Archive of Our Own

The summer air in Beaufort was thick with salt and cicadas — the kind of heat that made the wooden porches creak and the church bells sound slower than they should.

Everyone in town knew Caitlyn Kiramman. The pastor’s daughter — polite, gentle, always with a book tucked under her arm and a smile that could smooth over any gossip. Cassandra Kiramman led the local congregation, a woman of firm grace and unshakable faith, and Caitlyn was the picture of her upbringing.

Then there was Violet Wick.

If Beaufort had a list of troublemakers, Vi’s name would be written at the top in red ink. Street fights, curfews broken, engines revved under the bridge past midnight — she’d done it all. Vander Wick, her adoptive father, ran the old repair shop by the docks and did what he could to keep her and her little sister, Powder, out of trouble. But Vi had a wild streak, something that couldn’t be hammered out with sermons or second chances.

On Sundays, she usually stayed away from church. But that Sunday was different.

Vander had asked her — no, told her — to attend, since the community had been buzzing about the upcoming charity play the church was hosting. Vi didn’t want to go. She had grease on her hands, a hangover from the night before, and zero patience for hymns.

But she went anyway.

That’s when she saw her — standing by the church steps in a floral dress, hair tied neatly with a ribbon, sunlight brushing her face like it was made for her. Caitlyn Kiramman, greeting the townsfolk with that easy kindness that Vi could never seem to fake.

Their eyes met for a second — Vi’s half-lidded and amused, Caitlyn’s wide and curious.

It was nothing.

Until it wasn’t.

The church smelled like old wood and lilies. Sunlight streamed through the high stained-glass windows, painting the pews in streaks of color — blues, reds, and soft yellows that moved with the dust in the air.

Violet Wick slipped through the back doors just as the first hymn started. Her boots thudded against the floorboards, a rhythm out of place among the polite whispers and soft shuffling of hymnals. She didn’t sing. Didn’t even pretend to.

She slid into the back pew — the farthest from the pulpit, the one where she could make an easy escape if things got unbearable.

Her shirt hung loose, sleeves rolled halfway, collar open just enough to show the curve of her collarbone. Faded slacks. No belt. Hair cropped short on one side, the rest wavy and untamed, like she’d cut it herself in front of a bathroom mirror — which she probably had. A bruise-colored ring stained one knuckle from where she’d punched something, or someone, the night before.

She slouched, arms crossed, jaw tight. Let’s get this over with, she thought.

And then someone sat beside her.

She turned her head — and there she was. Caitlyn Kiramman, pastor’s daughter, in a soft blue dress that looked like it belonged in a photograph from a sweeter decade. Her hair was pulled back with a white ribbon, simple but perfect, and she smelled faintly of lavender soap.

Caitlyn smiled — not the nervous kind people gave Vi, but one that was sure and warm, like she’d been waiting to use it. “Hi,” she whispered. “You don’t usually come to service.”

Vi blinked, caught off guard by how her voice sounded — light but certain. “Yeah,” she muttered. “Don’t usually need saving.”

Caitlyn’s smile didn’t fade. “Maybe not. But sometimes it’s nice to sit with company anyway.”

Vi leaned back, smirking. “You always talk to strangers like this, or just the ones that look like they need a priest?”

Caitlyn looked thoughtful, not defensive. “Just the ones who look like they might be lonely.”

That disarmed her more than she wanted to admit.

“Guess that makes me your charity case, then.”

Caitlyn’s eyes — impossibly blue, steady — met hers. “I don’t believe kindness is charity, Violet.”

The way Caitlyn says her name was like from a bible. Gentle, quiet, and kind- something that Vi isn’t a part of. She was even surprised Caitlyn knows her. They’ve been in a few classes together but never talked. They just stayed out of each other’s orbits. Something might have shifted then when she decided to sit next to Vi.

Vi wanted to laugh, to tell her she was naive, that Beaufort chewed people like her up and spat them out, that kindness didn’t fix anything. But the words didn’t come. Not when Caitlyn stayed right there beside her, quiet, unmoving, like her faith was something she carried naturally — not just the kind preached from a pulpit.

So Vi didn’t tell her to leave.

For the rest of the service, Caitlyn stayed seated next to her. When the congregation sang, Caitlyn’s voice was soft and sure. Vi didn’t sing — but she found herself listening anyway.

And for the first time in a long while, she didn’t feel the need to run.

The hymns rolled over her like waves — soft, steady, and distant. Vi didn’t know the words, and she didn’t try to learn them. The crowd sang with a kind of devotion she couldn’t mimic, eyes closed, hands folded like they were holding something real.

She sat stiff at first, every creak of the pew under her elbow reminding her she didn’t belong here. But Caitlyn’s presence next to her was… strangely grounding.

There was something calm about her — the way she held herself, the way her breathing didn’t change when people turned to look at Vi. Most folks in Beaufort would’ve done a double-take, whispered about the Wick girl showing up at church like she’d stepped into the wrong building. But Caitlyn didn’t flinch. Didn’t move away.

She just sat there. Shoulders straight, hands folded over her lap, eyes lifted toward the pulpit.

Vi couldn’t help glancing at her every now and then. The morning light through the stained glass caught in her hair, painting it rose and gold, softening her in a way that made Vi’s chest ache with something she couldn’t name.

When Caitlyn sang, her voice wasn’t loud — but clear enough that Vi could hear every note. Each one was clean, even, full of something gentle but firm, like she actually believed every word.

And somehow, that belief made Vi’s pulse slow down.

For the first time in months, maybe years, she wasn’t thinking about the mess waiting for her outside — the fights, the nights under flickering streetlights, the sound of Powder crying when she thought no one could hear. She just sat there, staring at the way Caitlyn’s lashes fluttered when she closed her eyes, how she smiled slightly at the lines she must’ve known by heart.

Vi didn’t know why it felt peaceful. It just did.

When the sermon started, Cassandra Kiramman stood at the pulpit — tall, graceful, her voice carrying easily through the chapel. There was a steel in her, the kind that made people listen. Vi had met her only once, years ago, when Vander dragged her to some community supper after a fight. Cassandra had shaken her hand, called her “child,” and told her she was always welcome.

Vi hadn’t believed it then. Still didn’t, not really.

She looked a few pews ahead where Vander sat — his thick hands folded, head bowed. He looked tired, but proud. He’d always been the one trying to fix things that weren’t his to fix. Her. Powder. This whole small-town life that never quite fit them.

Vi sighed, slumping back against the pew, letting Cassandra’s sermon wash over her. It was something about forgiveness, about how grace wasn’t earned but given. Vi didn’t think much of it — but she noticed Caitlyn listening intently, nodding every so often, her fingers tracing invisible lines along the pages of her Bible.

That quiet, steady faith — it was something Vi couldn’t understand. Yet, for reasons she couldn’t explain, she wanted to.

When the church fell silent for prayer, Caitlyn bowed her head. Vi didn’t. She just stared at the curve of Caitlyn’s neck, at the soft pulse there, and wondered what it was like to believe in something so completely.

Outside, the gulls cried, and the wooden doors creaked with the summer wind.

And for the first time in a long time, Vi didn’t feel angry.

Just quiet.

When the final hymn ended, Vi was already halfway out of her seat. The congregation rose around her — polite smiles, soft chatter, the shuffle of hymnals closing in unison — but she moved through them like smoke.

Vander caught her eye for a second from a few pews ahead, gave her a small nod — the kind that meant thanks for coming, kid — before turning to shake hands with someone from the dock. She didn’t linger.

The air outside hit her warm and sharp, the kind that smelled like salt and magnolia. The sunlight was brighter out here, realer, and she pulled a cigarette from her pocket before she could think twice.

She lit it under the shade of the old oak near the churchyard, the match flaring briefly against the breeze. The first drag burned, rough in her throat, but familiar — grounding in a way the sermon hadn’t been.

She’d barely exhaled when she heard footsteps crunching against the gravel.

She didn’t have to look. Somehow, she already knew.

“Smoking after church,” came a voice behind her — soft, amused. “That’s bold.”

Vi turned her head, lips twitching. Caitlyn was there, standing a few feet away, sunlight catching the edge of her hair. She still looked composed, perfect, like she’d stepped straight out of a postcard. The faintest hint of lavender drifted toward her on the wind.

“Didn’t realize I needed permission,” Vi muttered.

Caitlyn smiled, the corner of her mouth curving slightly. “You don’t. Just— most people wait until they’re off church grounds.”

Vi took another drag, slow and deliberate. “Guess I’m not most people.”

Caitlyn stepped closer anyway. Not too close, but close enough that Vi could see the way the light played against her eyes — that deep, calm blue.

“I know,” Caitlyn said quietly. “Everyone does.”

Vi raised a brow. “And you still came out here?”

“Of course.”

Vi huffed a small laugh. “You got a death wish or something?”

Caitlyn shook her head. “Just curious.”

That made Vi pause. She flicked ash off the tip of her cigarette, watching it scatter into the grass. “About what?”

Caitlyn’s gaze didn’t waver. “About you. You came today. You don't always do that.”

Vi looked away, jaw tightening. “Vander asked me to. Thought it might make him feel better.”

“That’s kind of you,” Caitlyn said simply.

Vi almost laughed — kind wasn’t a word people used for her. “You don’t know me.”

“Maybe not yet,” Caitlyn said, tone even. “But I’d like to.”

That caught Vi off guard more than she wanted to show. There was no pity in Caitlyn’s voice, no sweetness meant to flatter. Just quiet sincerity.

Vi studied her — the soft lines of her face, the little freckles on her nose, the steadiness in her eyes. There was something about her that didn’t feel naïve, not really. It was like she saw the best in people because she chose to, not because she didn’t know the worst.

And for some reason, that made Vi feel… exposed.

“You’re something else, you know that?” Vi muttered finally, flicking her cigarette butt into the dirt.

Caitlyn smiled again, faintly. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Vi shoved her hands into her pockets, half-smiling. “You shouldn’t.”

“I will anyway,” Caitlyn said, and her voice had that soft finality to it — like she wasn’t used to losing arguments.

The church bells chimed again in the distance, the echo rolling through the heat. Vi looked away toward the docks where Vander’s truck was parked.

“Guess I’ll see you around, Pastor’s daughter,” she said, already walking.

“You will,” Caitlyn replied, not as a hope, but as a promise.

Vi didn’t turn back — but she could feel her still watching, steady as the sound of the bells.

And somehow, it didn’t feel like judgment.
It felt like peace.

By midweek, Beaufort had gone back to its rhythm — gulls circling the pier, boats humming in the distance, the scent of oil and salt clinging to everything near the docks. The Wick Repair Shop sat at the edge of town, old tin roof glinting under the heat, radio playing faint blues through an open window.

Vander was inside, elbows deep in an engine block, and Vi was outside on the steps, sleeves rolled up, wiping grease off her hands with a rag that had seen better days. Her hair was damp from sweat, one lock falling over her eye. She pushed it back absently and glanced at the road.

That’s when she saw her.

A light blue sedan — the kind that looked like it belonged to someone who never drove over the speed limit — pulled up across the street. The door opened, and out stepped Caitlyn Kiramman.

In Beaufort’s sharp afternoon light, she looked almost out of place — too neat, too composed against the backdrop of rusted tools and sun-baked gravel. A soft white blouse, tucked into a knee-length skirt, her ribbon the same pale shade as before. She hesitated a little, one hand shielding her eyes, before crossing the road.

Vi didn’t move. Just leaned back on her hands, pretending to look unimpressed — though something in her chest stuttered anyway.

“What’s she doing here?” she muttered under her breath.

Caitlyn stopped a few feet away, her shoes crunching against gravel. “Hi,” she greeted, voice bright but careful. “I hope I’m not interrupting.”

“You are,” Vi said automatically.

Caitlyn smiled — like she expected that. “Good. I thought I might be.”

Vi raised a brow, tilting her head. “You really don’t get sarcasm, do you?”

“I get it,” Caitlyn said softly. “I just don’t always mind it.”

Vander’s voice called from inside before Vi could reply. “That you, Caitlyn? Heard Cassandra mention you might drop by.”

Caitlyn straightened. “Yes, sir. I came to talk about the charity play next month — the one for the community fund?”

Vi shot Vander a glare. “You told her about that?”

He shrugged, grinning through the doorway. “Told everyone about it. Church needs help buildin’ the set. Figured you could use somethin’ productive.”

Vi groaned. “You gotta be kidding me.”

Caitlyn clasped her hands politely. “We’re looking for volunteers. I thought maybe you and your sister could help paint or build props. Vander said you’re good with your hands.”

That last part made Vi’s mouth twitch. “Yeah, depends on what I’m buildin’.”

Caitlyn didn’t take the bait — she just smiled, patient as always.

“It’d mean a lot to everyone,” she said, glancing around the shop. “And I think you might actually enjoy it.”

Vi leaned back against the step rail, watching her — the way she didn’t fidget under the heat, didn’t flinch at the grease or the smell of oil. She stood there like she belonged, even when she clearly didn’t.

“Let me guess,” Vi said finally. “You’re on some holy mission to save my soul through carpentry.”

Caitlyn laughed quietly, shaking her head. “No. Just thought you might like to build something that doesn’t get taken apart after.”

Vi stared at her for a moment — longer than she meant to. There was something disarming about the way Caitlyn said things. No edge, no sugar. Just truth.

“I’ll think about it,” Vi muttered at last.

“Good,” Caitlyn said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’ll save you a hammer.”

She turned to leave, but paused halfway down the path. “Oh—” she looked over her shoulder, eyes bright. “You smoke too much.”

Vi smirked. “You stalk too much.”

Caitlyn only smiled wider. “Then we’re even.”

She left with the same calm grace she’d arrived with, dust swirling in her wake.

Vi watched her go until the sedan disappeared down the road. Then she sighed, grabbing the rag again and rubbing her palms raw, trying to scrub off the stupid warmth rising in her chest.

Vander’s voice came from behind her, half-laughing. “She’s good for you, kid.”

“Don’t start,” Vi warned, but her tone had softened — just a little.

Outside, the cicadas sang, and somewhere in the distance, the church bells chimed once.

The sound of the sedan faded down the road, leaving only the hum of cicadas and the metallic clink of tools cooling in the shade. Vi stayed where she was on the steps, staring at the empty stretch of gravel like she was trying to make sense of what had just happened.

Caitlyn Kiramman. Showing up here — here, of all places — all smiles and sunlight, talking about community plays and building sets like Vi had ever cared about anything that clean.

She ran a hand through her hair, exhaling a low, disbelieving laugh. “Unbelievable.”

The shop door creaked open behind her, and Vander stepped out, wiping his hands on a rag that looked almost as bad as hers. His sleeves were rolled up, skin darkened from years of work and salt air. He had that knowing grin — the one Vi hated because it meant he’d already decided something for her.

“You know,” he started, “she’s right.”

“About what?” Vi muttered.

“’Bout the play. ‘Bout you doin’ somethin’ useful for once that doesn’t end with me getting a phone call from the sheriff.”

Vi scoffed. “I’m plenty useful. Fixed up two outboards this morning.”

“That’s work,” Vander said, voice patient. “Not community. Big difference.”

Before Vi could answer, a voice came from the shop interior — high, quick, and brimming with excitement.

“Did someone say a play?”

Powder came barreling out the door, face smudged with charcoal, a pencil still tucked behind her ear. She was smaller, lighter, full of energy Vi could never match. Her overalls were splattered with paint, her fingers stained green and blue from whatever she’d been tinkering with that morning.

“A play!” she said again, eyes wide as she looked between Vander and Vi. “Can we help, Vi? Can we? I could paint the background or— or make the signs! I could do the stars! Oh! Maybe the props too!”

Vi blinked. “You wanna do all that?”

“Yeah!” Powder beamed. “It’s the church play, right? Miss Cassandra’s been talking about it for weeks! They need artists, and—” she hesitated, fidgeting. “—and I think it’d be nice to do something… you know. For them.”

Vander chuckled. “See that? Kid’s already halfway in.”

Vi groaned softly, rubbing her face. “Powder, it’s gonna be boring. You’ll have to deal with people bossing you around, and—”

“I don’t care,” Powder said quickly. “If you come too, it won’t be boring.”

That hit harder than Vi expected. She looked at her sister — the messy curls, the paint-splattered grin, the hopeful spark in her eyes. The kind of spark Vi would’ve done anything to protect, even when she pretended not to care.

Vander must’ve seen her expression shift, because he gave a small, approving nod. “Could be good for both of you,” he said. “Powder gets to paint. You get to work with your hands — build somethin’ that don’t break easy.”

Vi sighed, leaning back on her palms. “You’re really tag-teamin’ me on this, huh?”

“Wouldn’t have to if you said yes the first time.”

She huffed, half a laugh, half a groan. “Fine,” she muttered finally. “But I’m not doin’ it for the church, or that—” she caught herself before she said pretty girl out loud. “—that Caitlyn person. I’m doin’ it for Powder.”

Vander grinned. “Good enough for me.”

Powder threw her arms around Vi’s neck, nearly knocking the cigarette pack from her pocket. “You’re the best!”

“Yeah, yeah,” Vi said, rolling her eyes, but her voice was softer now. She ruffled her sister’s hair, leaving a faint streak of grease across her curls. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you when this thing turns into a circus.”

Powder giggled, already running back inside to gather her sketchpads.

Vander lingered a moment longer, resting a heavy hand on Vi’s shoulder. “Ain’t nothin’ wrong with lettin’ people see the good side of you, Vi. Even if it’s just once in a while.”

Vi didn’t answer. Just looked toward the road where Caitlyn’s car had vanished, the sunlight shimmering in the heat.

“Yeah,” she said finally. “We’ll see about that.”

I'll always remember
It was late afternoon

The community hall behind the church was buzzing by the time Vi and Powder arrived. It was one of those hot Carolina afternoons that made the air shimmer and the floorboards stick underfoot. The smell of sawdust, old paint, and lemonade mixed in the heat, the kind of scent that clung to summer memories — sweet and messy and too alive.

Vi stood at the doorway, hands shoved in her pockets, watching the chaos unfold inside. Kids from the congregation were moving folding chairs, someone was tuning a guitar, and a few younger teens were arguing over a paint color. Powder darted ahead, eyes wide, already in her element.

Vi stayed where she was — half inside, half out — until she heard her name.

“Vi! Powder!”

Caitlyn waved from near the stage, the afternoon light pouring in behind her. She wore faded jeans and a tucked-in blouse this time, her hair tied in a loose ponytail that made her look less like the pastor’s daughter and more like someone Vi might actually talk to. There was paint on her forearm already, a blue streak she didn’t seem to notice.

Powder lit up immediately. “Miss Caitlyn!” she chirped, running over with her sketchpad clutched to her chest.

Caitlyn crouched slightly to greet her, smiling with that easy warmth that never looked forced. “You made it! Vander said you were both coming. I’m glad he wasn’t just saying that to make me feel better.”

Vi muttered something under her breath but stepped inside anyway. “Yeah, well, you caught us on a good day.”

Caitlyn’s smile didn’t falter. “Then I’ll make the most of it.”

Before Vi could reply, a loud voice came from the far end of the hall. “No way— Vi Wick, actually doing church work? The world really is ending!”

Vi groaned before turning around. Mylo, Claggor, and Ekko were there — a familiar trio of faces she hadn’t expected to see. Mylo, lanky and too loud for his own good, was carrying a half-empty paint can. Claggor followed with a hammer tucked into his belt, and Ekko — younger but sharper than both — had his hair tied back in a short ponytail, watching the whole scene with amused eyes.

“Didn’t think you’d show, Vi,” Ekko said, smirking. “Heard you don’t do organized anything.”

“I don’t,” Vi replied dryly. “Got blackmailed.”

Powder grinned. “By me!”

That earned her a laugh from the boys. Caitlyn smiled too, though hers was quieter — a soft curve at the corner of her mouth, like she was trying not to show how fond she already was of them.

“Looks like we’ve got a full crew,” she said, clapping her hands once. “Mylo, Claggor, Ekko — you three can help Vi with the set boards. Powder and I will start painting the backdrops once they’re built.”

Vi raised an eyebrow. “You paint?”

Caitlyn tilted her head, mock-offended. “What, you think I just supervise?”

“Yeah,” Vi said bluntly.

“Well,” Caitlyn said, picking up a brush and twirling it between her fingers, “guess you’ll have to see for yourself.”

Vi tried to hide the way her lips twitched. She failed.

They got to work. Sawdust filled the air, mingling with laughter and the hum of conversation. Vi found herself helping Claggor hold up a panel while Mylo complained about the heat, and Caitlyn knelt beside Powder, helping her mix paint, their heads bent close together.

Every so often, Vi caught herself glancing over — watching how Caitlyn’s hair came loose from her ribbon, how she laughed softly when Powder accidentally splattered her with yellow, how she didn’t shy away from mess or noise. She fit there so easily, like she belonged not just to the church crowd, but to this — the chaos, the noise, the life of it all.

“You’re staring,” Ekko said suddenly beside her.

Vi blinked, caught. “What?”

He smirked, hammer in hand. “You were staring. At the pastor’s daughter.”

Vi scoffed, grabbing a nail. “You seeing things again?”

“Sure,” he said, grin widening. “Just like how you ‘don’t do church stuff,’ huh?”

Vi ignored him and went back to hammering, but her ears felt a little too warm.

As the afternoon stretched on, laughter echoed through the hall. Powder hummed while she painted, Caitlyn sang quietly under her breath, and Vi — for once — didn’t feel like she had to be anywhere else.

