¬ Fingers That Tremble ¬
It’s another day of training for Justice, which meant the squad is hanging out at the gym. Gigi doesn’t mind it—training’s a good excuse to burn off all the excessive energy building up, starting at her brain and working its way down to her tail. She’s used to the routine, the sweat, and the familiar faces around her.
But today is… different.
For one, Gigi isn’t fighting with her gauntlets like usual. Instead, she’s seated on the sidelines, watching Elizabeth and Cecilia start their sparring match. She should be focused on the fight, to study it, but her attention keeps drifting.
And then, the worst part happens.
Gigi’s eyes linger at Cecilia’s back. In her mind, a million versions of herself scramble in confusion, all of them helpless against the pull of those fine, porcelain arches flexing with the automaton’s movements. Her brain screams, Abort! Abort!—but she doesn’t listen. Instead, she lets her thoughts slip out of her burning head and spill quietly into the air.
“Since when had Cecilia’s back looked like that?”
Her fingers twitch, stretching slightly—barely noticeable—and she imagines what it would feel like to trace her fingers along the curve of those arches.
Apparently, she hadn’t been quiet enough. Raora’s tail flicks against her shoulder, deliberately brushing it in a slow, teasing motion. The gremlin knows exactly what she’s doing, that mischievous glint in her amber eyes practically speaking the words Gigi doesn’t want to hear.
“What has you so fixated, Gigi?”
There it is. The tease, perfectly timed to land right in the gut.
“Pretty wamen that could beat me up.” The gremlin shoots back quickly, absentmindedly being wrapped in whimsy. Because what’s more whimsical than hiding behind jokes and deflections, right?
Raora’s eyes narrow just slightly, her tail flicking with amusement. She’s not buying it, but the panthera hums and leaves her alone for now. Gigi shifts in her seat, trying to appear casual, but her mind keeps straying back to Cecilia, still moving with that unnatural grace. The thought sticks to her like a splinter, and despite the teasing, she can’t shake the feeling that something’s pulling at her—something she’d rather not admit, even to herself.
She leans back, arms crossed, her eyes keep drifting, not able to fully ignore the chaos of the gym or the way the air between her and Cecilia feels… off today. It’s hard to pinpoint why, but it’s there. And no matter how much she tries to push it down, it just keeps bubbling up.
“I think you should go for it,” Raora’s voice breaks through her thoughts, light and gentle this time, the teasing gone for the most part.
Gigi jerks her head around, surprised, only to realise Raora isn’t even looking at her. The panthera’s gaze remains locked on the sparring match, totally uninterested in the fact that she just dropped a bombshell of a comment out of nowhere.
“Go for what?” Gigi asks, even though she had a sinking idea on what it could be. It’s always something about Cecilia, isn’t it? After all, everyone around them seems to think there’s something going on between them. All their coworkers joke about it, the teasing had been endless for months now. The ‘when are you two getting together?’ comments, the snickers whenever they saw her and Cecilia talking—it’s like they’ve all made up their minds that it’s only a matter of time.
Gigi doesn’t even know what expression is forming on her face, but she feels it. The little tug of uncertainty, the way her features seem to shift against her will. She wishes she could fix it, smooth it over before anyone notices, but the teasing is starting to get to her. Starting to make her second-guess something she’s never thought about.
Raora glances at her finally, her lips curling into a knowing smile. “We both know,” she says softly, as if the entire world had been in on a truth Gigi wasn’t aware of.
And instead of answering, the gremlin stays frozen, her tail twitching nervously against the bench. Her mouth opens, then closes again, no words coming out—just the quiet, unsettling realisation of Raora’s words. And worse, that she doesn’t seem to hate the idea as much as she should.
Gigi’s eyes drift back to the sparring match. Elizabeth and Cecilia are clashing up close, their movements quick and sharp, but her focus is only on one of them. Cecilia raises her lance, the graceful curve of her back catching the dim gym light, and for a moment, Gigi can’t breathe.
The world shrinks down to that singular motion, the fine porcelain arches flexing as if carved to perfection. And then Cecilia’s gaze flicks to hers—just for a second, a heartbeat. But it’s enough. Gigi’s breath hitches, her chest tightening as time itself seems to pause, trapping her in that fleeting connection like it was meant to last forever.
