Chapter Text
This happens once every few lifetimes
These chemicals hit me like a white wine
Caitlyn never expects to fall for someone like this—someone so wildly different from her world, so far from the person she once thought she would love. She has spent years believing she knows exactly what kind of partner she will end up with: someone refined, polished, fitting neatly into the life she has carefully built. But love doesn’t follow logic, and now she lies here, completely and irreversibly in love with the one person she never saw coming.
Vi.
She sleeps beside her now, her breath slow and steady, her body warm under the weight of the blankets. The soft morning light filters through the curtains, casting golden streaks across the room, tracing the intricate ink that decorates Vi’s back—stories etched in black and color, each one a chapter Caitlyn longs to read again and again with her fingertips and lips.
Caitlyn shifts closer, propping herself on one elbow, her fingers tracing slow, absentminded circles over Vi’s skin. She moves gently, not wanting to wake her just yet, savoring the quiet intimacy of the moment. Leaning in, she presses a kiss to the fiery red hair splayed across the pillow, breathing in Vi’s familiar scent—warm, earthy, unmistakably her.
She scatters more kisses along the curve of her neck, lingering at the inked gear tattoo just below her collarbone. She follows the lines of Vi’s strong shoulder, trailing lower, letting her lips ghost over every scar, every piece of ink, every part of her that tells a story.
A low hum rumbles against Caitlyn’s lips as Vi stirs. Her voice is thick with sleep, rough around the edges.
“Are you awake, cupcake?” Vi mumbles, not even opening her eyes.
Caitlyn smirks, fingers playing lazily with strands of red hair. “Let’s see how long you’ve been asleep, you absolute sleepyhead.”
Vi groans dramatically, stretching against the sheets. “What time is it?”
“Almost nine.”
“Nine?” Vi cracks open one eye, still hazy with sleep. “Damn, I thought it was noon.” She exhales deeply, then grins, shifting to wrap her arms around Caitlyn.
“Guess that means we should just stay in bed and cuddle all day.”
Caitlyn lets out a soft laugh as Vi pulls her closer, pressing their bodies together. The warmth between them is addictive, making it impossible to pull away.
Vi presses her forehead to Caitlyn’s, their noses brushing, breath mingling in the tiny space between them. Her half-lidded eyes are still heavy with sleep, but there’s a softness there—a kind of tenderness that most people never get to see.
“I want to cuddle you forever,” Vi murmurs, voice low and full of sleep.
Caitlyn’s chest tightens. The words are simple, easy, but they settle deep in her bones, weaving into the spaces between her ribs. She has never been the sentimental type—not in the way Vi is, with her effortless affections and unfiltered emotions—but in this quiet morning warmth, she lets herself sink into it.
“I’ll take that as an unofficial proposal,” she teases, threading her fingers through Vi’s.
Vi grins, eyes still half-closed. “Damn right. You’re stuck with me now, the best markswoman in the world.”
Caitlyn rolls her eyes but doesn’t pull away. Instead, she nestles even closer, their bodies a tangle of warmth beneath the blankets. The cold London air presses against the windows, but in here, wrapped in Vi’s arms, she feels nothing but warmth.
Their fingers remain clasped, hands curled tightly together as if neither of them ever wants to let go.
And as they drift back into sleep, tangled in each other, Caitlyn realizes she no longer needs to imagine the kind of love she wants. She has already found it.
—------------------------------------
Touch down, call the amateurs and cut 'em from the team
Vi sits on the sofa in the living room, her eyes glued to the TV screen, completely absorbed.
The commentator’s voice rings out, thick with tension.
“This is the final round of shooting. Can Miss Kiramman claim the championship?”
On the screen, Caitlyn Kiramman stands poised, absolute focus etched into her features. She takes a slow breath, then moves into position, the picture of control.
She closes her eyes for just a second—then opens them, sharp and unwavering.
A single shot rings out.
Less than a second later, the leaderboard shifts, Caitlyn’s name climbing back to the top. The commentator’s excited scream fills the room as the audience erupts into cheers.
"Yessssss!" Vi leaps off the couch, throwing her arms in the air. "That's my girl!"
A soft laugh floats in from the doorway.
"Babe, you’ve watched that video at least a dozen times," Caitlyn teases, stepping out of the bathroom. She’s wearing a loose, silky nightgown, her damp hair dripping as she towels it dry.
Vi turns, grinning like a fool, eyes still flicking between Caitlyn and the screen. "What do you know? You were so damn amazing—and beautiful—during that competition. I’m so proud of you," she says, her voice warm with admiration.
Caitlyn’s smile softens as she walks over, settling onto the couch beside Vi.
"It was your first time competing in an F-Class World Championship—your first time using a large-caliber rifle in a major event," Vi continues, slipping an arm around Caitlyn’s shoulder. "And you didn’t just hold your own; you dominated. You took down veteran shooters like it was nothing. You were only twenty, Cait. That’s insane." She exhales, shaking her head in awe. "I could watch this moment of yours over and over again and never get tired of it."
Caitlyn laughs, reaching up to gently poke Vi’s nose.