By the time the sun dipped low, streaking the windows with orange light, the set was starting to take shape. Caitlyn stood beside Vi, arms crossed, both of them looking at the work in silence.

“Not bad,” Vi said, nodding.

“Not bad at all,” Caitlyn agreed. She glanced at her, smiling faintly. “Told you you’d be good at this.”

Vi shrugged, trying to play it off. “Did it for Powder.”

Caitlyn’s eyes softened, the corners crinkling just slightly. “Maybe. But I think you’re enjoying it for yourself too.”

Vi didn’t answer. Just kicked lightly at the sawdust under her boot and muttered, “You talk too much.”

Caitlyn laughed quietly, and the sound — light and clean — sank into the warm air between them.

By the time the sun began to sink behind the rooftops of Beaufort, the air had cooled into that soft kind of evening — where everything looked a little gold, a little worn, and a little too beautiful to last.

The group spilled out of the community hall together, tired and streaked with paint. Powder’s overalls were splattered like a mural gone wild, Mylo’s face had a perfect handprint of blue on his cheek, and Claggor kept swearing he could still taste sawdust. Ekko was the only one who didn’t look like a mess — somehow, he’d managed to stay spotless, which irritated Mylo to no end.

Vi slung her flannel over her shoulder, cigarette unlit between her fingers. She didn’t light it — not yet. The air was too nice for smoke.

“Man, I forgot church people actually do fun stuff,” Mylo said, stretching as they hit the road. “Didn’t think I’d be sweating this much over painted cardboard.”

“It’s not cardboard,” Claggor corrected, pushing his glasses up. “It’s plywood. Cardboard wouldn’t hold the frame—”

“Okay, professor,” Mylo cut in, grinning. “Plywood. Whatever.”

Powder laughed, skipping ahead of them, her braid bouncing. “You guys were awesome! And Caitlyn said we get to add stars on the backdrop next week!”

Vi raised an eyebrow. “Caitlyn said, huh?”

Powder turned, walking backward so she could grin at her sister. “She said you’re good at building stuff — she really likes you!”

Vi groaned. “Powder, not this again.”

“She does!” Powder insisted. “You should’ve seen how she smiled when you got the frame straight. She looked all proud—”

“Pow,” Vi said, warning in her tone, but there was a trace of laughter underneath it.

Ekko smirked. “She’s got a point. That girl’s got heart eyes every time you open your mouth.”

Vi flicked the cigarette at him — not lit, but it made him flinch anyway. “Shut up, Ekko.”

“Hey, don’t throw church stuff!” Powder scolded between laughs.

They all laughed then — the kind that rolled naturally, easy and loud, echoing down the quiet street. The road was lined with oak trees, their branches reaching over the cracked sidewalks. The old houses glowed with porch lights flicking on one by one, and the cicadas sang in the background like the town’s steady heartbeat.

It felt like something Vi hadn’t had in a while — a moment that wasn’t tense or fleeting or wrapped in trouble. Just… warm.

Mylo and Claggor peeled off first, heading toward the row of small houses near the docks. Ekko lingered a bit longer, walking beside Powder and tossing a pebble down the road.

“So,” he said, glancing at Vi, “you gonna come back tomorrow?”

Vi shrugged. “Guess so. Promised Powder.”

“Sure,” Ekko said, smirking. “That’s the only reason.”

Vi elbowed him lightly. “Keep talkin’ and I’ll make you repaint the whole set yourself.”

Ekko laughed and jogged ahead to catch up with Powder, leaving Vi behind a few steps.

The road grew quieter as they neared home, the sky deepening into violet and gold. Powder hummed some half-made tune under her breath, swinging her sketchpad at her side.

“You know,” she said softly, glancing up at her sister, “you were smiling today. I saw you.”

Vi slowed. “Was not.”

“Were too,” Powder said, grin wide. “When Caitlyn laughed. You looked… happy.”

Vi stuffed her hands into her pockets, kicking at a rock on the road. “She just— she’s weird, that’s all. Doesn’t know when to quit being nice.”

“Maybe that’s not weird,” Powder said. “Maybe that’s just her.”

Vi didn’t answer. They turned onto their street, the Wick house coming into view — lights spilling from the windows, Vander’s old truck parked out front. The smell of something cooking drifted through the air, grounding and familiar.

Powder skipped ahead, waving her sketchbook. “I’m gonna show Vander my designs!”

“Go ahead,” Vi said. “Tell him we’ll need more blue paint.”

Powder darted off, leaving Vi at the gate. She lingered there a moment, the world dimming into twilight. The sound of laughter from down the block — Mylo probably making another dumb joke — faded, and for a while, all she could hear was the wind through the trees.

Her gaze flicked up toward the church spire just visible beyond the rooftops, a silhouette against the evening sky.

Caitlyn Kiramman.
Kind, stubborn, too good for this town — and for some reason, she’d decided to stay near Vi.

Vi rubbed at her jaw, a faint smile tugging at her lips before she could stop it. “Naïve girl,” she muttered.

Then she went inside.

It lasted forever
And ended so soon, yeah

The afternoon light slanted through the church hall windows, falling in dusty ribbons across the scuffed wooden floor. Someone had propped the doors open, letting in the salt-tinged breeze from the harbor, and for once, the place didn’t feel like a church at all — more like a small world coming alive piece by piece.

The air smelled of paint and sawdust, and Caitlyn was right in the middle of it. Her sleeves were rolled past her elbows, streaks of white and blue on her wrists where she’d wiped her brush too many times.

Across from her, Vi was kneeling by the backdrop, brush in hand, shoulders tense with concentration. Her cropped hair — short on one side, soft waves on the other — caught the light whenever she moved. There was something about the way she worked — impatient, quick, always like she wanted to finish before something caught up with her.

Caitlyn, ever the opposite, took her time. She painted small, careful strokes along the edge of the stage’s wooden frame.

“Hey,” she said, after a while, her voice light. “You paint so well.”

Vi huffed a small laugh, not looking up. “Didn’t know painting scenery counted as a skill.”

“It does when you make it look easy,” Caitlyn replied, smiling.

Vi just shrugged, kept painting.

The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable — not quite. It was the kind that stretched gently, filled with the clatter of brushes, the soft hum of Powder’s music in the background, and the steady heartbeat of the afternoon.

After an hour, Caitlyn finally set her brush down. Her fingers were aching, her back stiff. “Break time,” she announced.

Powder cheered immediately. “Finally!” She dropped her paint roller and sprawled on the nearest pew. Ekko passed her a bottle of Coke while Mylo and Claggor argued over whether the stars on the backdrop should be gold or silver.

Caitlyn stretched, smiling faintly at the chaos — but when she looked over, Vi wasn’t in the group anymore.

Her gaze followed to the far end of the hall, near the small wooden platform where the choir usually stood. There, Vi was leaning against a table, head bent slightly as her fingers brushed over the body of a dusty old guitar.

Caitlyn watched, quiet. Vi turned the instrument over, checked the strings, and — as if guided by instinct — strummed a slow, soft chord.

The sound was uneven at first, but then it evened out — rich and low, filling the empty hall with something that felt almost sacred. Caitlyn felt her breath catch. Vi’s posture changed; her usual sharpness melted into something tender. Something achingly human.

Caitlyn didn’t move, afraid to break it.

Then Vi began to play a melody. Simple, unhurried. Not polished, not rehearsed — but full. Full of something Caitlyn couldn’t name.

She stepped closer, the old floor creaking beneath her shoes. “You never said you played,” she said softly.

Vi stopped.

The music cut mid-note, leaving only the sound of the wind through the doors. Her fingers lingered on the strings, but her shoulders had already tensed back into their usual armor.

“Didn’t think it mattered,” Vi said flatly.

Caitlyn frowned, still gentle. “Of course it does. You’re good.”

Vi set the guitar down carefully — too carefully, Caitlyn noticed — and stood. “Don’t make it a big deal.”

Before Caitlyn could answer, Vi was already walking past her, pulling her lighter from her pocket.

Caitlyn turned as the doors swung open and Vi stepped out into the sunlight, the flick of her lighter sharp in the quiet.

For a moment, Caitlyn stood there, unsure. The air left behind seemed colder without her.

“Hey,” Powder said softly, coming up beside her. There was a streak of blue paint across her cheek, her eyes gentle in that way only a younger sister’s could be.

“Don’t feel bad,” she said, noticing Caitlyn’s expression.

Caitlyn blinked. “I didn’t— I just thought she—”

“She used to play for our mom,” Powder interrupted quietly. Her voice trembled, but she smiled through it. “Every night, before bed. Mom said Vi’s songs made the world stop hurting for a while.”

Caitlyn’s chest ached — a soft, deep ache.

Powder shrugged. “She hasn’t played much since. Not since Mom.”

Caitlyn looked toward the open doors again. Vi was outside, sitting on the steps, smoke curling faintly in the breeze. The sunlight turned her profile golden — beautiful and untouchable all at once.

For a long moment, Caitlyn just watched her.

Something in her — something stubborn, something that refused to give up on people — whispered that Vi wasn’t cold. She was just protecting what was left.

And Caitlyn couldn’t help but wonder what it would take to make her play again.

The sun had dipped lower by the time Caitlyn stepped outside, the air cooling with that soft, honeyed glow Beaufort always seemed to wear in the late afternoons. The sound of laughter still drifted faintly from inside the hall — Powder and the boys arguing over who got to paint the stars next — but out here, it was quiet.

Vi sat on the church steps, a cigarette between her fingers, head tilted back against the railing. Smoke drifted lazily upward, blurring into the light. She didn’t turn when Caitlyn approached; her gaze was fixed somewhere far off — the horizon maybe, or the thoughts she didn’t want anyone to see.

Caitlyn hesitated for a moment at the doorway, then walked over and sat beside her. She didn’t say anything, didn’t ask permission — she just sat. Close enough to feel the warmth radiating off Vi’s arm, but not close enough to startle her.

For a long while, they said nothing. The cicadas sang. The waves hit the docks beyond the town. The smoke curled and faded between them.

Caitlyn folded her hands in her lap, glancing sideways at her. “I’m amazed that you play the guitar so good,” she said softly.

Vi exhaled a long breath, smoke leaving her lips in a thin trail. “You don’t have to say that.”

“I’m not saying it to be kind,” Caitlyn replied, and she meant it. “I’m saying it because it’s true.”

That made Vi pause. Her jaw flexed slightly, her eyes narrowing toward the ground. “It’s just an old song. Don’t even remember where I learned it.”

Caitlyn smiled faintly. “You remember enough to make it sound like you meant it.”

Vi gave a dry little laugh. “You’re really not good at leaving things alone, are you?”

“I don’t like leaving people alone when they’re worth knowing,” Caitlyn said. Her tone wasn’t teasing — it was quiet, deliberate, and it hung between them like a small truth neither of them knew what to do with.

Vi’s hand stilled, the cigarette burning close to the filter. She flicked the ash away, then muttered, “You don’t know me, Caitlyn.”

“Not yet,” Caitlyn said gently. “But I’d like to.”

That made Vi finally look at her. Her eyes — sharp, grey-blue, always guarded — softened, just for a second. The sunlight caught in them, turning their edges warm.

She looked away quickly, stood up, and crushed the cigarette under her boot. “You shouldn’t. I’m not one of your church projects.”

Caitlyn stood too, brushing off her skirt. “I don’t think of you as one.”

Vi turned toward her then as if trying to find some hidden angle — a sign of pity, judgment, anything she could hold against her. But there was nothing in Caitlyn’s expression except calm — that same infuriating, unwavering kindness she carried everywhere.

“Why?” Vi asked quietly. “Why do you even care?”

Caitlyn thought about that for a moment, the breeze catching her hair, the church bell chiming faintly in the distance.

“Because,” she said at last, her voice steady, “I think there’s more to you than what everyone else sees. And you don’t have to hide it all the time.”

Vi’s breath hitched — barely, but enough.

For a second, Caitlyn thought she might walk away. But instead, Vi sighed, rubbed the back of her neck, and sat back down on the steps. “You really are one of a kind, are you?” she muttered.

Caitlyn smiled and sat beside her again, careful not to push further. “So I’ve been told.”

They sat there until the sky turned soft and orange. Vi didn’t say anything more, but she didn’t tell Caitlyn to leave either, a simple suspended moment that is now becoming frequent for the both of them— and that, Caitlyn thought, was something.

When Powder came running out to fetch them, chattering about paint and stars, Caitlyn turned just enough to see Vi watching her sister with that quiet, protective tenderness again.

And it was in that small, unguarded look that Caitlyn saw the truth of her — the heart Vi tried so hard to hide.

By Wednesday, the church hall had turned into something halfway between a construction site and a carnival. Bits of plywood leaned against the walls, costume fabrics draped over pews, and the smell of paint had officially settled into the air like a second hymn.

Caitlyn arrived early that afternoon, her satchel slung over one shoulder, clipboard tucked under her arm. The others were already inside — Powder on the floor surrounded by brushes and paint jars, Mylo wrestling with a broken light fixture, and Vi halfway up a ladder, hammering nails into the backdrop frame with a kind of determined impatience that seemed to follow her everywhere.

Caitlyn smiled to herself as she stepped in, her heels clicking softly against the wooden floor.

“Morning,” she greeted.

Vi looked down, one hand braced against the ladder. “Afternoon, actually.”

Caitlyn tilted her head up at her, amused. “Depends when you woke up.”

Vi smirked faintly. “Fair point.” She turned back to her work, the sunlight catching the side of her cropped hair. It had grown out a little since that first Sunday — still sharp, still uneven, but the soft waves fell over her temple now, framing her face when she wasn’t paying attention.

Caitlyn busied herself checking the paint schedule and the next set of props. It was easier than staring — though she found herself doing that anyway.

As the afternoon stretched on, the group fell into rhythm. Powder hummed while painting the scenery, Ekko cracked jokes from the stage, and Vi — surprisingly — didn’t seem to mind being around them. She still barked out the occasional order (“Powder, that’s too much blue!” or “Mylo, stop stepping on the damn backdrop!”), but there was laughter tucked between the words now.

Caitlyn couldn’t help it — every time Vi smiled, it felt like catching sunlight through a crack in storm clouds.

When the clock hit three, Caitlyn called for a break. Powder darted off to refill the water jugs, and the boys disappeared to the vending machine across the street. The hall grew quiet again, golden light slanting through the windows.

That was when Caitlyn heard it — soft, hesitant at first, like someone testing the air.

A hum.

She turned.

Vi was crouched near the stage, sorting through a box of nails, unaware she was being listened to. Her voice — low and rough around the edges — was humming the same melody Caitlyn had heard on the guitar days ago. The same one that had filled the hall and never quite left Caitlyn’s chest since.

It wasn’t perfect; Vi missed notes, trailed off once or twice. But there was something gentle in it, something almost unbearably human.

Caitlyn leaned against one of the pews, watching quietly.

When Vi noticed her, she froze mid-note. “What?” she asked, too sharp, too defensive.

Caitlyn smiled softly. “Nothing. I just… didn’t know you sang, too.”

Vi frowned, clearly uncomfortable under her gaze. “I don’t. Was just—” She gestured vaguely. “—thinking.”

“With music?” Caitlyn teased lightly.

Vi huffed, looking away. “Helps me focus.”

Caitlyn’s voice softened. “You’ve got a beautiful tone. You really do.”

Vi rolled her eyes, though there was no bite in it. “You’re just saying that ‘cause you’re too polite not to.”

Caitlyn shook her head. “I don’t lie, Vi.”

That made Vi glance at her again — not long, not deep, but long enough that something unspoken passed between them.

“Right,” Vi said finally, standing and dusting her hands on her slacks. “Break’s over.”

“It’s only been three minutes,” Caitlyn said, smiling.

“Yeah,” Vi replied, walking past her toward the ladder. “That’s long enough.”

Caitlyn watched her go — the way she moved like she was always ready to bolt, and yet, never actually did. The sunlight framed her shoulders, caught in her hair.

Powder came back in then, bright and breathless, with a bottle of Coke for Caitlyn and a grin that was all knowing.

“You heard her hum, didn’t you?” Powder asked, like she’d been waiting to hear it.

Caitlyn blinked, caught off guard. “You knew she would?”

Powder just smiled. “She always does when she’s starting to feel better.”

And suddenly Caitlyn understood — Vi’s humming wasn’t habit. It was healing.

She looked back toward the stage, where Vi was steadying the backdrop again, sleeves rolled up, hair falling into her face. And Caitlyn couldn’t stop the warmth that bloomed in her chest — quiet, patient, and unshakable.

By the time the rehearsal wrapped up, the sun had started dipping behind the church steeple, painting everything in soft amber light. The group was packing up, everyone covered in flecks of paint and good moods. Caitlyn stood near the doorway, brushing dust off her skirt with that same collected grace she seemed born with — even after a day of chaos.

“Dinner’s on me,” she said suddenly, voice light but decisive. “There’s a diner just down the street. You’ve all worked hard — you deserve it.”

Powder lit up immediately. “Really?”

Caitlyn smiled. “Really.”

That was all it took. Powder was already tugging at Vi’s sleeve, and Mylo had thrown an arm over Claggor’s shoulder shouting something about milkshakes the size of his head.

Vi sighed. She could’ve said no. Should’ve, maybe. But Powder’s eyes were too bright, and Caitlyn was looking at her — that quiet, hopeful kind of look that made Vi’s chest feel weirdly tight.

So she shrugged. “Fine. But I’m not dressing up.”

Caitlyn laughed softly. “Wouldn’t dream of asking you to.”

The diner was small and warm, the kind of place that hadn’t changed since the ‘70s — checkered floors, red booths, and a jukebox in the corner humming some old Sheryl Crow song. The air smelled like fries and sugar, and for a moment, Vi almost forgot this was Beaufort — a town that always seemed to remind her of what she wasn’t.

They took a circular booth near the window. Powder slid in first, followed by Ekko and Claggor, while Mylo squeezed in last, grinning like he’d just found heaven on a menu.

That left the other side. Caitlyn sat down first. Then, after a moment’s hesitation, Vi slid in beside her.

Too close.

Her thigh brushed against Caitlyn’s, and she froze — barely an inch of contact, but it felt like every nerve in her body went on high alert.

Caitlyn didn’t seem to notice. She was scanning the menu, chin tilted delicately in that perfect, effortless way of hers. A strand of her dark blue hair had fallen loose, catching the glow of the diner lights. Vi stared at it for half a second too long before tearing her eyes away.

She didn’t even like diners that much. The air was too sweet, the lights too bright, the chatter too loud — and yet she couldn’t hear anything properly because Caitlyn was right there.

“Vi?”

She blinked. Caitlyn had turned toward her, eyes bright, a tiny smile tugging at her lips. “What are you getting?”

Vi fumbled for her menu, pretending to read it. “Uh— whatever’s cheap.”

“It’s my treat,” Caitlyn reminded her, amused. “You could at least get something you like.”

“Doesn’t change much,” Vi muttered. “Not picky.”

Caitlyn’s smile deepened, gentle. “You strike me as someone who secretly is.”

Vi looked up at her — and made the mistake of meeting her eyes. Blue, clear as ocean glass. Steady, calm. They didn’t look through her like most people did; they looked at her, as if Vi was something worth paying attention to.

She swallowed. “You think too much,” she said, leaning back to hide her unease.

“Maybe,” Caitlyn said softly, “but I like figuring people out.”

“Dangerous hobby,” Vi muttered.

Caitlyn tilted her head, still smiling. “Maybe I don’t mind danger.”

Vi’s pulse jumped. The table suddenly felt too small, too hot. She reached for her water glass just to do something with her hands — but her knuckles brushed against Caitlyn’s as she did, and she almost dropped it.

Caitlyn, ever graceful, didn’t flinch. Just glanced down, then up again, eyes softening. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Vi said quickly, pulling her hand back. Too quickly.

The others didn’t notice — too busy arguing over who got the last fry basket — but Vi could barely breathe.

What the hell was wrong with her?

She didn’t do this. She didn’t get flustered. Not by anyone — and especially not by girls like Caitlyn Kiramman. Girls who looked like sunlight and smelled like lavender soap, who didn’t belong in her world, who smiled like they believed in good things and didn’t know what it felt like to lose them.

Vi focused on her food when it came, trying to ignore how Caitlyn’s shoulder brushed hers whenever she moved.

But every time Caitlyn laughed — that quiet, graceful kind of laugh that reached her eyes — Vi’s chest did that tight, nervous thing again. She’d call it annoyance if it weren’t for the way it left her wanting to hear it again.

By the time Powder started begging for dessert, Vi had barely touched her fries. Caitlyn noticed, of course.

“Not hungry?” she asked softly, leaning closer.

Vi shrugged, staring at her plate. “Guess I’m full.”

“You sure?”

Vi risked a glance at her, and instantly regretted it. Caitlyn’s gaze was warm, steady — too open, too much. Like she actually cared.

And for some reason, Vi couldn’t look away.

“Yeah,” Vi said finally, voice rougher than she meant. “I’m sure.”

Caitlyn nodded, didn’t press further. Instead, she turned back to Powder, who was telling some story animatedly with her hands, and laughed along.

Vi exhaled quietly. Turned her gaze to the window. Watched the lights blur against the glass.

She told herself she didn’t care. That it was just dinner. That Caitlyn was just… being Caitlyn — kind to everyone, patient, impossible.

But deep down, she knew this was different.

Because no one else had ever made her heart race from sitting a little too close in a booth

The night air was cool when they finally stepped out of the diner, soft with the smell of salt and streetlights. The neon sign above the window buzzed faintly, casting everything in pink and gold — Powder’s laughter, Caitlyn’s easy smile, the faint rhythm of the jukebox still playing behind them.

