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It’s been years but mornings in the Ionian Kiramman estate still feel like a dream. Waking to the light breeze through the large open windows, the gentle tinkle of the windchimes, turning to see Caitlyn tangled in their sheets.
Vi could get used to it.
She has, in some ways. She’s gotten used to that smile, to those hands, to those touches. She’s gotten used to soft snores in bed, to the gigantic pile of pillows that follows them around Runeterra, to the reading glasses by the bedside, to the long, long strands of hair that never seem to end.
This morning she reaches over, runs a hand down the muscled curve of Caitlyn’s bare back.
Caitlyn mutters something unintelligible from inside the pile of pillows that she’s burrowed into.
Vi smiles and prods her shoulder again, a little more insistently.
A groan now, pitched almost like a question.
Vi’s smile warms further. “You asked me to wake you.”
One more grumble but Caitlyn eventually emerges from the pile of silk and cotton. Sleep swims shallow in her eye, disgruntlement painted clear across her cheeks.
“Why do I let Ahri-jie get away with this?”
“Because you love her,” says Vi. “And because sometimes she has good ideas.”
“Don’t let her hear you say that,” Caitlyn mutters as she yawns. “We’ll never hear the end of it.”
Vi knows this is a losing battle but she tries anyway, sidles up to Caitlyn in their shared bathroom, up to the mirror that Cait stands in front of, towelling her face dry.
“You’re sure I can’t know anything about your outfit?”
“It would appear that Ahri-jie is quite determined that we mingle,” Caitlyn says, lowering the towel, smiling. “So, no.”
“Not even a clue?”
“Vi,” Caitlyn says with no small note of amusement, “I don’t know why you’re worried. The whole premise is to meet new people and we all know new people love you.” Her head tilts. “If anything, I should be the concerned one.”
Vi rolls her eyes.
“Have you seen yourself?”
“A little too much for my own taste, actually.”
“Pedant.”
“That’s why you love me,” Caitlyn says. “And now I really must go before I am late to this fitting. Don’t forget, yours is with Akali-jie in about an hour.”
“It’s to be delivered tomorrow to the venue, and I’m to bill it to the Kiramman accounts if she forgets.”
“Yes.” Caitlyn’s smile is wide, warm, as she comes in for a quick peck on Vi’s cheek. “That’s my brilliant boi.”
Vi’s own cheeks are so warm.
“Shut up,” she mutters.
Caitlyn laughs, and leaves, the warmth of sandalwood and the sharp freshness of citrus disappearing after her.
It might be sappy. It probably is sappy. Scratch that, Vi’s basically made of sap and she’s had the time, space, and love to embrace it. The point though, is that they've been separated for just about two hours and Vi misses Caitlyn already. It's probably because she's in a foreign land. It's probably because she doesn't know the people here, is missing her anchor.
Caitlyn likes it here in Ionia, enjoys their visits not just for the food and the scenery but the people who've known her since she were but a wee child and Vi loves that for her, she does. She loves learning the little anecdotes, loves laughing at the silly escapades, loves seeing the smiles on the faces of the people who have known her love and love her now, love her still.
Most of what Vi likes about Ionia has to do with Caitlyn, which is why, as she stands alone in her own small changing room, fastening the last few buckles, it’s a wave of nerves that assaults her.
She doesn’t usually get nervous before social events—believe it or not, that’s more Caitlyn’s thing when they’re home. But today in a foreign land as she adjusts her hair again, as she fiddles with maroon silk of her sash, making sure it hangs just the right level of casual from her waist, as she looks at the black mask in her hands, she finds herself at a loss for words.
It’s almost as if she doesn’t remember how schmoozing worked before Caitlyn which has got to be impossible because Vi is cool, Vi is calm, Vi is chill. She has this. She can do this. She’s never had to think about things like this before. Gee. Caitlyn must be rubbing off on her.
She knows Caitlyn is getting ready with Ahri maybe two doors down but she’s not allowed in.
She’s not allowed to see, not allowed to know.
Sometimes she wishes Caitlyn wouldn’t take things like this so seriously. It’s only a wish because she knows that a Caitlyn who didn’t wouldn’t be her Caitlyn and there is something frustratingly endearing about all of this. Even if it means she has to brave the lion’s den alone with her wolf mask.
Vi slides it onto her face, takes in her own reflection.
Well, at least she’s going to look damn good doing it.
The decor is gorgeous, the courtyard tastefully done up with low lights, floral arrangements that melt just out of sight, polished brass silverware, crystal glasses. The music is quiet but present. The spirits flow freely. The breeze is low, light, the air cooling in the evening.
Vi’s had a delicious rosé to start out, washing down a few of those delectable little shrimp canapés that she knows Caitlyn likes. Ahri’s always a great host—Vi knows that some of those wonderful deep fried mochi balls that she tried once and couldn’t stop raving over will also make their appearance. She’s saving her stomach for them so she leaves the shrimp alone and goes to get another drink, something to hold in her hand as she works the room.
