Chapter Text
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The amphitheater was dimly lit, just a faint echo of what it would become in a few hours—buzzing with students and onlookers.
On stage, the band was running their final soundcheck. Amid tangled cables and nervous laughter, Vi adjusted the microphone with that daring smile she always wore when standing on the edge of something big.
Jinx and Ekko were tossing drumsticks at each other, annoying Mylo, who shoved them both, earning a sharp yell from Vi that made them freeze instantly.
From the bleachers, Caitlyn watched in silence, arms folded on her lap, her serene expression betraying the restless fluttering in her chest. Beside her, Mel held a cup of coffee that looked dangerously out of place next to her immaculate white coat. She smiled with her signature grace.
“Good Lord, look at you. You're completely gone.”
Caitlyn rolled her eyes but didn’t look away from the stage.
Vi was wearing her worn-out leather jacket—the one she always claimed brought her luck—and her boots tapped the floor impatiently. Her fingers toyed with her belt buckle while Ekko adjusted the levels and Powder, better known as Jinx, tuned the bass.
“I’m not gone,” Caitlyn replied, feigning indifference.
“Of course not. Whatever you say. Aren’t you supposed to be playing with them?”
“She asked me to, but just thinking about it gives me vertigo.”
“I’ve heard you play. You’re better than that poor guy up there.”
Caitlyn let out a quiet laugh, but it died in her throat when Vi, as if sensing her gaze, turned her head and spotted her in the scattered crowd.
No words. No grand gestures. Just a crooked, mischievous smile—the kind that sent butterflies through Caitlyn’s stomach and tingles down her skin.
She quickly looked away, pretending to check her phone.
“She’s got you wrapped around her finger,” Mel chuckled, sipping her coffee. “I should be jealous of that girl.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“Just calling it like I see it. Your bedroom is next to mine, remember? I can hear you yelling at her to spit in your mouth.”
“Mel!”
“Relax… I’m not judging. Though I did think you were into other kinds of kinks.”
Caitlyn sighed and covered her face with her hands.
“I am never doing that in my apartment again.”
Embarrassed, she turned back toward the stage—just as Vi bent down to grab a water bottle.
Her muscles tensed under the warm glow of the stage lights, and the way she moved—so naturally, like the world was hers—left Cait breathless.
She couldn’t deny it. She was in love.
And when Vi glanced at her again, wearing that look that said You’re here for me, right?, Caitlyn knew she was in deep—and never wanted out.
“Damn, class starts in five minutes,” Mel commented.
“You leaving?”
“I’ll be late. If neither of us shows, we won’t have notes to copy.”
“Ask someone else. No one says no to you.”
“Absolutely not. I have a reputation—I can’t just ask anyone for notes.”
Caitlyn sighed, rolling her eyes.
The band started playing their first test chords, and the bass vibrated through the amphitheater. She could feel it in her chest—a low, steady hum that warmed her on this cold morning.
Vi stepped up to the mic, fingers brushing the cable before she spoke.
“Soundcheck, one, two.” Her voice—deep and rough—echoed through the space. Then, without warning, she added, “This one’s for my girl in the third row.”
Caitlyn flushed as a few heads turned in her direction.
“Oh, she’s such a sap,” she muttered, but couldn’t help the smile tugging at her lips.
Mel laughed. “You love it.”
Caitlyn didn’t reply. She just watched Vi—the hallway brawler, the queen of dumb pranks—the same girl who had learned to kiss with endearing clumsiness in the backseat of her car, now standing onstage, dedicating a song to her in front of the entire damn amphitheater.
And for a moment, Caitlyn thought maybe, someday, she’d like to give Vi something too. Something that couldn’t go out of tune or get lost between concerts and rainy mornings. Something to keep with her, even when they weren’t in the same room.
Maybe a gesture. A gift. But nothing she could offer could ever match what Vi already gave her with that powerful voice and raw, fearless affection. Nothing the money from her lineage could buy.