Powder was the first to speak, bouncing on her heels. “That was so good. Can we come back tomorrow?”

“Only if you help me clean up the stage first,” Caitlyn teased.

Powder gasped. “That’s blackmail!”

Caitlyn laughed — a sound that did something strange to Vi’s chest again, too light and too close.

The group started walking toward the fork in the road, the one that split between the docks and the main square. The boys were loud — Mylo doing impressions, Ekko tossing jokes, Claggor pretending to be serious — and Powder fit right in, her giggles ringing like wind chimes.

Then Caitlyn pointed down the other street. “This way for me,” she said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Back toward town.”

The boys nodded, already corralling Powder in the other direction. “We’ll walk her home,” Ekko said. “Don’t worry.”

“Vi, you wouldn’t mind walking Caitlyn home, right?” Claggor asked nicely.

Vi hesitated. She could’ve just said goodbye. She should’ve just said goodbye. But something — maybe the way Caitlyn stood under the streetlight, calm and soft and too good for everything around her — made her speak before she could think.

“Yeah, sure,” she paused, waving her hand to them. Then she turned to Caitlyn, “I’ll walk you,”

Caitlyn blinked, surprised. “Oh, that’s not— you don’t have to—”

“It’s fine,” Vi said quickly, shoving her hands in her pockets. “Consider it thanks for dinner.”

Powder grinned like she knew exactly what was happening. “Ooooh.”

“Go home,” Vi warned, narrowing her eyes.

“Fine!” Powder called, waving as she and the boys headed down the opposite street. “Don’t do anything stupid!”

Caitlyn chuckled under her breath. “She’s sweet.”

“She’s a menace,” Vi said, but there was no bite in her voice.

They started walking.

The road was quiet — the kind of small-town quiet that made every sound feel magnified. The soft scrape of shoes on pavement, the rustle of leaves in the breeze, the occasional hum of a passing car. The air smelled faintly of jasmine and salt.

Caitlyn walked beside her, her hands clasped behind her back, posture straight, gaze occasionally tipping up toward the stars. Vi kept her eyes ahead, trying not to notice the way Caitlyn’s hair gleamed under the streetlight, or how her perfume — something floral and clean — kept drifting too close.

She told herself to relax. But she couldn’t.

Every step felt too aware — of how close they were, how easy Caitlyn’s laugh was, how her voice dipped low when she spoke.

“So,” Caitlyn said, glancing at her, “I know where your shop is, but where do you live? Is it somewhere near the docks?”

Vi nodded. “Yeah. It’s an old house Vander fixed up.”

“He seems kind,” Caitlyn said. “I always see him at Sunday service.”

“Yeah, he’s… good people,” Vi murmured. Then, because the silence between them was too heavy, she added, “Took us in when nobody else would.”

Caitlyn smiled gently. “Then he must’ve seen something special.”

Vi glanced at her — she wasn’t teasing. She meant it.

Her throat went tight. “Guess so.”

They walked a few more paces before Caitlyn spoke again. “You didn’t have to walk me, you know.”

“I know.”

“So why did you?”

Vi hesitated. She didn’t have a real answer — not one she could say out loud. Because you make me feel like I’m seventeen again, like things still mean something. Because I can’t stand the thought of you walking home alone. Because I don’t know why my heart keeps doing this stupid thing when you look at me.

She shrugged instead. “Just figured it’s polite.”

Caitlyn smiled — that calm, patient kind of smile that made Vi feel like she was being seen and forgiven all at once. “Well… thank you, then.”

They reached the main street, the glow from the diner long behind them. The world was smaller here — quiet homes, porch lights, the distant sound of waves against the shore.

And yet, Vi’s chest felt anything but quiet.

Her mind was a mess. Every logical part of her said she was being stupid. That Caitlyn — Pastor Cassandra Kiramman’s daughter, polite, graceful, all southern charm and clean edges — wasn’t the kind of girl who would ever look twice at someone like her.

Vi had been called a lot of things: trouble, stray, lost cause. Never someone to look at. Never someone a girl like Caitlyn would smile at that way.

So why was her heart pounding like she was waiting for something to happen?

Why did she keep noticing the little things — the way Caitlyn’s fingers brushed the hem of her skirt when she walked, the faint dimple that appeared when she smiled, the way her eyes softened when she looked at Vi like she wasn’t just some mistake walking beside her?

Get it together, Vi told herself. She’s straight. She’s a Kiramman. You’re just— you.

And yet, when they reached Caitlyn’s street — the soft, brick-lined one with the lilac bushes and white fences — Vi didn’t want to say goodbye.

Caitlyn stopped at her gate, turning toward her. The porch light painted her in gold. “Thank you again, Vi. For walking me.”

Vi swallowed. “No big deal.”

Caitlyn hesitated, then smiled — warm, soft, enough to knock the air out of Vi’s lungs. “Still. It means something to me.”

Vi couldn’t look at her. Not for long. She shoved her hands deeper into her pockets, nodded once, and muttered, “Night, Cait.”

Caitlyn’s smile lingered as she turned toward her porch. “Goodnight, Vi.”

Vi didn’t breathe until she was halfway down the street. Her chest felt tight, her heartbeat too fast, her thoughts all tangled.

She told herself it was nothing. That it was just kindness.

But then she remembered Caitlyn’s voice — soft, gentle, saying it means something to me — and her pulse jumped all over again.

She groaned into her hands, muttering under her breath, “God help me.”

And for the first time in a long time, she wasn’t sure if she meant it as a prayer or a confession.

The streets were emptier now. The kind of empty that hummed low in her chest — where the world felt too quiet after something good. Vi shoved her hands into her pockets, walking fast, trying to shake off the ghost of Caitlyn’s smile.

It means something to me.

Her chest burned at the thought.

She turned down the back alley that led toward the docks — faster, quieter, cutting through the dark like she always did. The lampposts didn’t reach here, just the amber spill from the street behind her and the sharp smell of salt and rust.

That’s when she heard it.

“Didn’t think you’d show your face around here again, Wick.”

Vi stopped. The voice came from the shadows near the fence — low, taunting, slurred. Deckard.

Of course.

She could smell the cheap beer before she saw him step forward — leather jacket, busted lip, eyes mean. Behind him were two of his buddies, half-drunk and itching for something stupid.

Vi’s jaw tightened. “Not in the mood, Deck.”

“Oh, I think you are,” he said, grinning with a split tooth. “You made a fool outta me last month, remember that?”

“I remember you starting it,” Vi muttered, moving to walk past.

He stepped in front of her. “C’mon, tough girl. Let’s see if you’re still so brave without your little crew.”

Something in Vi’s stomach twisted — not fear, just exhaustion. She’d had a good night for once. Caitlyn’s laugh still echoed in her head. She didn’t want to ruin it with this.

It means something to me.

She knows that Caitlyn wouldn’t like it if she fights back.

“Move.”

Deckard sneered and shoved her shoulder. “Or what? Gonna cry to your daddy?”

She looked up, slow, her eyes sharp and cold. “You really don’t wanna do this.”

But he did.

He swung first — sloppy, mean, fueled by beer and pride. Vi ducked. The second hit caught her cheek; she gritted her teeth and pushed him back. Her fist twitched — old habits screaming to let loose — but she didn’t swing. Not tonight.

It means something to me.

He came again, caught her by surprise. His elbow clipped her nose — white pain flashed hot, the metallic taste flooding her mouth.

Vi staggered, blinked through the blur.

Blood.

The boys laughed. “What’s the matter, Wick? You losing your edge?”

She spat red into the dirt and wiped her face. “You’re drunk. Go home.”

Deckard grabbed her by the collar. “You don’t tell me—”

“—Enough.”

The voice cut through the alley like a knife.

Sevika. Vander’s protégé before Vi. She was like an older sister who rarely comes home.

She stepped out of the shadows, older, broader, the glow from her cigarette catching the edge of her jaw. She moved like she’d done this before — slow, deliberate, dangerous.

“Pick on someone who can actually stand you,” she said.

Deckard smirked. “Sevika, this ain’t your—”

He didn’t finish. She grabbed his wrist, twisted, and drove her knee into his gut. He went down hard, gasping for air. His friends froze.

“Take him,” Sevika said, voice calm as steel. “Before I make it worse.”

The boys dragged him off, cursing under their breath, stumbling into the dark.

When the alley was quiet again, Sevika turned to Vi. Her eyes flicked down to the blood on her nose. “You good?”

Vi sniffed hard, winced. “Define ‘good.’”

Sevika chuckled. “C’mon. Vander’s gonna love this.”

“I didn’t even fight him back,” Vi muttered, following her. “Didn’t throw a single punch.”

“That might be the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard you say.”

“Yeah, well,” Vi said, pressing her sleeve to her nose, “guess I’m trying something new.”

They walked in silence the rest of the way — the hum of cicadas filling the space between them, the distant rush of the ocean. By the time they reached the old Wick house near the docks, the porch light was on. Vander was there, sitting on the steps, cigarette in hand, face tight with worry that broke into relief when he saw them.

“Jesus, Vi,” he muttered, standing up fast. “What happened?”

“She didn’t start it,” Sevika said, tossing her cigarette into the dirt. “But she sure as hell finished standing.”

Vander’s eyes softened, but his sigh was heavy. He motioned her closer, thumb brushing the blood from under her nose. “You break it?”

“Feels like it.”

“Sit down. I’ll get ice.”

Vi sat on the steps, the wood cool under her palms. Powder’s window light flickered upstairs, faint laughter and music spilling out — her world still simple, untouched by this kind of mess.

Sevika leaned against the railing, watching her. “You ever gonna learn to walk home the easy way?”

Vi smirked weakly. “Guess not.”

But she didn’t tell them the truth — that the only reason she’d gone that way was because of her.

Caitlyn Kiramman, with her soft voice and her stupidly kind eyes.

And now, sitting there with ice against her nose, Vi hated how her chest still felt warm at the memory — like even the blood and the ache couldn’t wash it out.

Vander came back, setting a mug of tea beside her. “You got a good heart, kid,” he said quietly. “Just gotta learn when to use your fists and when to use your head.”

Vi didn’t answer.

Because she wasn’t thinking about fists or heads or anything else.

She was thinking about Caitlyn.

And how, for the first time, that scared her more than any fight ever had.

You were all by yourself
Staring up at a dark gray sky
I was changed

By mid-afternoon, the church smelled faintly of dust and paint. Sunlight spilled through the stained glass windows, casting fractured color across the floor where Powder and the boys worked quietly on the backdrop for the play. The air was warm, full of summer light and the lazy buzz of cicadas outside.

Caitlyn stood by the stage, clipboard in hand, noting down props and set pieces as she usually did. But the room felt… different today.

Quieter.

Ekko, Mylo, and Claggor — usually a wall of noise — barely said a word. They moved like their minds were somewhere else. Even Powder, though cheerful, had an edge to her smile, her brushstrokes tighter, more focused.

Caitlyn tried not to pry. But she could feel it pressing in, the weight of something unsaid. Vi still hasn’t arrived.

Finally, during a break, she found Powder crouched on the floor, rinsing her paintbrushes. “Powder,” Caitlyn asked softly, “is everything alright?”

Powder froze mid-rinse, eyes darting up guiltily. “Yeah! Yeah, I mean— totally!”

Caitlyn tilted her head. “You’re sure?”

Powder chewed her lip, hesitated, then sighed. “Okay, fine. Just don’t tell Vi I told you.”

Caitlyn felt her chest tighten. “Told me what?”

Powder lowered her voice, almost whispering. “Vi got into trouble last night. After she walked you home.”

Caitlyn blinked. “What kind of trouble?”

“She didn’t start it!” Powder said quickly. “It was Deckard — that jerk who hangs around the docks. He jumped her. Sevika brought her home. Vi’s okay, I swear, just… a little beat up. Vander was so mad.”

The world seemed to narrow for a moment.

After she walked you home.

Caitlyn’s stomach twisted, guilt sharp and cold. “I… I didn’t know.”

Powder shrugged, rinsing her brush again, eyes downcast. “Vi said not to tell anyone. Said it wasn’t a big deal. But…” She looked up at Caitlyn with quiet earnestness. “It kinda was. Broke her nose.”

Caitlyn didn’t say anything. She just stood there — clipboard forgotten — as the noise of the others blurred into background hum.

It was her fault.

If Vi hadn’t walked her home, if she hadn’t insisted on being polite or safe or seen, then maybe Vi wouldn’t have been out that late, wouldn’t have run into whoever that was.

Caitlyn tried to shake the thought, but it clung to her chest.

When the old church doors creaked open a while later, the sound made everyone look up.

Vi stood there in the doorway, sunlight haloing her shoulders. Her hair was a little messier than usual, her nose taped with a thin strip of plaster. She looked like she hadn’t slept — eyes faintly bruised at the edges — but she still had that defiant steadiness about her, the kind that said I’m fine, don’t ask.

Caitlyn’s heart sank.

Vi glanced around at the group, nodding once. “You guys start without me?”

No one spoke for a moment. Then Mylo grinned awkwardly. “Uh, yeah. Ekko messed up the paint again.”

Ekko swatted him, mumbling something under his breath.

Vi smirked faintly, like the tension had no place touching her. “Figures.”

Caitlyn didn’t buy it.

She waited until the others drifted back to work before stepping closer. “Vi?”

Vi looked up. “Yeah?”

“Could I—” Caitlyn hesitated. “Could I talk to you for a moment? Outside?”

Vi blinked, cautious. But she nodded. “Sure.”

They walked out through the side door into the late-afternoon sun. The air was heavy with the scent of grass and the soft hum of crickets. Out by the churchyard stood the old oak tree — the one with the carved initials and the weathered swing that creaked in the breeze.

They stopped beneath it.

For a while, neither of them spoke. The leaves whispered overhead, and Caitlyn could hear the faint, uneven rhythm of her own heartbeat.

She looked at Vi. The scratch near her jaw, the swelling around her nose, the faint mark under her eye.

It made something ache deep inside her.

“What happened?” she asked quietly.

Vi didn’t look at her. “Nothing worth talking about.”

“I heard you were attacked.”

Vi’s jaw flexed. “He was drunk. I’ve had worse.”

“That doesn’t make it alright,” Caitlyn said, her voice catching more emotion than she meant to.

Vi turned toward her then — not angry, just tired. “I don’t need you feeling sorry for me, Cait.”

“I’m not sorry for you.” Caitlyn took a small breath, steadying herself. “I just… feel bad that it happened after you walked me home.”

Vi’s eyes softened, just a little. “That wasn’t your fault.”

“Maybe not,” Caitlyn said, “but I still wish you hadn’t gotten hurt.”

For a moment, the air felt too still.

Vi leaned against the oak, one hand in her pocket, the other rubbing at the band on her nose. “You don’t have to worry about me. I’ve been through worse things than one busted nose.”

Caitlyn studied her quietly — the way Vi stood, half-shielded by the tree, pretending the world couldn’t touch her. But Caitlyn could see the truth under it. The exhaustion. The tenderness she tried to bury.

“I wish you wouldn’t downplay it,” Caitlyn said softly. “You matter more than that.”

Vi looked at her then, sharply, as if she wasn’t sure she’d heard right.

Caitlyn held her gaze, steady and kind, like she always did — that same quiet belief she’d had from the start.

Something flickered behind Vi’s eyes — a mix of confusion, fear, and something Caitlyn couldn’t quite name.

Then Vi looked away. “You really are something else, Kiramman.”

Caitlyn smiled faintly. “Is that a compliment?”

Vi huffed a laugh — small, reluctant. “Guess so.”

The wind picked up, leaves rustling overhead. Neither of them spoke again for a while. They just stood there beneath the oak, side by side in the golden quiet, the shadows long and soft around them.

For Caitlyn, the silence wasn’t awkward — it was grounding. She could feel the pulse of Vi’s presence beside her, solid and alive.

She wanted to say more — You didn’t deserve that. I’m glad you’re here. I was worried. But instead, she stayed quiet, letting the hush between them do the speaking.

When Vi finally pushed off the tree, she glanced at her with something unreadable in her eyes. “You coming back in?”

“In a minute,” Caitlyn said gently.

Vi nodded once and walked away, the late sun outlining her in copper light.

Caitlyn watched her go — the swagger in her stride, the stubborn set of her shoulders, and the quiet strength that came from surviving too much, too young.

And somehow, that quiet ache in Caitlyn’s chest didn’t fade.

It deepened.

Like she was starting to understand that Violet Wick wasn’t just trouble. She was a storm — one Caitlyn was already stepping into, even if she didn’t know it yet.

That same afternoon, light slanted through the church windows, warm and lazy, dust motes swirling like slow-moving stars. Paint cans and old brushes littered the stage floor, Powder and the boys were arguing over what color clouds should be, and Caitlyn — the ever-patient ringmaster — was standing off to the side, sketchbook in hand, her brows furrowed in thought.

Vi was seated by the back pew, half-hidden from view, idly strumming the church guitar she’d “borrowed.” Her fingers moved by habit, not thought — plucking out half-songs and old memories.

It was quiet there. Peaceful, even.

Until Caitlyn’s shadow fell across the strings.

“Every time I look up, you’re playing something different,” she said softly. “Do you ever run out of songs?”

Vi smirked without looking up. “Do you ever run out of questions?”

That earned her a laugh — that soft, melodic kind of laugh that didn’t belong in a town so worn around the edges.

Caitlyn stepped closer, setting her sketchbook down beside Vi. “Can I ask another?”

“Pretty sure you just did.”

Caitlyn sat beside her anyway, folding her skirt neatly beneath her. “Would you teach me?”

Vi stopped mid-strum, brow arching. “Teach you what, exactly?”

“The guitar.” Caitlyn’s voice was simple, almost shy. “It’s something I’ve always wanted to learn. My mother used to say it was too… indulgent.”

Vi huffed. “Figures.”

“But I used to sneak down after evening services,” Caitlyn went on, smiling faintly at the memory, “and listen to the boys play near the docks. It always sounded so… alive.”

Vi stared at her for a beat, fingers tapping against the wood of the guitar. “You’re serious?”

Caitlyn nodded, eyes bright. “Completely.”

Vi exhaled through her nose, half a scoff, half a laugh. “You sure you wanna learn from me?”

Caitlyn tilted her head. “Why not you?”

“‘Cause I ain’t exactly choir material.”

“That’s why.”

Vi glanced at her then — at the way the sunlight kissed Caitlyn’s hair, the soft curve of her smile, the quiet way she carried warmth even in silence. It was disarming.

She sighed, pretending to sound annoyed. “Fine. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Caitlyn grinned like she’d just won something. “Deal.”

Vi scooted closer, adjusting the guitar so it rested between them. “Alright. You’re gonna hold it like this.” She reached out, guiding Caitlyn’s hands into position. Her fingers brushed Caitlyn’s — smooth, cold, trembling ever so slightly.

“You okay?” Vi asked, noticing it.

Caitlyn blinked, smiled again, too 6quickly. “Just… nerves, I suppose.”

Vi didn’t believe that. Up close, Caitlyn looked tired — not the kind of tired that sleep could fix. There was a faint shadow beneath her eyes, a pale sheen on her skin, like her body was trying to keep up with something it couldn’t name.

But Caitlyn just kept smiling, gentle and steady, as if nothing in the world could touch her.

“Like this?” Caitlyn asked, pressing down on the frets.

Vi nodded. “Yeah. Not too hard. You’ll hurt your fingers.”

Caitlyn strummed — the sound came out uneven, flat. She winced. “That was dreadful.”

Vi chuckled, the sound low and real. “Not bad for your first try.”

Caitlyn looked at her, eyes warm. “You’re a better teacher than you think.”

That did something strange to Vi’s chest — a soft twist that she covered with another scoff. “Don’t push your luck.”

They stayed like that a while — Caitlyn fumbling through chords, Vi teasing her quietly, both of them laughing in the dusty, sunlit air of the church.

For once, Vi felt… lighter. Not the scrappy fighter. Not the kid with bruised knuckles and too much history. Just Violet, sitting beside someone who didn’t flinch around her.

Someone who looked at her like she was more than the mess she came from.

Caitlyn’s fingers slipped again, and she laughed — soft and breathless — leaning a little too close. “I’m hopeless.”

Vi could smell her perfume, faint and floral. It made her pulse jump.

“Hopeless, yeah,” Vi said, trying to keep her voice steady. “But not beyond saving.”

Caitlyn met her gaze, smiling with that quiet light again — the kind that made Vi want to forget herself.

That’s when she said it. Half a joke, half a shield.

“I’ll teach you,” Vi murmured, “on one condition.”

Caitlyn blinked. “What’s that?”

“You don’t fall in love with me.”

Caitlyn laughed — soft, bright, like wind chimes. “Is that what you tell all your students?”

“Just the stubborn ones.”

Caitlyn tilted her head, eyes twinkling. “Then I guess I’ll have to promise.”

“Good.” Vi looked away, strumming idly to hide the warmth creeping up her neck. “Last thing I need is you makin’ things complicated.”

Caitlyn smiled, voice gentle but certain. “It’s a deal, Violet Wick.”

But when she said it — when her voice brushed the quiet like a whisper meant for fate to overhear — Vi felt a strange heaviness settle in her chest.

Because Caitlyn said it like someone making a promise, she already knew she couldn’t keep.

And later, when Vi would think back to that moment — the sunlight, the laugh, the soft tremor in Caitlyn’s hand — she’d realize that some part of her must’ve known, even then, that nothing good ever lasts forever.

