Work Text:
“Have I ever told you I love your freckles?”
The words reached Vi like the breeze – warm, weightless, stirring something beneath her ribs. She didn’t open her eyes. She only let her head grow heavier in Caitlyn’s lap, content to let the world shrink to this: the creak of the garden bench, lavender-sweet air, the slow, soothing glide of fingers through her hair.
“Dunno,” Vi mumbled, voice a little drowsy. “Say it again, just to be sure.”
Caitlyn’s hand stilled. Then Vi felt her fingertips drift, tracing the bridge of her nose, then the scatter of sun-kisses over her cheekbones. When she spoke, Vi didn’t need to see her face to know she was smiling.
“I love your freckles.”
A pleased hum rumbled in Vi’s throat. She turned into Caitlyn’s palm and pressed a kiss there. “Guess I’ll keep ’em, then,” she said, lips brushing skin. “Just for you.”
Caitlyn laughed quietly. “How very noble of you,” she said, fingers settling over Vi’s chest, splayed wide to rise and fall with her unhurried breaths.
Vi smirked but didn’t answer. She let the tranquility settle again, listening to the bees hum from bloom to bloom, the rustle of leaves above, a bird’s song drifting from somewhere unseen. She drew in a deep breath, catching the sharp-clean scent of mint still clinging to her from the beds she’d tended earlier.
I’ll never get enough of this, Vi thought, sure as the steady pulse beneath Caitlyn’s hand.
She cracked one eye open, squinting through the glare of sun and leaves until Caitlyn sharpened into focus. Her head was bent over her book, brow faintly creased – not in concentration, Vi suspected, but because her mind had wandered. Probably hadn’t absorbed a word on that page.
Vi took her time watching, letting every slow sway of the branches, every shift of dappled light highlight her in new ways: a strip of sunlight along Caitlyn’s jaw, a patch of shadow over her throat, the bright blue when the light hit her eye just right.
The little things. Always the little things.
“You’re staring,” Caitlyn said without looking away from the page, though the corner of her mouth tugged upward.
Vi grinned. “So?”
Caitlyn turned a page, a touch too fast to be anything but for show. “If you keep that up, I’ll never figure out who the murderer is.”
“It’s the butler,” Vi said, stretching one leg to hook a heel over the bench’s armrest, toes of the other foot brushing the grass.
Caitlyn glanced at her then, one brow arched, all fond exasperation. “No butlers in this one.”
“Business partner, then,” Vi shrugged. “Always the business partner or the butler. That’s the rule.”
“Oh, is that so?” Caitlyn closed the book over a finger, tilting her head with a smile. “And since when are you an expert in mystery novels?”
“Since you made me one,” Vi answered, meaning it to tease, but the words softened as they left her, caught on memories of Caitlyn’s voice, spinning out the twists and turns of whatever story she was reading when they’d had nothing but time.
Caitlyn’s expression gentled too, eyes warm, no doubt chasing the same memories. Then that familiar spark lit in her gaze – challenge and mischief in one. “Alright, detective. Care to make it interesting? Because I’m willing to wager it’s the neighbor.”
Vi felt the breeze lift her hair, cooler now, threaded through with the faintest edge of rain. “Five petals says it’s the business partner.”
“Petals?” Caitlyn laughed, wide enough to show that little gap between her teeth that always, always made Vi’s heart stutter. “You can’t bet petals. That’s not a currency.”
“It is in our garden,” Vi said, smug as anything. “Five of the big yellow ones by the trellis. Premium stuff.”
Caitlyn opened her mouth – no doubt ready to say something clever that would make Vi grin like a fool – when a dark cloud slid across the sun, dimming the world to silver-green. Her gaze flicked upward as the first fat drop splashed against Vi’s leg.
“Come on.” Caitlyn patted her chest twice, already rising. “Let’s get inside.”
“Hey!” Vi lifted her head, brows furrowing. Her pillow – her pillow – was abandoning her. “I was using that.”
Caitlyn had no mercy. She just rolled her eyes with a look that didn’t try to hide how fond it was.
“You’ll have to file a complaint,” she said, tucking her book into her jacket, and starting toward the house as the rain began to fall in earnest.
But Vi stayed where she was. She shifted slowly upright, leaned back against the bench, and tipped her face to the sky. The canopy above blurred with the rain, drops finding her cheeks, her chin, tracing lines down her throat. The downpour gathered, darkening the wood beneath her.
“Darling?”
Vi tilted her head toward the sound, rain threading through her hair. “Mhm?”
“You’re going to get drenched,” Caitlyn called, half-sheltered on the porch now, expression caught somewhere between worry and baffled affection.
Vi turned her face back up, closed her eyes, and let it happen. Let the rain fall, clean and warm. Warmer than she’d expected. So many times she’d tried to remember, to summon this feeling in the dark. It had never come close.
“It’s just water,” she called back, light, half-laughing. But as the words left her, a bitter pulse stirred – a shapeless knot of grief and anger for all those nights she’d spent staring at stone and steel, when the drip of water had meant nothing but leaks in the walls.
She exhaled, slow and sure, letting the rain take it from her.
Vi pulled one knee up, foot braced against the bench, the other leg stretched long, offering herself to the sky. Water gathered in the hollow of her throat, and ran in rivulets down her arms, along her hands where they rested loose in her lap. It traced over knuckles and scars, undeterred, as if the creases and rough edges didn’t exist.
Just water over skin during a little summer rain. Every drop a reminder. A promise.
And so she stayed. Stayed until she was soaked through, until the steady drum of rain slowed, until the silvered world began to brighten again. The clouds thinned, the last beads of water slipping from the leaves above like a parting gift.
Only then did Vi push up from the bench, water streaming from her as she moved. She raked a hand through her hair, sending droplets flying, then grabbed the hem of her shirt and gave it a rough twist, wringing water onto the grass. Her bare feet pressed into the slick lawn, each step leaving faint prints behind as she crossed to the porch.
Caitlyn leaned against the doorframe, towel draped over her arms, watching as if trying to memorize Vi – dripping, beaming, heart full of the sky.
“You look...” Caitlyn began, unfolding the towel.
“Like I won a wet t-shirt contest?” Vi offered, waggling her brows, a drop breaking loose and sliding down her face.
Caitlyn huffed a laugh, shaking her head as she wrapped the towel around Vi’s shoulders.
“Happy,” she said, low and certain.
Vi’s grin eased into something gentler. The word sat warm in her chest. “Yeah, I am.”
Caitlyn’s hands lingered, smoothing the towel down Vi’s arms. She brushed wet hair from Vi’s face, worry flickering in her eyes.
“You’ll catch a cold,” she murmured.
Vi snorted, leaning into her touch. “Pretty sure I’ve survived worse, Cupcake.”
Caitlyn breathed a quiet laugh, but in her gaze was that familiar flicker of ache – the silent you shouldn’t have had to.
Vi didn’t name it. Instead, she closed the last bit of space between them and wrapped her arms around Caitlyn, pulling her in, rain-soaked clothes and all.
Caitlyn didn’t protest, just held her close, tugging the towel a little tighter around Vi with the motion. They stood like that, wrapped around each other, Vi’s hair dripping onto Caitlyn’s collar, Caitlyn’s warmth transferring to Vi.
Caitlyn pressed a lingering kiss to Vi’s temple. “Next time,” she whispered. “I’ll stay out there with you.”
Vi smiled against Caitlyn’s shoulder, the softness of that promise settling somewhere deep inside, where even the rain couldn’t reach.