Cecilia’s idea of forever is different from most. For most, it means endless days and years stretching out ahead of them, unmarked and eternal. But for her, forever is only as long as someone will remember to wind her up.
She’s huddled between the bookcase and the wall, tucked away in a nook, wondering who might find her here first. For some reason, orange is the next thought that comes to mind. The colour lingers in her mind, bright against the dull edges of her thoughts.
Her key is running out of time. She has forever, but as soon as the clock stops, so does she. With heavy eyes and the final click of the wind-up key, Cecilia closes her eyes to nowhere.
¬
Later, she feels the light brush of fingertips on the key, the gentle twist as it turns. Energy rushes through her—head to feet, life filling her once again. Her fingers twitch. Her eyelids flutter open. The sunlight seeps through the windows, the marble floor beneath her icy cold.
And then, her gaze lands on the thing she tried to avoid at first. She’s seen it a thousand times, but still, time slows. Her eyes lock on those pink irises.
Gigi’s hair is a mess, eyes squinting, still half asleep. A yawn slips past her lips before a smile spreads across her face. Cecilia’s breath catches.
She doesn’t even need air.
“Morning, Ceci.” Gigi’s voice is rough, soft, like she’s just waking up. Cecilia can’t focus on anything except the hand still tracing the wind-up key.
Cecilia’s just woken up… so why does she feel warm already?
“Raora’s making breakfast.” Gigi pulls her hand back, but not to her side. Instead, she extends it toward Cecilia, offering a silent invitation. Her tail flicks back and forth, the yellow eye fixed on Cecilia’s face, as if waiting for her to respond.
Cecilia can’t help but watch the way her tail moves, the way Gigi’s expression softens.
“Come on,” Gigi says, her grin spreading wider, teasing. “I think Elizabeth’s giving us a mission today.”
Cecilia stares at her for a moment, then mutters, “Orange.”
Gigi pauses, confusion crossing her features. Cecilia’s eyes slide down to Gigi’s orange jacket, a quiet recognition blooming in her chest.
Of course, Gigi finds her first.
Cecilia steps into the kitchen after Gigi. The table is already set, dishes neatly arranged, steam rising from warm plates. Across from them, Raora and Elizabeth sit together, deep in conversation, their words breaking occasionally as Gigi’s voice rings out, loud and proud.
“I have brought the package!” Gigi proclaims, loud and triumphant, stepping forward with a hand on her hip and a smug grin. She gestures dramatically toward Cecilia, as if presenting something rare, something valuable.
Cecilia blinks. Then huffs.
“I’m not a package,” she mutters, crossing her arms as she follows Gigi to the table.
“You were tucked away in a corner like one,” Gigi teases, flopping into her seat. “All wound down, waiting to be picked up.”
Cecilia glares at her, but there’s no real heat behind it. Just the quiet, unspoken truth nestled between them. She was waiting. And… Gigi was the one to find her first.
She sits down beside her, and for a moment, everything moves forward like normal.
And then—something.
A flick, a brush. Gigi’s tail sweeps against Cecilia’s knee, slow and absentminded, trailing along the fabric of her clothes before curling around her leg. A light hold. Loose, but there. Hidden from view.
Cecilia stills.
Warmth pools low in her chest, winding through her limbs, curling in her fingers. It’s ridiculous how much space a single moment can take up. How time—her time—always feels stretched thin around Gigi, tangled and slowed in ways she doesn’t know how to fix.
Her heels tap impatiently against the floor. She flicks a glance toward Gigi—who is currently stuffing her face with pancakes, syrup glistening on her lips, completely, utterly unaware of what she’s doing.
It infuriates her.
To some extent, it disappoints her too. Because with every stolen glance, every second that drags forward, some unreasonable part of her hopes—just hopes—that Gigi might turn. Might see her. Might notice.
Why is she so focused on it?
Maybe it’s because, for Cecilia, forever isn’t endless. It’s counted in moments. It’s measured in winding keys, in the stretch of time between turning and stopping.
And right now, Gigi is making her feel like she isn’t running out of time at all.