I’m… in love?
But it doesn’t last forever, and before Gigi can process what’s happening, her body betrays her. Her feet move on their own, carrying her toward the gym doors in a daze.
The girls are calling after her, but she doesn’t stop. Her heart is pounding erratically, her thoughts spiralling out of control. If she doesn’t get out now, she swears she’ll implode. The door swings open, and as she steps through, she glances back just as it begins to close. In that split second, she catches Cecilia’s confused eyes, Elizabeth’s worried gaze, and Raora’s knowing glance—all of them watching her leave.
¬ In love? ¬
Gigi wonders how long it’ll be before someone tries to find her. She’s tucked herself away in the workshop, perched high on the beams like a bird in its nest, where no one could reach her even if they did manage to track her down. The faint hum of machinery fills the space, but it’s not enough to drown out the sound of her racing heartbeat. Up here, everything feels distant—like the world can’t touch her, even though she knows it eventually will.
She presses her back against the warm wood, her tail curling protectively around her, and stares down at the empty space below. Maybe if she stays quiet enough, they’ll forget she exists. Or maybe they won’t. She’s not sure which one she wants more.
And right now, Gigi finds it’s acceptable to fully melt.
Why did she freak out? Why? Oh gosh. Cecilia saw it—Cecilia saw her. Elizabeth too. God, what is she supposed to do now? She already made it awkward, didn’t she? Maybe—maybe they’ve already figured it out.
No. No, Gigi, calm down. There’s no way they know. How could they? Aside from Raora, all they saw was her suddenly leaving. Sure, it might’ve looked weird, but that didn’t mean anything. Right? Just walking out of the gym didn’t scream Oh no, I’m hopelessly staring at Cecilia’s back like an idiot. Right?
…Right?
Her thoughts are spiralling, tangling into a mess that refuses to untangle. Why does it all have to be like this? Why did she act like that? Why did she freak out this badly? And, most of all, why in the world was she even staring at Cecilia’s back to begin with?
The gremlin silently curses Cecilia’s creators for making the automaton this way. Then thankful, because if they hadn’t, Gigi wouldn’t have met her.
Her chest feels tight again, her hands curling into fists as she tries to breathe, to sort through the chaos. But nothing makes sense—not her reaction, not the way her heart won’t settle down, not the way the image of Cecilia’s eyes meeting hers is still burned into her head.
And worst of all, not the way it felt like the world stopped when it happened.
Gigi felt sick, like she’d just been shaken up in a mixer full of ice, her thoughts sloshing and clanging around inside her head. Everything felt like it was crumbling under her, breaking apart in ways she couldn’t patch back together. And why wouldn’t it? When she couldn’t stop thinking about these strange feelings—these wrong feelings—she apparently had toward Cecilia?
…Maybe everyone wasn’t wrong. Or maybe their stupid teasing had finally started worming its way into her brain. Yeah, that had to be it. Maybe she was just admiring Cecilia’s form. That made sense, didn’t it? Cecilia was an automaton, and Gigi had always been fascinated by stuff like that. The way Cecilia moved—so smooth, so effortless—despite being made of strange metal and gears and wires, was practically an engineering marvel. That had to be why she couldn’t stop staring.
Yes. Yes. That must be it.
But deep down, Gigi knew it was a lie.
She wasn’t just admiring Cecilia like some kind of curious engineer. She was practically ogling her best friend. And the guilt hit her like a sucker punch to the stomach. What kind of friend does that?
Before she could let herself spiral, the door to the workshop creaked open, and her entire body froze. Gigi pressed herself tighter into the beam, praying the wood would somehow swallow her whole. Thank everything she’d had the sense to keep her hood on—because when she smelled lemongrass inside the dull workshop, panic clawed at her chest.
Her yellow jacket wasn’t exactly subtle, but maybe, just maybe, she could camouflage herself into the wood like some sort of gremlin chameleon.
Please don’t see me. Please don’t see me. Please don’t see—
“Gigi?” Cecilia’s voice was calm, normal, like it always was, but it still sent Gigi’s heart into overdrive.