...
One year later.
Empire Roots Festival – Artist Tent, May 6, 1:14 a.m.
Outside, it rained with the indifferent persistence of certain New York downpours—not strong enough to react to, not soft enough to ignore. Just rain. Inside the tent, no one was fully awake, nor fully asleep.
The world felt paused—or so it seemed to Vi as she tuned her guitar in silence.
The guitar, black and battered, had a string that always slipped when the weather changed. It had been with her since she was eighteen, and though it bore cigarette burns, strap scratches, and a tiny sticker of a cat Jinx had slapped on it during a manic display of affection, it was still hers. Like a part of her shadow.
“Vi,” Caitlyn said, her voice calm as a vinyl needle dropping.
Vi looked up. Caitlyn stood in front of her, holding a tube of red lipstick. Matte. Cherry-red, like fruit in a white porcelain bowl.
"Close your eyes," she said.
"Were you serious about this?"
The girl rolled her eyes, crossed her arms, then leaned against her leg, jutting out her hip.
"Violet..."
Vi showed her palms and obeyed. In her world, some instructions weren’t up for debate.
She heard the soft click of the lipstick tube opening, the faint glide over Caitlyn's lips. Then, a brief silence—almost spiritual.
And then, she felt the kiss. Not on her lips. On the body of her guitar. Just beneath the bridge, where the sound always rang the loudest. A damp, gentle touch, marked by the weight of something older than desire.
Then came a second kiss. On her neck, just below her left ear, another under her jaw, and another on her cheek. Not urgent, not seductive. Just... certain. As if saying, "This belongs to you, and you belong to me."
Vi opened her eyes.
"What was that?"
Caitlyn shrugged.
"A charm. So you don’t forget where to come back to."
"To keep me from forgetting? Or to remind the fan girls?"
"...Both"
Vi looked down at her guitar. The kiss was a perfect print—red lips stamped on worn black wood. It looked bold. Intimate. And it was right where her hand always rested between songs.
“I’m never wiping it off.”
“You can’t. That lipstick was expensive.”
“Well, good. I don’t want to.”
Silence returned like an instrumental track—layered, rich, full of unspoken understanding.
From the tent entrance, a staffer called out that they had two minutes before going on. Outside, the rain didn’t stop.
“Well, well, what’s this?” Jinx came trotting in, pointing dramatically at Vi’s neck. “We got a marker? An ownership mark?? Wouldn’t a necklace with her name be better?”
Ekko followed behind, pulling down his hood and eyeing the guitar.
“Is that a lipstick kiss on your guitar?”
"And her cheek"
“Very punk of you, Vi,” added Mylo, pulling a granola bar from his back pocket. “What’s next? Pink bow on your amp?”
Vi didn’t answer. She just slung the guitar over her back and walked straight to Caitlyn, as if everyone else had vanished.
She wrapped an arm around her waist and kissed her.
It was one of those slow, certain kisses. An I see you, more than an I love you. Caitlyn, composed as ever, wrapped her arms around Vi’s neck like she’d been waiting for it all night.
“In front of us?” Jinx scoffed, spinning around dramatically.
“Not in front of my granola bar,” Mylo groaned. “You're ruining the vibe.”
“Nah, it’s fine,” Ekko said with a low laugh. “Brings her luck. Right, Vi?”
A backstage guy poked his head through the curtain.
“One minute, Firelights!”
Vi pulled back just enough to whisper in Caitlyn’s ear, wearing a half-smile.
“After this, it’s my turn to leave a mark, Miss Kiramman.”
Caitlyn chuckled softly, her eyes sparkling with something Vi knew all too well.
“I’m counting on it.”
“I like that,” Vi murmured, adjusting her guitar cable.
Then she turned and walked toward the stage without looking back. The lipstick mark still glowed on the guitar’s dark wood like a secret signature. And though the rain kept falling, something inside her burned with anticipation.