Not even summer.
Not even promises.

Then Sunday came dressed in sunlight and humidity, the kind that clung to skin and softened the edges of everything. The whole town seemed to crowd toward the little white church on the hill — pressed shirts, summer dresses, smiles too wide for the hour.

Vi couldn’t believe she was there again.

She stood near the door at first, arms crossed, eyes flicking over the congregation like she was scanning a crime scene. The air smelled of varnished wood, old hymnals, and the faint sweetness of lilies someone must’ve brought in from their garden. It was the kind of smell that made her feel both out of place and… quiet inside.

Powder had rushed ahead to find her friends — already giggling with Mylo and Ekko by the pews. Vander was talking to Cassandra Kiramman, that dignified air about him softening just enough when the pastor smiled.

And Vi? She lingered in the aisle, wondering how she’d been talked into this.

Then she saw her — Caitlyn — moving through the rows, polite as ever, her soft blue dress brushing against the wood as she passed. She was carrying a folded program, hair pulled back, sunlight catching on her lashes like some kind of divine conspiracy.

When their eyes met, Caitlyn smiled. That easy, patient smile.

“Saved you a seat,” she said quietly, patting the empty space beside her.

Vi groaned under her breath. “You’re relentless.”

“Persistent,” Caitlyn corrected, amused. “There’s a difference.”

So Vi sat. Against all reason, against her better judgment — she sat beside the pastor’s daughter at the back. Where they first sat together.

The choir started singing, soft voices rising like breath through stained glass. Cassandra stood at the pulpit, her voice steady and kind, but Vi barely heard her. She was too aware of Caitlyn beside her — the way she hummed under her breath, fingers tracing invisible notes along the edge of her skirt.

Her presence was… steadying. Calming in a way Vi didn’t understand.

When Cassandra read from the scripture — something about grace and second chances — Caitlyn leaned closer and whispered, “It’s one of my favorites.”

Vi turned slightly, brows raised. “Yeah?”

“It reminds me,” Caitlyn said softly, “that people aren’t what they’ve done, but what they choose to do next.”

Vi swallowed hard, eyes drifting back toward the altar. “You really believe that?”

“I have to.” Caitlyn smiled faintly. “Otherwise, what’s the point?”

For a moment, Vi didn’t answer. The words lingered like incense — sweet, weightless, hard to ignore. She glanced across the pews, spotting Vander a few rows ahead, his head bowed, that quiet peace about him. It made something ache in her chest — the kind of ache you don’t admit out loud.

Then she looked back at Cassandra. The woman was radiant in her conviction — a force of warmth that filled the room without needing to raise her voice. Vi could see where Caitlyn got it. That same light, that same unshakeable calm that made you want to listen, even if you didn’t believe.

And yet… Caitlyn’s light felt different. Softer. More fragile somehow, like a candle burning a little too bright.

When the service finally drew to a close, the congregation rose in song again — hymns Vi didn’t know but could hum along to. Caitlyn’s voice was quiet but sure, threading through the air beside her.

Vi didn’t join in, but she listened.

And for a brief, impossible moment, it felt like peace — something she hadn’t felt in years.

Then the song ended, and the clapping started, and reality swept back in like a tide. The play was about to begin.

Caitlyn turned to her, eyes alight with excitement. “You’ll stay and watch, won’t you?”

Vi smirked faintly. “Guess I’m already trapped, huh?”

“Trapped,” Caitlyn echoed with a laugh. “Or exactly where you’re supposed to be.”

Vi didn’t know what to say to that. So she didn’t.

But as the lights dimmed and the first act began, she caught herself glancing sideways — not at the stage, not at the kids reciting their lines — but at Caitlyn Kiramman, whose hands were folded neatly on her lap, whose smile never once wavered.

And Vi thought, for the first time, that maybe some people really were made of light.

Even if they weren’t built to last.

The applause rang through the little church like a heartbeat — steady, warm, real.
Kids took their bows on stage, curtains made from bedsheets swaying behind them, and the crowd cheered like they’d just witnessed Broadway itself.

Vi stood off to the side, half in shadow, arms crossed, pretending she wasn’t smiling. Powder was bouncing up and down, waving to her friends like she’d just saved the world.

It was loud. It was chaotic. It was… nice.

Then Caitlyn turned around from where she’d been speaking with her mother and caught Vi’s eye. Her face lit up immediately, and before Vi could make herself scarce, Caitlyn was already walking toward her — that same determined glint in her eyes that said no point running.

“There you are!” Caitlyn said, her voice still soft even over the noise. “You didn’t think you’d escape without saying hello to my parents, did you?”

Vi blinked. “Was hopin’ to.”

Caitlyn laughed, already tugging her sleeve. “Come on. They’d like to meet you.”

Vi sighed — but let herself be led anyway. Because that was the thing about Caitlyn Kiramman: she could pull you toward the light without you even noticing.

Vander and Powder were already by the stage, talking with Cassandra and her husband, Tobias. The pastor still had that serene glow about her, and Tobias — a tall man with kind eyes and laugh lines carved deep from years of use — looked every bit the part of the small-town gentleman.

“Cassandra,” Vander greeted warmly, shaking Cassandra’s hand. “Beautiful play. The kids did great.”

“They really did,” Cassandra said with pride. “And it seems we owe some thanks to your girls, too. Caitlyn tells me they’ve been helping all week.”

At that, Caitlyn smiled, looking between her mother and Vi. “Especially Vi. She’s been wonderful — patient enough to teach me how to play the guitar.”

That earned several surprised looks — one from Cassandra, one from Tobias, and one from Powder, whose mouth dropped open.

“You did what?” Powder blurted, eyes wide.

Caitlyn giggled. “She’s a good teacher. I’m still hopeless, but I’m learning.”

Vi rubbed the back of her neck, cheeks heating. “It was nothin’. She wanted to learn.”

Vander chuckled, that low rumble that always made things feel right again. “That’s good to hear. Been a while since Vi picked up a guitar for someone else. You’re a good influence, Caitlyn.”

Caitlyn looked bashful, glancing at Vi before murmuring, “She’s been one for me, too.”

Vi didn’t know what to do with that. So she stuffed her hands into her pockets and looked at the floor, hoping nobody noticed the color in her face.

Cassandra, though, had that knowing expression — the kind mothers have when they see something before anyone else does. She smiled softly, but then her tone gentled. “Vander told me what happened the other night.”

Vi froze. “Oh.”

Caitlyn’s head snapped toward her, worried. “Mom—”

“It’s alright,” Cassandra interrupted kindly, resting a hand on Vi’s arm. “I just wanted to say thank you. You didn’t have to walk her home, but you did. You showed courage and kindness when most would’ve turned away.”

Vi blinked, unsure how to respond. “Uh… I just— it wasn’t a big deal.”

Tobias stepped forward then, his voice warm and sincere. “It was. And I’d say that deserves something.” He nodded toward the side door that led to the old church shed. “We’ve got an old motorcycle out back — belonged to one of our cousins before he left town. It’s been gathering dust for years now. Needs fixing, but if you can get it running, it’s yours.”

The words didn’t register at first. Vi just stared. “Wait— you’re serious?”

Tobias chuckled. “Absolutely, dear. You strike me as the type who’d appreciate the challenge.”

“I—” Vi started, looking between them all. Caitlyn’s face was glowing with excitement, Powder was grinning ear to ear, and Vander just looked quietly proud.

She swallowed, heart hammering. “I don’t know what to say.”

Vander laid a heavy hand on her shoulder. “You could start with ‘thank you,’ kid.”

Vi managed a small laugh — shaky, disbelieving. “Right. Uh… thank you, Mr. and Mrs. Kiramman. Really.”

Cassandra’s eyes softened. “You’re very welcome, dear.”

Caitlyn beamed beside her showing her gapped teeth, as if she were the one being gifted something. “See? kindness always circles back.”

Vi just shook her head, a smile tugging at her lips despite herself. “Yeah, yeah. Guess you win this one.”

Vander chuckled again, tipping his hat slightly to Cassandra and Tobias. “We’re grateful for your generosity. Truly.”

“The least we can do,” Tobias replied. “You’ve raised good kids.”

As they all drifted toward the church doors — the last of the crowd spilling into the golden afternoon — Vi lingered for a moment, watching Caitlyn talk animatedly with Powder. Her laughter carried over the chatter, light and effortless.

She looked so alive in that moment. Like someone who’d never known a bad day in her life.

Vi didn’t realize she was smiling until Vander nudged her gently.

“Funny thing,” he said, low and amused. “You look like someone who just remembered how to breathe.”

Vi scoffed, glancing away. “Come on now.”

But even as she said it, her chest felt lighter.

And somewhere in the back of her mind, she wondered if that broken-down motorcycle was more than just a gift — maybe it was a beginning.
Or maybe it was a test.

Either way, she knew one thing for sure:

Caitlyn Kiramman had a way of walking into her life and turning every wall Vi built into a door.

In places no one will find
All your feelings so deep inside (deep inside)

The sun was barely up when Vi pulled into the gravel lot beside the church. Vander’s old truck coughed and sputtered, the kind of sound that said it had lived too many lives — and Vi liked that about it.

She hopped out, boots crunching over gravel, and shoved her sleeves up past her elbows. The morning smelled like rain that never came — sharp and dusty, with the faint tang of the sea drifting in from the coast.

The shed stood behind the chapel, half-collapsed under its own years. Vi tugged the door open with a grunt; rust flaked off in her hands. Inside, sunlight sliced through the gaps in the boards, falling across the motorcycle like it was something holy.

It was a beauty — even buried under dust and time. The frame was rusted, seat cracked, tires flat. But it had good bones.

“Guess you’re mine now,” Vi muttered, running a hand along the tank. “Let’s see if we can’t wake you up.”

She started to roll it out, straining against the weight. The wheels creaked, the chain clattered. It took her a full minute of muscle and muttering to get it into the open.

She’d just started figuring out how to hoist it onto the truck bed when she heard the church door open behind her.

“Need help?”

Caitlyn’s voice.

Vi turned, squinting against the light — and there she was. Standing on the church steps, her hair half-pinned, wearing a white blouse and soft blue skirt. The morning sun caught her shoulders, made her look like something out of a picture Vi wasn’t supposed to touch.

“Thought you’d be prayin’ or somethin’,” Vi said, trying to sound casual.

“I was,” Caitlyn replied, stepping down the gravel path. “But then I saw Vander’s truck. I knew it had to be you.”

“Sharp eyes, cupcake.”

Caitlyn smiled, hands clasped behind her back. “I asked Mother if I could go with you. She said yes.”

Vi frowned. “And without asking me if I want you to go with me?”

“Duh,” Caitlyn chuckled, as if that was the most normal thing in the world. “Also my mom trusts me.”

Vi blew out a breath. “Alright, but don’t say I didn’t warn you. This thing weighs a ton.”

Caitlyn’s expression softened into that easy, infuriating calm. “Then it’s good you have help.”

Before Vi could argue, Caitlyn was already stepping closer, eyeing the motorcycle like she’d been waiting her whole life to see one up close.

“So this is it,” she said quietly. “The one dad mentioned.”

“Yeah,” Vi said, squatting beside the bike. “Needs some love. I’ll bring it to Vander’s shop — see if I can patch it up.”

Caitlyn crouched beside her, skirts brushing the gravel. “And I’m coming with you.”

Vi groaned. “You’re not gonna take no for an answer, are you?”

Caitlyn shook her head. “Not today.”

Vi huffed a laugh and stood, grabbing the handlebars. “Fine. You can make yourself useful. I’m liftin’ the front, you take the back.”

Caitlyn blinked. “Me?”

“You said you wanted to help.”

Caitlyn hesitated — then squared her shoulders. “Alright.”

Together they heaved. Vi gritted her teeth, muscles straining as she backed up toward the truck bed. The tires groaned against the planks, the bike sliding inch by inch until finally — clunk — it settled into place.

They both froze for a second, panting. Vi pressed a hand against the fender, sweat glinting at her temple. Caitlyn was beside her, breathing a little too hard but grinning, a smudge of grease across her wrist.

Vi glanced over and couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped. “You okay?” she paused to reach for Caitlyn’s wrist. She proceeds to wipes the grease with the hem of her shirt. “didn’t think you had it in you.”

“I’ll pretend that’s a compliment,” Caitlyn answered, shyly taking her hand back, brushing dust off her skirt — though her smile gave her away.

“It was,” Vi admitted.

Caitlyn looked up, pleased. “Then I’ll take it.”

Vi hopped onto the tailgate, securing the bike with rope. Caitlyn stood below, watching her with that curious glint in her eyes — like she was studying something she couldn’t quite figure out.

“So,” Caitlyn said, voice lighter now. “After we bring it to the shop, you’ll show me how to play again?”

Vi froze mid-knot. “What?”

“My lessons,” Caitlyn reminded her, smiling like she’d just remembered a secret between them. “You promised.”

Vi groaned. “You’re serious about that?”

“Very,” Caitlyn said with mock primness.

“Then bring your own guitar next time.”

“I don’t have one.”

Vi shot her a look. “You’ve got, like, twenty of everything.”

“Not a guitar,” Caitlyn said, shrugging. Then she brightened. “But the church has several, doesn’t it?”

“Don’t even—”

Too late. Caitlyn was already halfway to the door.

Vi sighed, muttering under her breath, “That girl really is something.”

She climbed down from the truck, wiping her hands on a rag. A few minutes later, the chapel door creaked again, and Caitlyn appeared — the borrowed guitar in her arms, sunlight spilling in behind her.

She carried it carefully, as if it were made of glass.

“Told you I’d find one,” she said, proud as ever.

Vi shook her head, lips twitching. “You’re impossible.”

“Persistent,” Caitlyn corrected, climbing into the passenger seat.

Vi slid into the driver’s side, turning the key. The old truck shuddered to life, coughing once before rumbling steady.

Caitlyn glanced sideways, hugging the guitar to her lap. “Vander’s shop, then?”

Vi smirked. “Yeah. Let’s see if we can make this thing purr again.”

Caitlyn strummed a single uncertain note — the sound thin, soft, almost lost to the engine noise.

Vi didn’t look at her, but she smiled all the same as the truck rolled down the road, sunlight chasing them through the trees.

And for reasons she didn’t dare name, she already knew this would be one of those mornings she’d never forget.

When they arrived, the garage smelled of metal and salt. A low hum of a fan, the clink of wrenches, and Vander’s baritone laughter filled the air as Vi backed the truck into the shop.

Vander came out from under another car, wiping his hands on a rag. “Well, look what the tide brought in,” he said, grinning when he saw the motorcycle on the truck bed. “She’s a fine piece, even with all that rust.”

Vi hopped down, stretching her arms. “You were there yesterday when they told me I can fix her up.”

“Alright,” Vander said, circling the bike. “Still has a chance. You’ll need new spark plugs, chain oil, bit of patience. You up for it?”

Vi smirked. “Ain’t my first time under a hood.”

“Then I’ll let you handle it,” Vander said with a nod, stepping back toward the main workbench. “Shop’s yours of course. Don’t break my tools.”

Vi shot him a mock salute. “No promises.”

Caitlyn stood near the truck, hesitant at first. Her fingers brushed over the body of the guitar she’d brought, a light breeze fluttering her hair into her face.

“Can I help?” she asked, moving closer.

Vi looked up from where she’d crouched beside the bike, already rolling up her sleeves. The smudge of oil on her forearm made her look older, sharper. “Don’t think a princess like you wants grease under her nails.”

“I’m not that delicate.”

“Mm-hm.” Vi leaned back on her heels, smirking. “Tell you what — you stay clean, I’ll teach you somethin’ instead.”

Caitlyn’s expression brightened instantly. “A new chord?”

“Yeah,” Vi said, tugging her stool closer. “C’mere.”

Caitlyn sat, clutching the guitar as Vi adjusted its neck toward her. Vi’s calloused fingers guided hers into position on the strings — careful, precise.

“This one’s G major,” Vi said softly, her breath warm near Caitlyn’s ear. “Press here. Not too hard. You’ll choke the note.”

Caitlyn nodded, heart thudding. The sound that came out was awkward, half right, half broken.

“Again,” Vi murmured.

Caitlyn tried once more. This time it rang clear, light as a morning bell. Vi smiled — a small, quiet thing — and nodded.

“Good. Keep that up. Don’t stop until it’s muscle memory.”

And with that, Vi turned away, settling beside the motorcycle. The sunlight pouring through the half-opened door lit the dust around her, the sheen of sweat on her shoulders, the sharp curve of muscle as she twisted a wrench. Her tank top clung to her back, streaked with oil and effort.

Caitlyn swallowed, the guitar suddenly heavy in her lap.

She strummed the G again, though her rhythm faltered. Her eyes kept flicking toward Vi — the way her forearms flexed with every turn of the wrench, the curve of her jaw when she bit back a grunt. There was focus in her — raw, electric, unshaken.

Caitlyn had seen boys in town try to impress her, all talk and slick smiles. But Vi wasn’t like them. She didn’t even seem to notice her. That made it worse — or maybe better.

She played another G. It buzzed this time.

“Relax your hand,” Vi said without looking up.

Caitlyn straightened. “How did you—”

“Could hear it.” Vi’s lips twitched. “You’re tense.”

Caitlyn flushed. “I’m not tense.”

“Sure, you aren’t.”

The teasing lilt made Caitlyn’s fingers slip again. She huffed, cheeks pink, and Vi chuckled under her breath.

Minutes passed like that — the sound of strumming tangled with the clatter of tools. Caitlyn practiced her single chord, over and over, until her fingertips stung. Vi worked the engine loose, sleeves long forgotten, every movement sure and alive.

The light had shifted golden by the time Vander poked his head out again. “Looks like you two got a rhythm goin’,” he said, grinning.

“More like she’s torturing me,” Caitlyn replied with a small laugh, rubbing her sore fingers.

“Nah,” Vi said without glancing up. “You’re doing better, cupcake.”

Something in the way she said it — quiet, certain — made Caitlyn pause.

She watched Vi tighten a bolt, the muscles in her shoulders catching the fading light. For a fleeting second, something stirred in her chest — something strange and warm and a little frightening.

She looked down at her guitar. The G chord hummed once more, trembling just slightly, like her hands.

And even though she told herself it was nothing — that Vi was just being kind, that this was just friendship — part of her knew better.

Because for the first time in a long while, Caitlyn felt something she couldn’t quite name — and she wasn’t sure she wanted to stop feeling it.

They sat out back behind Vander’s shop, where the air smelled faintly of oil, salt, and honeysuckle drifting from somewhere beyond the fence. The sun had sunk low, painting the horizon in slow-moving amber, the kind that made even the rusted metal gleam softly.

Vi cracked open two glass bottles of soda, the hiss breaking the stillness between them. She handed one to Caitlyn before plopping down beside her on the wooden steps.

“Thanks,” Caitlyn said, her voice light, still flushed from laughter earlier.

“Don’t mention it.” Vi took a long sip, eyes on the gravel road ahead. “Don’t get used to it, though. I don’t usually share.”

Caitlyn smiled, quiet but sure. “I’ll make sure to earn the next one, then.”

They sat like that for a while — no words, just the hum of cicadas, the click of cooling metal, the occasional squeak of Vi’s boot against the step. Caitlyn had learned not to fill every silence. Sometimes, with Vi, silence was its own language.

Still, she couldn’t help but glance sideways — at the grease streaks on Vi’s forearm, the faint bruise on her nose, the way her eyes softened when she thought no one was looking.

Vi was the kind of person who looked built to last — hard edges, defiant posture, that quiet storm energy that scared most people off. But sitting here, the light on her face gentled her somehow. She looked young. Kind, even.

“Why did you stop going to church?” Caitlyn asked softly, curious.

Vi didn’t answer right away. Her thumb rolled the neck of the bottle against her palm, slow and deliberate.

“Used to,” she said finally. “When Ma got sick, I went every Sunday. Sat right in the front row.” Her voice grew quieter. “I prayed so hard my throat hurt sometimes. Thought if I just… believed enough, she’d get better.”

Caitlyn’s chest tightened.

Vi tilted her head back, eyes on the clouds catching fire above the rooftops. “Guess He wasn’t listening. Or maybe He was, and just didn’t care much for people like us.”

The corner of her mouth twitched — not quite a smile, not quite bitterness either. “After that, I figured I’d stop asking favors from someone who doesn’t answer.”

Caitlyn’s fingers tightened around her bottle. She wanted to tell her she understood — that she knew what it was like to live with prayers that only echoed back empty. But she couldn’t. Not yet.

Instead, she said gently, “Maybe it’s not that He didn’t care. Maybe sometimes, prayers don’t get answered the way we expect them to.”

Vi looked at her, skeptical but not dismissive. “You sound like a preacher.”

Caitlyn laughed quietly. “I suppose I do.” She hesitated, then added, “But I mean it. Sometimes… we don’t get miracles that stay forever. Sometimes they’re just meant to remind us that we’re still loved. Still seen.”

Vi frowned slightly, brows knitting. “That sounds… sad.”

Caitlyn smiled faintly, her eyes on the fading light. “It’s not, really. It just means some people are meant to burn bright — even if not for long.”

Vi didn’t catch it, not the way Caitlyn meant it. She only heard the poetry in the words, not the quiet truth sitting underneath them.

“Guess that’s a fancy way of sayin’ life’s short,” Vi said, finishing her soda.

“Something like that.” Caitlyn took a sip of hers, but the fizz had gone flat.

For a moment, she felt the ache in her ribs again — faint, but there. The same one that came and went these past few months, whispering reminders she didn’t want to hear. But she smiled through it anyway, looking at Vi, who was still watching the sunset like it was something she could fight into staying.