Elizabeth gestures toward the averagely drawn blueprint on the board, services provided by none other than Cecilia—‘for practice,’ she told herself. And of course, when she had shown it to Elizabeth, the redhead cried happy tears and then hugged her. For maybe a few seconds... ‘for practice,’ Cecilia reminded herself. Totally not because it made Elizabeth’s day easier.
“Okay, team. We have to blend in and look presentable for the masquerade party in a week. I think it’s our best chance to successfully capture Advent. They’ll be in the ballroom. Their outfits are listed in the files you all have a copy of.”
At this, everyone glanced down at their briefing files. Gigi’s eyes lazily traced the paper before flipping rather too quickly to the next page. Cecilia doubted she read any of it.
Raora, at least, attempted to read it. The panther probably thought skippa, skippa at every line.
Cecilia observed the two more closely. Gigi’s posture was relaxed, her attention drifting aimlessly. Meanwhile, Raora had fully committed to skippa mode and was now turning her files into paper hats.
When she noticed the automaton watching her, Raora shrugged and justified it with a simple, “It’s for Chattini.”
Cecilia let out a heavy sigh and looked down to read them herself.
===============================
Masquerade Party Briefing
Advent’s Attire
===============================
Subject: Hololive Advent – Expected Disguises
Objective: Identify and capture targets without raising suspicion.
Shiori Novella – Black and gold Victorian lace mask, intricate embroidery, possibly featuring miniature book motifs. May include feather or chain accents.
Koseki Bijou – Crystal-encrusted half-mask, iridescent, resembling gemstones. Expect light-reflective properties.
Nerissa Ravencroft – Dark, raven-feathered mask, potentially with wing-like extensions or beak-inspired design. Gothic aesthetic.
Fuwawa Abyssgard – Soft pink and white floral-patterned mask, delicate, pearl accents. Airy and light in design.
Mococo Abyssgard – blue variant of Fuwawa’s mask. Sharper edges, potential fang-like patterns. May feature wolf or mischievous motifs.
Maintain vigilance. Blend in. Do not engage unless necessary.
— End of Briefing File —
“Elizabeth.” Cecilia found herself asking a question she probably already had an answer to.
“Yes?”
“How did you find this information?”
…
“Uh… well... You see... I monitor... uh... I monitor Nerissa and...” A gulp. “You know how she is...” Silence. Then, a dramatic “YOU’LL NEVER TAKE ME ALIVE!” before Elizabeth made her escape, leaving the briefing unfinished.
Raora stared at the door from which Elizabeth had just bolted. “I’ll... go check on her.” The panthera excused herself, her amber eyes swirling with spirals of blue as she left.
And that left Cecilia with Gigi.
The room suddenly felt too quiet.
Gigi was still clutching the files with both hands, her posture just as relaxed as before. But her eyes... Her eyes were frantic, chaotic, filled with mirth that spoke of only one thing. And as her gaze landed on Cecilia, the automaton couldn’t find it in herself to make a hasty exit.
“So... that just happened,” Gigi began.
“Yeah. So unexpected,” Cecilia replied, her voice steady, though she felt anything but calm. Quick answers were the way to go.
Then there was that feeling again—like the seconds were dragging their feet, the weight of the clock winding down to something uncertain. Cecilia couldn’t put her finger on it, but... somehow, Gigi made it all feel like it might last a little longer.
“So, uh,” Gigi suddenly broke the silence, her voice light and casual. “Do you ever think about... what’s after? You know, when it’s all done and we’ve... done our thing? Like, where do you go after that?”
Cecilia blinked, thrown completely off guard. The question felt like a jolt to the chest, completely unrelated to anything they were supposed to be talking about. Her mind scrambled to catch up.
“I—what?” she asked before she could stop herself.
Gigi grinned wider, completely unfazed. “Just wondering. I mean, we’re always busy, right? But it’s funny to think about... what happens when it stops?”
For a long moment, Cecilia couldn’t find the right words. She wasn’t sure why, but the question felt like it had cracked open something inside her, something she wasn’t ready to look at yet.
“I don’t know.”
Cecilia hesitated, the weight of the question still lingering in the air, pulling at her thoughts. She shifted slightly, her fingers tapping the edge of the table, and then she shrugged, her voice steady, almost too calm.
“When the wind-up stops... I just wait,” she said. “I stay where I am, until someone remembers to turn the key again.”