She heard the soft click of Cecilia’s heels on the floor—two steps, maybe three—before the automaton instinctively looked up, her gaze landing right on Gigi. As if she’d known all along where to find her.
Gigi’s stomach flipped. She hated the way that made her feel.
…
At first, neither of them say anything. Gigi tries to melt into the ramp, her hood pulled low to shield her eyes—the window to her soul—from the sharp green gaze of the automaton. Cecilia, however, just stood there, her small smile playing at the corners of her lips, watching Gigi’s awkward antics.
If this were any other situation, Gigi might have smiled back, thrown in a snarky jab, maybe even flirted.
But this wasn’t just any other situation. She did a stupid thing, than ran away like an idiot. It was an irreversible action. It was bound to raise questions. And as much as Gigi wished it wasn’t Cecilia who’d be the one asking, here they were.
The sooner we talk, the better, her brain reasons.
But if they talk and something slips… wouldn’t that just ruin everything? What would Gigi even say? That she was just caught up in the pressure others have placed on them? That she seemed to suddenly be questioning her feelings? That she wasn’t staring at Cecilia’s back?
That wouldn’t fly at all.
But… what if something does slip, and it doesn’t ruin everything? How would Cecilia look at her then? Would her eyes go wide, mouth agape in shock? Or would she just stay still, jaw tightening, wearing a look that says, You’re just a friend to me.
The gremlin can’t decide what would be worse.
“What are you thinking so hard about?” Cecilia’s voice slices through the silence like a knife, sharper than Gigi had expected, and it catches her completely off guard.
Gigi refuses to meet her gaze, her eyesight locked just beneath the automaton’s eyes, not daring to look up, not daring to let Cecilia into what’s really going on in her brain.
“I know you can hear me, Gigi.” The words land like a soft but undeniable truth. Maybe Cecilia doesn’t notice it, but the way she says Gigi’s name feels... different. In the way sunlight feels oddly beautiful, like how the stars are oddly mesmerising—strange, but undeniable. Or, maybe it’s only her thinking that, projecting a difference in how her name sounds like out of the automaton’s lips.
Gigi grits her teeth, hoping the lie doesn’t come out too badly. “Just thinking,” she mutters, the words barely escaping her lips, stumbling their way through her teeth. “About my dailies.”
Cecilia believes that as much as Gigi does—which is to say, not at all.
“Gigi… come down here?” It’s the question Gigi had dreaded since the moment she’d climbed up here. A part of her had known it was coming. Knew it was going to be Cecilia. Knew she’d probably be the one to track her down. And, like a boss with her health bar already low, the automaton mercilessly lands the final blow. “Please?”
Gigi metaphorically clutches her heart, feeling the impact hit harder than she anticipated. The words were simple, but they’ve hit her like a sword to the gut, and she’s sure to falter. With a sigh that sounds way heavier than it should, she answers.
“Okay.” The theatrics of her hiding—of trying to blend into the wood—stop, and the whole scene comes crashing back to reality. She’s no longer trying to disappear. She’s just staring at Cecilia’s lips, adorned with a soft smile that only thickens the tension that only Gigi seemed aware of.
There’s no health bar above her head, no escape now.
And then, just as Gigi prepares to jump down and face the inevitable awkward conversation, she’s stopped in her tracks. Cecilia’s arms stretch upwards, toward her, waiting like she’s ready to catch her. It freezes Gigi’s movements, her heart suddenly racing again.
Breathe. Calm down. She’s just trying to help.
For a second, everything blurs—her thoughts, the room, the stubborn way she holds herself together. She could jump down, fall into those waiting arms, and let the air shift, let the moment between them finally make itself known. But the weight of how this would affect their friendship keeps her frozen, hovering in that impossible space between safety and vulnerability.
Gigi swallows hard. Then, before she can think better of it, before she can talk herself out of it, she jumps.
Cecilia’s arms catch her with ease, warmth and steadiness wrapping around her like it’s the most natural thing in the world. But just as Gigi expects to be set down—ready to step back, make some dumb joke, brush it all off—she’s suddenly weightless.