In that moment, the future felt sharper than ever—clear, free, electric. And she was ready for all of it. Every part.
…
She was suddenly awakened by a dull pain in her head and an emptiness in her chest, as if someone had come in the middle of the night to steal the day’s energy. The light filtering through the curtains was pale and gray, and for a moment she didn’t know if it was morning or afternoon.
The closest sound was that of a heart monitor, beeping steadily.
The room smelled of disinfectant and old fabric. It took her a few seconds to realize she was in a hospital room.
She had spent a good part of her life in those rooms—either because of fights that ended in stitches or the last time she saw her parents.
She looked at her hands. Bandages wrapped her knuckles and wrists, her left arm numb from cuts and bruises. Her legs barely responded under the sheets.
Then, the door opened.
“Vi!”
“Thank God! She’s awake!”
“Are you okay? Can you see me? Do you know who I am? How many fingers am I holding up?”
“Three. And yes, Powder, I know who you are.”
“And me?”
“You too, Ekko.”
Both of them sighed in relief.
“Hey! You can’t just barge into the room like that,” the nurse scolded, quickly entering behind them. “The patient needs rest. Stress could worsen her condition.”
“My sister’s fine! You’re the one yelling and agitating her!”
“They just opened up her skull,” Ekko muttered, aware of the situation.
Vi lifted a hand to her head, barely feeling the sting of raw skin beneath the gauze.
“Oh, don’t touch that. You could hurt yourself or reopen the wound,” the doctor said as he entered with a stethoscope. “How are you feeling? Do you remember what happened?”
Vi barely reacted, the older man checking her vitals and pupils with a small flashlight.
“I feel... dizzy.”
Her voice was rougher than she expected, like she hadn’t spoken in days. She cleared her throat, but the lump there didn’t go away.
“What happened to me?” she asked, feeling an unfamiliar weight in her chest.
Powder and Ekko exchanged glances.
“You had an accident,” the doctor replied in a neutral tone, lowering the flashlight and jotting something in his notebook. “There was a crash. They found you unconscious in your car. You've been here for three days.”
Vi frowned. Something about those words didn’t add up. She tried to dig through her memory—to remember the sound of crunching metal, the impact, the pain… but there was nothing.
Just a vast and disorienting emptiness.
“Where did it happen?” Her voice was weaker than she’d like.
“Near the docks! They said the car hit a railing. You were alone. You nearly gave us a heart attack.”
Near the docks.
A fleeting image of distant lights flickering on the water crossed her mind—a vague reflection, but without sound or context. Something churned in her stomach.
“Why was I there?” she whispered, more to herself than to anyone else.
Powder shifted uncomfortably. Ekko kept his gaze low.
“We don’t know,” Ekko finally said, watching the nurse adjust the IV in her arm. “What matters now is that you’re stable. The police are investigating, in case someone else was involved.”
But Vi barely heard him.
Because when she tried to remember anything else—what she did that night, who she was with, what she felt—her mind only gave her back a hollow echo.
An echo where even her own name felt like that of a stranger.
She turned her head toward Powder, panic rising in her chest.
“And Caitlyn?”
“At her apartment. She was here this morning, but I told her to go rest.”
“Her apartment? How far are we from the university?”
The comment drew confused looks from those present—especially Ekko and Jinx.
“Ha! See? She’s still got her sense of humor.”
“Vi, you graduated six years ago,” Ekko said, sitting beside her.
“What are you talking about? We have a gig on Sunday. Mylo still can’t get the drum rhythm down, and he asked me to help him today… remember?”
The look on her friend’s face and her sister’s stillness made her nervous instantly.
“Violet…” the doctor said kindly, “what year do you think it is?”
“…2018.”
Ekko covered his face with both hands, but Powder didn’t move. Her eyes were fixed on her older sister’s confused expression.
“Vi…”
Her stomach twisted at the soft tone in her younger sister’s voice.
“It’s 2026…”