Work Text:
Cecilia notices it a bit too late… a rose, crunched up at her feet, right outside her bedroom door.
She panics—just a little—before quickly side-stepping and crouching down. The petals are a little bruised, the stem bent at an awkward angle, but that’s not what catches her eye.
There’s a letter.
She picks it up. The handwriting is awfully familiar. And it reads:
¬
Roses are red.
You’re cute.
I had a better poem, but you’re distracting.
Be mine?
¬
Cecilia stares at it for a long moment.
Then, with a soft huff and an even softer smile, she mutters, “Stupid.”
Affectionate.
Adoring.
And maybe—just maybe—a little bit smitten.
Cecilia keeps the letter. She doesn’t even have to think about it—just slips it into her sleeve without a second glance. But of course, she does think about it. All day.
She tries to focus, tries to get through her tasks without her brain constantly wandering back to Gigi’s stupid poem, but it’s no use. Every time her thoughts drift, she finds herself wondering—what the hell does this even mean? Gigi’s never been subtle, not even a little. But she’s never been this direct either. Well, she has… just, not in this oddly too real way.
It makes Cecilia’s wind-up key spin, makes her feet tap the ground insistently, all together it makes the rhythm of her thoughts completely out of sync. It’s infuriating. It’s exhilarating. It’s—
“Oh my god,” Cecilia groans under her breath, pressing the heels of her palms against her burning face that can’t redden.
Cecilia peeks through her fingers, and of course—of course—her eyes lock onto a sketch, on the corner of her notebook, and—yep—there’s that stupid lopsided grin that Cecilia has been trying (and failing) not to think about all day.
“What is wrong with me. I’m even doodling her in my notes.”
Cecilia flips the notebook shut with a thud, as if that’ll somehow erase the evidence. It won’t. Nothing will.
Not when her wind-up key is still spinning, not when her brain is still echoing with Gigi’s ridiculous, ridiculous words.
Be mine?
It’s not like she hasn’t heard those words from Gigi before. Gigi flirts with everyone. Everyone. Dramatic declarations, extravagant bows, hand over heart and all—it’s just how she is. But this… this felt different.
Cecilia glances at the letter still tucked in her sleeve. The paper is warm from where it’s been pressed against her wrist all day.
Maybe she should just ask Gigi. Straightforward. Get it over with. But then—then what if it is just a joke? A passing whim?
Her wind-up key gives another sharp spin.
Nope. Not happening.
She picks up the notebook and marches straight out of the room.
(Straight past the bin where she definitely considered throwing that letter away. She didn’t. But she considered it.)
She needs a distraction. Immediately. Preferably something that isn’t Gigi-related.
Unfortunately, the universe doesn’t seem to be on her side.
Because as soon as she steps into the hall, she spots her.
Gigi.
Leaning against the wall. Arms crossed. Tail flicking lazily behind her, like she’s been waiting all day for this exact moment. And the worst part? The absolute, most infuriating part?
She’s wearing sunglasses. Indoors.
Cecilia stops dead in her tracks. Stares. Gigi doesn’t move. Doesn’t blink (well, probably doesn’t blink—hard to tell with the sunglasses). Just tilts her head slightly, that damn lopsided grin still firmly in place.
The tail flicks.
Once.
Twice.
Slow. Purposeful. Infuriating.
Cecilia’s eye twitches.
“…What are you doing?” she finally demands, because really, what else is there to say?
Gigi exhales through her nose, like she’s been waiting for that question. Like she’s spent hours rehearsing this moment in her head. Then, with all the gravity of someone delivering the most important words of their life, she lifts a hand—pauses for dramatic effect—then gestures vaguely at Cecilia’s sleeve.
“You still have it.”
Cecilia wants to say something scathing, something sharp enough to cut through whatever nonsense Gigi is doing right now, but her brain is short-circuiting, because of course she noticed. Of course she did.
Meanwhile, Gigi just adjusts her sunglasses. Smirks. Tail flicks again.
Cecilia glares. “Take those off.”
“No.”
A beat of silence.
Then Gigi, still smirking: “Are you flustered right now?”
Cecilia launches the notebook at her.
In the medical bay, Cecilia’s tending to an injury… caused by none other than her.
“Owie,” Gigi complains, as Cecilia presses firmly with two fingers on her nose, making sure the bandaid won’t fall.
“Stop being a baby,” Cecilia mutters with a huff.
“Well, I didn’t know that notebooks were that strong! Maybe it was your strength. You are made out of metal and all.” Gigi jokes.
It leaves an ache in Cecilia’s chest. Guilt pooling in, and her fingers soften their pressure. And she wonders if Gigi notices.
“I’m sorry,” the automaton apologises.
Gigi blinks at her. Then grins.
“Whoa. Cecilia apologising?” She gasps, dramatic. “Are you dying? Am I dying? Is the world ending?”
Cecilia wants to be annoyed. She really does. But Gigi’s tail flicks again—slow, easy, content—and the ache in Cecilia’s chest doesn’t quite go away.
She doesn’t meet Gigi’s eyes, who is still wearing sunglasses. “I just… didn’t mean to hit you that hard.”
Gigi hums, tilting her head like she’s studying her. “It’s fine. Honestly, I think I’m more wounded by the fact that you threw something at me in the first place.”
Cecilia deadpans. “Oh, please. You deserved it.”
Gigi gasps again, clutching her chest this time. “And here I thought we had something special.”
Cecilia rolls her eyes but doesn’t stop tending to her. And that’s when she notices.
The sunglasses. They’re titled slightly. She just wants to take them off.
Without thinking, she reaches up and plucks them right off Gigi’s face. “Okay, enough. You look ridiculous.”
And she doesn’t think twice about it. Doesn’t think about the way her fingers graze Gigi’s temple in the process. Doesn’t think about how close they are, how casual the action was. She just sets the sunglasses aside and goes back to fixing the bandage, completely unbothered.
But Gigi—
Gigi freezes.
Mouth slightly open. Eyes wide, blinking a few times as if her brain just… short-circuited.
Cecilia frowns. “What?”
No response.
Just staring.
Cecilia squints at her. “Gigi?”
Nothing.
Cecilia tilts her head, confused, and oh—oh no.
Oh no.
Because suddenly, she realises what just happened. The way she just casually reached over. The way she touched Gigi’s face without thinking. The way their closeness is now painfully obvious.
Her wind-up key spins.
A terrible, horrible whirr creeps into her gears.
“I—” she starts, but doesn’t know what she’s even about to say.
Gigi finally blinks. Then—slowly—a smirk starts to form.
“Wow,” she murmurs, voice lower than before. “That was kinda… intimate.”
Cecilia shuts down.
Completely.
She makes a sound—something between a squeak and a system error—before she immediately turns away, hands burning.
“Put the sunglasses back on,” she says, mortified.
Gigi cackles.