And Caitlyn thought — maybe this is what faith looks like after all. Not in churches or prayers, but in people who keep trying to fix what’s broken.

“Hey,” Vi said, glancing over. “Thanks for helping with the bike today.”

“Thanks for teaching me a G chord,” Caitlyn replied softly.

Vi smirked. “Deal’s still on, though. No fallin’ in love.”

Caitlyn looked away, hiding her small smile behind the bottle. “I remember.”

But her heart, traitorous thing that it was, had already stopped listening.

A month slipped by quietly after the play — the kind of slow, warm Beaufort month where the air always smelled of salt and summer dust, and the church bells felt like they rang just for the two of them.

Vi never meant to get used to Caitlyn’s presence, but somehow, she did. It started with small things — Caitlyn dropping by the shop with two lemon sodas, Caitlyn asking for another lesson, Caitlyn laughing at something Vi didn’t even think was funny.

And then one day, Vi realized she’d built her afternoons around those things.

Caitlyn got better at guitar fast — her fingers surer, her strumming cleaner, though she still winced when the strings bit too deep. “It hurts less after a while,” Vi told her once, showing her own calloused fingertips. “See? Can’t even feel a thing anymore.”
Caitlyn had smiled at that. “I don’t think I’d want to stop feeling.”

It was such a Caitlyn thing to say that Vi couldn’t even tease her for it.

Their friendship — if that’s what this was — fell into rhythm. Caitlyn came to the shop every other afternoon; sometimes Powder tagged along, sometimes not. When Vander saw them, he’d just chuckle under his breath, the kind of knowing sound that made Vi roll her eyes.

But when Caitlyn was there, the place felt… different. Softer.
She’d sit cross-legged on the old stool, guitar in her lap, humming some half-remembered melody from church hymns. Vi would tinker with the bike or oil a chain or clean up the counter — anything to keep her hands busy while her mind wasn’t.

And she noticed things.

How Caitlyn’s breath sometimes hitched after climbing the short flight of steps to the garage.
How she’d pause, pressing her hand subtly against her ribs when she thought Vi wasn’t looking.
How she’d get quiet mid-laugh, eyes clouding for just a second before she blinked it away.

Vi saw it all — the little hesitations, the faint tiredness beneath her glow. She told herself it was nothing. Caitlyn was fine. She was just… delicate. She’d grown up different. Didn’t know how to rest.

That’s what Vi told herself anyway.

And then Caitlyn would smile — that soft, easy smile that looked like sunlight breaking through stained glass — and every concern Vi had just folded in on itself.

Because when Caitlyn smiled, it was like there was nothing wrong in the world.

They talked about everything, and sometimes about nothing at all. Vi told her about her mom, about how Vander took them in, about the times she used to sneak out with Mylo and Claggor just to see the ocean at night. Caitlyn listened like every word mattered.

And when Caitlyn spoke — about her mother’s garden, about the old library she loved, about her dreams of seeing more than Beaufort — Vi listened too. Even if she didn’t say much, even if most of what she felt stayed locked behind her ribs.

She didn’t know when it changed.

When Caitlyn’s laugh started echoing in her head long after she went home.
When her scent — lavender and rain — started sticking to Vi’s shirt.
When her world, small and solid and safe in its indifference, started bending toward someone she wasn’t supposed to want.

But Caitlyn had a way of finding cracks and filling them with light.
And Vi — tough, guarded, always ready to bolt — found herself staying instead.

One afternoon, Caitlyn leaned over her guitar, hair falling in loose waves over her shoulder, lips pressed in concentration as she tried to switch chords. Her brows furrowed, and a soft curse slipped under her breath — a rare thing from her mouth.

Vi laughed, quiet. “You almost had it.”

“I’ll get it next time,” Caitlyn said, grinning, cheeks pink.

Vi looked at her then — and something inside her chest twisted, strange and sharp and warm all at once.

She looked away before Caitlyn could see it.

Because whatever this was, Vi told herself it couldn’t last.

It was there that I realized
That forever was in your eyes
The moment I saw you cry (cry)
(Moment that I saw you cry)

Caitlyn Kiramman was the pastor’s daughter — all sunlight and soft hymns — and Vi was the girl who stopped believing in angels a long time ago.

But then Caitlyn strummed again, the note ringing perfectly this time, and smiled like the world had given her a miracle.

And Vi — hopeless, foolish Vi — smiled back.

Later that day, the bike was finished. Vi’s hands trembled when she tried to turn it on. It roared to life and out of happiness, she scooped Caitlyn up. Hugging her tight. When she realized what she was doing, Vi slowly took her down, smiling sheepishly. Caitlyn just laughed and asked if they could do a test drive. Vi bobbed her head, “Yeah, I know just the right place.”

The sun was beginning its slow descent when they reached the cliffs. The bike sputtered once before Vi killed the engine, letting the silence of the sea swallow the sound. The air smelled of salt and grass and something faintly sweet — honeysuckle maybe — carried from the edges of town.

They’d been riding for half an hour, just past Beaufort’s borders, where the coast opened wide and the world seemed to breathe. Caitlyn’s laughter still lingered in Vi’s ears — small bursts between the rush of wind as she held on from behind, her arms looped tight around Vi’s waist.

Now, they sat side by side on the grass, the old motorcycle resting behind them, its chrome glinting in the light. Caitlyn hugged her knees; cheeks pink from the ride.

“Didn’t think it’d actually run,” she teased.

Vi smirked, leaning back on her palms. “Told you she just needed a little patience.”

Caitlyn turned to look at her, eyes bright. “You’re good at fixing things.”

“Guess I’ve had a lot of practice,” Vi said, gaze fixed on the horizon. “Some things can’t stay broken forever.”

Caitlyn didn’t answer right away. The wind tugged at her hair; strands whipped across her cheek. Vi reached out without thinking, tucking them gently behind her ear. Caitlyn froze — just for a heartbeat — and Vi pulled her hand back, looking away quickly.

“I’ve been thinkin’,” Vi said after a while, clearing her throat. “About what comes next.”

“Next?”

“Yeah.” Vi picked at a blade of grass, twisting it between her fingers. “Vander says I should go to a vocational school. Not far, just past the city. Mechanic’s certification or somethin’. After that, maybe get a job at a shop — make some real money. Take care of Powder proper.”

She smiled faintly, though there was something shy about it. “Can’t be stuck here forever, y’know? Small towns eat people alive if you let ’em.”

Caitlyn didn’t say anything.

Vi turned her head — Caitlyn’s eyes were on the water, unfocused, her expression gone soft and unreadable.

“Hey,” Vi said quietly. “You okay?”

Caitlyn blinked, forcing a small smile. “Yeah. Just… thinking.”

“About?”

The silence that followed was heavier than the wind. Caitlyn’s fingers twisted in the hem of her skirt. When she finally looked at Vi, her eyes were bright — not from sunlight this time.

“I don’t really… make plans anymore,” she said softly.

Vi frowned. “What d’you mean?”

“I mean—” Caitlyn’s voice faltered, and she looked down at her hands. “I don’t think I’ll have much time to see them through.”

A chill ran through Vi before she even understood why. “Caitlyn, what are you talkin’ about?”

Caitlyn drew a breath — shallow, steady, like she’d practiced this. “I have leukemia,” she said. The word sounded foreign, like something that didn’t belong in her mouth. “It’s been over a year now. Treatments helped for a while, but… my body stopped responding.”

The sea roared below them, waves slamming against the cliffside. Vi barely heard it.

She just stared at her — at the girl who always smiled too easily, who hummed softly when she tuned the guitar, who looked like sunlight made flesh. “You’re jokin’,” Vi said, voice flat.

“I wish I was.”

Vi’s throat felt tight, her pulse wild and uneven. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I didn’t want you to look at me differently.” Caitlyn’s eyes glistened, but her voice stayed steady. “I didn’t want to be just… something tragic in someone’s story.”

“Cait—”

“I wanted you to see me like this.” She gestured vaguely at the open air, the cliffs, the sunlight. “Alive. Not sick. Not counting days.”

Vi’s jaw clenched. She wanted to yell, to tell her that wasn’t fair, that she had a right to know. But one look at Caitlyn — at the calm in her expression, the quiet ache in her smile — and the words died in her throat.

Instead, she said, barely above a whisper, “You still could’ve told me.”

Caitlyn’s eyes met hers. “And you still would’ve taught me guitar?”

“Hell yeah, I would’ve.”

That made Caitlyn laugh, weakly, but there was something breaking beneath it.

Vi ran a hand through her hair, the wind tangling it all over again. Her chest felt like it was caving in — not from anger, but from something heavier. Something that scared her more than anything ever had.

She wanted to fix it. Wanted to fix her. But this wasn’t an engine or a rusted chain. There were no bolts to tighten, no parts to replace.

So she did the only thing she could. She reached out and took Caitlyn’s hand, rough fingers closing over soft ones.

They sat there in silence, the sea raging below, the world holding its breath.

And Vi thought — how cruel it is to finally find someone worth praying for, when you’ve stopped believing in prayers.

The wind hit her hard on the ride back — sharp, cold, cutting right through the denim on her arms. Vi didn’t care. She wanted it to.
She wanted something to sting. Something that wasn’t her chest.

Caitlyn’s words had been echoing in her skull since they left the cliff.
Leukemia.
Not responding to treatment.
She could still hear her voice — calm, almost apologetic, like she was talking about the weather. Like she was trying to make it easier for Vi to carry.

But it wasn’t easy.
It wasn’t anything.

The motorcycle’s headlight carved through the dark as Vi tore down the empty road. The sea wind was salt and smoke on her tongue. Her eyes stung, but she told herself it was just the air. Just the wind.

By the time she reached the garage behind Vander’s shop, her hands were trembling on the handlebars. She killed the engine, the sudden silence pressing in so thick it felt deafening. The smell of oil and rust welcomed her home — familiar, grounding.

Vi swung a leg off the bike and stood there for a long time, helmet still on. Her breath fogged the visor. Her shoulders heaved.

Then, quietly, she took the helmet off and set it on the workbench. The clang it made was too loud, too final.

Her reflection in the side mirror was a stranger — eyes rimmed red, jaw tight, face pale beneath the garage light.

She leaned on the bike, fingers tracing the chipped paint of the gas tank. She remembered how excited she’d been when the Kirammans gave it to her — how Caitlyn beamed proudly when Vi finally got it running again.
And now all she could think about was how she’d be riding alone soon.

The thought broke something open.

Vi dropped her head, breath catching, and the tears came quietly — no sound, no sobs, just the kind of shaking that came from the gut. She’d cried once before like this — the night her mother died, the night she realized praying didn’t fix anything.

And now she was here again, fists curled, trying to breathe around the hurt that wouldn’t ease.

She slid down the wall until she was sitting on the floor, knees bent, staring at the oil stains that had been there for years.

“Not her,” she whispered. “Please, not her.”

It wasn’t a prayer. She didn’t believe in those anymore.

It was late in September
And I've seen you before (and you were)
You were always the cold one
But I was never that sure

But her voice cracked anyway, soft and small, like it used to when she was a kid begging for her mother to wake up.

The night hummed outside — cicadas, wind, distant waves. The world didn’t stop, not even for this.

Vi wiped her face with the back of her arm, jaw locking again. The cracks were still there, but she forced herself to breathe. To stand.

She had no idea what to do next — how to save someone who didn’t want to be saved.

But she knew one thing:
she wasn’t going to leave Caitlyn alone in it.

Even if it meant breaking all over again.

The next morning came soft and gray, the kind of dawn that never quite woke up. The air smelled faintly of sea salt and motor oil, the same mix that clung to Vander’s garage like an old memory. Vi was already there — sleeves rolled, grease on her hands, pretending to focus on tightening a bolt that didn’t need tightening.

She hadn’t slept. Not really. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Caitlyn’s face lit by the horizon — calm, brave, too accepting for someone her age.

The rumble of a familiar car made her pause. A moment later, she heard her name.

“Vi?”

Caitlyn’s voice — soft, careful, almost unsure — filtered through the open doorway. When Vi turned, she saw her standing there, sunlight cutting through her hair like gold glass. She looked tired but steady, holding the borrowed guitar in one hand.

Vi wiped her hands on a rag and set the wrench down. “Hey, cupcake.”

Caitlyn smiled faintly at the nickname, stepping closer. “Didn’t think you’d be up this early.”

“Didn’t think you’d come here alone,” Vi shot back, trying to sound like herself again, but her voice cracked a little at the end.

Caitlyn noticed. She always did.

“Vi,” she said quietly, setting the guitar down on the table between them. “About last night—”

“Don’t,” Vi interrupted gently, then sighed and leaned against the workbench. Her shoulders looked heavier than usual. “You don’t have to explain it. You don’t owe me anything.”

Caitlyn shook her head. “That’s not what I meant. I just…” She hesitated, hands fidgeting with her sleeves. “I didn’t mean to make you worry. I’m used to people looking at me differently when they find out, and I didn’t want that from you.”

Vi looked at her for a long time, the morning light washing over Caitlyn’s pale face, the faint tremor in her fingers, the steadiness in her eyes. She didn’t look fragile. She looked brave.

Vi stepped closer, slow but sure, until she was right in front of her. “Look, Caitlyn,” she said softly, “you don’t have to face this alone. You got me now, yeah? And Vander. Powder. The boys. We’re all here.”

Caitlyn’s breath hitched — barely, but Vi caught it.

“There’s nothing for you to be afraid of,” Vi continued, her voice rough but steady. “I’m here. And I’m not going anywhere.”

For a moment, Caitlyn just stood there — like she was processing it, weighing it, trying to believe it. Then she stepped forward and wrapped her arms around Vi.

It was a quiet hug. Not desperate or loud, just full — like two people who finally let themselves be honest. Caitlyn’s cheek rested against Vi’s shoulder, her breath warm and shaking a little.

“Thank you,” Caitlyn whispered. “I didn’t think I’d… find someone like you here.”

Vi swallowed hard. “Yeah, well,” she muttered, blinking fast, “guess the universe got one thing right.”

They stayed like that until the cicadas started singing again and the light shifted across the floor. Then Vi pulled back slightly, wiping her nose on her wrist like it was nothing.

“So,” she said, trying to sound casual but failing miserably, “you got, like… a bucket list or something?”

Caitlyn blinked. “A what?”

“A list,” Vi said, grabbing a grease-stained notebook from the counter and waving it. “Of things you wanna do but haven’t yet. Things you’re scared of doing, maybe. Dumb things, fun things, doesn’t matter.”

Caitlyn tilted her head, a small smile ghosting her lips. “Why?”

“’Cause,” Vi said simply, “we’re gonna do them. Every last one. You hear me? Whatever’s on that list, we’ll make it happen.”

Caitlyn’s smile grew — soft and sad all at once. “You’re serious?”

“Dead serious.” Vi smirked, tucking her thumbs in her pockets. “Now come on. You start. What’s something you’ve always wanted to do but never did?”

Caitlyn thought for a moment, her eyes going distant, a faint blush touching her cheeks. “I… don’t know,” she admitted. “I’ve always wanted to see the stars properly. Not the town lights kind — the real kind. Like in those books.”

Vi grinned, something sparking back to life in her chest. “Then it’s settled. We’re doin’ that first.”

Caitlyn looked at her and in her eyes was that quiet, aching hope Vi hadn’t seen before. “You’d do that for me?”

Vi shrugged. “Nah,” she said, smirking just a little. “I’d do that with you.”

And for the first time in days, Caitlyn laughed — a real, soft, unguarded sound that filled the garage like sunlight.

You were all by yourself
Staring up at a dark gray sky
I was changed

The town slept early. By ten, the only sounds left were the cicadas and the distant hum of the sea brushing against the docks. Streetlights flickered over cracked roads, and the Kiramman house sat quiet — its windows dark, save for the faint glow from Caitlyn’s room.

A small rock hit her window. Once. Twice.

Caitlyn froze, heart hammering. She pulled back her curtain just enough to see Vi below, straddling her motorbike, a leather jacket thrown over her shoulders and her hair catching the orange light from the streetlamp. She grinned up at her, mouth forming the words, You coming or what?

Caitlyn bit her lip, glancing over her shoulder at the hallway — silent. She’d never done this before. Never even thought of sneaking out. But there was something about the way Vi looked at her — like she was inviting her to the rest of her life — that made her grab her jacket without another thought.

When she stepped outside, Vi was waiting with the bike idling low.

“You sure about this?” Caitlyn whispered, cheeks flushed. “It feels… terribly wrong.”

Vi smirked, tugging on her gloves. “Wrong? It’s just a little midnight field trip.”

Caitlyn crossed her arms, whispering again, “My parents would be furious if they knew.”

“Then it’s a good thing they won’t,” Vi said, offering her the spare helmet. “Come on, Kiramman. Live a little. Learn to be dangerous.”

Caitlyn tried to glare at her, but it came out as a nervous smile. “You’re incorrigible.”

“Yeah,” Vi said, grinning as Caitlyn slipped the helmet on. “But you like me anyway.”

Caitlyn’s laugh was swallowed by the engine’s rumble.

They rode out of Beaufort, the wind cutting through the humid night air, carrying the scent of salt and pine. The stars were faint at first — just dots scattered between the clouds — but the further they drove, the darker the road became, and the more the sky opened up.

Caitlyn’s arms were wrapped tight around Vi’s waist, and for the first time in weeks, Vi didn’t feel the usual restlessness pressing on her chest. Just warmth. Just her.

They reached the old observatory an hour later — a small white dome on a hill overlooking the coast. It hadn’t been used in years, but the roof was still intact, and the view… the view made Caitlyn’s breath hitch.

Vi killed the engine, helping Caitlyn off the bike. “Welcome to the best seat in town.”

Caitlyn looked up — and for the first time, the night sky looked infinite. The stars were so many, so sharp they almost hummed. The Milky Way stretched like spilled sugar across the heavens.

“Oh,” Caitlyn whispered, hand covering her mouth. “It’s beautiful.”

Vi watched her instead of the stars. “Yeah. It is.”

Caitlyn turned, catching her stare, and smiled softly. “You’ve seen this before?”

“Plenty of times,” Vi said, kicking a loose rock. “Whenever I needed to think.”

“And now?” Caitlyn asked.

Vi shrugged. “Now I just wanted to show it to you.”

They sat on the hood of the bike, shoulders brushing, the cool wind tangling Caitlyn’s hair.

“I still can’t believe I’m out this late,” Caitlyn murmured. “You make it look so easy — this whole… breaking-the-rules thing.”

Vi chuckled. “Guess I’ve had practice.”

Caitlyn smiled, turning her face up to the sky. “I wish I could stay like this forever.”

Vi glanced at her, quiet for a moment. “Maybe you can,” she said. “Not like— literally. Just… moments like this. You hold onto them. Doesn’t matter how short they are.”

Caitlyn leaned her head on Vi’s shoulder. “You say that like you’ve lost too many.”

Vi hesitated, then nodded slightly. “Maybe I have.”

They fell into silence again — not awkward, just full of everything they didn’t have to say.

Caitlyn exhaled slowly, watching her breath disappear into the night. “You know… I never thought I’d do something like this. Sneak out, break a rule, go to an abandoned observatory with a girl who plays guitar better than most angels.”

Vi laughed quietly. “Careful, cupcake. Sounds like you’re fallin’ for me.”

Caitlyn looked at her, that playful spark in her eyes again. “I made a promise, remember?”

Vi smirked, though something in her chest ached at the reminder. “Yeah. You did.”

But when Caitlyn looked away again, her hand brushed against Vi’s — and neither of them pulled away.

The stars wheeled slowly above them, and for a while, nothing existed but that moment — two girls on a hill, one learning to live, the other learning how.

Caitlyn’s breath came slow, her head still resting on Vi’s shoulder. She could feel the warmth beneath Vi’s leather jacket, the steady rise and fall of her chest, the way her thumb brushed lightly against Caitlyn’s hand without meaning to.

It was quiet — and then Vi spoke.

Her voice was low, unsteady in a way Caitlyn hadn’t heard before. “I, uh… I think I broke my promise.”

In places no one will find
All your feelings so deep inside (deep inside)
Was there that I realized
That forever was in your eyes

Caitlyn blinked, lifting her head slightly to look at her. “Your promise?”

Vi’s jaw tensed, her eyes fixed on the horizon instead of Caitlyn’s face. “Yeah,” she murmured. “The one I made before I started teaching you guitar. The one where I said you couldn’t fall in love with me.”

Caitlyn smiled faintly, confused. “Vi, that was my promise, not yours.”

Vi let out a breath — half laugh, half sigh. “Yeah, well… guess I didn’t keep mine either.”

Caitlyn froze. Her heartbeat stuttered. The night air seemed to thicken around them.

When Vi finally looked at her, the bravado was gone. Her eyes — usually so sharp, so sure — were soft, almost frightened. “I’m falling in love with you, Caitlyn.”

The words landed gently, like a match striking in the dark.

Caitlyn’s lips parted, but no sound came. Her pulse thundered in her ears, and for a long second, she couldn’t find the ground beneath her feet.

“Vi…” she breathed, but Vi was already shaking her head.

“I know,” Vi said quietly. “I know this isn’t fair. I know it’s gonna hurt, and that one day—” Her voice caught, but she pushed through. “One day, I might have to lose you. But I can’t— I can’t keep pretending I don’t feel this. You—” She swallowed hard. “You make me want to be better. To stay.”

Caitlyn’s eyes burned. She wanted to speak, to say something steady and gentle, but her throat wouldn’t let her.

