts another set of pictures of him all hot and steamy onstage during another gig. Jinx's head snaps toward Caitlyn so fast that she's surprised the other girl doesn't get whiplash.
"You're what —"
The lights suddenly dim, and the crowd quietens—Jinx included. An air of anticipation hangs in the air, so electric that Caitlyn thinks she might get a shock.
It's when they shut off completely that the crowd begins to scream .
Through the cacophony of noise, there's the first counts to the song led by the drummer's sticks—together first, then against the actual drums. A bass begins to scale alongside the beat, followed by the humming of a keyboard, and then an electric guitar.
Caitlyn recognises the song, but she can't find it in herself to sing along to the words she's known since she was a girl, her mouth dry like sandpaper. She stares as Vi—the bassist, the frontman, the apple of Caitlyn's eye—steps up to the mic as the venue lights up in hues of violet and blue, the spotlight illuminating The Chem Sisters onstage.
Their eyes meet, and Caitlyn damn near forgets to breathe when he gives her a cocky smirk, barely visible in the glow of neon.
Vi's stage outfit has an impossibly sexier, more rogue-ish charm than his usual wardrobe: tight jeans, chains threading through his belt loops, and a ratty muscle top embellished with a faded print of a band Caitlyn does not recognise. The bass guitar that he brandishes is a bright red, with a sticker of a cupcake at its front that he had pasted on the last time she was over at his apartment.
("What?" he’d grinned when she complained. "Gotta pay homage to my muse, don't I?"
Jinx whoops beside her, confession seemingly forgotten as she begins to shake Caitlyn violently, knocking the woman out of her daze.
"Come on, pull yourself together!" she yells at her over the crowd. "Isn't this your dream!?"
It is, Caitlyn wants to say, but she can't quite bring herself to look away from Vi. She sees now what has compelled him to stay true to his roots, to return to this life even after all the fame he's garnered from starring in Arcane.
He brings the stage to life with his song.
And finally— finally —Caitlyn lets herself scream.
🎵
She's been to concerts before, but never something like this: gritty, unbridled and raw . Vi takes the stage like he owns it—because, in a way, he does. The crowd is already screaming for her, their energy feeding into the cocky grin that spreads across Vi’s face. Caitlyn has never thought of Vi as arrogant, but in this moment, the vanity sits nicely on his handsome features, glistening in sweat, his tattoos shifting with every roll of his muscles as he plays a bassline.
Caitlyn is vaguely aware that she is still in public, yes, and there's a whole crowd of people who know her more intimately than strangers should, but she can't find it in herself to care about her public image at this moment.
She screams along to the lyrics, jumping up and down like she's 18 years-old again, taking out all her rage and frustrations with the world through the punk rock that The Chem Sisters embody with their music. The venue is loud, the bass shaking the walls, beating alongside the sound of her own pulse hammering in her ears. Jinx is right beside her, enabling her wild behaviour, her smile lines apparent as she screams alongside Caitlyn, clutching her hand.
Vi is eating this up, she knows this. Every time their eyes meet during the performance, his face lights up in that crooked grin she wants to kiss so badly off his lips, and he'd try to hide it in the more serious songs, pressing his mouth close to the microphone to be heard. But Caitlyn will always see him smile; it is her favourite sight of all.
They segue into a few more songs familiar to Caitlyn, ones that she's listened to over and over again, before they take a small pause. Caitlyn's brows furrow as she watches Vi slip off his bass, setting it aside while another bassist comes onstage—what track does he need to be passing his instrument off for someone else to play? The other fans around Caitlyn titter, curious as well.
"Guess all of you have figured out that I've brought a very special guest here tonight," Vi begins in lieu of a proper greeting or explanation. "Somebody very, very special to me."
"Right here!" Jinx waves a cameraman down, grinning while Caitlyn shrieks in surprise when her face comes onscreen.
The crowd goes crazy, and Vi huffs out a breathless laugh.
"Yeah, that's right. Caitlyn Kiramman," Vi pronounces her name softly, a breathless quality to his voice that makes Caitlyn's heart skip a beat. "Really want to say that this next one is for you, baby, but I think it's time for you to spoil me a little bit."
Her brows furrow, puzzled for a moment, before the rest of the band begins to play the opening chords of a song they’ve rehearsed a hundred times, but this time it feels different. There's a strange anticipation in the air, an electric current that makes Caitlyn's hairs stand on end, and it takes her a moment to recognise the song.
Oh my god.
Oh my fucking god.
It's a love song.
A raunchy one.
Jinx wolf-whistles, pushing Caitlyn's shoulder in what is supposed to be encouragement, but the woman is too busy worrying over the flush on her face— Asian flush doesn't look so good on cameras! —and how she's going to have to explain this to her mother; going to have to explain how she knows the lyrics to this explicit as all hell song, why she's willingly singing it in front of this crowd and oh my god what if she forgets the lyrics in the middle of it all and makes a fool of herself in front of Vi—
Then Caitlyn short-circuits as the crowd begins to scream so loud, she can barely hear the opening chords to the song—
—Because Vi is kneeling.
Right there, center stage, staring Caitlyn down like she’s the only person in the room. He sits on his haunches, looking down at her with dark, expectant eyes. His knees are parted almost obscenely, the mic positioned between his legs, over the bulge of his packer, and Caitlyn swears her entire body ignites at the implication.
The crowd goes wild, catching onto the lewd reference, and Caitlyn recalls Vi's words from that interview months ago.
So now you know.
The challenge is unspoken but deafening.
Sing for me .
She shouldn't. She really shouldn't.
