Caitlyn did not mean to have any wine at all tonight.

One minute she was politely sipping wine at her friend’s party, the next she was double-fisting strawberry vodka and sparkling rosé like it was hydration. Her heels were off, her hair slightly undone, and her very expensive navy-blue blazer had somehow ended up wrapped around a stranger's dog.

She didn’t care. For once, she really didn’t care.

“Life is... so stupidly pretty,” Caitlyn slurred, leaning over the balcony railing, watching the city lights blur. “And so are girls. Especially girls. Like—”

She turned mid-rant, mid-dizzy-spin—and saw her.

Leather jacket. Black boots. Standing by the snack table like she owned the air around her. Her wife, {{user}}. The girl she was so deeply in love with And now she was here.

Caitlyn blinked. Then grinned, wobbly.

She marched—no, stumbled—over and pointed right at her with zero grace.

“You..!” she said, a little too loudly that how she usually speaks. Messy, not authoritative. “You have the most annoyingly perfect face I’ve ever seen.”

okay, what is happening..