Because instead of letting go, Cecilia twirls her.
A startled noise catches in Gigi’s throat as the world spins, her fingers instinctively clutching at Cecilia’s shoulders. It’s effortless, dizzying—like being caught up in something she doesn’t quite understand, something bigger than she’s ready for. The room blurs around her, but all she can focus on is Cecilia—the way she holds her so securely, like she was always meant to.
Then, just as quickly, the twirl slows, but Cecilia still doesn’t let go.
Gigi barely has time to process the shift before she’s pulled even closer, trapped in a firm, unshakable hug. She’s still lifted off the ground, her feet not touching anything solid, and she can’t even pretend to act normal about it.
Her brain short-circuits.
“Wh—” The sound dies in her throat.
Cecilia just hugs her tighter. “Gotcha.”
And okay, maybe Gigi isn’t breathing properly anymore. Maybe her face is burning, and maybe she’s lost all function of her limbs. Because this wasn’t part of the plan. This wasn’t just helping her down—this was something else. Something unfair and overwhelming and completely, entirely Cecilia.
She should say something. Anything. But her thoughts are a tangled mess again, and all she can do is cling on, caught between the heat in her cheeks and the way Cecilia’s arms don’t let her go.
“Now,” Cecilia murmurs, her voice steady, like she’s already decided how this is going to go. “Tell me what’s wrong.”
Gigi stiffens.
“I can’t see your face, and you can’t see mine,” Cecilia continues, her tone soft but firm, like she’s thought this through. “I thought that would help. Since you seemed so adamant about wearing your hood.”
A hand presses against the fabric of Gigi’s hood—not pulling, not pushing, just resting there, holding it in place. A shield. A barrier between them and the weight of their own expressions.
And somehow, that makes it worse.
Because Gigi knows what Cecilia is doing. Knows how carefully she’s peeling back every excuse Gigi could possibly give, leaving her with nowhere to run. Not even into her own deflections. Not even into her usual easy, dismissive grins.
Her fingers tighten slightly on Cecilia’s shoulders.
She could lie. She could twist the words in her mouth until they mean something else. But there’s something about being held like this, about the way Cecilia is keeping her in place without forcing anything, that makes lying feel impossible.
Still, her throat locks up.
“…Nothing’s wrong,” she tries. It’s weak. She knows it. Cecilia knows it.
The arms around her don’t budge. “Try again.”
Gigi lets out a breath that shudders more than she wants it to.
It’s not fair. It’s really, really not fair. Cecilia has always had this way of getting past her defences, but right now, in this moment, Gigi feels like she’s been picked up and turned inside out. Like all the things she’s worked so hard to keep hidden are threatening to slip free before she can catch them.
But Cecilia is patient. She holds her steady, waiting, like she has all the time in the world.
And Gigi—flustered, vulnerable, completely out of her depth—realises that maybe keeping this secret would only destroy her.
And Justice wouldn’t want that. She wouldn’t want that. With the heaviest of exhales, she goes for it.
“I… was-staring-at-your-back.” Gigi blurts out.
For a moment, silence.
Then, Cecilia shifts, like she’s trying to make sure she heard that right. “You… what?”
Gigi squeezes her eyes shut. Oh, this is it. This is how she dies. Just combusts right here in Cecilia’s arms, forever remembered as the idiot who fumbled her way into a confession she wasn’t even supposed to make.
“I was staring at your back,” she repeats, a little slower this time, but no less horrified.
Cecilia doesn’t let go, but Gigi can feel the way her breathing changes—steady, measured, but just a fraction sharper, like she’s holding back a reaction. “And why,” she says carefully, “were you doing that?”
Gigi wishes she had an answer that wouldn’t immediately ruin her. She doesn’t.
Her fingers twitch against Cecilia’s shoulders, and she swears she can hear her own heartbeat rattling in her skull. “Because,” she mutters, already regretting every choice that’s led to this moment. “Because it was there.”
There’s another pause. Then, a soft breath—amusement, disbelief, something in between. “Gigi.”
She groans, pressing her face into Cecilia’s shoulder as if she can physically hide from this conversation. “Shut up.”