She’s also scanning the space for Caitlyn.
That’s definitely not the point of this event, she knows, but she likes knowing where Caitlyn is, wants to know, knows that she must be somewhere in this small crowd, hasn’t found her yet. It turns out that this masquerade concept appears to work, at least for one of them. Part of her does wonder why Caitlyn hasn’t come to her yet but the other part of her knows exactly why and loves her for it.
So Vi lets someone in a mask with beautiful blue scales sidle up and ask about the almost absurdly floral gin and tonic that she’s just had a sip of, settles into easy conversation about the weather and whether scallion pancakes count as pizza.
(They do not.)
Her nose notices first.
She’s just polished off a third deep fried mochi ball (never doubt Ahri) and passed her plate off to one of the roaming waitstaff in a bid for self control—Caitlyn’s once told her about the way plates and plate sizes influence appetite—when she catches a hint of cool citrus wrapped in the underlying warmth of sandalwood.
Her heartbeat picks up.
There’s a person next to her in a crocodile mask complete with jeweled teeth. Too broad, too short. Someone else to their left with a plumed fox mask—if that isn’t Ahri she’ll eat her own wolf mask, chew the leather into bite sized pieces and force it all down. To her right is a hawk, brown hair pulled in a low ponytail.
Caitlyn is here.
Vi knows she’s here. But—
There’s a gentle tap to her elbow from behind and she turns, whirls around to find a tall frame. On that face are swirls of indigo and black, leather in tiger teeth framing that smile she loves so much. The shirt is the white clone of her own black number but it is the short cape thrown over it that pulls it all together, only partially hiding the suspenders that dip down into a gold pocket watch.
A blue eye meet hers and for a moment Vi’s breath is truly gone.
“May I have this dance?”
Caitlyn reaches out and Vi steps in.
“Thought you’d never ask.”
Caitlyn knows the masks don’t hide anything. Not the warmth she feels on her cheeks nor the color of her eyes. Not the smile on her face nor the build of her frame and most certainly not the colorful splash of Vi’s hair. Anyone who’s looking at all closely will know it’s them—Ahri-jie will probably rib her for this into the next decade—but right now in the music and the low lights, in the courtyard in the breeze, the love of her life in her arms, she finds that she doesn’t fucking care.
She pulls Vi a little closer, pulls the sun into her orbit, basks in the warmth of her glow as the music slows, quiets, the quartet readying for their next break between pieces.
Her hand is squeezed gently.
“Think they’ll let us sneak out of here?”
“Sneaking implies a lack of permission. I don’t believe leaving requires permission.”
Vi grins back at her and Caitlyn loves how she gets it, how she doesn’t need Caitlyn to say more. “My apologies, your grace. Think they’ll forgive us for sneaking out of here?”
Caitlyn looks across the room, catches the turned back, the fluffy white tails swaying gently. She smiles.
“I’m willing to risk it.”
Moonlight pours in onto the long corridors of ancient stone, shadows dancing on the far wall as they step back into the estate. She hadn’t realized she’d been doing it—it’s been so many years and so many events that it’s just something she snaps right into—but here in their own private space the weight of having to hold herself together, of having to stand tall and straight and perfect drains from her shoulders.
Vi tugs her by her hand and Caitlyn follows, is surprised when they end up in the study instead of the bedroom.
No matter.
The night is yet early.
Caitlyn has shrugged her jacket off, has her back turned, is rummaging about the whiskey drawer. Vi, pleasantly buzzed, warm from the outside in, watches her openly, hungrily, watches the flex of the muscles barely hidden by the thin material of the silk shirt, the smooth motions, takes in the light tinkle of ice on crystal, the soft splash of the finger of whiskey.
Maybe the study had been a bad idea because she only has one thought on her mind.
Well, maybe more than one thought because the one thought has many details, many ah, configurations, many levels, things Vi wants to do and have done to her.
Those thoughts only solidify when Caitlyn turns and settles into her seat, apparently having undone a few buttons. Vi doesn’t begrudge Caitlyn—the warmth of the few drinks Vi’s already had have her shirt off, the restrictive sleeves gone, her shoulders freed to the night air so she understands.
With the buttons have gone some more of Vi’s restraint, however.
She’s not even sure why she has to have restraint.
They’re in their home, in private. Caitlyn’s hair has begun to escape from the confines of its ponytail. Caitlyn’s chin is rested on her palm, her cheeks ruddy from the wine and the laughter. The smile that Vi loves the most sparkles in her eye. She is always the woman Vi fell for but now more than ever, unfettered from the weight of the world, in the dim quiet of their bedroom she is simply Caitlyn and in this moment, open and free and wanting, Vi loves her, she does, she does, she does.
“Violet.”
Her wife’s lips curl like she knows exactly what she wants, knows that it is her and so when she crooks a finger Vi finds that she has never objected, won’t start now.