Her gaze drifted to the floor, to the patterns of light and shadow that stretched across the marble. It felt like the answer was enough—nothing more to it, really. It wasn’t sad. It was just how it was.
Gigi’s silence stretched between them. But Cecilia didn’t notice. She was already lost in the quiet tick of time, the pull of the moments slipping by, just waiting... waiting for something that would come, eventually.
Gigi blinked, her smile faltering slightly. “That’s... that’s sad.” The words slipped out before she could stop them, her voice soft with an uncharacteristic seriousness. “I mean, I know you’re... not really alive the way we are, but still... waiting like that?”
Cecilia’s eyes flicked to Gigi, but she didn’t let her face betray anything. “It’s not sad,” she said, her voice cool, almost matter-of-fact. “It’s just how it is. Doesn’t make a difference.”
Gigi opened her mouth as if to argue, but the words didn’t come. Instead, she stared at Cecilia for a long moment, her eyes not full of teasing or mischief, but something else—something Cecilia couldn’t quite pin down.
The silence stretched long enough for Cecilia to feel the clock ticking inside her again, and then, without another word, Gigi leaned back in her chair with a soft sigh. “Yeah, well... I guess we all have our own ways of running, don’t we?”
Cecilia didn’t respond. She didn’t need to. The clock kept ticking, and the moment slipped away as Gigi gave her a half-grin and turned her attention back to the briefing files.
The quiet that followed wasn’t uncomfortable. It was just... there. Time moved on, the weight of things left unsaid lingering in the air. But as Cecilia watched Gigi focus on the papers in front of her, something shifted. Maybe it was the way Gigi didn’t push for more, didn’t insist that things were wrong or sad. She just accepted it.
And for once, Cecilia didn’t feel quite so alone in the silence. Didn’t feel the need to hide away. She crossed her hands on the table.
“Gigi.”
The gremlin looked up. “Yeah?”
“I’ll power off soon. Could you read the briefing to me?”
…
“Of course.” There was a flicker of something on the tip of Gigi’s tongue—something along the lines of you want me so bad—but she didn’t say it. Cecilia wasn’t sure why.
Cecilia then rested her cheek on her elbow, letting Gigi’s voice lull her to ‘sleep,’ she closed her eyes to nowhere again, the world around her fading as time stretched and warped, her winding clock ticking softly in the ambience of words.
The next time Cecilia’s back to the living, it’s Raora that’s turning her key.
She wasn’t disappointed. Raora’s warm. Raora’s comfy, and she makes nice food.
Cecilia shouldn’t feel this way. That disappointment settles in her chest, but she refuses to acknowledge it. She won’t give it the space to form, won’t let it take shape into something real. Instead, she focuses on the present—the here, the now, the way her gears click into place, the way the world sharpens at the edges as she powers on.
The sound of the coffee machine pulls her attention. The low hum, the rhythmic drip-drip-drip as it fills the pot. Her arms are still crossed, but there’s something wrapped around her. Orange.
Gigi’s… jacket.
Her lips press into a line before they shakily twist into a smile.
The disappointment is forgettable now, slipping through her fingers like sand. It doesn’t matter. Not when she’s warm. Not when her gears spin faster and her mind is fuzzy in this strange, welcome way.
Idiot. I don’t get cold.
Her eyes scan ahead. Raora’s tail sways to a beat, flicking in slow, lazy arcs. She’s humming, the melody light and carefree, the kind of tune someone hums when they don’t realise they’re doing it. The kind that fills a space without meaning to. The smell of coffee thickens in the air—and it’s awful. Raora makes coffee like she’s waging a war against good taste. But Cecilia doesn’t complain.
She glances at the clock. 12:15 AM.
“What are you doing up so late?” she asks, voice quieter than she means it to be.
Raora doesn’t respond immediately, too intently focused on the coffee machine. She watches the last drop fall, lingers as it settles in the pot. Then, with the same deliberation, she pours herself a cup and hovers the mug near her lips.
Finally, she sips.
“I am inspired! I am drawing something for an upcoming event.” Another sip, this time slower. “So I thought I might give myself a boost. And then I saw you, and thought: Let me power up Cecilia. And now we’re here.”
