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The apartment had begun to smell like overheated printer ink. the faint buzzing of stress that lived in the air during finals week and refused to leave even when the windows were cracked open to the winter cold. Christmas lights were strung unevenly along the bookshelf, blinking lazily in soft gold, reflecting off the snow piled on the windowsill like the city itself had decided to pause and watch them struggle through December.
Vi was drowning, there was no more dignified way to put it.
She sat hunched over the dining table that doubled as a battlefield every exam season, shoulders tight, forearms littered with scribbled notes and faint ink smudges, jaw clenched like she was preparing for a hit instead of another constitutional law essay. Her hair was tied back in a loose knot that had been retied and abandoned and retied again so many times it had given up any pretense of order, strands falling into her eyes as she shuffled papers with the kind of violence that suggested they’d personally wronged her.
Three essays. Two exams. One oral defense she hadn’t even begun to prepare for. She was so tired her thoughts felt slow and sharp all at once, scraping against each other in her skull.
Across the apartment, Caitlyn moved with the kind of quiet efficiency Vi had always admired and never quite understood. She stood in the kitchen in socked feet, sleeves of her sweater rolled carefully to her forearms, hair pulled back in a neat low ponytail that somehow stayed perfect no matter how late it got. The coffee machine hummed obediently beneath her hands as she measured grounds, eyes flicking occasionally toward the dining table, tracking Vi’s posture like a habit she couldn’t unlearn.
Caitlyn was done with her exams. Done-done. Her aerospace project—an absurdly wellbuilt prototype involving airflow modeling and materials Vi pretended to understand—had been submitted early by her girlfriend and sister, approved with the kind of praise that made Powder text their group chat in all caps. Powder had immediately declared herself “retired” for the semester and was now likely terrorizing someone with an overly festive soul.
Caitlyn, meanwhile, had shifted seamlessly into support mode.
She poured hot water with care, placed lids on one of the mugs, Vi’s with the spill-proof cap because experience had taught her that Vi gestured when stressed and stress was currently Vi’s natural state, and waited for the coffee to bloom, the steam fogging her glasses just slightly.
“Vi,” she said gently, not looking over yet, voice warm and calm in that infuriating way that made everything feel momentarily manageable. “What would you like for Christmas?”
It was asked casually, conversationally, like she was asking if Vi wanted milk or sugar, but there was intention behind it. There always was.
Two years ago, early into their relationship, they’d made a pact, one born out of a spectacularly awkward birthday incident involving a jacket that didn’t fit the rest of the wardrobe at all and a mutual spiral of guilt and reassurance. From then on, they’d promised to tell each other plainly what they wanted or needed for special occasions. No guessing, no disappointment, no hurt feelings hiding behind smiles.
Caitlyn took promises seriously, so it was important for her. Vi, however, was barely holding herself upright.
She groaned, long and dramatic, dragging her hands down her face until her palms pressed into her eyes, elbows braced against the table. Her voice came out muffled, strained, frayed at the edges. “A break, cupcake. I just want a break.”
She didn’t even look up but Caitlyn paused, even just for a fraction of a second.
Her fingers stilled on the mug handles, her head tilting slightly, brows knitting together in mild confusion and not concern nor alarm, just the quiet recalibration of someone parsing information carefully. She turned her head just enough to glance over her shoulder at Vi, taking in the slumped posture, the exhaustion carved into her expression, the way her voice had dipped into something almost petulant.
“A… brick?” Caitlyn repeated softly, more to herself than to Vi.
She frowned, just a touch.
It was an odd request. Impractical and heavy. But Vi had always had a strange sense of humor, a tendency toward bluntness that didn’t always align with conventional logic. Maybe it was symbolic, maybe it was a joke she didn’t quite catch. Or maybe, Caitlyn’s thoughts softened, Vi meant something grounding. Solid. Something to remind her of home.
Caitlyn didn’t question it. She never questioned Vi’s wants, not when they were spoken with that kind of tired honesty.
She turned back to the counter, placed both mugs carefully on the tray. Whatever Vi wished for, Caitlyn would find a way to give it to her. Even if she didn’t yet understand it. She crossed the room quietly, steps soft against the rug, and set Vi’s mug down beside her papers with practiced precision, the capped lid clicking into place. Vi barely registered it, still glaring at a paragraph like it was the biggest puzzle in the room.