"Or, you know, you could just watch me live next time," she murmurs, leaning in slightly. "I’d be even happier if you came to cheer me on. I’ll win every trophy and medal just for you."
Vi stares at her for a second, lips parting slightly as the words sink in. A slow blush creeps up her cheeks.
"For me?" Vi echoes, trying and failing to sound casual.
Caitlyn smirks, watching the pink dusting Vi’s face.
"Cupcake, you’re so sweet, I think I’m embarrassed," Vi mutters, covering her face with her hands.
Caitlyn just laughs, pulling her closer.
—-------------------------------
Honestly, who are we to fight the alchemy?
The Kiramman mansion is as grand as ever—spacious, pristine, and adorned with luxurious furnishings. A large portrait of the proud family of three hangs on the wall, a symbol of status and legacy. Beneath it, shelves and display cases overflow with medals, certificates, and trophies—all belonging to Caitlyn Kiramman, the only daughter and heiress of one of the most powerful families in England.
But tonight, Caitlyn hardly notices the grandeur surrounding her.
She sits on the plush sofa in the living room, eyes locked onto the TV screen, utterly captivated. The vibrant lights of Coachella flicker across her face as music pulses through the speakers.
On the stage, her lover commands the crowd.
Vi.
She performs with the raw, untamed passion Caitlyn has always admired, pouring her soul into every note, every movement. Music isn’t just Vi’s love—it’s her salvation, the force that carried her through her darkest moments. To see her standing there now, one of the world’s top pop stars, is nothing short of extraordinary. She fought for this. She bled for this. And Caitlyn has never been prouder.
Her gaze softens as she drinks in the sight of Vi, completely in her element. She wears an outfit that perfectly mirrors her spirit—bold, effortless, unapologetic. A snug white sleeveless tank top clings to her toned body, damp with sweat, making it clear she isn’t wearing a bra. The muscles beneath the fabric shift with every movement, and her back, adorned with intricate tattoos, glistens under the stage lights. Loose gray khaki shorts rest low on her hips, secured with a red belt that hangs effortlessly at the side. She is electrifying, magnetic—impossible to look away from.
Caitlyn watches intently until the final note fades and Vi bids the roaring crowd farewell before stepping offstage.
But instead of being there in person, cheering from the front row, Caitlyn is here—trapped in her family's living room.
Dinner. Her mother had insisted that the family eat together tonight, forcing Caitlyn to miss her promise to be there for Vi.
“What’s so interesting, daughter?” Her father’s voice pulls her from her thoughts. He settles onto the sofa beside her, peering at the screen.
“So unorthodox,” Cassandra Kiramman adds, her tone clipped, eyes flicking disapprovingly at Vi’s performance.
Caitlyn’s jaw tightens. “Mother, I don’t see anything wrong,” she counters, voice firm.
“I called you home for dinner so we could talk as a family,” Cassandra says, lifting her teacup delicately. “Not so you could sit here glued to a screen, watching a bunch of unruly performers.”
Caitlyn exhales, willing herself to stay calm.
Her mother sets down her cup with a quiet clink. “Now, have you thought about marriage yet? You’re already twenty-eight.”
Caitlyn sighs. “Mom, I don’t have a boyfriend.”
Cassandra’s expression remains poised. “What about Congressman Hoskel’s son? He seems quite fond of you.”
“Mother,” Caitlyn says, forcing a polite smile, “I think this is something I should decide for myself. I want to choose the person who will be with me for the rest of my life.”
Her mother leans forward slightly, eyes sharp. “Then bring that person here to meet the family. Who is it? A congressman’s son? A royal? A businessman?”
Caitlyn tenses, frustration rising. “Mom!” she protests, her voice slipping into a sulky tone despite herself.
Her mother merely sighs. “Caitlyn, I’m being practical. You’re nearly thirty. I’ve let you pursue your shooting competitions and whatever else you do, but it’s time to start thinking about your future. About your duty to this family.”
Her father remains silent, sipping his wine as Cassandra continues.
“You already have a degree in political science, Caitlyn. It wouldn’t be difficult for you to follow in the family’s footsteps. Imagine it—your career in politics, your name attached to something truly prestigious. You could be the pride of the Kiramman legacy.”
Caitlyn’s fingers tighten against her lap. She knows this speech well—it’s been drilled into her since childhood. Duty. Legacy. Responsibility.
But as her mother speaks, all Caitlyn can think about is the woman on that stage. The woman she loves. The woman her family would never approve of.
And for a thousand times, she wonders how much longer she can keep pretending to be the perfect Kiramman daughter.
The Kiramman family dinner ends as quickly as it turns tense.
As always, her mother, the congresswoman, pressures her about marriage and the inevitable expectation of pursuing a political career—one that Caitlyn has never wanted. Being born into wealth and prestige is supposed to be a blessing, but to Caitlyn, it often feels like a cage. With so many expectations placed upon her, she has learned to shoulder everything alone.
No one ever sees how hard she tries. They assume she coasts through life, achieving success simply because of her last name. People approach her for favors, for connections, for the power that comes with being Caitlyn Kiramman. But never for Caitlyn herself.