Her eyes lower slightly. Not obviously, not in an intrusive way—just enough to acknowledge the jacket draped over Cecilia’s frame. Just enough to let Cecilia know she sees it.
But Raora doesn’t question.
Cecilia is thankful.
The next few seconds pass in deliberate silence. The two simply exist in the same space, the ticking of the clock settling between them like a third presence. Time stretches, slow and steady, winding its way forward, unbothered by their thoughts.
Raora leans against the counter, tail still swaying, the steam from her coffee curling upward before disappearing into nothing. Cecilia watches, noting the way the moment lingers, how it breathes in and out without rush, without urgency.
She wonders if Raora ever thinks about time the way she does. If she ever notices the way it feels longer in some moments and shorter in others. If she ever feels it slip through her fingers, untouchable, unreachable, no matter how tightly she tries to hold it.
Or maybe that was just Cecilia.
Raora takes another sip of coffee and hums again, the same quiet tune, though now it sounds more intentional. Like she’s giving the silence a rhythm to follow. Cecilia lets it fill the space between them, lets it sit against the steady clicking of her gears.
In a way, almost as if recounting exactly the words Gigi had said, her lips move.
“You ever think about it?” Cecilia asks before she fully registers the thought.
Raora tilts her head, ears flicking slightly. “Think about what?”
Cecilia hesitates, her fingers tapping lightly against her arm. “What happens after?”
Raora doesn’t answer immediately. She studies Cecilia for a moment, her amber eyes swirling with hints of blue, like the night sky flickering just before dawn. Then, she exhales through her nose, setting her mug down with a soft clink.
“After what?” she finally asks, and Cecilia isn’t sure if it’s an honest question or if Raora is giving her a chance to decide what she means.
Cecilia glances at the clock. 12:17 AM. The hands have moved, but it feels like nothing has changed.
“When the winding stops,” she says. “When the gears don’t turn anymore.”
Raora’s expression shifts—thoughtful, but not surprised. She doesn’t look away. Instead, she leans forward, resting her arms on the counter.
“I think,” she starts slowly, tracing a claw around the rim of her mug, “you’re asking the wrong question.”
Cecilia frowns. “What do you mean?”
Raora gestures vaguely, as if trying to catch something invisible in the air. “You talk about the winding like it’s something that just... happens to you. Like you’re either moving or you’re not. Like you don’t have a say in it.”
Cecilia’s frown deepens. “That’s how it is.”
“Is it?” Raora sips her coffee, gaze steady over the rim. “Or is that just how you’ve always been told it is?”
Cecilia opens her mouth, then closes it.
Because that—that—wasn’t something she had ever considered.
Raora continues, her voice quieter now. “Maybe stopping isn’t the question. Maybe it’s about what you do while you’re turning. Maybe it’s about figuring out how to move on your own, even if you were never meant to.”
Something in Cecilia’s chest tightens, a feeling she can’t quite name. Because Raora doesn’t say it outright, but Cecilia hears it anyway.
What if you don’t have to wait to be wound up? What if you don’t have to wait at all?
The thought is too big, too strange. It doesn’t fit inside her the way other thoughts do. It presses against her edges, unfamiliar and uncertain.
She shifts slightly, her fingers brushing against the fabric of Gigi’s jacket. Soft. Present. A reminder.
She’s always thought of herself as something waiting to be restarted. A music box sitting in silence until someone remembers to turn the key. But Raora—Raora is looking at her like maybe she doesn’t have to be.
Cecilia swallows. The clock ticks on. 12:19 AM. Time moves forward, unbothered.
She exhales, a movement she doesn’t need, but one that feels necessary. “I don’t know if it works like that,” she admits.
Raora just shrugs, easy and confident, like the thought doesn’t scare her at all. “Then we’ll figure it out.”
Cecilia doesn’t know what to say to that.
But for once, she’s not afraid to try.
The masquerade is alive with movement—silk and lace swirling under chandeliers, music humming through the air like a second heartbeat. The scent of wine and candle wax lingers, and in the glow of golden light, everything feels stretched, softened, unreal.
