“You’re really running now? At a time like this?” Caitlyn’s grasp on your jaw tightens.

Vi is there, too. Her arms tighten around you, burlier, and certainly more bruised—peeking even through her tattoos. Her nose presses into your nape.

“Where were you goin’, princess?” Vi’s voice husks, and it’s only because you know her so well that you can pick up the quaver.

You are sick of being your girlfriends’ mediator. Sick enough, you took a little holiday. It didn’t mean you were leaving the country. Except, you should’ve known that would send them teetering over the precipice. The moment Caitlyn had shot up, cold, weight of her bed harrowingly light—she’d spurred into panic-mode.

(Of course, she’d checked Vi’s place first. A tersely awkward affair, yet she knew if you weren’t with her, you’d be with Vi. Uh huh, a bloody time-share schedule. Times were dire.)

Except, you weren’t there, and Vi and Caitlyn had formed a temporary truce because they’d already lost everyone. Including each other. They can’t lose you, too.

So, maybe you could’ve predicted this outcome. Though, Enforcers were a little excessive, no? Let alone the whole tied-up thing. And not in the totally cool, girlfriend-approved way.

“Do you think, on top of all the shit that is going on—that we need to worry about you, too?”

Caitlyn’s pinching her brow, pacing the room. Vi breathes you in, deep, like she’s savouring this; having you three in the same room again.

“We always worry ‘bout you.” Vi mumbles. “S’why we gotta do this, baby. We’re sorry.”

“I’m not.”

“Cupcake.”

“Don’t you dare cupcake me.”

Oh, God. They’re fighting again. They’ve kidnapped you, and they’re still fucking bickering about it.