“Are you sure about what you’re feeling?” she finally whispered. “Because we both know how this ends, Vi. It’s not going to be easy. It’s going to break you.”

Vi’s gaze softened, her voice steadying in the quiet. “Yeah,” she said. “I’m sure. I think you’re worth the heartbreak.”

Caitlyn’s breath caught — sharp and trembling.

For a moment, all she could do was stare at her. The girl with the scar on her knuckles, grease on her hands, and the kindest eyes she’d ever seen. The girl who was willing to burn just to give her light.

She didn’t know who moved first. Maybe both of them did — a shared pull, like gravity finally giving in.

When their lips met, it wasn’t desperate. It wasn’t even long. It was quiet — tentative — the kind of kiss that wasn’t about passion but recognition. Like two halves of the same heartbeat finding each other again after a lifetime apart.

Vi pulled back first, her breath shaky, eyes wide and glistening. Caitlyn stayed still for a moment, eyes closed, committing the feeling to memory — the warmth of Vi’s palm against her cheek, the salt in the air, the hum of the sea below.

When she finally opened her eyes, Vi was still watching her — with something fierce and fragile in her expression.

Caitlyn smiled through the tears she didn’t realize had fallen. “You shouldn’t have done that,” she whispered, voice trembling.

“Yeah,” Vi said softly, brushing a thumb across her cheek. “But I don’t regret it.”

Neither of them spoke after that. They just stayed there — under the wide Carolina sky — a girl who didn’t have forever and a girl who wished she did, holding on to the one moment that felt infinite.

The road back to Beaufort was quiet. The night air had cooled, mist curling low along the fields as Vi drove, headlights cutting through the dark. Caitlyn’s arms were wrapped tight around her, chin resting lightly on Vi’s shoulder, and for the first time since they’d kissed, neither of them said a word.

Vi could still feel it — the warmth of her lips, the soft tremor in her breath, the weight of everything that had passed between them under the stars. It sat heavy and bright inside her chest.

When they turned the corner onto the Kirammans’ long gravel drive, Vi’s heart dropped.

Cassandra Kiramman was standing on the porch. Arms crossed, still in her robe, her face unreadable but sharp in the porchlight. The kind of quiet anger that didn’t need shouting.

Vi parked the bike, engine sputtering to silence. Caitlyn slipped off behind her, helmet under her arm, face pale but steady.

Cassandra’s gaze moved straight to Vi — not furious, but disappointed, and somehow that stung worse. “It’s almost two in the morning,” she said, her voice cool and measured. “Do you have any idea how worried I’ve been?”

Vi’s instinct was to apologize, to explain — but the words stuck in her throat. She opened her mouth, then closed it again. Her knuckles tightened on the handlebar.

“Mom—” Caitlyn started, stepping forward.

Cassandra’s eyes snapped to her. “Not now, Caitlyn. I told you—”

“No,” Caitlyn interrupted, louder than Vi had ever heard her. “Please. Just—just listen to me.”

That alone made Cassandra still. Tobias had appeared in the doorway now, drawn by the noise, his expression tired but gentler than his wife’s.

Caitlyn’s voice trembled, but she didn’t look away. “Vi didn’t do anything wrong. I wanted to see the stars.”

“Caitlyn,” Cassandra said slowly, her tone warning, “that isn’t the point. You’re not—”

“I know what the point is,” Caitlyn said, voice breaking slightly. “But Mom, please. You always tell me life is precious — that I should live it fully, no matter how long it is. This is me doing that. This is me living.”

The porch went still. Even the cicadas outside seemed to pause.

Caitlyn’s eyes glistened in the porchlight, but her voice stayed soft, pleading. “Please don’t take this from me. Vi knows. She knows everything. And she’s not—she’s not going to let me forget what it feels like to be alive.”

Cassandra’s expression faltered then, just for a moment — a tiny crack in her composure. She turned slightly, as if to steady herself.

Tobias stepped closer, putting a hand on her shoulder. “Cass,” he said quietly, “let them have this.” He looked at Vi, who still hadn’t said a word. “You brought her home safe. That’s enough for me.”

Vi swallowed hard, unsure what to do with the sudden weight of trust handed to her like that. “Sir, I—thank you. I’ll always bring her back safe. I promise.”

Tobias nodded, small but firm. “I believe you, Violet.”

Cassandra’s gaze lingered on Vi then — sharp, assessing. For a moment, Vi thought she’d send her away for good. But instead, Cassandra just let out a quiet breath, and the fight left her shoulders.

“Go on,” she said at last, turning to Caitlyn. “Get some rest. We’ll talk in the morning.”

Caitlyn hesitated, glancing back at Vi, uncertainty in her eyes. Vi gave her a small nod — the kind that said it’s alright.

Caitlyn turned to go, but not before brushing her fingers lightly against Vi’s arm — quick, almost secret.

As she disappeared inside, Vi stood there for a moment longer, feeling the weight of Cassandra’s gaze. She didn’t know if she’d won or lost anything tonight, but she knew one thing for sure — she’d keep her promise.

She’d keep bringing Caitlyn back safe. No matter what it cost her.

The next morning came soft and quiet — the kind of morning that felt like it was holding its breath.

The sun hadn’t climbed all the way yet; its light filtered gently through the pine trees that lined Beaufort’s sleepy road. Vi’s bike rattled over the dirt path leading up to the church, a bouquet of fresh lilies tucked carefully under one arm.

Vander had asked her to drop them off for the altar, something he’d been doing every week for the service. “For good grace,” he’d said with that knowing look. “And maybe for peace.”

When Vi parked near the steps, the church was almost empty — doors propped open, light spilling through stained glass. She stepped inside quietly, the cool air smelling faintly of dust and candle wax.

She hadn’t realized how used she’d gotten to this place.

At the front, Cassandra Kiramman stood by the altar, sleeves rolled up, rearranging a set of white chrysanthemums. Her back was straight, her movements slow and careful — like someone who carried grace even in silence.

She didn’t turn right away when Vi approached, but Vi could tell she’d noticed.

“You’re early,” Cassandra said, her voice calm, still focused on her task. “Vander sent you?”

“Yes, Mrs Kiramman,” Vi replied, setting the lilies beside the altar. “Said these were for the service tomorrow.”

Cassandra nodded, adjusting a petal with delicate precision. For a moment, they both stood there, the only sound the faint creak of the floorboards and the distant buzz of summer cicadas outside.

Then Cassandra straightened and turned to her. “Violet,” she said softly, her eyes gentle but steady. “Do you have a moment?”

Vi hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah. Of course.”

Cassandra walked down the aisle a little, motioning for Vi to follow. The pews glowed with colored light from the windows, dust floating in the beams. When they stopped, Cassandra faced her fully — no anger this time, just quiet intent.

“I wanted to speak with you about Caitlyn,” she began.

Vi tensed. “I figured.”

Cassandra’s lips curved faintly, almost a smile. “You think I’m here to scold you?”

“Wouldn’t blame you if you were.”

A soft laugh escaped Cassandra — short, warm, but tinged with sadness. “You remind me a bit of her father when he was your age. Stubborn. Guarded. Always ready to take the blame before anyone else could.”

Vi shifted her weight, not sure how to respond.

“Last night when you sneaked her out,” Cassandra continued, her voice lowering. “Caitlyn told me everything. About the observatory. About you.”

Vi’s stomach knotted. “Look, I didn’t mean to—”

But Cassandra lifted a hand. “I’m not angry.”

That stopped her cold.

“I just wanted to understand,” Cassandra said gently. “What your intentions are. Toward my daughter.”

Vi looked down, jaw tightening. She could’ve said a dozen things — all easy, simple, safe — but the truth came out before she could stop it.

“I love her,” she said quietly. “I didn’t mean to. I know I shouldn’t, but I do. She’s— she’s not like anyone else. She sees things in people no one else bothers to look for.”

Her voice faltered, but she forced herself to continue. “I told her I’d stay. That I’d be with her through all of it. And I meant it. Even if it breaks me, I’ll stay.”

Cassandra’s eyes softened — that kind of softness that came only with years of loving someone fiercely. She stepped closer, her hands clasped in front of her.

“I believe you,” she said quietly. “And I believe in Caitlyn.”

Vi blinked, surprised.

“She’s strong,” Cassandra went on, her voice steady but filled with something deep and aching. “Stronger than I ever was. If she’s chosen you — truly chosen you — then I trust her judgment.”

Vi swallowed hard, not trusting her voice.

Cassandra looked toward the altar for a moment, her gaze distant. “Do you know what faith really is, Violet?”

Vi frowned slightly. “Believing in something you can’t see?”

Cassandra smiled faintly. “Yes. But it’s also believing in something even when you know it might hurt you.” Her eyes returned to Vi’s. “That’s what love is, too.”

Something in Vi’s chest cracked then — quietly, like a small piece of armor breaking.

“I know you’re scared,” Cassandra said softly. “You both are. But if you can bring her peace — if you can make her feel alive for however long she’s meant to be here — then that’s all I can ask of you.”

Vi’s throat tightened. “I’ll take care of her. I swear.”

“I know you will.”

Cassandra reached out, resting a gentle hand on her shoulder — the same way Caitlyn did when she wanted to steady her. “Thank you, Violet.”

Vi nodded once, unable to speak.

As Cassandra turned back toward the altar, Vi looked up at the stained glass — the blues and reds glowing softly in the morning sun. And for the first time in a long time, she felt something shift inside her.

Not faith in God. But maybe in grace.

The moment I saw you cry

When Vi left the church, the sunlight was brighter than before — too bright, almost blinding after the calm quiet inside. The world outside felt louder, more alive, but Vi carried something soft with her now. Cassandra’s words echoed faintly in her head, not sharp or heavy, but lingering like warmth after a fire.

By the time she got home, the smell of pancakes and bacon had already filled the kitchen. Vander was at the stove, wearing that old apron Powder had painted on years ago — half the letters of Best Dad faded from too many washes. Powder sat at the table, her hair tied messily, a notebook sprawled open and a pencil tucked behind her ear.

“Finally!” Powder said, waving as Vi walked in. “I thought the church swallowed you or something.”

“Funny,” Vi muttered, hanging her jacket by the door and plopping into the seat across from her. “You cook?”

“Vander did,” Powder said, nudging the plate toward her. “I supervised.”

Vander turned from the stove, spatula in hand. “Supervised means burned the first batch,” he said dryly.

“Creative input!” Powder protested.

Vi chuckled, grabbing a pancake and tearing into it. “This is good,” she said through a mouthful. “Not burned at all, Powder. Congrats.”

Vander poured himself coffee, leaning against the counter. “So, how was the church?”

Vi hesitated. “Peaceful,” she said after a beat. “Dropped off the flowers. Talked to Mrs. Kiramman.”

Vander’s brow rose slightly, but he didn’t press. “Good woman,” he said instead. “Smart, too. Don’t let that calm voice fool you — she can cut a man down with a sentence.”

Vi smiled faintly. “Yeah. I noticed.”

Powder, meanwhile, had been bouncing slightly in her chair, unable to contain herself. “Okay, okay, I have an idea,” she said, clapping her hands together. “A genius-level idea.”

Vi groaned. “Do I want to know?”

“Yes,” Powder said, eyes bright. “It’s about Caitlyn.”

Vander sighed. “Here we go.”

Powder leaned forward conspiratorially. “She’s been looking really tired lately, right? I think she needs something fun. Something big. So…” She paused for effect. “I’m throwing her a party.”

Vi blinked. “A party?”

“Not just any party!” Powder said, flipping through her notebook to a chaotic page of sketches and half-written plans. “A surprise one. Streamers, cake, music — the works! We’ll do it at the shop, clean it up real nice. Maybe invite some of her friends from the play.”

Vander let out a low whistle. “You’re serious.”

“Of course,” Powder said. “But I need help. Big sister kind of help.”

Vi chewed slowly, narrowing her eyes. “What kind of help?”

“Keep her distracted,” Powder said, pointing her pencil like a commander giving orders. “For two weeks. That’s how long I’ll need to plan everything. Keep her busy, take her places, I don’t care — just make sure she doesn’t find out.”

Vi leaned back in her chair. “Two weeks, huh?”

Powder nodded eagerly. “You’re good at that, right? Hanging out with her?”

Vander raised an eyebrow at that but said nothing, just sipping his coffee with a small smirk.

Vi tried to look unfazed, but the corner of her mouth betrayed her. “Yeah,” she said softly. “I can do that.”

Powder grinned. “Perfect! You distract, I plan, Vander funds the snacks. We’ve got ourselves a mission!”

Vander groaned. “Why do I always end up paying for these things?”

“Because you love us,” Powder chirped.

“Debatable,” he muttered, but Vi caught the fond look in his eyes.

As brunch went on, the air in the house felt lighter — like they were all part of something quietly hopeful. Powder chattered about decorations and playlists, Vander pretended to complain, and Vi just listened, letting their laughter fill the space.

And for the first time since that night at the observatory, she felt something almost like peace settle over her again — knowing that, for at least two weeks, Caitlyn would have something to look forward to.

Something bright.

Something worth holding onto.

The afternoon that day stretched golden over the water, the waves breathing slow and steady against the shore. Vi’s motorcycle was parked a few meters back, its metal glinting under the sun, while she and Caitlyn sat on the old wooden fence overlooking the beach.

The sea breeze toyed with Caitlyn’s hair, carrying salt and warmth in equal measure. She looked so at peace there — legs tucked neatly to the side, her hands clasped on her lap, face turned toward the sun like she was soaking in every ray she could get.

Vi, on the other hand, couldn’t stop fidgeting. She picked at the splintering wood, her boot tapping rhythmically against the sand below.

“I, uh…” Vi started, voice awkwardly caught between casual and serious. “I saw your mom this morning.”

Caitlyn blinked, turning to her. “At the church?”

Vi nodded, eyes still fixed on the horizon. “Yeah. Vander asked me to drop off some flowers for the service, and she was there arranging stuff. She called me over to talk.”

There was a faint curiosity in Caitlyn’s expression. “About… me, I’m guessing?”

“Yeah,” Vi admitted, scratching the back of her neck. “She asked about my intentions.”

Caitlyn stifled a laugh. “Oh no, you got the talk?”

“Something like that,” Vi said, smiling faintly. “But it wasn’t bad. She… she was kind, actually. Said she believes in you. That she loves you. And that she supports us — whatever this is.”

Caitlyn’s eyes softened, the corners of her lips lifting into a tender smile. “So you got my mother’s blessing?” she teased, her tone light, but her gaze gentle.

Vi chuckled under her breath, shaking her head. “Guess so. Didn’t expect it.”

Caitlyn nudged her shoulder, still smiling. “She must really like you.”

Vi looked at her then. The sunlight kissed Caitlyn’s skin, and her smile was this quiet, aching thing that made Vi’s chest feel too full. She wanted to say something else, something about how she didn’t feel like she deserved that kind of acceptance, but the words wouldn’t come.

Instead, she said, “Your mom’s good people.”

“She is,” Caitlyn murmured, her gaze turning back toward the sea. “She worries too much, but… she means well.”

They fell into silence, the sound of waves filling the space between them. Vi could feel the warmth of Caitlyn’s shoulder brushing hers, the steady rise and fall of her breathing.

After a moment, Vi cleared her throat. “Hey,” she said, “about your bucket list…”

Caitlyn turned to her again, brows raised.

“You never told me if there’s something else you wanna do,” Vi said, voice soft but earnest. “Something you’ve always wanted but were too scared to try.”

Caitlyn tilted her head, thoughtful. “You mean besides sneaking out and stargazing with you?”

Vi smirked. “Yeah. Besides that.”

Caitlyn went quiet, staring out at the ocean. The wind brushed her hair into her face, and Vi resisted the urge to tuck it behind her ear.

“I don’t know,” Caitlyn said finally, voice quiet. “I’ve been so focused on what I can’t do that I never really thought about what I want to do.”

Vi hummed, nodding slowly. “Then maybe we figure that out. Together.”

Caitlyn turned toward her, eyes bright but wet at the edges — like she was caught between gratitude and sadness. “Is it really that easy?”

Vi shrugged, smiling a little. “Doesn’t have to be hard.”

Caitlyn’s laugh was small and breathy. She leaned against Vi’s shoulder, and Vi froze for a second before letting herself relax into it.

“Then I’ll think about it,” Caitlyn said softly. “Promise.”

“Good,” Vi murmured, her gaze fixed on the sea ahead. “I’ll hold you to that.”

The tide rolled in slow and heavy below them, the sky bleeding from gold to pink, and for that brief stretch of time — before the night and the sickness and the weight of reality — it was just the two of them.

Warmth, salt, laughter.

And a promise neither of them would forget.

The light was sinking lower now, turning the sea to glass and the horizon to a soft burn of orange and lilac. The wind had grown gentler, carrying the smell of salt and wildflowers down from the cliffs. Caitlyn hadn’t said anything for a while, just watched the waves roll in slow, steady breaths.

Vi sat beside her, tracing little half-moons into the sand with her boot heel. She was still thinking about Caitlyn’s smile.

Then Caitlyn turned to her suddenly, her expression thoughtful.
“I thought of something for the list,” she said.

Vi looked over. “Yeah?”

Caitlyn nodded, her smile small but certain. “I want to hear you sing.”

Vi blinked. “Sing?”

“Mhm.” Caitlyn’s eyes lit up, playful but earnest. “Powder said you used to sing when you played the guitar. That you stopped after your mom passed.”

Vi’s mouth went dry for a second. “She told you that?”

“She did.” Caitlyn’s tone softened. “And… I’d like to hear it. Just once. I think it’d be beautiful.”

Vi leaned back, exhaling through her nose, half laughing in disbelief. “That’s what you wanna add to your list? You don’t wanna go skydiving or jump off a cliff or—I don’t know—get a tattoo or something?”

Caitlyn shook her head. “Nope. Just that.”

Vi looked away, watching a gull cut across the horizon. “You really pick the weirdest things.”

“I pick the things that matter to me,” Caitlyn said gently. “And you matter to me, Vi.”

That last sentence sat heavy in the air — not crushing, but warm. Vi rubbed the back of her neck, trying to hide the small, helpless smile tugging at her lips.

“It’s not that hard,” she said finally, half teasing, half flustered.

“Then sing,” Caitlyn replied, her voice light but her eyes unshakably sincere.

Vi hesitated, glancing down at the sand. “Not now. How about tomorrow?”

Caitlyn tilted her head, mock-sighing. “You promise?”

Vi met her gaze and smiled faintly. “Yeah. I promise.”

The ocean swelled below them, the sound almost like applause — soft, rhythmic, endless. And in that moment, with Caitlyn’s shoulder brushing hers and the sun slipping behind the water, Vi thought that maybe this — the quiet, the warmth, the simple wish in Caitlyn’s voice — was the kind of love she’d never believed in until now.

I wanted to hold you
I wanted to make it go away

The night settled soft over Beaufort, the kind of quiet that carried only the sounds of the sea and the hum of crickets. The old oak outside the church swayed gently, its branches spilling shadows over the grass like lace. A blanket was spread beneath it, a small basket of food half-forgotten beside two flickering candles.

Vi sat cross-legged on the blanket, her old guitar resting on her thigh — the one her mother had bought her when she was barely tall enough to hold it. The wood was worn, its varnish cracked in places, but it still sounded right when she strummed it.

Caitlyn sat across from her, knees tucked under her dress, her cardigan slipping slightly off one shoulder. The candlelight turned her face soft and golden, eyes bright in the dark like the stars that hovered above them.

“I didn’t think you were serious about this,” Caitlyn said, smiling, her voice light but reverent.

Vi looked up from tuning the strings and grinned. “You think I break promises?”

“You did break your promise, you fell in love with me,” Caitlyn said matter-of-factly, after a beat. “I just think you surprise people.”

Vi let out a short laugh, shaking her head. “You got a funny way of saying I’m unpredictable.”

Caitlyn tilted her head, her smile widening. “That too.”

For a moment, the world seemed smaller — just the two of them and the faint glow of candlelight pushing back the night. Vi’s fingers stilled over the guitar strings, and she looked up at Caitlyn with that quiet, hesitant honesty she reserved for rare moments.

“This was my mom’s favorite song,” she said softly. “She used to hum it while she cooked. Said it made her feel like there were still answers out there somewhere.”

Caitlyn’s smile faded into something tender. “What’s it called?”

Vi’s voice caught a little as she said, “Someday We’ll Know.”

She didn’t say it, but she thought it — that the song always felt like a question she was still too scared to ask.

Then she began to play.

The first few chords came out soft, hesitant, but true. Her voice followed — low, rough around the edges, like it hadn’t been used in years but still carried something honest underneath.

Ninety miles outside Chicago
Can’t stop driving, I don’t know why...

So many questions, I need an answer
2 years later you're still on my mind

Caitlyn didn’t move. She sat perfectly still, eyes glistening in the candlelight, her hands resting on her knees as if afraid to break the spell. The melody hung between them, heavy with everything unspoken — the fear, the love, the quiet ache of knowing time was slipping away.

Whatever happened to Amelia Earhart?
Who holds the stars up in the sky?
Is true love just once in a lifetime?
Did the captain of the Titanic cry?

Vi’s throat tightened, but she kept going. She didn’t look at Caitlyn, couldn’t — because the moment she did, the song wouldn’t make it out. So she focused on the strings, on the vibration against her fingertips, on the memory of her mother’s voice echoing in her head.

Someday we’ll know
Why Samson loved Delilah...
Why the sky is blue...

When the last note faded, the world went still again. Only the wind through the oak leaves and the faint hiss of the candles remained.