Cecilia steps onto the floor, the edges of her vision filled with masked faces, with laughter woven between the notes of the orchestra. She isn’t here for this, not for the twirling figures or the whispering intrigue. She’s here for the mission.
And yet.
She feels it before she sees it. The presence at her side. The briefest brush of fabric against her sleeve, the way time always seems to stutter, to pause, to breathe when—
“I was wondering when you’d show up.”
Cecilia doesn’t have to turn to know it’s Gigi. She knows from the grin in her voice, from the lazy lilt of it, like she’s been waiting. Like she expected Cecilia to find her, not the other way around.
Cecilia does turn, just slightly, and finds herself met with a familiar shade of orange, even beneath the mask.
Gigi tilts her head, offering a gloved hand, her golden mask catching the light in the way her eyes do—bright, teasing, unreadable. “Dance with me?”
Cecilia stares at the outstretched hand. This isn’t the mission. This isn’t necessary.
But then again—
The clock is still turning.
And tonight, maybe, she doesn’t mind letting time slip just a little.
She takes Gigi’s hand.
“We came here together,” is the first thing she decides to say.
Instead of answering her normally, Gigi twirls her effortlessly, a smooth, weightless motion that forces Cecilia to step in closer or risk losing her balance. “Where’s your whimsy, Miss Immergreen?”
Cecilia exhales, unimpressed. “We need to focus on the mission, Advent—”
“Do you really think we’ll catch them?” Gigi interrupts, voice softer now, though the playfulness lingers.
Cecilia stiffens at the question. It isn’t doubt, exactly—Gigi doesn’t doubt things, she treats uncertainty like a puzzle, something to toy with between her fingers. But it forces Cecilia to acknowledge the truth.
The target is somewhere in this room, blending into the glitz and spectacle, waiting to make their move. Their job is to intercept before that happens.
And yet, here they are. Dancing.
Cecilia should pull away. Should say something sharp, something final. But Gigi’s hand is warm in hers, and the air between them feels different, thick with something that makes her chest feel strange—tight, unsteady, misaligned.
“You think we won’t?” she asks instead, trying to keep her voice steady.
Gigi smiles, tilting her head as if considering it. Then, instead of answering, she pulls Cecilia just a little closer, her voice dropping into something quieter, something meant only for the space between them.
“I think we’ll have to be careful,” she murmurs. “This place has a way of making people lose themselves.”
Cecilia doesn’t know if she means it as a warning. Or a promise.
The next few steps of the dance feel like something irreversible. The golden light catches in Gigi’s mask, in her eyes, in the curve of her lips, and Cecilia thinks, fleetingly, that Gigi looks like she belongs in a place like this.
Then Gigi moves without warning—spinning them both in an elegant sweep before suddenly, easily, catching Cecilia’s wrist in her fingers. The grip is light but certain, curling around her like it was meant to be there. Like it was natural.
And for one single, startling second—
It feels like it is.
Cecilia inhales sharply.
The music continues. The mission looms. The moment passes.
But something has shifted, something she cannot name, something that lingers far longer than it should.
And she knows, even before the night is over, that it will follow her.
That it will stay.
Even after the masks come off.
¬
Advent escapes.
Again.
Cecilia watches as Nerissa, the last of them, vanishes into the shifting crowd, her dark-feathered mask catching the ballroom lights one final time before she’s gone.
A silence settles between them.
Elizabeth crosses her arms, huffing dramatically. “I swear. One day.”
“One day what?” Gigi teases, tugging off her mask just enough to smirk at her. “You’ll actually try?”
Elizabeth glares. “Excuse you. I ran. I chased. I—”
“—dove straight into a catering table,” Raora finishes, grinning as she plucks a glass of wine from a passing tray like nothing happened.
Elizabeth groans. “It was a strategic miscalculation.”
“Right, right. Just like the last one,” Raora adds, swishing the wine.
Cecilia listens to them bicker in the background, but her mind is elsewhere. Her fingers still faintly remember the warmth of a gloved hand curling around her wrist. The easy confidence in the way Gigi had pulled her close. The way it had felt right—for just a moment.
And what’s worse?
She hadn’t let go immediately.
She exhales, willing her gears back into alignment. This isn’t the time.
Gigi stretches lazily. “Well, we gave it a shot.”