And yet, Caitlyn finds herself stepping forward, heart thrumming as she closes the distance between her and the edge of the stage. Vi angles the mic a little lower, their fingers brushing as Caitlyn's fingers curl around its girth. It feels good in her grip, but it all feels so wanton, so perverted .
Caitlyn loves it.
She swallows, hard. Their eyes lock, and a slow smirk tugs at Vi’s mouth, and the rest of the screaming crowd begins to fade away. It's just them both—Vi staring down at her, Vi's grey eyes softening into something softer, something intimate, something just for Caitlyn alone.
A breath. A slow, steady inhale. She leans forward, resting her hands on Vi's thighs, fingers flexing nervously as she grips the meaty flesh of his thighs. Vi watches her like she’s something to be devoured, like she’s the only thing worth listening to.
Oh, and Caitlyn gives him something to listen to.
She jumps into the first verse, her voice pouring into the mic, rich, sultry, and laced with all the things she's never said aloud before, tumbling out through the speakers now. The crowd screams, nearly falling over themselves in an uproar, but Vi doesn't look away from her.
He stays kneeling, mesmerised as he watches Caitlyn unravel herself in the melody. Her voice is steady, but her body is anything but. Her hands tremble where they rest on Vi's thighs, and she subconsciously squeezes the hard muscle there—
Vi lets out a low moan that makes Caitlyn’s stomach swoop, and she nearly loses the lyrics entirely.
But she keeps singing. Because Vi dared her. Because Vi is looking at her like she's the only thing that matters. Because she’s never wanted anything more than this moment—this charge between them, this undeniable electricity that arcs through the space between their bodies.
By the time the final note rings out, Caitlyn’s breath is shallow, her hands shaking just slightly. Vi stands, towering over her now, grinning like the devil himself. The audience cheers, but Caitlyn only hears the rush of blood in her veins, only feels the heat of Vi’s body lingering at her fingertips, so close and yet so far.
She tilts her chin up, searching Vi’s gaze, daring him right back.
Your move.
🎵
His move is apparently violent, bursting through the corridors backstage as he storms towards Caitlyn. Her eyes are wide, nearly like an owl's when she sees him coming like a tornado, and everyone gives them a wide berth, eager to dismiss themselves.
Caitlyn's heart races, wondering if she had gone too far, wondering if he finds her weird now, because that song was way too underground for a casual listener to know, and oh fuck, he must think she's one of those weirdo super fans—
"Vi, I—"
"God, you're a fucking dream," is all Vi manages to gasp out before his hand is coming to cup the back of Caitlyn's head, pushing her forward into a messy, open-mouthed kiss.
The sound that tears itself from Caitlyn's throat as her mouth is taken is undignified, as wanton and needy as it is awkward and surprised. It's certainly not the first time they've kissed, no, but it's definitely the first time that Vi has taken her with such carnal desperation.
She falls into the kiss anyway, eyes fluttering close as she presses closer, hips chasing his. She can feel the bulge of Vi's packer against her, rubbing deliciously against her front.
Vi groans at the sensation, pulling away before he can do something way too inappropriate. He runs his hands through her sweat-damp hair, pushing it back from her flushed face as his eyes search her expression. Whatever he finds there makes him sigh in bliss.
"God, I wish you were actually mine," he confesses.
Caitlyn's stomach gives a dangerous lurch. The words spill without her thinking.
"I am yours," she whispers. "Contract be damned."
"Fuck, you mean that?" Vi whispers, moaning as he presses his face to the crook of her neck, inhales her like she's the sweetest treat. "You'd let me take you home, pretty girl?"
"Yes," Caitlyn gasps as Vi takes her mouth against his again, their breaths ragged and heated. "God, yes ."
If knowing all the lyrics to one of the Chem Sister's most niche songs was the way to get to where she is now, then by fucking god, Caitlyn would have exposed herself sooner.
🎵
"What's the protocol for when we decide that we don't want this to be fake anymore?" Vi asks breathlessly when they finish.
Caitlyn makes a muffled sound against the pillow, her hips aching like all hell. She manages to summon just enough energy to turn her head, looking to Vi.
"... Snnrk ," she lets out a little snort at his expression: his eyes are dazed, chest rising and falling rapidly as he stares at the ceiling like he's just seen God.
He turns his head at the sound, grinning that crooked grin with the same mouth that had brought Caitlyn to rapture just a while before. "What? 'm being serious. Don't want us to still be still bound by contract, y'know. This is supposed to be real."
This is real, Caitlyn wants to tell him. It's always been real. But the words fail her, her tongue still numb from going down on his cock a while ago, and so she just hums, pushing herself up to her palms just enough to bring her over to his side of the bed. Vi huffs out a breath as she drapes herself over him, the ample swell of her breasts pressing against his toned chest.
"Don't worry yourself about the technicalities," Caitlyn tells him, propping her chin atop his sternum. "We can call the lawyers tomorrow."
Vi hums, lifting a hand to brush a stray strand of navy blue out of her face. "Yeah?"
"Yeah," Caitlyn affirms, turning her head to kiss his palm. Vi makes a pleased noise at the sweet show of affection.
"No contract means you can't back out, you know," he tells her, wiggling his brows.
Caitlyn snorts. "Oh, really?"
"Hell yeah," Vi nods sagely, as if he's imparting some all-knowing wisdom. "You're going to be stuck with me now, Cait. Dirt under your fingernails, or whatever."
"Oh no. Whatever shall I do now?" says Caitlyn with all the grace of her 8 year-old self, stumbling into her first audition and completely forgetting all the acting lessons that her mother had signed her up for.
Vi snorts at her god-awful acting, threading his hands through her hair and pushing her close.
"Shut up and kiss me."
And who is Caitlyn to say no?