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A string quartet strums a gentle melody as bodies fill the room. Expensive perfumes waft on the air. Jewels worn and bedazzled into attire shimmer under the giant chandelier attached to the tall dome ceiling accented in gold. Progress Day always ends with a ball. Yearly, the invitation promises the event is open to the public, but attire for the formal event can only be afforded by the wealthy.
Caitlyn smooths down the dress that clings to her. It’s black, the straps bedazzled in onyx. It follows her hourglass silhouette like a second skin. Her hair is down, silken and glittering under the light as much as the jewelry that adorns her shoulders. She’s chosen not to work tonight so she could dress for the ball instead, and catches many eyes when she walks in, including an ex.
But when she sees Mel, her heart stops. Her hair tumbles down her shoulders in thick locs. Three golden necklaces choke around her neck. As if her very skin is bedazzled in tiny crystals, Mel’s bronzed skin shines as she lends a hand in greeting to a diplomat whose name escapes Caitlyn at the moment.
Dressed in a regal dark blue dress that slits high on her right thigh, Caitlyn is positively distracted with each step Mel takes. She gets a peak of gold heels as Mel approaches, taller than Caitlyn’s own, and she realizes that for tonight, they’re the same height.
“Mel—”
“Caitlyn,” Mel says warmly once she’s greeted everyone down a line as if everyone’s been waiting for her. Her gaze flicks down Caitlyn’s body more than once, and Caitlyn notices the flecks of gold freckling Mel’s cheeks. “You look beautiful.”
The unexpected compliment lands like a blow and Caitlyn almost wants to shrink away. But for the desire to preen in Mel’s presence. “As do you.” She steps closer to the radiant smile aimed at her. Caitlyn looks to her dress, resisting the urge to reach out and touch Mel. The corners of her mouth tug upward. “Blue’s my color.”
“I was unaware you owned it,” Mel can’t help but say, but her matching smile and sparkling eyes are kind with unspoken admittance.
Caitlyn speaks Piltover doublespeak as well, and hangs onto her every word, even the ones Mel won’t say. “Oh, Mel, I think we both know I most certainly own it.” And suddenly they aren’t discussing the color of Mel’s dress anymore. She basks in the growing tension between them when it’s cut all too short.
It’s announced that dinner is approaching, and Mel guides Caitlyn to a table. They exchange little jokes between ordering their courses for the evening when a shadow looms over the table. Both look up to see General Medarda’s grin. “Don’t mind if I join you.” Before either of them can respond, she joins them at the round table.
Mel’s expression cools when her eyes lock with Ambessa. “Mother. Shouldn’t you be working?”
“I am, child.” True to her word, she’s dressed in her usual armor, appearing as formidable as ever, even more so in the formal event.
Caitlyn’s hands fall to her lap where she digs her nails into her palms. To her understanding, Mel hasn’t been close with Ambessa for a while. Has spent more of her life at odds with General Medarda than not. But a bubbling tension has settled between them since Ambessa’s arrival in Piltover, since she’s taken Caitlyn under her tutelage. Their once cordial, if a little aloof, interactions have now taken on a layer of frigidity, teeth baring.
A hand rests on her own like a weighted blanket. Caitlyn stills. She follows the hand up a slender arm to find that Mel, though touching her, isn’t even looking at her.
“I see you’ve finally clocked out long enough to pay your girlfriend some attention.”
They both bristle. It’s now that Mel looks at Caitlyn with a subtle frown creasing her forehead, a sign that this will be dissected later, between the two of them. For now, Mel sits back, intertwines the fingers of one hand with Caitlyn’s and drags their joined hands into her lap. “Caitlyn’s understanding that soirees such as this provide ample opportunity to network. As heir of House Kiramman, she has a certain level of responsibility tonight as well. However, I am here now, and will be here after the ball, for her every whim.”
Caitlyn’s eyebrows raise in mild discomfort but major interest. Mel’s going to talk herself into something tonight, long after the ball, if she doesn’t stop trying to one-up her mother.
A member of the waitstaff approaches Ambessa just in time to take her order.
In her distraction, Caitlyn and Mel lock eyes. And she isn’t sure if it’s the fatigue of the day or Ambessa throwing Mel off her game, but Caitlyn reads every expression on her face like a book. The pages are bursts of color that turn from the bright orange of frustration, a pastel yellow of cautiousness, and deep down, a dark sapphire blue of affection.
Following dinner, a glass of lemon water is served to cleanse the palate. Caitlyn swirls a small mint around her tongue as her food settles. Content, the ball can end right now, and she’d remain so.