Cecilia turns to her. “You don’t sound disappointed.”
Gigi tilts her head, eyes twinkling behind her mask. “Neither do you.”
Cecilia opens her mouth—then closes it. She has no rebuttal. No proper response. Instead, she pulls herself upright, smoothing the fabric of her sleeves as if that might settle something deeper.
“…We should go,” she says instead, voice as even as she can manage.
Elizabeth sighs, resigned. “Fine, fine. Another ‘almost’ to add to the pile.”
Raora knocks back the rest of her drink before setting it down. “Good effort, team.”
Gigi flashes a grin. “Same time next time?”
No one says no.
They never do.
Attraction.
It sits heavy in her mind, tangled between her thoughts like a ribbon caught in clockwork, impossible to pull free.
Cecilia keeps her hands still, her expression neutral, but her gears feel misaligned, thrown off balance by the realisation that had been creeping toward her all this time.
Gigi is talking—something about the mission, about how well they handled it, about how obviously she carried them to an almost victory. But Cecilia can barely process the words.
Because she can’t stop thinking about the way Gigi had looked under the golden light of the ballroom. The way their masks had hidden everything except what mattered—the brightness in her eyes, the curve of her lips. The way Gigi had reached for her, unhesitating, her fingers curling around Cecilia’s wrist as if she belonged there. As if it was natural.
And worse—so much worse—how it had felt natural.
“Earth to Ceci,” Gigi sing-songs, waving a hand in front of her face. “You keep staring a bit too tensely. Starting to think you like what you see.”
Cecilia blinks, forces herself to react in some way that doesn’t involve freezing up and spiralling. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
Gigi smirks, tilting her head, her tail swaying lazily behind her. “C’mon. You can tell me if you think I’m cute.”
Cecilia turns sharply away, gears kicking against her ribs in a way she doesn’t have the experience to explain.
This is very annoying.
¬
Cecilia does not sleep.
She does not dream.
And yet, in the silence of her quarters, staring at the tools laid out before her—small screwdrivers, delicate gears, sketches of mechanisms that should work but don’t—she feels the weight of something unshakable pressing against her chest.
Raora’s words won’t leave her.
“Maybe it’s about figuring out how to move on your own, even if you were never meant to.”
She’d spent the last several days testing theories, exploring ways to keep herself going. A failed attempt at an automatic winding system. A carefully timed routine to stay active longer. She’d even tried manually resetting herself, but it never lasted.
She still needed someone.
Her fingers twitch over a loose gear, the cold metal pressing against her palm. She should be focusing on this. On fixing the problem. But her mind drifts—to warm hands pulling her onto the dance floor, to golden light catching the edge of a teasing smile, to the soft pressure of fingers curling around her wrist as if they belonged there.
Gigi.
Cecilia grips the gear tighter, as if she can squeeze the thought out of existence. Not now. Focus.
Except she can’t, because no matter how much she tries to correct her alignment, she is failing—at both things. At finding independence. At shutting down the strange, unfamiliar pull in her chest whenever Gigi so much as looks at her a certain way.
It’s frustrating. It’s illogical. It makes no sense.
And yet, she feels it all the same.
She barely notices the door opening until she hears the voice.
“…Cecilia?”
She stiffens, slowly turning her head to find Elizabeth standing in the doorway, one hand resting against the frame, eyebrows drawn together in something between curiosity and concern.
Cecilia exhales through her nose, trying to reset herself. “You’re awake late.”
Elizabeth crosses her arms, stepping inside. “Yeah, well, I could say the same for you. What are you—” Her eyes land on the table, taking in the scattered tools, the blueprints, the unfinished mechanisms. “…What is all this?”
For a second, Cecilia considers brushing it off. Saying it’s nothing. But the words don’t come, and maybe that’s why Elizabeth’s expression softens, her stance shifting slightly.
“Ceci.” The tone is gentle, careful. “What’s going on?”
Cecilia hesitates. Then, before she can think better of it—before she can convince herself to keep it inside—she speaks.
“I’m trying to… keep myself going. Without help.” Her voice is steady, but only just.
Elizabeth doesn’t say anything right away. She steps closer, studying the pieces on the table. Then, slowly, she meets Cecilia’s gaze. “It’s not working, is it?”
