Cait's gaze upon Vi's resting body lying gently against the silk, tattered sheets feels heavy, it's not unkind, it's not disparaging, it's simply— present. Light, dexterous fingers trace the scars that lie with secrets hidden beneath them, laced in between the thick, faded defacements. The sheer, swaying curtain allows the light flickering from lamp-post into the room, creating a soft glow against the the scar, along with the stretched hand lying tenderly against it.
Cait's slender fingers slip against the soft skin, creating a repetitive pattern of figure-eights swooping over Vi's belly button. She feels a shiver shoot down her spine, as if a flash of lighting was sent from the sky just as Cait's fingertips lines the lengthy scar against her navel. She sucks in a breath as the woman lying besides her continues tracing the midst of the scar, her mind rushing a million miles per hour which each sweep of her delicate fingers.
"What is this from?" Cait suddenly asks, her tone hushed, her lips brushing against Vi's collarbone as she speaks. Her voice is nothing but calm, it's sweet and comforting in a way Vi hasn't ever experienced, as if it's a foreign language to her ears. Rain still creates a pitter, patter-pitter pattern against the glass of their apartment, and the drapes still fluttering.
Vi hums, moving her gaze to glance at the head tipped upward belonging to the midnight-haired woman, their hazed gazes meet sweetly. "Hm?"
"The scar. Where— what's it from?" She asks, and her fingers stop in their tracks along Vi's stomach. She rests the palm of her hand atop the scar pierced across her navel, and Vi can tell she's being as gentle as she possibly can.
"This old thing?" She deftly motions downward with agile fingertips, and her arm tightly wrapped around Caitlyn's slender figure. Caitlyn nods in response, Vi can still feel her eyes on her, and for once, a simple look doesn't make Vi feel as if she's about to shrink, to shrivel like fingers soaked far too long in a bathtub. "I don't even remember, if I'm honest, but it's from when I was like 13, maybe 14 years old. It was one of my first scars," She finishes, watching as Cait's willowy fingertips stretch across a new scar, one indented darker, thicker into Vi's pale skin. It's planted just under the left breast, and Vi predicts Cait will ask about the journeys on how it landed upon such soft skin.
"And this one?" She predicted correctly.
"Knife accident," She feels Cait suck in a breath and drag her fingers completely off of the scar in response. "It doesn't hurt, you're fine. It kinda felt nice," She adds, a small chuckle slipping from her parted lips, a loose grip on Caitlyn's hand in the palm of her own is redirecting it back to it's previous position.
"Are you sure? It seems quite new."
"Yeah, maybe a few years old, or something like that. Hard to tell time in prison," She shrugs, and Caitlyn rests her head against Vi's bare chest, her fingers line the scar softly, delicately. Vi assumes she wants more of a story, and she gives it to her. "Probably self explanatory. You saw how they treated inmates."
"I'm sorry, Vi."
"No biggie. What about you, Cupcake? Got any scars of your own?" Vi asks, rubbing small circles into the soft skin of Cait's bicep.
"A few," She pauses, pulling the duvet off of the two of them, prompting a small yelp from Vi. She lifts her knee, holding it by her calf, showing Vi the tiny scar across her knee. "See?" She asks, "I was riding this bike, right? And it had just rained earlier in the morning. For some reason, silly me, decided to go across a bump in the sidewalk, and I suddenly toppled over and scraped my knee against the concrete."
"Wow. That's pretty badass," Vi jokes, and Cait lightly gives Vi a teasing smack to the shoulder in response. "Any others?"
"Hmm..." Cait ponders upon the though, clearly thinking deeply for anymore hidden scars etched into her pale skin. "Ah! Here's this one," She holds up her finger to Vi, showing the miniature scar against her knuckle. "I was cutting carrots, I wanted so badly to help my father cook for dinner, and I barely nicked my finger. My father hasn't let me cook dinner since then."
From stories about scars, to the findings of birthmarks imprinted into their skin, the two women somehow spend what may as well be hours exchanging stories. Fingers run across thighs, arms brush against stomachs, words fly out of mouths, it doesn't seem to bore.
It's dark by now, when the clock ticks further and further on and the glimmer of the moon from the curtain reflects down onto the silk sheets covering their bodies, lapping at Cait's hips like hastening river. It must be Vi's favorite time of the night, when nothing can be heard but the noisy chirping of crickets outside the window, which is cracked just enough for the whistle of the wind to find itself inside.
The feeling of Vi's ear pressed against the blue-haired woman's chest has became habit, and so has the hushed sound of the consistent drum in her ear as soft as the way Cait's fingertips glide through pink, tangled hair, the gentle huffs of breath coming from parted lips, it's all became so familiar to Vi, and she's not sure how she ever fucking existed without living through these moments they share over the low and peaceful sound of raindrops against a fogged window.
"Goodnight, Violet," Caitlyn says, her arms wide around Vi's torso and her gaze full of nothing but sweetness as they meet Vi's. And now, she's not sure how she ever fucking existed without Cait either.
She can't dissect the feeling that she feels for Cait, can't pull it apart and examine it. Whether it be the sound of her heartbeat filling her ears, imitating the rain, or the familiarity of it all that is so comforting to her, she's not sure. She decides it may as well be both.
Tonight, as every night, she finds herself checking Cait's heartbeat, pressing her ear further to her girlfriend's chest, gentle enough not to wake her, just listening, assuring her heart's still beating against the thick bones of her ribcage, because she couldn't bare to lose Caitlyn like she has the other important people in her life.
She had done it ever since that one night. The night after Vi's sister had blown up the council, there were no updates on her mother, and Cait hadn't left her bed in what seemed to have been weeks. So, when Vi would come home to their newly shared apartment, Cait sat numb against the headboard with a cup of chicken soup Vi had served her in the palm of her freezing hands, as if her fingers were imitating the feeling of her heart aching, as if cold to the touch, she would rest her head gently to the chest of the sorrowful woman, just listening.
It was a rare habit she didn't attempt to break.