Caitlyn’s eyes shimmered, the softest tear slipping down her cheek. “That was…” she whispered, voice trembling. “Beautiful.”

Vi smiled faintly, setting the guitar aside. “Told you it wasn’t that hard.”

Caitlyn shook her head, laughing through the tears. “You have no idea what that meant to me.”

“Yeah,” Vi murmured, her voice low. “I think I do.”

The stars seemed closer that night — brighter somehow — and as Caitlyn leaned close and kisses her lips softly before landing her head on Vi’s shoulder, neither of them spoke. There was no need. The song still lingered in the air, carrying with it a promise that neither of them dared to break:

The weeks that followed felt like something out of a dream — a slow, sun-drenched reel of moments stitched together by laughter, late afternoons, and the gentle rhythm of time neither of them dared to count.

Vi didn’t know how to name what they had, not really. It wasn’t just love; it was something quieter, steadier — the kind that sat in the spaces between words, in every shared glance and touch that lingered longer than it should.

Caitlyn was softer those days. Lighter, even, as if the weight she carried had eased somehow. She smiled more, her laughter spilling out freely, bright enough to fill the Wick garage, the church, even the empty streets of Beaufort at dusk.

Vi made sure of that.

She took Caitlyn to the beach every other evening — sometimes with Powder and the boys, sometimes just the two of them. Caitlyn would bring her sketchbook, Vi her guitar. They didn’t always talk; sometimes they just existed side by side, their silence warmer than any words could be.

Caitlyn’s health wavered now and then — a quiet fatigue, a skipped breath, a moment where her color faded — but she brushed it off with that same calm smile that drove Vi mad. Vi noticed, always, but never said anything. She just stayed closer.

And then came the night of the surprise party.

It was Powder’s idea — her bright, stubborn attempt to give Caitlyn something unforgettable. Two weeks of quiet planning, of whispered conspiracies and makeshift decorations in Vander’s garage. Even Ekko, Mylo, and Claggor pitched in — badly, but with heart.

Vi had never seen the place look so alive. String lights crisscrossed the ceiling, cheap paper lanterns swaying overhead. The air smelled of vanilla cake, oil, and salt — a strange combination, but somehow fitting. Powder had painted a banner that read “For Caitlyn — Our Star” in messy blue strokes.

When Caitlyn arrived, led blindfolded by Vi and Powder, everyone fell silent.

“Okay,” Powder whispered, bouncing on her heels. “Ready?”

Caitlyn nodded, smiling nervously.

“Alright,” Vi said softly. “On three. One… two…”

She tugged the blindfold loose.

“Surprise!” everyone shouted.

Caitlyn froze, eyes wide, her hand flying to her mouth. The lights, the faces, the laughter — it was all too much at once, and for a heartbeat, she just stood there, overwhelmed. Then she laughed — that bright, ringing sound Vi swore she’d remember forever — and turned to Vi, tears already pooling in her eyes.

“You did this?” she whispered.

Vi grinned, rubbing the back of her neck. “Powder did most of it. I just… helped.”

Caitlyn looked around, the glow from the string lights catching her hair like gold. “It’s perfect,” she said softly. “All of it.”

They spent the night dancing, talking, and eating too-sweet cake. Mylo made awful jokes, Claggor tried to waltz with Powder, and Ekko somehow managed to burn the second batch of brownies. Vi played her guitar again — not the sad songs this time, but ones that made Caitlyn laugh until her sides hurt.

When the night grew quieter, Vi found Caitlyn sitting on the truck bed outside, legs dangling, looking up at the stars.

“You alright?” Vi asked, hopping up beside her.

Caitlyn nodded. “I’ve never been happier.”

“Yeah?” Vi teased, bumping her shoulder gently.

Caitlyn smiled, still looking at the sky. “Yeah. It’s like for once, I can just… live. No hospital rooms, no needles. Just this.”

Vi watched her for a long moment — her hair lifting in the wind, her eyes reflecting starlight. “You deserve all of it,” she said quietly. “Every bit.”

Caitlyn turned to her then, that soft smile returning. “And you,” she whispered, “you made me brave enough to want it.”

The wind moved through the trees, carrying music from inside — laughter, faint singing, the sound of Powder’s joy.

Vi reached for Caitlyn’s hand, lacing their fingers together. “Then let’s make more of it,” she said. “As much as we can.”

And under the glowing lights of Vander’s old garage, with friends laughing in the background and the stars hanging low above them, Caitlyn leaned her head on Vi’s shoulder — the kind of quiet happiness that felt almost holy.

For that night, there was no sickness, no fear, no countdown.
Just love.
Just living.

The night had already settled deep when Vi’s bike rumbled quietly through the empty streets, the sea breeze tugging at Caitlyn’s hair. The party lights, the laughter, the music — all of it still clung to Vi like warmth that refused to fade. Caitlyn sat behind her, arms looped gently around her waist, chin resting on Vi’s shoulder. Neither of them spoke.

When they pulled up in front of the Kiramman house, the porch light was still on. It painted the columns in gold, soft and homey, but Vi felt her chest tighten. She killed the engine, and the night suddenly became too quiet.

“Thanks for tonight,” Caitlyn murmured as she climbed off, voice hazy with exhaustion but still glowing with joy.

Vi smiled faintly, removing her helmet. “You kidding? I should be thanking you. That was probably the best night of my life.”

Caitlyn’s smile softened. She hesitated a moment, then turned toward the house. “Come up with me?”

Vi blinked. “Uh—what?”

“I don’t want to be alone tonight.” Caitlyn’s tone was calm, almost casual, but Vi caught the flicker in her eyes — that quiet fear that sometimes surfaced when the world got too still. “Just… stay. Please?”

Vi hesitated, torn between reason and the soft gravity that was Caitlyn. “Cait, I don’t know if your mom—”

“Violet.” Her name came out in a whisper. “Please.”

And that was all it took.

Vi sighed, running a hand through her hair. “Alright. Just for tonight.”

They stepped inside quietly — or tried to. But the moment they entered the foyer, the warm glow from the living room revealed Cassandra and Tobias sitting on the couch, mid-discussion. Both looked up.

Vi froze.

Caitlyn straightened, immediately pulling Vi’s hand into hers like it was the most natural thing in the world. “Mom, Dad,” she said smoothly, “Vi will be sleeping over tonight.”

Cassandra blinked, surprised. “Sleeping over?”

“Yes.” Caitlyn didn’t waver. “I don’t want to sleep alone tonight. And—” she turned to her mother gently “—could you call Vander? Tell him Vi’s here and she’s safe?”

Tobias’s brows lifted slightly, his eyes darting between the two of them. Vi could feel her pulse thundering in her ears. She was certain her face was redder than her jacket.

“I… suppose that’s fine,” Tobias said finally, with that calm tone he always used when assessing situations. “You’ve both had a long night.”

Cassandra looked between them for a moment longer. Then, with a small sigh that sounded more amused than scolding, she nodded. “Alright. But doors open, please.”

Caitlyn smiled — a polite, sweet curve that disarmed them both. “Of course.”

“Good night, girls,” Tobias said, though Vi swore there was a hint of a knowing smile tugging at his lips.

“Good night,” Caitlyn and Vi echoed.

As they turned toward the stairs, Vi leaned close and whispered under her breath, “You’re gonna get me killed, cupcake.”

Caitlyn’s laugh came soft and low. “You’re already in too deep, detective.”

Vi rolled her eyes, trying to hide her grin. She followed Caitlyn up the grand staircase, boots quiet against the carpet, every step echoing like a secret. When they reached Caitlyn’s room, she turned and pushed the door open gently.

The lights were dim, the air cool and smelling faintly of lavender. The room was tidy, elegant — but lived in. A faint glow from the bedside lamp painted Caitlyn in warm hues.

“See? Not so bad,” Caitlyn said softly, slipping out of her jacket.

Vi stood awkwardly by the door, unsure what to do with her hands. “You sure about this?”

Caitlyn sat on the edge of the bed, eyes half-lidded but warm. “You said you’d be here. I’m just… asking you to keep that promise.”

That quiet hit Vi harder than anything else. She nodded, wordless, and toed off her boots before sitting beside her. The space between them was small — just enough for their hands to brush.

“Good night, Vi,” Caitlyn murmured.

Vi swallowed. “Night, cupcake.”

Caitlyn smiled, leaned her head gently against Vi’s shoulder, and within minutes, her breathing evened out — slow and steady.

Vi sat there, still, her chest tight but calm, eyes tracing the soft shadows that danced across the walls. For the first time in a long while, she didn’t feel restless. She just watched her — alive, peaceful, and here — and thought, I’d do anything to keep it this way.

She reached out quietly, brushing a stray lock of hair from Caitlyn’s face.

“Sleep tight, cupcake,” she whispered.

And under the hush of the Kiramman home, with the sound of the sea faint in the distance, Vi stayed awake a little longer — guarding the quiet miracle beside her.

Few hours later, the room was dark, quiet — too quiet. The faint hum of the crickets outside filled the air, and from somewhere in the distance, the ocean whispered against the rocks.

Vi lay on her back, staring at the faint glow of the ceiling lamp, her hands tucked behind her head. Caitlyn’s breathing beside her wasn’t steady — it came in small, soft waves, like she was pretending to be asleep.

Vi had caught sight of the door earlier, slightly ajar. Twenty minutes ago, maybe less, she’d seen Cassandra’s silhouette peeking in — silent, assessing. She didn’t blame her. Vi was a stranger in their house, a rough-edged girl sleeping in their daughter’s bed. Whom Cassandra knows that is dating her daughter. But still, it made her chest feel tight, like she’d been caught doing something wrong.

Now, the door was just a sliver of dark wood against the hallway light. Vi couldn’t sleep. Not with her thoughts running wild — the sound of Caitlyn’s laughter from earlier still playing in her head, the image of her dancing barefoot in the sand at her own surprise party, her eyes lit like the stars that watched over them.

“Can’t sleep?”

Caitlyn’s voice broke the silence. Soft, calm — but awake.

Vi turned her head slightly. Caitlyn was lying on her side now, facing her. In the low light, her eyes gleamed like the sea under moonlight.

“Guess not,” Vi whispered back. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

“You didn’t.” Caitlyn smiled faintly. “I haven’t really slept either.”

They both went quiet again. The kind of silence that felt alive — full of things left unsaid.

After a moment, Caitlyn spoke again, her tone almost teasing. “Can I tell you something? Another thing from my bucket list.”

Vi turned on her side to face her. “Yeah?”

Caitlyn hesitated, her hand curling slightly on the sheets. “It’s… well, it’s something I’ve never done before. But I think I want to.”

Vi’s brows furrowed gently. “What is it?”

Caitlyn’s lips curved, shy but steady. “I want to experience more than just kissing.”

Vi froze. “Oh.”

The word left her mouth before she could think. Heat crept up the back of her neck, spreading to her ears.

Caitlyn chuckled softly, not mocking — just gentle. “You’re blushing, Violet.”

“I’m not,” Vi muttered, looking away, though her face said otherwise.

“You are.” Caitlyn’s voice softened, amused. “That’s adorable.”

Vi rubbed the back of her neck, exhaling. “You can’t just drop that on me outta nowhere, cupcake.”

“I can’t?” Caitlyn tilted her head, that playful light flickering in her eyes. “You asked about my list.”

Vi groaned quietly, pulling the blanket up halfway like it might hide her from embarrassment. “Right. My bad.”

For a while, neither spoke. The tension eased into something warmer, safer. Caitlyn shifted closer, her hand brushing against Vi’s under the sheets.

Then, softly — “Have you had girlfriends before?”

Vi blinked, surprised by the question. “Uh… a couple.”

Caitlyn smiled faintly. “I knew it.”

“Knew what?”

“That you’d be someone’s heartbreaker.”

Vi scoffed. “Nah. Nothin’ serious. Back then, it was just… messing around, I guess. Didn’t really know what I wanted.” Her eyes flicked toward Caitlyn’s face — soft, thoughtful, half-lit by moonlight. “I do now, though.”

Caitlyn’s breath hitched slightly, almost imperceptible. “You do?”

Vi nodded slowly, voice low. “Yeah.”

The silence returned — but this time, it wasn’t empty. It was full — brimming with the things they didn’t have to say.

Caitlyn’s eyes softened. “You make it sound so certain.”

Vi smiled faintly. “Guess some things are.”

Caitlyn shifted even closer, until their foreheads nearly touched. “You’re really bad at pretending you don’t care, you know that?”

Vi chuckled quietly. “Yeah, well… not gonna start now.”

Caitlyn’s hand found hers again, their fingers intertwining. The world felt small — just the two of them, wrapped in quiet and candlelight and everything that could’ve been said.

The silence between them stretched thin — so fragile that even the hum of the crickets outside felt too loud. Caitlyn’s hand was still in Vi’s, warm and light, and Vi could feel the pulse beating softly through her fingers.

Caitlyn shifted a little closer, her eyes still open, still searching. “You’re still awake,” she whispered.

“So are you,” Vi murmured back.

“Because you’re here.”

That pulled a quiet laugh out of Vi, a small exhale that trembled at the edges. “That a good thing or a bad thing?”

Caitlyn smiled faintly. “It’s a wonderful thing.”

The air between them changed — softer, slower. Vi could feel the weight of it pressing down, the way the night folded around them like a secret. She caught the flicker of lamp still glowing faintly from the desk, painting gold lines over Caitlyn’s hair.

She’d seen Caitlyn a hundred times by now — laughing, smiling, teasing, praying — but never like this. Never this close, never this still.

Caitlyn’s voice broke the quiet, small and uncertain. “Can I…?”

She didn’t finish the question, but Vi knew what she meant. She didn’t think — she just leaned in, closing the last inch of space between them.

Their lips met softly, almost like a question at first. Then again, steadier this time — like an answer.

Caitlyn’s hand rose, brushing lightly against Vi’s cheek, her touch trembling but sure. Vi’s pulse raced. Every inch of her told her to stop, to breathe, to pull away before she crossed a line she couldn’t uncross — but she didn’t. Not when Caitlyn leaned closer, not when her breath caught, not when Vi’s hand found its way to the back of her neck, holding her there for just a second longer.

“Touch me, please.”

That caught Vi off-guard. “Where would you like to be touched?”

Caitlyn's breath hitched as Vi's words washed over her. "Everywhere," she whispered, her voice laced with raw need.  "I want you to make me forget...just for a while." 

Vi was hesitant but seeing the need in Caitlyn’s blue eyes made her quiver and surrender into the need that she’s been feeling lately as well. She kissed her lips again, full of need, uncertainty and a promise. A promise to make her feel good. She parted her lips from Caitlyn’s for a moment. “The door’s open. You better keep quiet, okay?”

Caitlyn nodded, fast and sure.

“Good girl.” Vi winked, gently raising Caitlyn’s top off, enjoying the valley on her chest. She kisses it gently, as if every kiss could break Caitlyn. She can feel her shaking beneath her.

Caitlyn leaned forward to unclasped her bra, tossing it aside and her hands settled on Vi’s neck, pulling her close. Vi wasted no time tasting the erect nipples, her left hand grabbing and her mouth sucking gently, her other hand toying with Caitlyn’s nipple. Caitlyn gasped at the contact, her legs moving, toes curling asking for more.

Vi's lips curled into a lustful grin as she reached out, her fingers trailing up Caitlyn's thigh.

She could already feel the heat radiating from Caitlyn's core, and it fueled her own desire. With deliberate slowness, Vi slid her hand beneath Caitlyn's skirt, the fabric bunching around her wrist.

Caitlyn's breath caught as Vi's fingers made contact with her damp heat, teasing the edge of her panties. "Let's get these out of the way," Vi murmured, hooking her fingers into Caitlyn's panties and slowly peeling them down her legs.

Once they were discarded on the floor, Vi's gaze fell onto Caitlyn's exposed center, her pussy glistening with need.

"You're beautiful," Vi whispered, her voice filled with reverence as she spread Caitlyn's legs wider, giving herself a better view. She leaned in, her hot breath ghosting over Caitlyn's sensitive flesh before she pressed a gentle kiss to her inner thigh.

Caitlyn gasped, her back arching off the bed as Vi's lips made contact with her skin. She felt a surge of heat flood through her body, settling in her core.

Encouraged by Caitlyn's response, Vi trailed a line of kisses up her thigh until she reached her center. She inhaled deeply, taking in Caitlyn's musky scent before she extended her tongue and gave Caitlyn's pussy a long, slow lick.

Caitlyn cried out silently, her fingers tangling in Vi's hair, urging her on. The sensation of Vi's tongue on her most sensitive area was overwhelming, pleasure coursing through her veins like liquid fire.

Vi groaned against Caitlyn's pussy, the vibrations sending waves of pleasure through her body. She continued to lap at Caitlyn's folds, her tongue delving deeper with each pass. When she found Caitlyn's clit, she swirled her tongue around it, earning a muffled-pitched moan from the girl beneath her.

As she pleasured Caitlyn with her mouth, Vi slid a finger inside her, crooking it to find that sweet spot that would send Caitlyn over the edge. Her pussy clenched around the intrusion, and Vi couldn't help but moan at the tight heat that surrounded her finger.

Caitlyn's breathing grew ragged, her hips bucking against Vi's mouth as she felt herself teetering on the edge of climax. "Vi...I'm going to..." she gasped, her words trailing off into a gentle moan as she came undone. Vi felt Caitlyn's orgasm wash over her, her pussy clenching and spasming around her finger.

 She continued to lap at Caitlyn's pussy, gentling her movements as Caitlyn rode out her high. As Caitlyn's tremors subsided, Vi pulled back, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

She climbed up Caitlyn's body, laying beside her and pulling her close. "How was that?" she asked, a satisfied smile tugging at her lips.

Caitlyn turned in Vi's arms, her cheeks flushed and her eyes bright with post-orgasmic bliss. "It was amazing," she murmured, pressing a kiss to Vi's lips. "I don't know what I'd do without you."

Vi wrapped her arms tighter around Caitlyn, holding her close. "You'll never have to find out," she vowed, her voice filled with sincerity. "I'm here for you, always."

 And as they lay there in each other's arms, the weight of Caitlyn's illness momentarily forgotten, Vi knew she would do anything to keep that spark in Caitlyn's eyes burning bright.

When they finally pulled apart, Caitlyn’s eyes were glassy, her breath uneven. She let out a shaky laugh, soft as a sigh.

“Guess I can cross that off my list,” she whispered.

Vi smiled faintly, though her chest ached. “Yeah.” Her voice cracked. “Guess you can.”

Vi stands up, gets clothes from Caitlyn’s closet. She slowly changes Caitlyn into something warm and borrowed one of her shirts, she then proceeds to turn off the lamp. Leaving them in the dim glow of the moonlight — quiet, steady, and safe.

Caitlyn’s breathing slowed. Vi listened to it — every soft inhale, every pause — and felt something tighten inside her chest.

 She whispered into Caitlyn’s hair, almost too quiet to hear. “I’m not gonna let you go through this alone. You hear me?”

Caitlyn didn’t answer. But her hand tightened around Vi’s, just once — enough to say she heard. Enough to say she believed her.

I wanted to know you
I wanted to make your everything
All right

The sun hung low that afternoon, bleeding light over Beaufort’s sleepy streets. Vi sat at the edge of Vander’s garage, grease still staining her hands, an untouched bottle of soda beside her.

Caitlyn was supposed to be there hours ago.

They’d promised to meet after lunch — maybe drive out to the pier, maybe play a song or two by the dunes. But the clock had long passed two, then three, and now the shadows were starting to stretch long across the gravel.

She told herself not to panic. Maybe Caitlyn got held up by her mother. Maybe she wasn’t feeling well — she had those days, sometimes. But something in Vi’s gut twisted, heavy and cold, refusing to settle.

By the time four rolled around, she grabbed her jacket and keys.

The Kiramman house stood quiet when she arrived — too quiet for a home that usually had music or laughter spilling through its windows. The curtains were half drawn, and the church bell down the street had just rung the hour when Vi spotted Cassandra by the steps, locking the door behind her.

“Mrs. Kiramman!” Vi called, her voice louder than she meant it to be.

Cassandra turned, surprised at first, then softened when she saw who it was. But her eyes—Vi noticed right away—were rimmed with red.

“Violet,” Cassandra said gently, though her voice carried the weight of something Vi didn’t want to hear. “I was just about to come find you.”

Vi’s stomach dropped. “What’s wrong?”

Cassandra hesitated, pressing her hand to the side of the car, as if steadying herself. “It’s Caitlyn. Her condition’s worsened. The doctors at the hospital called this morning.”

The world went still.

For a second, Vi thought she misheard. But Cassandra’s expression didn’t waver — calm, composed, the way only someone who’s been forced to be strong could manage.

“She was fine yesterday,” Vi said quietly, the words barely coming out. “We were just—”

“I know,” Cassandra said, her voice breaking, just a little. “She’s been pushing herself. I should’ve seen it coming.” She took a breath, steadying her tone. “I’m going there now. Would you come with me?”

Vi didn’t even answer. She just nodded, once, firmly — the kind of nod that held back everything else threatening to spill out.

They drove in silence. The only sound was the hum of the tires against the road and the low hum of Cassandra’s whispered prayer under her breath. Vi stared out the window, her fists clenched in her lap. Her heart hammered against her ribs — part fear, part disbelief, part something far heavier.

Caitlyn’s words from last night echoed in her head — her laugh, her voice, the way she’d said I can cross that off my list now.

Vi blinked hard, refusing to let the tears fall yet.