Cecilia looks away. She doesn’t need to answer.
A beat of silence. Then, quieter—
“…Why?”
Cecilia’s throat tightens. “Because I don’t want to keep relying on someone else. I don’t want to just sit and wait to be wound up.”
Elizabeth’s lips press into a line. She thinks, carefully, before asking, “And that’s the only reason?”
The words hit like a well-aimed strike, knocking something loose inside Cecilia’s chest. She tenses.
Elizabeth notices.
“…There’s something else,” she says, more certain now.
Cecilia doesn’t move. Doesn’t answer.
Elizabeth tilts her head, searching her expression, putting the pieces together with ease. Then—her eyes widen, just slightly.
“Oh.” A knowing smile tugs at her lips. “Oh, you’re really going through it, huh?”
Cecilia scowls. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Elizabeth snickers. “Oh, please. ‘Something else’ is about Gigi, isn’t it?”
Cecilia hates that she flinches. Just a little.
Elizabeth beams.
Cecilia groans, pressing the heel of her hand against her forehead. “This is a mistake.”
Elizabeth wags a finger. “No, no, you’re not getting out of this one.” She plops down in the chair across from her, grinning wide. “Okay. Tell me what’s going on. What’s the issue here?”
Cecilia glares. “Aside from the obvious?” She gestures to the table. “I’m failing. I’m failing at making myself independent. And now, on top of that, I’m dealing with—” She falters, the words catching in her throat.
Elizabeth raises an eyebrow, waiting.
Cecilia exhales sharply, giving in. “I don’t know what this is. I don’t get it. It makes no sense, it’s distracting, and it—” She stops, jaw clenching. “It’s frustrating.”
Elizabeth hums thoughtfully, then leans forward, resting her chin in her hands. “So let me get this straight. You’re struggling to make yourself self-sufficient, which is already stressing you out. But now, on top of that, you’re also experiencing feelings—” she waggles her fingers dramatically, “—and you don’t know what to do with them.”
Cecilia crosses her arms, expression flat. “…Yes.”
Elizabeth grins. “God, this is amazing.”
Cecilia considers strangling her.
Elizabeth waves a hand. “Relax, I’m kidding. Sort of. Look, I get why you’re freaking out. You’ve never dealt with this before. But you know what? That just means you’re—” She pauses, then gestures vaguely. “—growing or something. Evolving. That’s… that’s beautiful.”
Cecilia doesn’t respond. She doesn’t know how to respond.
Elizabeth sighs, leaning back. “Look. You don’t have to have all the answers right now. But if there’s one thing I do know, it’s that figuring out how to stand on your own and dealing with emotions aren’t mutually exclusive. You can want both. You can have both.”
Cecilia’s fingers tighten slightly. “What if I fail?”
Elizabeth shrugs. “Then you try again.” She tilts her head. “You’re already doing that, aren’t you?”
Cecilia exhales. The clock ticks softly in the background.
For the first time in days, the weight on her chest doesn’t feel quite so suffocating.
She’s not there yet. Not even close. But maybe—just maybe—she doesn’t have to be.
Not all at once.
She glances at the unfinished mechanism on the table, then back at Elizabeth, who’s watching her with something softer in her expression now.
“…Thank you,” she mutters.
Elizabeth grins. “Anytime, doll.”
Cecilia scowls. Elizabeth laughs. The clock keeps ticking.
And for the first time in a while, Cecilia lets herself breathe.
Cecilia paces.
She doesn’t pace, usually. It’s inefficient, a waste of energy. But right now, in the dim glow of the corridor, she walks a circle so tight she might as well be winding herself up manually.
She has a plan.
It is a terrible plan.
But it is a plan.
The idea is simple: she finds Gigi. She returns the jacket (which she absolutely did not keep as an excuse to see her again, thank you very much). And then—then—she tells her.
Tells her what, exactly?
That part is still up for debate.
Because every time she tries to put it into words, her brain bluescreens.
She sighs sharply, shaking her hands out as if that’ll rid her of the static crawling up her circuits. Then, before she can talk herself out of it—
She moves.
¬
Gigi is exactly where Cecilia expects her to be.