Mel leans toward her. “I have to make my way around the room for cordiality and diplomatic measures.” Her face is moderately apologetic, as much as she will allow in public.
Caitlyn nods, her own mask slipping into place. “By all means, Mel. Make your way.”
They part, and Caitlyn’s shoulders deflate. She chastises her own eagerness to spend any amount of this ball with Mel. Regardless of their romantic entanglement, Mel is still a public figure, and her job has come first her entire life, long before Piltover. As the sole heir of House Medarda, the art of politics isn’t Mel’s second nature, but her first. It’s truly who she is. A fact known to Caitlyn, but revealed differently through the new dimension of their relationship.
And, true to Mel's own words, Caitlyn is obligated to make nice with these strangers in the room. This had previously been Cassandra's responsibility, and a dark cloud settles over Caitlyn at the reminder of why she now has to shoulder this responsibility in addition to her position as Commander of the enforcers, in addition to the burden of shouldering the general void Cassandra has left in her entire life.
The night, however, is young. She’s chosen not to be an enforcer tonight to shed an ounce of responsibility for a second. She doesn’t have to be Commander Kiramman right now, doesn’t have to make tough decisions and question her own integrity. She’s washed off the stench of anger and frustration to get dolled up tonight.
General Medarda eyes her for a long moment then says, “You clean up decently, Commander.”
Caitlyn nods. “Appreciate it, General.”
Amusement colors her tone when she says, “She stand you up to rub elbows with—”
“I’m choosing a different perspective. I chose not to work tonight and she chose to work.” Caitlyn stretches a now tense tendon in her neck.
“Ah.” Ambessa nods, impressed. “Did you tell her you weren’t working?”
“Yes.”
“Did you tell her you didn’t want her to work?”
“I thought it was implied.”
Her mouth wiggles in threat of a smile. “If you don’t plainly tell her what you want, child, she’s going to choose what she wants, and it’s always going to be work.”
Caitlyn’s quiet for a moment. The value of work is inherently understood by her. She pursued being an enforcer despite what her parents desired, sometimes wonders if her mother would still be alive if she had just decided to go to a finishing school rather than the enforcer academy. But as she looks across the room now to find Mel speaking animatedly, bespelling a group of people with little more than the grace of her smile and a couple of well-timed observational comments, she can’t help but wonder if she’s bitten off more than she can chew.
“She’s a fox, Caitlyn. They’re routine animals and thrive in comfort. It’s only a wolf who's willing to push outside that comfort zone.”
The group surrounding Mel disperses until she’s alone with one other person. They look vaguely familiar. Caitlyn curses her youth, as everyone in the room appears to already know each other, allegiances formed when she was still studying history, math, and science.
“Who is that?” Caitlyn wonders aloud.
“Hm?” Ambessa follows her line of sight to the person standing before Mel. “That’s...Bin, he/him.” General Medarda briefly grimaces as a memory resurfaces.
Caitlyn misses it as her eyes never leave Mel. She watches as he—this Bin person—steps closer until his fingers curve around Mel’s elbow. They laugh briefly, and Mel steps out of his grasp. The picture of grace.
Then they share a heartfelt moment during which he leans in to touch Mel’s hip, and Caitlyn stands straight out of her chair. She excuses herself from General Medarda to walk over to Mel.
“Do you see yourself moving back to Noxus any time soon?” She catches the faint question as she approaches.
The question causes bile to rise in Caitlyn’s throat. She keeps a respectable distance from Mel as she nears them. “Good evening, I’m Caitlyn of House Kiramman. And you are?”
His eyes widen. “Of course, Miss. Kiramman. I’m Bin of House Ruvin. Pleased to meet you.”
“Charmed.”
Caitlyn’s head tilts as her attention turns to Mel. She reaches out to curl her fingers around the sash at her waist. “It appears your sash could use readjusting, Ms. Medarda.”
Mel’s mind trips on the way Caitlyn’s chosen to say her name as the other woman slides behind her. Delicate fingers untie the pristinely knotted sash with ease.
“As I was saying,” Mel continues absent-mindedly, her attention redirected to the gentle touch and warmth behind her. “Plans to return to Noxus are simply not on the horizon.”
Caitlyn slowly twines the fabric again.
“A pity,” he says.