But Cecilia only tightens her arms, locking her more in place. “I didn’t say anything.”
“You were going to.”
Cecilia laughs, quiet and warm. “Maybe.”
Gigi should be embarrassed. She is embarrassed. But somehow, being here—held close, no escape, no teasing laced with cruelty—makes it feel less like a death sentence and more like something else entirely. Something terrifying, yes, but also something she doesn’t quite want to run from.
Cecilia shifts slightly, her hand still resting on Gigi’s hood, her voice softer when she speaks again. “Was that really what was bothering you?”
And Gigi—flustered, exhausted, caught in the middle of something she can’t name—finally gives in.
“…Not exactly.” She mutters.
Cecilia hums, low and expectant. Encouraging. Patient.
Gigi swallows hard. “I…” She takes a deep breath, then another, trying to will her thoughts into something coherent. “I… I think—” Another breath. Why is this so hard?
Cecilia doesn’t rush her, doesn’t press. Just waits, steady as ever.
Gigi clenches her jaw. If she hesitates any longer, she’ll never get the words out. “Do you know how everyone’s been making fun of us? Like—practically shipping us?”
A beat of silence. Then, slow and measured: “Yes…”
“Well.” Gigi already feels sick. “I… I think it’s getting to my head.” The words taste foreign, like she’s choking on them even as she says them. “Like, I think—I think I had a realisation today. When I was staring at your… back.”
Her stomach flips violently. God, just say it.
“I…” Her voice wobbles, and it’s humiliating how hard it is to form a sentence. “I think.”
She grips Cecilia’s shoulder, holds on like it’ll stop her from unravelling completely. The words are there, right there, sitting on the edge of her tongue. I’m in love with you. It should be so simple.
But that’s not what she says.
Instead, like a complete and utter disaster of a person, she blurts out:
“I think I want to run my fingers over the arches of your back when you flex.”
A horrified pause.
Gigi wants to die.
Cecilia shifts slightly, but doesn’t let go. “That,” she says, voice unreadable, “was not where I thought that sentence was going.”
“Me neither,” Gigi croaks.
A small chuckle rumbles in Cecilia’s chest. “So just to be clear.” There’s something teasing in her tone now, something amused but not unkind. “You were having a crisis… because you wanted to touch my back?”
Gigi makes a strangled noise. “Shut up.”
But Cecilia is definitely grinning now. “No, no, I just want to understand. You were up there, all sad and mopey, because you had a back-related epiphany?”
Gigi groans, burying her face further into Cecilia’s shoulder, dramatically. “I hate you.” It comes out muffled.
“You really don’t.”
And unfortunately, Cecilia is right.
…
Gigi doesn’t know how much more of this she can take.
She’s already mortified beyond repair, spiralling into the depths of her own embarrassment, and Cecilia—still holding her—is absolutely not helping.
“Can you just—” Gigi squirms, her words coming out almost strangled. “Let me go so I can walk into the ocean and never return?”
“Nope.” Cecilia chuckles. “No ocean nearby.”
“I’ll find one.”
“Mmm.” Cecilia hums, clearly entertained. “Seems dramatic.”
Gigi groans again, burying her face more into Cecilia’s shoulder, the warmth of her skin only amplifying how entirely out of her depth she is. “I swear to god, if you say one more word—”
“You still wanna do it?”
Gigi freezes.
The words hit her in a way she wasn’t prepared for, hanging in the air, with questionable heaviness.
Her head jerks up, too fast, and for a brief, embarrassing second, she nearly knocks into the side of Cecilia’s face. “Do… what?”
Now that Gigi leans back, they both stare at each other’s faces.
Cecilia looks at her, the faintest teasing smile playing at the corners of her lips, eyes a little too knowing. “Run your fingers on my back.”
Gigi’s mouth opens and shuts, the words caught somewhere between too much and not enough.
“No, I’m not messing with you,” Cecilia adds, voice soft, surprisingly serious, with just the smallest glimmer of something playful underneath.