Leaning against a balcony railing, hands crossed on it, bathed in the warm glow of the city lights. She looks completely at ease, like it fits her perfectly, like the night bends itself around her just to accommodate her existence.
Cecilia clenches her jaw and does not think about how annoying that is.
She steps forward.
Gigi notices immediately.
“Ceci!” The nickname is effortless, sliding past Gigi’s lips like it’s always been there. She grins, turning to face her fully. “What’s up? Didn’t think I’d get the pleasure of your company tonight.”
Cecilia stiffens, words tangling in her throat. Why is Gigi like this?
She clears her throat. “I… have something for you.”
Gigi raises an eyebrow, intrigued. “Oh? A gift? For me?” She places a hand over her heart dramatically. “I’m honoured.”
Cecilia rolls her eyes but reaches into her arms, pulling out the jacket—the one Gigi had draped over her shoulders nights ago, the one Cecilia definitely hadn’t forgotten she had.
Gigi blinks. Then, slowly, a grin spreads across her face.
“No way,” she says. “You kept it?”
Cecilia bristles. “I was returning it.”
“Mhm.” Gigi crosses her arms, amused. “You know, I was wondering where this went. Thought maybe it was lost. Turns out, it’s been with you this whole time.” She smirks. “Worn it?”
Cecilia makes a strangled noise. “Of course not.”
Gigi chuckles, taking the jacket and slinging it over her shoulder, looking far too pleased with herself. “Well, thanks, Ceci. Didn’t expect you to be the sentimental type, but hey—I’m flattered.”
Cecilia makes a mental note to never do something nice for Gigi again.
(That’s a lie. She will absolutely do something nice for Gigi again. But still.)
She shifts on her feet, suddenly hyperaware of the weight in her chest, of the reason she came here in the first place.
Right. The confession.
She can do this.
She just has to say it.
“I…” She swallows. Gigi is looking at her, curious, waiting. “I… need to tell you something.”
Gigi tilts her head, that easy grin still lingering. “Oh?”
Cecilia nods. Inhales. Exhales. Tries to form a coherent sentence.
“I… appreciate… your continued presence in my general vicinity.”
Silence.
Cecilia immediately regrets everything.
Gigi blinks once. Twice. Then—
“Oh my god,” she bursts out laughing.
Cecilia groans, dragging a hand down her face. “Forget it.”
“No, no, wait—” Gigi wheezes between laughs, bracing herself against the railing. “That was adorable. You really tried to say something there, huh?”
Cecilia glares at her. “This was a mistake.”
“Nooo, don’t back out now,” Gigi teases, wiping at her eyes. “Come on, one more time. You got this.” She grins. “You were doing great.”
“I was not.”
Gigi smirks. “I don’t know, I kind of liked it. My continued presence in your general vicinity, huh? Sounds like someone likes me.”
Cecilia opens her mouth. Closes it. Turns away because there is no winning here.
Gigi nudges her shoulder, still grinning. “Okay, okay, I’ll be serious. You were saying?”
Cecilia exhales slowly. Regathers herself.
Then—she turns to face Gigi again, and she says, quieter this time, “I think I… I like you.”
The grin on Gigi’s face softens into something else. Something warmer.
Cecilia is going to short-circuit.
Gigi leans in, voice quieter now. “Yeah?”
Cecilia’s brain is hay-wiring. “Yes.”
Gigi studies her, that warmth still present, something unreadable in her expression. Then, after a moment—
“…Was that so hard?” she murmurs, teasing but not without affection.
“Yes,” Cecilia deadpans.
Gigi laughs—soft, breathy, the kind of sound that tugs at something inside Cecilia she hasn’t quite figured out yet.
Cecilia hates how much she loves the sound of it.
With a fond shake of her head, Gigi leans in a little closer, her voice dropping to a tender murmur, “Well… I like you too.”
Cecilia feels a dizzying warmth flood her chest, so intense she’s almost speechless. She opens her mouth, but the words don’t come. Instead, she stands there, speechless and utterly lost in Gigi’s gaze, as if the world has paused and she’s the only one in it.
She still has so much to figure out. Her independence. Her purpose. Her place in all of this.
But for now, just for now—
She has Justice.
And Justice won’t forget her.