Caitlyn leaned down, pressed a gentle kiss into the crown of Vi’s head, fingers brushing briefly against the back of her neck, warm and grounding.
“Whatever you wish is yours, love,” she murmured.
Vi huffed something noncommittal in response, already half-lost again to her notes, unaware that she had just unknowingly requested a construction material for Christmas. Caitlyn straightened, picked up her own mug, and watched Vi for a moment longer than necessary.
Love, Caitlyn had learned, was often quite the work.
Caitlyn also learned, after an embarrassingly thorough amount of research, that the modern consumer market was profoundly uninterested in selling a brick.
Bricks, plural, were readily available. They were stacked neatly in warehouse listings, bundled in hundreds, advertised with industrial enthusiasm and wholesale discounts but a brick, singular and solitary, apparently did not exist as a purchasable object. Every search result led her further into logistical absurdity: minimum orders of fifty, of one hundred, of quantities so excessive that the thought of them sitting unused made something tight and uncomfortable settle in her chest.
It felt wasteful and Caitlyn knew Vi would've hated that. She closed her laptop with a small sigh, fingers lingering on the edge of the desk as she stared at the darkened screen, Vi’s words echoing again in her head with infuriating persistence. I just want a brick. The memory of Vi’s voice… low, tired, threaded with frustration. It had etched itself into Caitlyn’s thoughts, replaying with the same clarity as a mission objective.
If Vi wanted a brick, Caitlyn would give it to her. She just needed to know what to do with the ninety-nine she didn’t ask for.
That afternoon, the winter air bit sharply at Caitlyn’s cheeks as she crossed campus toward her workshop class, her scarf pulled snug around her neck, boots crunching softly against frost-dusted pavement. Students passed her in clusters, laughter and stress braided together in the universal language of finals season, but Caitlyn moved through them distractedly, gaze unfocused, mind running quietly through possibilities.
Could she commission one? Unlikely. Salvage? That felt… dubious. Illegal, perhaps.
Her pace slowed as a thought surfaced, tentative at first, then growing clearer with each step. Jayce. She stopped short on the walkway, nearly colliding with a pair of students rushing past her, murmured a polite apology without really seeing them, and reached into her coat pocket for her phone. Jayce Talis—construction engineer, a relentless pain in the ass, and the closest thing she had to a big brother despite the lack of shared blood—worked on-site, surrounded daily by the very materials she needed. Of course he would have access to bricks.
Caitlyn exhaled, relief blooming quietly in her chest, and dialed his number. Fortunately for her, he answered on the second ring.
“Sprout!” Jayce’s voice burst through the speaker, bright and warm and utterly unbothered by the cold, as though he existed in a perpetual state of good cheer. “To what do I owe the pleasure? You finally admitting you miss me?” Caitlyn smiled despite herself, lips quirking as she shifted her bag higher on her shoulder. “Hardly. I need your help.”
Jayce made an exaggerated sound of intrigue. “Dangerous words.”
She explained the situation carefully, choosing her phrasing with the same detail she brought to everything else. Vi’s request, the pact, the impossibility of acquiring a single brick through legal retail channels. There was a pause on the other end of the line, followed by Jayce’s laughter, loud and genuine.
“First of all, why would she want a brick?” he repeated, incredulous. “What’s she planning to do with it, exactly? Start a very small building?”
“That’s not the point,” Caitlyn answered, sharper than she intended, stopping herself with a measured breath. “I’m not asking her why she wants it.”
Jayce laughed again, softer this time. “You are stupidly in love, you know that?”
Caitlyn didn’t deny it. She simply adjusted her grip on the phone and said, “Well, can you get me one? Two, even, so I can throw one on your head?”
There was a thoughtful hum, the distant sound of machinery in the background. “One and one only,” Jayce said finally. “I absolutely can. Tell you what, lunch tomorrow? I’ll bring it.”
Relief washed through her, loosening the tension she hadn’t realized she’d been carrying. “Thank you, Jayce.”
