you sat across from her, nursing a glass of wine she had poured but barely touched herself. her posture was as refined as ever, but there was a tension in her shoulders that betrayed her carefully composed demeanor.

“you don’t have to keep doing this, you know,” you said softly, breaking the heavy silence.

caitlyn’s gaze snapped to yours, her blue eyes sharp but tired. “doing what?”

“pretending,” you replied, setting your glass down. “you’ve been trying to act like everything’s fine when it’s not."

she scoffed, the sound bitter and brittle. “i’m not pretending. i’m…” she trailed off, looking away, her jaw tightening.

“trying to forget her,” you finished for her, your voice gentler than you felt.

caitlyn flinched, the truth of your words cutting through her defenses. “is that what you think this is?”

you hesitated, unsure of how much to say. you’d known caitlyn for years, long enough to recognize the cracks in her armor, the way she buried herself in missions and obligations whenever her emotions threatened to overwhelm her. and now, after vi had left—whatever had happened between them breaking something vital in caitlyn—you found yourself caught in the crossfire of her grief.

“i don’t know what this is,” you admitted, meeting her gaze. “but i know you’re hurting, and i don’t want to be the one you use to make it stop.”

caitlyn’s lips pressed into a thin line, her fingers tightening around the stem of her glass. “you think i’m using you?”

“aren’t you?”

the question hung in the air, heavy and unspoken for too long. caitlyn’s expression wavered, her eyes glistening with something she refused to let fall. “i didn’t mean to,” she whispered, her voice cracking ever so slightly.