She’d promised Caitlyn they’d face it head-on. That she wouldn’t let her go through it alone.

And she wasn’t about to break that promise now.

The drive to the hospital blurred by in pieces — traffic lights, the hollow sound of tires against asphalt, Cassandra’s hands tightening on the steering wheel every few minutes.

When they finally reached the small hospital on the edge of town, Vi barely waited for the car to stop before getting out. The sharp scent of disinfectant hit her the moment they stepped inside — sterile, cold, nothing like the warm, sunlit places she was used to seeing Caitlyn in.

Tobias was standing by the nurse’s station, his coat still on, his face drawn. When he saw Cassandra, something in him seemed to give way. They didn’t speak right away — just held each other, quiet and heavy.

Then he noticed Vi.

“Violet,” he said softly, almost like a sigh. “She’s been asking for you.”

That was all it took. Vi nodded, forcing her legs to move, her hands cold and trembling at her sides.

The door to Caitlyn’s room creaked as she pushed it open.

Inside, the light was dim — filtered through half-closed blinds. Machines hummed quietly beside the bed. Caitlyn looked small under the blankets, her skin pale, her hair, once brushed smooth and shining, was messy and damp against her forehead.

Vi froze at the sight of her. Her throat tightened.

For a moment, Caitlyn didn’t stir. Then her eyes opened slowly — tired, but still impossibly kind. And when she saw Vi, she smiled.

“Hey,” she whispered, her voice barely there.

Vi moved to her side in an instant, pulling a chair close. “Hey yourself,” she said quietly, trying to sound steady. “You scared the hell outta me, cupcake.”

Caitlyn let out a small laugh that turned into a cough. Vi reached for the cup of water on the table, holding it to her lips carefully.

“Sorry,” Caitlyn said between breaths. “Guess… I couldn’t help it.”

“Don’t joke about that.” Vi’s voice broke a little as she said it.

Caitlyn reached out, her fingers brushing over Vi’s hand, feather-light. “You’re here,” she said softly. “That’s what matters.”

Vi swallowed hard, blinking against the sting behind her eyes. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Behind them, the door opened quietly. Tobias stepped in, followed by Cassandra and a pair of doctors. Their voices were low, clinical — but even Vi could hear the quiet finality in their tone.

There’s not much more we can do.

She’s stable for now, but…

It’s time to take her home.

Tobias’s jaw tightened. He nodded, the motion sharp, controlled. “Then we’ll take her home,” he said. “She deserves to be surrounded by family.”

The doctors agreed, arranging papers and instructions, their eyes avoiding Cassandra’s.

Vi barely heard them. Her whole focus was on the way Caitlyn’s hand felt in hers — warm, fragile, trembling. She could feel every heartbeat, faint but there.

When the doctors left, Tobias turned to Vi. “You can stay,” he said quietly. “You should.”

Cassandra touched Vi’s shoulder, her voice soft. “She needs you.”

So Vi stayed.

She helped lift Caitlyn carefully into a wheelchair, helped adjust the blanket around her shoulders, and rode in the back of the van beside her as they drove home. Caitlyn drifted in and out of sleep, her head leaning against Vi’s shoulder, her breath shallow but peaceful.

Vi didn’t say a word. She just held her, her jaw tight, her thumb tracing slow circles against Caitlyn’s hand — as if that small act could somehow keep her tethered here a little longer.

When they reached the Kiramman house, the sun was setting. Vander and Powder were already waiting by the porch, their faces pale, eyes wide and wet.

Vi lifted Caitlyn herself — one arm under her knees, one behind her back — and carried her inside, past the front door, past the flickering lamp Cassandra had set out, into the quiet safety of her room.

She laid Caitlyn down gently, brushing the hair from her forehead.

Caitlyn’s eyes fluttered open again, weak but aware.

“You’re really not leaving, huh?” she whispered.

Vi shook her head, the corner of her mouth trembling into something like a smile. “Told you I wouldn’t.”

And she didn’t.

That night, as the house fell into silence and the stars settled over Beaufort, Vi sat by her bedside, guitar resting beside her, Caitlyn’s hand still in hers.

She didn’t move, didn’t sleep, didn’t even think about leaving — not when the girl she loved was right there, fragile and fading, but still fighting to stay.

Not when every breath she took felt like a promise she wasn’t ready to break.

I'll always remember
It was late afternoon

The morning light in Caitlyn’s room was soft and quiet, drifting through the lace curtains like something too gentle for the world outside. The house had become still these past few days — the kind of stillness that wrapped around everything like a sigh.

Caitlyn sat propped up in bed, her hair tied loosely, a blanket wrapped around her shoulders. Her body felt fragile, her breaths shallow, but her mind — her heart — was awake. The faint hum of birds outside made her smile, even if just for a second.

The door creaked open.

“Hey, Cait,” Powder’s voice came, small and careful, as though afraid to disturb her.

Caitlyn turned her head, and the smile that came was instant. “Powder. Hi, love. Come in.”

The girl stepped forward, clutching a small bouquet of wildflowers — unevenly picked, some petals missing, but all bright and alive. She set them on the bedside table. “Vi said you liked flowers.”

“I do,” Caitlyn said softly, touching the edge of a petal. “These are beautiful.”

Powder sat down at the edge of the bed, her legs swinging slightly. For a moment, she didn’t say anything — just looked around the room, at the guitar by the corner, the books stacked neatly by the window, the sunlight pooling like honey over the sheets.

Then, she spoke.

“Vi’s been going to church every morning,” she said quietly. “She doesn’t pray. Just sits there. Sometimes for an hour.”

Caitlyn’s brows lifted slightly. “Does she?”

Powder nodded, looking down at her hands. “Yeah. And she stopped smoking. Said you told her she smokes too much.”

Caitlyn blinked, a soft ache blooming in her chest.

“She doesn’t fight anymore either,” Powder continued, her voice starting to tremble. “You remember the night she walked you home? That was the time she stopped fighting. I thought she was sick or something.”

That made Caitlyn laugh — just a small sound, caught between joy and sadness. “Sounds like Violet.”

“Yeah,” Powder said, her eyes starting to glisten. “Except she’s not the same anymore. She’s… better. Calmer. She listens. I think it’s because of you.”

Caitlyn’s smile faltered just slightly. “Oh, Powder…”

Powder sniffled, shaking her head. “No, I mean it. You changed her. Not because you made her — but because she wanted to. She told me that once. Said being around you makes her want to be someone she can be proud of.”

Caitlyn felt her eyes sting, but she blinked it away. “She already is.”

For a moment, the only sound was the soft ticking of the clock by the dresser. Powder fidgeted with her sleeves, biting her lip.

Then, barely above a whisper, she said, “You have to get better, Cait.”

Caitlyn froze, her breath catching.

Powder’s eyes were glossy now, tears pooling but not falling yet. “Please. You have to. For Vi. For all of us. She’s… she’s finally happy again. And if you go—”

Her voice cracked, and the tears finally came, spilling fast and quiet. Caitlyn reached out, slow but steady, and took her hand.

“Oh, Powder…” Her voice was soft, trembling. “Come here.”

Powder didn’t hesitate. She leaned forward, burying her face against Caitlyn’s shoulder. Caitlyn held her, weak arms still strong enough to give comfort, to smooth her hair the way she imagined Vi would.

“I’ll try,” Caitlyn whispered after a while. “I promise I’ll try.”

“But you’ll get better, right?” Powder’s voice was muffled. “You’ll stay?”

Caitlyn closed her eyes, fighting the lump in her throat. She wanted to tell the truth — that sometimes love wasn’t enough, that faith didn’t always mean miracles. But when she looked at Powder, all she saw was a girl who’d already lost too much.

So she smiled. Soft, tender. “I’ll stay as long as I can,” she said. “And I’ll fight to stay longer. You have my word.”

Powder nodded, clinging tighter, tears soaking through Caitlyn’s sleeve.

In that small, quiet room, with sunlight painting the walls gold and dust dancing lazily in the air, Caitlyn held her like she was holding a promise.

And even though her heart knew the truth — that time was not on her side — she meant every word she said.

Because if Violet Wick could change, could soften and still stay strong — then maybe Caitlyn could, too. At least for a little while longer.

The church was quiet that morning. Sunlight streamed through the stained glass, painting soft colors across the pews — blues, golds, pinks, shifting like breath on the floor. Vi sat in her usual seat at the back, her elbows resting on her knees, hands clasped tight. Her chest felt too small for her heart.

Violet had told Cassandra that Caitlyn wanted to sing — one of the last things she’d written on her bucket list. She said it with a kind of fragile pride, the kind that held both hope and surrender in the same breath. Cassandra hadn’t known what to say, only that she’d do anything to make it happen.

Now, as the service ended and people quietly left, a few stayed behind — the people who mattered most. Vander stood near the aisle with Powder, his hand on her shoulder. Tobias and Cassandra sat in the front row, holding hands tightly. Ekko, Mylo, and Claggor lingered next to Powder, uneasy but present.

And Caitlyn — Caitlyn sat at the altar, pale but glowing in the morning light. The guitar rested across her lap, her fingers brushing softly against the strings.

She looked small, wrapped in her cream cardigan, her hair tied back loosely. But when she lifted her gaze and smiled at everyone, she looked like she was made of something stronger than time.

“Thank you all for coming,” Caitlyn said, voice gentle but clear, carrying easily through the open space. “I know this is… unusual. But I wanted to do something. For myself, and for all of you.”

Vi felt her throat tighten.

Caitlyn took a small breath and adjusted the guitar, her fingers trembling slightly as she found the chords. “My mother used to say that when words fail, music doesn’t. So… I suppose this is my way of saying what words can’t anymore.”

There was a hush. Even the air seemed to still.

Then — she began to play.

Soft, hesitant at first, then steadier. The first notes of Only Hope echoed through the church — delicate and full of ache.

Caitlyn’s voice followed, light as a prayer.

There’s a song that’s inside of my soul…
It’s the one that I’ve tried to write over and over again…

Her voice wasn’t strong, but it was true. It wavered, cracked at the edges, but every note carried something honest — something Vi could feel deep in her ribs.

I'm awake in the infinite cold
But you sing to me over and over and over again

Vi couldn’t breathe for a second. Every chord, every word, was a memory. The first time Caitlyn laughed in her arms. The night at the observatory. The soft hum of her voice saying good night, Vi.

So I lay my head back down
And I lift my hands and pray
To be only yours I pray
To be only yours
I know now you're my only hope

Powder’s shoulders were shaking quietly beside Vander. Tobias was already wiping at his eyes. Cassandra’s lips trembled; her hands folded tightly in prayer.

But Vi — Vi couldn’t move. She sat frozen, staring at the girl who changed everything.

Caitlyn looked up mid-song, her gaze finding Vi’s across the church. For a heartbeat, it felt like there was no one else there — no time, no sickness, no end coming. Just the two of them, and the sound of her voice filling the space between.

I know now you’re my only hope…

Her smile was small, but real. And even as her voice weakened on the last verse, she didn’t stop. She kept going, like she was holding the world together with each note.

When the song ended, the silence that followed was absolute — sacred. Then Cassandra stood and began to clap, quiet at first, then everyone joined.

Caitlyn laughed softly, tired but bright, wiping her tears with the back of her hand. “Thank you,” she whispered, voice trembling. “Thank you for letting me have this.”

Vi didn’t clap. She couldn’t. Her hands were trembling too much. She only watched — her chest aching, her vision blurred.

Caitlyn set the guitar down gently, and her eyes found Vi again. A small, secret smile — the same one she’d given her under the stars.

Vi still standing, almost without realizing. The wooden pew creaked beneath her as she took a step forward, then another, until she was at the front. Caitlyn reached out a hand, and Vi took it without hesitation.

Their fingers intertwined, warm and trembling.

No words passed between them. There didn’t need to be any.

Because in that quiet church filled with love and grief and everything in between, Vi finally understood — Caitlyn wasn’t singing about faith or heaven. She was singing about them.

And that was enough. She gently dragged Caitlyn outside, bringing the guitar with her.

The sun was low by the time they left the church. The last streaks of gold had melted into pink, and the cicadas hummed somewhere distant — that lazy, comforting sound that always came when the day exhaled into evening.

Vi carried the guitar as they walked, slow and quiet, to the old oak tree just outside the church. The grass there was damp with the remains of daylight, and the trunk’s rough bark still held the faint warmth of the sun.

They’d sat here so many times before — during breaks, after Sunday service, after hard days when words didn’t come easy. But this time felt different.
Heavier. Softer. Like the world itself was holding its breath.

Caitlyn leaned back against Vi’s chest, her hair brushing against Vi’s chin. Her hands were cold, even in Vi’s.

Neither of them spoke at first. The stars were starting to show, faint and trembling, scattered like tiny fires in the darkening sky. The church bells had long gone quiet.

Vi rested her chin on Caitlyn’s shoulder. “You tired?” she asked softly.

Caitlyn shook her head, just barely. “No. I… I just want to stay here for a while.”

“Yeah,” Vi murmured. “Me too.”

They sat in silence, listening to the crickets, the distant rustle of leaves, the sound of their breathing syncing like it always did.

Then Caitlyn spoke — quiet, her voice almost lost to the wind.
“Vi… if I ever forget to say it enough… thank you.”

Vi frowned lightly. “For what?”

“For making my days count.” Caitlyn turned her head a little, eyes half-lidded, the corners of her lips curved into a soft smile. “When I found out about my illness, I thought… I thought my world had already ended. But then you came in with your voice, your old leather jacket, and that stupid grin.” She laughed weakly, her voice catching. “You made everything feel new again. Like maybe life wasn’t over. It was just… starting in a different way.”

Vi’s throat went tight. She couldn’t say anything. She could only watch her — memorize every movement, every word.

Caitlyn reached for her hand, fingers brushing over Vi’s knuckles. “Can I tell you something?”

“Anything.”

“The exact moment I fell in love with you.”

Vi froze. Her heart tripped over itself. “Really? When was it?”

Caitlyn smiled faintly. “Of course I do. It was the first day you were fixing the motorcycle. You were covered in grease, your hair was a mess, and you kept swearing at a rusty screw.” She let out a soft laugh, breathless and full of memory. “I was trying to practice that stupid G chord you taught me, and you looked over and said, ‘You’re getting better, cupcake.’”

Vi laughed quietly, her voice cracking. “You remember that?”

Caitlyn nodded. “You said it like you were proud of me. And in that moment, I thought — this is what safety feels like.”

The words hit Vi hard — sharper, deeper than she expected. She could feel Caitlyn’s heartbeat, faint and fluttering, against her arm.

“I fell in love with you because you make things easy,” Caitlyn whispered. “Even the hard things. You make them worth it.”

Vi swallowed hard, blinking fast as tears stung her eyes. “Don’t—don’t say things like that, Cait. You’ll make me cry.”

Caitlyn chuckled softly, then tilted her head back to look at her. Her eyes — those deep blue, clear eyes — reflected the stars. “Maybe we both should. Just once. Cry because we loved something this much.”

Vi couldn’t hold it anymore. She wrapped her arms around Caitlyn tighter, pressing her lips to the top of her head.

“I don’t know how I’m supposed to let you go,” Vi’s voice waivered. “You’ve become everything, you know that?”

All your feelings so deep inside (forever was in your eyes)
Was there that I realized
That forever was in your eyes
The moment I saw you cry

Caitlyn smiled through her tears. “You don’t have to. Just remember me. That’s all I want.”

Vi pulled back just enough to look at her, their foreheads touching beneath the glow of the moon. “You’re not just a memory, Cait. You’re home.”

And as the wind swept gently through the oak’s branches, carrying the faint hum of the sea below, Caitlyn’s eyes fluttered shut, her hand resting over Vi’s heart.

They stayed like that — two souls tangled beneath an old oak tree, whispering vows that didn’t need rings or promises of forever. Only love. Quiet, steadfast, and true.

“I love you, Violet.”

Vi slowly tilted her head to plant a kiss on Caitlyn’s trembling lips. “I love you too, cupcake.”

And Vi listened. Every word. Every breath.
Because she knew — this was their forever, right here.

Baby cry
Moment that I saw you cry
Oh no, no
I think I saw you cry
The moment I saw you cry

The town felt quieter after the funeral.

Even the sea seemed to hush itself — the wind that used to hum through the cliffs now just sighed, heavy and tired. The church doors were still open, white ribbons already starting to fade from the salt air. Powder stood near Vander, silent for once. Mylo, Ekko, and Claggor lingered by the gates, unsure what to do with their hands.

And Vi… Vi stood apart from them all.

She hadn’t cried during the service. Not when the choir sang, not when the pastor spoke, not even when they carried Caitlyn’s coffin out into the light. She had just watched — frozen and quiet — as if her body refused to believe what her heart already knew.

Now, as the last of the guests drifted away, Cassandra approached. Her steps were soft, her usual grace dimmed by grief. Her hands clutched something small — a wooden box, simple and polished smooth.

“Violet,” Cassandra said gently. Her voice was hoarse, like she’d been speaking to God all morning and He still hadn’t answered.

Vi turned, eyes hollow. “Mrs. Kiramman.”

Cassandra smiled faintly at the formality. “You can call me Cassandra, dear. She would’ve wanted that.”

Vi’s throat worked, but she couldn’t find words.

Cassandra looked down at the box in her hands, running her thumb along the lid. “She asked me to give this to you. Said I’d know when the time was right.” Her voice trembled slightly. “I think… now is that time.”

She held it out. Vi hesitated before taking it — it was small, light, yet her hands shook as if she were holding something immense.

Cassandra placed a hand on her shoulder. “She loved you, Violet. Deeply. Don’t ever doubt that.”

And then she turned, walking back toward Tobias and the others before Vi could even manage a thank-you.

For a long time, Vi didn’t move. She just stood there by the old oak tree outside the church, the same one where they’d spent that last night together. The same one where Caitlyn had told her she loved her.

Finally, she sat down beneath it, knees drawn close, and opened the box.

Inside was a single guitar pick — worn smooth, the edges slightly chipped from use. It was the same one Caitlyn always used during their lessons and Caitlyn’s bible with a dried flower as a bookmark to her favorite passage. The one she mentioned to Vi during one of the services they attended together.

Under it lay a folded piece of paper, faintly creased and smelling like lavender and salt.

Vi’s heart stuttered as she unfolded it.

Dear Violet,

If you’re reading this, it means I’m no longer there to tell you these things myself — and that hurts, because there’s still so much, I wanted to say.

You once asked me what I wanted to do before my time runs out. I never told you the last thing on my list.

It wasn’t the stars. Or singing at the church. Or learning the guitar.

It was to make sure you never stop believing in something good again. I know you stopped praying a long time ago. I know you think the world stopped listening. But Violet — it didn’t. You were my answered prayer.

Thank you for giving me more time than I ever thought I’d have. For laughter. For music. For love.

Every time you play, I’ll still be there — in the notes, in the pauses, in the silence that follows.

I love you. Always will.

— Caitlyn K.

Vi didn’t realize she was crying until the ink blurred before her eyes. The tears came quietly, shaking her shoulders, spilling down her chin.

She pressed the pick to her chest, clutching it tight like it was her last anchor.

And for the first time in months, Vi looked up — at the sky, the same sky Caitlyn used to stare at, full of endless light — and whispered, hoarse but certain,
“Thank you, cupcake.”

The wind stirred gently, carrying the faintest echo of a voice she’d never forget.

Soft. Laughing.

Alive somewhere beyond reach.

I wanted to know you
I wanted to know you

The years had moved slowly in Beaufort, but they had moved.

Vi stood outside the small auto shop by the sea, the pale blue paint catching the first light of morning. Flowers — sun-worn and golden — lined the doorframe, the same kind Caitlyn had picked from the yard behind her house, pressed between pages of her old journal. The sign above read V. Wick Repairs, a modest nod to the girl who had once changed her life.

Inside, the shop smelled faintly of oil and the sea breeze, the clink of tools a familiar rhythm. On the counter, a framed photo of Caitlyn sat next to Vi’s guitar — worn, chipped, and still perfect. The guitar pick rested on the edge of the frame, tied with a thin leather strap. Next to it is Caitlyn’s Bible, every day she reads one of the verses. Vi’s fingers brushed it unconsciously as she worked, the smallest smile tugging at her lips.

Every Sunday, without fail, she returned to the church. She no longer prayed; she didn’t need to. She just sat in the same pew she had always chosen, letting the quiet sink in. Sometimes she strummed softly on a guitar, the notes floating through the open space like whispers.

Powder would visit from time to time, laughing and chattering, still bursting with the same fire she had as a girl. She would tease Vi about her softening ways. “You’ve changed, you know,” she’d say, eyes glinting. “Not for me, not for anyone… but for you.”

Vi would only shrug, hiding the sting behind a smile, the memory of Caitlyn folding into every moment.

And when people asked why she wore the guitar pick around her neck most of the time, Vi would smile softly, fingers brushing the leather strap.

“She keeps me in tune,” she’d say.

Sometimes, when the wind blew just right, Vi could hear it — a faint laugh, a whisper of the girl she loved. The sun would hit the ocean, and for a heartbeat, it would feel like Caitlyn was there, standing beside her under the endless sky.

Vi knew she’d never forget. Not the soft warmth of her hands, not the way her eyes lit up in the sun, not the way her laughter made the whole world feel wide and alive.

She had kept her promise. She had lived. And every day, she carried Caitlyn in her heart — in the music, in the quiet moments, in the hope that had never really left her.

And for Vi, that was enough.

The horizon stretched endlessly over Beaufort, golden and calm, like the kind of love that never truly ends.