Except for Vi.
Vi is the only person who treats her like she’s just Caitlyn—not an heiress, not a political pawn, not a golden child groomed for greatness. Just a girl. Just a person.
Now, lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, Caitlyn feels the weight of the evening pressing down on her. Sleep refuses to come. A dull ache settles in her chest—a mix of frustration, exhaustion, and something deeper. Then, suddenly, she remembers.
She never texted Vi to congratulate her.
She grabs her phone and unlocks it, but before she can type anything, she sees a message waiting for her.
Vi: What did you think of my performance, Cait?
A soft smile tugs at Caitlyn’s lips as she types her reply.
‘Fantastic, Violet. Sorry I'm late replying.’
The moment she sends it, she sees the three little dots appear. Vi is already typing back. Caitlyn chuckles. Of course she is—Vi has always been impatient like that.
‘How was your evening with your mom? Okay?’
Caitlyn hesitates for a moment before replying.
‘It was fine, Vi. I'm sorry I wasn't there with you.’
‘ No problem, Cupcake. You can watch me perform live next time.’
Caitlyn’s fingers pause over the screen. The warmth in Vi’s words, the unwavering understanding—it makes her heart clench with guilt. It isn’t fair. It isn’t fair that their love has to exist in the shadows, that the weight of her family’s expectations keeps her from standing by Vi’s side, from loving her freely.
Curling up on her side, Caitlyn hugs her knees to her chest, as if trying to hold onto the warmth that Vi’s presence would have given her.
And then, without overthinking, she types what she truly feels.
‘I miss you.’
A second later, Vi’s reply comes.
‘I miss you too, Cupcake.’
—------------------------------------------
Markswoman Caitlyn Kiramman’s agent has confirmed that she is single and has no relationship with singer Vi Vanderson.
That was the glaring headline splashed across the front page of L’Équipe , right beneath a grainy paparazzi photo of Caitlyn and Vi embracing.
Vi stares at the newspaper, her jaw tightening. Then, with a sharp breath, she crumples it and hurls it into the trash can on the sidewalk. Her hands are trembling. Not from anger—at least, not entirely. It’s the hurt that spreads deep in her chest, the kind that stings worse than any public scrutiny. Caitlyn confirmed it. She really told the world they were nothing.
She knew Caitlyn’s family would never approve of her. Knew the Kirammans cared too much about reputation, politics, and legacy. But knowing it doesn’t make it easier to hear Caitlyn herself deny their love.
With her hood pulled low and a mask covering her face, Vi hurries to Caitlyn’s apartment, ignoring the possibility of being recognized. She doesn’t care. Right now, she only wants answers.
She rings the doorbell. Again. And again.
After what feels like forever, the door swings open.
Caitlyn stands there, bleary-eyed, still wrapped in sleep, her hair messy from bed.
“Cait, what the hell was that?” Vi’s voice is tight, demanding.
Caitlyn exhales, her lips pressing together. She knows exactly what Vi is talking about.
“Answer me,” Vi pushes, stepping closer. “Why would you say that? Like we’re nothing?”
“They took a picture of us, Vi,” Caitlyn says quietly. “I had to say something. If I didn’t, my mom and my coach would be furious.” She keeps her gaze down, unable to meet Vi’s eyes.
Vi lets out a hollow laugh. “You could’ve just stayed quiet. It’s a blurry photo, Cait. No one even knows it’s us.”
Caitlyn swallows hard, but before she can say anything, Vi shakes her head, voice breaking.
“I… I don’t get it. Why were you in such a rush? Why did you have to deny me so quickly?” Vi’s eyes shine with unshed tears. “Cait, I’m so fucking heartbroken.”
“Vi,” Caitlyn breathes, stepping forward. “You know I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just… the Olympics are coming up. My coach is already upset. It’s just a statement—it doesn’t erase five years of us.”
Vi lets out a shaky exhale.
“Cait, we’ve dealt with rumors for five years. We’ve kept quiet every single time, and everything was fine. But this time… you denied us. Why?”
Caitlyn finally meets Vi’s gaze, her blue eyes full of hesitation.
“My mom is about to run for Speaker of the House, Vi.” Her voice is small, almost pleading.
And there it is. The truth.
Vi lets out a bitter chuckle, looking away. “So that’s it. You’re afraid that the daughter of a congresswoman running for Speaker of the damn House dating a singer with a criminal record will be a problem?”
“I didn’t mean it like that.”
Vi takes a step back, shaking her head. “No, Cait. You meant it exactly like that.”
Silence. A cold, suffocating silence.
Vi exhales, her shoulders sagging. “I don’t get it, and I don’t want to get it.” Her voice is hoarse now, like she’s holding back something heavier.
And then, she turns.
“Vi—Vi, wait!”
Caitlyn’s voice is desperate, but her feet stay frozen. She doesn’t chase after Vi. Doesn’t reach for her. She just stands there, helpless, as the love of her life walks away.
She doesn’t know how it got to this.
How, after five years, a single statement could feel like the end of everything.