Her eyes lift from the sash to glower over Mel’s shoulder at the man before her. Her arms come forward to encircle Mel’s waist briefly, lingering just enough to make Mel’s voice falter for a second, enough for his gaze to dart down to her hands around Mel for just a moment. Caitlyn returns her hands to Mel’s lower back where she sets about tying the perfect bow; sightless because she doesn’t look away when his eyes lock with her glare, Mel between them, and they both catch the moment he recoils.
Caitlyn indulges herself with a brief touch to Mel’s lower back before she steps away. “All better. You look radiant.”
She bids her goodbye and falls back into the crowd. The warmth at her back dissipates, and Mel fights back a shiver. Silence settles between them. Mel’s mind now elsewhere, wishing she had eyes in the back of her head.
Bin hooks a thumb over his shoulder. “I’m wondering if I should check on my friend.”
Mel nods with a knowing smile. “Yes, do take care, Bin.”
She turns around, eyes searching for Caitlyn when she sees her finishing a conversation with a diplomat south of Piltover. Mel sidles up beside her once Caitlyn’s alone again. She smiles and waves at a passing acquaintance, then faces the other woman.
“It seems you’ve accomplished your little mission.”
Caitlyn tilts her head, nothing on her face betraying her. “What do you mean?”
Mel’s features pinch briefly then smooth over as she remembers all the eyes around the room. She smiles at Caitlyn, but grits through her teeth, “And what’s with the Ms. Medarda act?”
Caitlyn searches Mel’s face carefully, voice low as she asks, “Do you like when I call you that?”
Heat rises to Mel’s cheeks, whether due to Caitlyn’s tone or her audacity to ask such a question. She doesn’t answer, but Caitlyn seems satisfied anyway. “Noted.”
Mel’s jaw clenches so hard, she worries she’s cracked a tooth. She squeezes her hand around Caitlyn’s and picks up the skirt of her dress to hotfoot it out of the room. She finds a door that leads outside to a terrace, and drags her along.
Once outside, Mel whirls around to face Caitlyn, who gets momentarily distracted by the fan of her dress. “You do not get to claim me so publicly.”
Caitlyn can’t help but ask, “What about privately?”
“At all.”
“But Mel...” Her voice drops to a tone that’s becoming all too familiar to Mel. A tone so deep and vast, she wants to swim in it, in Caitlyn. “You are mine.”
The low simmer she’s been sitting on comes to a raging boil just like that. And it feels so juvenile, but Mel finds she likes this side of Caitlyn. Refuses to encourage it, all the same. “Cait—”
“I’ll leave you alone,” Caitlyn says as she steps closer, “for the rest of the night. Let whoever think they can have whatever with you. But I need to hear you say it first.”
“I don’t see a ring on my finger.”
Caitlyn’s mouth twists into a roguish grin. She hazards a step closer. “Don’t tempt me, Ms. Medarda.” She lets her gaze fall to Mel’s lips as her fingers drag across the silk sash again. Caitlyn grabs the delicate fabric with both hands to tug Mel closer.
Mel groans. “Stop calling me that.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll work on when to say it, get the circumstance just right.”
She feels a tug from within her at Caitlyn’s insistence. And Mel doesn’t need much more coaxing, swaying toward Caitlyn, toward that mouth that won’t shut up. They kiss softly, and every sound falls away other than Caitlyn’s even breaths puffing against her mouth. Mel pulls back enough to whisper, “I’m yours,” before claiming Caitlyn in a demanding kiss.
Caitlyn pushes her luck, pushes Mel back against the railing, swallowing her hiss as the cold metal presses into her warm spine. She doesn’t get far, as Mel struggles to remember where they are. She places a hand lightly on Caitlyn’s chest, allows her thumb to map the curve of her breast. “We have to stop now.”
She sounds unconvincing, even to her own ears, but Caitlyn relents. She casts a glance over her shoulder, but doesn’t catch any wandering eyes as she steps away. Caitlyn grabs her hand. She lifts it into the air then rotates her arm. Mel twirls, skirt lifting, feet whirling on the tips of her toes until she’s on the other side of Caitlyn. She responds in kind, lifting her arm. She watches a giddy smile light Caitlyn’s face as she twirls before Mel.
They share a hushed giggle, and Mel returns to the event with a genuine smile adorning her face. Caitlyn moves to go her own way once inside when Mel’s hand lashes out and leashes against her own. She looks to Mel, then down to their joined hands, and smiles anew as Mel pulls her through the crowd.
“You owe me a dance,” Mel says lowly, for Caitlyn’s burning ears only.
“I’ll have them clear the floor,” Caitlyn teases. “It’s our first, after all.”