#my fave tag on this fic is / cait has gay bitch disease bc she does

[queer-spectre]

...There’s faint murmurs of conversation: either far above or far below, she can’t tell. Cait can hear the occasional drone of Goodneighbor’s locals stumbling home from the Third Rail as the faintest hint of light begins to color the sliver of dark sky she can see through the window. Her exhausted mind hovers on the edge of sleep, even as Ver turns over again: this time, her sleeping form has migrated with the movement: and the top of her back and shoulders rest against Cait’s. She feels so solid. Her weight is barely leaned up against Cait, but it feels grounding: like Cait could fall and fall and fall into her forever, and never be hurt.

Cait’s body feels so heavy, and her eyelashes are watery as she fights against sleep, still slowly coming down from the unexpected influx of emotions the last few hours has brought. Her last conscious thought is that if Ver really is as–kind, soft, warm–good as she seems…

It won’t be long ‘til she realizes that Cait’s not worth the fucking trouble.

-- from ch 3 of "I Don't Want Flowers" -- hopefully posting past this chapter tonight or tomorrow. Just was re-reading and thought I'd share a bit I had fun writing <3