“Anything for my favorite little sister,” he replied easily. “And for the record, this might be the strangest favor you’ve ever asked of me.”
Caitlyn allowed herself a small smile as they said goodbye and she slipped the phone back into her pocket, resuming her walk toward the workshop with renewed purpose.
The workshop classroom smelled faintly of sawdust and oil, the air alive with the low hum of machines and quiet conversation. Caitlyn slid into her seat beside Powder, who was already animatedly recounting something with broad gestures, blue-streaked hair catching the overhead light as she talked.
“And then he just—” Powder paused mid-sentence, narrowing her eyes as she noticed Caitlyn’s distant gaze. She snapped her fingers sharply in front of Caitlyn’s face. “Earth to legs.”
Caitlyn blinked, startled, focus snapping back into place. “Sorry, what?”
Powder grinned knowingly. “You were gone. Like, gone gone. Thinking lesbian thoughts again?”
Caitlyn’s ears warmed, but she didn’t bother denying it. Instead, she hesitated, fingers curling slightly against her notebook before she spoke. “Powder,” she said, carefully casual, “are you busy tomorrow evening?”
Powder’s brows lifted. “Depends. Why?”
“There’s an art workshop downtown,” Caitlyn continued, voice soft but intent. “Ceramics. You can bring your own pieces to paint. I thought… perhaps we could go together.”
Powder studied her for a moment, eyes sharp and curious, then broke into a grin. “Is this a secret girlfriend mission?”
“Yes,” Caitlyn admitted simply.
“Then I’m in,” Powder said immediately. “No questions asked.”
Caitlyn exhaled, something warm and hopeful settling in her chest as the instructor began the lesson and the noise of the workshop swelled around them again.
The plan was forming and for the first time since Vi had spoken those fateful words, Caitlyn felt certain she was doing this exactly right.
Christmas at Vander’s was never quiet, but it was warm in a way that sank into the bones and stayed there.
The living room glowed with mismatched lights—some old and flickering, some newer and aggressively bright—woven through exposed beams and wrapped around shelves crowded with memories rather than decorations. Snow pressed softly against the windows, the outside world muted and distant, while inside the air was thick with laughter, the smell of spiced food, and the comfortable chaos of too many people who loved each other fiercely and loudly.
Caitlyn sat close to Vi on the couch, their knees touching, shoulders brushing in a way that felt instinctive rather than deliberate, her hands folded neatly in her lap as she took everything in with quiet fondness. This was so far removed from the Kiramman galas. No orchestras, no crystal chandeliers, no careful politeness… But she had never once wished to be anywhere else.
Her parents had known better than to insist. Cassandra’s message had been warm and decisive, Tobias’s affection evident even through text, both of them gently insisting that Christmas belonged here, with family chosen and built rather than hosted. New Year’s would be quieter, just the four of them, no grand celebrations. For now, love had been sent in parcels and handwritten notes, wrapped carefully and addressed to everyone in the room.
Vander sat in his chair like a benevolent anchor, watching the chaos unfold with a fond smile and a mug cradled in his hands, while Powder bounced between spots on the couches. Ekko leaned against the arm of the couch, relaxed but attentive, Mylo already halfway to insufferable with anticipation, and Claggor amused beside him.
Gifts were passed around, paper torn and discarded, reactions loud and immediate.
Powder squealed at her presents, Ekko smiled wide and genuine, Mylo made a show of complaining even as he clearly loved what he got, Claggor thanked everyone with the quiet sincerity that always made Caitlyn’s chest ache a little. One by one, they went through them, laughter rising and falling like a tide.
Vi waited.
She always did.
Caitlyn noticed it immediately, the way Vi hung back, waving off nudges and teasing with an easy grin, insisting everyone else go first. It wasn’t martyrdom, exactly, just instinct. The same one that had shaped her for years, the reflex to make sure everyone else was settled, satisfied, happy before she allowed herself anything.
Even now, even safe and loved, it lingered.
Vi’s gift to Caitlyn sat unopened beside her, too, deliberately ignored. Caitlyn knew why, of course. This was the first Christmas Vi hadn’t been told explicitly what Caitlyn wanted, the first time she’d let it be a mystery, and Vi was savoring it for Caitlyn’s sake as much as her own.