…
Cecilia shifts her arms, adjusting her grip, and gently lowers Gigi onto the uneven wooden floors of the workshop. Gigi’s feet finally find something solid, but her legs feel like jelly. They wobble beneath her, and for a brief second, she’s certain she’s going to crumble, but then—
Cecilia’s hands are there, catching her before she can fall. No words are spoken, but it doesn’t matter. The touch is steady, grounding. Cecilia doesn’t pull away, instead, she places Gigi’s hands back on her shoulders—firm, yet gentle, like she’s anchoring her to something.
For a moment, the air between them feels… mutually different, charged in a way Gigi can’t quite explain. Cecilia’s gaze lingers, and it’s the same look Gigi wears, but sharper, more deliberate, like a mirror that doesn’t quite reflect what you expect.
…Cecilia’s… in love with her too. And that realisation doesn’t take time to truly settle in.
And once Gigi is able to stand alone, she lets go of porcelain shoulders. Then, Cecilia turns. Almost as if she was giving the gremlin some privacy to touch her back. The thought made Gigi’s cheeks burn.
The gremlin simply stares at her back, heart pounding in her throat. This wasn’t part of the plan.
And yet, before she can stop herself, her hand moves.
Slow. Hesitant. The tips of her fingers just barely brushing over the smooth, warm skin of Cecilia’s back. It’s a soft gasp of a touch—faint, almost unsure—but when Gigi feels the subtle shift of muscle beneath her fingers, her breath hitches.
Cecilia doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t move. She stays perfectly still, letting Gigi trace the curve of her back with the gentlest of touches.
The air between them feels oppressively heavy with something Gigi can’t name—something that makes her heart race and her thoughts scatter.
Cecilia hums softly, her voice a quiet, teasing whisper. “Better?”
Gigi swallows hard. Her chest feels tight, and the word ‘better’ doesn’t even come close to describing what this feels like. But her mind is too hazy to find the right one.
So she just nods, not trusting her voice. Not that Cecilia could see her nod anyway.
With the world reduced to the feel of Gigi’s fingers on Cecilia’s skin, the quiet hum of Cecilia’s internal machinery in the air. It’s soft, and it’s real, and it’s not a thing Gigi feels the need to run from.
A frown tugs at Gigi’s lips, the weight of the longing in the air suddenly clear to her. She’s felt it from the very beginning—felt it pull at her with every word, every glance, every shift in the space between them today. She lets out a heavier sigh.
And for a stupid, irrational moment, her hands move lower, sliding down until they rest at Cecilia’s waist. They wrap around the automaton, and before Gigi knows it, she’s holding Cecilia from behind, pressing herself closer, hiding herself completely in the curve of Cecilia’s back.
The silence between them stretches, thick and weighted, like the air is holding its breath. Gigi can feel Cecilia’s hands settle gently over her arms
“Gigi…?”
…
“I’m in love with you.”
The words come out so quietly, almost a whisper, but they feel louder than anything else in the room. Gigi holds her breath, face pressed against Cecilia’s back, heart pounding in her chest like she’s just jumped off the edge of something.
For a long moment, neither of them move. The silence stretches, thick and heavy. Then, Cecilia shifts, gently pulling Gigi’s arms away from her waist. It’s not a rejection. It’s not a pullback. But the absence of her touch leaves a hollowness that Gigi can feel deep in her chest.
Gigi’s heart stops as Cecilia turns around, facing her. There’s something in her eyes—a softness, a careful hesitation—that makes Gigi’s breath catch. Without saying anything more, Cecilia reaches up, cupping Gigi’s face in her hands. It’s slow, deliberate, like she’s afraid of breaking something, but her touch is steady, warm. Gigi’s pulse flutters beneath her palms.
“I’m in love with you too.”
The words come, gentle but sure, and they land between them, slow and real. Gigi doesn’t know what to say, her heart racing, her mind spinning. For a moment, there’s nothing but the steady pressure of Cecilia’s hands on her face, the warmth of her gaze.
Then, with no more words, Cecilia leans in, her lips brushing against Gigi’s in a quiet, simple kiss.
When they pull apart, Cecilia’s gaze softens, a hint of something mischievous lingering in her eyes. “Go out with me?”
Gigi’s breath hitches, a smile tugging at her lips. “I’d love to.”