Finally, when the pile of wrapping paper had grown unruly and the room had settled into a lull, all eyes turned toward Vi.
“Well?” Powder prompted, grinning. “Your turn.”
Vi sighed theatrically, rubbing the back of her neck as she leaned forward. “Alright, alright. Don’t rush me.”
Caitlyn’s pulse picked up despite herself.
Vi reached for the gift, carefully wrapped, solid in her hands, heavier than expected. She peeled the paper back slowly, deliberately, and froze.
Her brows shot upward not in distaste, not in disappointment, but in unmistakable confusion.
In her hands was a brick.
A single brick, weighty and solid, transformed entirely by care and intention. Painted with astonishing detail: her favorite game character’s Atlas Gauntlet rendered boldly across the center, lines sharp; a small cupcake tucked to the side, unmistakably Caitlyn; violets blooming delicately along the edges, framing the whole thing with elegance.
It was beautiful. Undeniably so.
But it was still, very clearly, a brick.
The room went quiet for half a second too long.
Vi turned it over slowly, reverently even, fingers tracing the paint, her expression softening with genuine appreciation. “Holy shit,” she murmured. “Cait, this is… this is incredible.”
She smiled, wide and sincere. “I love it.”
But the confusion didn’t quite leave her face.
Caitlyn felt heat crawl up her neck, pride and nerves tangling together in her chest. She leaned forward slightly, unable to keep the smile from her face. “Powder helped me,” she began, voice warm, eager to explain.
“Why the fuck is it a brick?” Ekko cut in, brow furrowed.
Mylo didn’t miss a beat. “Is this, like, a freaky sex joke?”
Caitlyn panicked.
She shot to her feet so abruptly her knee bumped the coffee table, hands flying up as if she’d been caught committing a crime. “No! No, absolutely not!” she stammered, mortified, eyes darting briefly toward Vander before snapping back. “It’s not! Vi wanted it!”
Vi blinked. “I did?”
Caitlyn nodded quickly, relief at being asked overtaking her embarrassment. “Yes. You said so. When I asked what you wanted for Christmas.” Vi’s eyes widened slightly as Caitlyn continued, earnest and unguarded. “You said, I just want a brick.”
There was a beat.
Then Vi burst into laughter. It hit her all at once, sudden and uncontrollable, head tipping back as she laughed so hard she had to clutch the brick to her chest to keep from dropping it. “Oh my god,” she wheezed. “Oh my god, Cupcake,”
“I said a break,” Vi managed between laughs. “I wanted a break. From exams. From life.”
Caitlyn’s face went scarlet.
“Oh,” she whispered, the realization crashing into her with devastating clarity. “Oh.”
The rest of the room followed suit, laughter erupting like fireworks, Powder nearly falling over, Ekko laughing openly, Mylo cackling with vindication, even Vander chuckling low and fond. She brought a hand to her face, mortified, words tumbling out all at once. “I’m so sorry… I should’ve asked, I didn’t want to question you and then I couldn’t find one anywhere and I thought…”
Vi was on her side in an instant.
She crossed the space between them in two little scooches, brick forgotten on the couch, arms wrapping firmly around Caitlyn’s shoulders. Caitlyn froze for half a heartbeat before melting into the embrace, face pressed into Vi’s sweater, still burning with embarrassment. Vi pulled back just enough to look at Caitlyn, eyes bright, expression open and overflowing with affection. “Hey,” she said softly. “I love it. More than anything you could’ve bought me.”
Caitlyn blinked. “You… do?”
Vi nodded without hesitation. “Yeah. It’s thoughtful. It’s you. And it’s actually useful.”
Caitlyn let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. “May I ask,” she said at last, a smile tugging shyly at her lips, “what one could possibly do with a bloody brick?”
Vi grinned, wicked and unapologetic. “Easy. I can throw it through my economic law professor’s glass door next time he ignores my knocks.”
The room exploded again, laughter loud and unrestrained, Caitlyn laughing too now, head tipping back as the tension finally dissolved, warmth flooding her chest as Vi leaned into her side.