#mist bc

she studies herself for a second longer than necessary—not out of doubt, but awareness. she knows exactly what it does. she knows exactly what it will do and kate, well kate wasn’t supposed to see it yet.

she’d been pacing a minute ago, restless energy coiling tight under her skin, muttering something about game plans and rotations, about matchups and timing, the kind of focus that settles into her bones before something big. it’s familiar—this version of kate, sharp and locked in, living three steps ahead of the present moment.

she wasn’t looking at veronica, not really, not until she was it happens in a shift so quiet you almost miss it. a pause mid-step. a breath that doesn’t quite finish. the faint sound of her shoe stopping against the carpet. “you’re not wearing that tonight.”

it’s not a question veronica’s lips twitch, just slightly, as she glances at her through the mirror. a small tilt of her head, deliberate, like she’s testing the weight of the moment without breaking it. she pretends not to notice the way kate has gone completely still behind her.

“i am.”

another pause heavier this time thicker it stretches when veronica turns around, kate is already looking—really looking now, the kind of looking that doesn’t stop at the surface. her eyes drag slow, taking their time like she doesn’t quite know where to land first, like every inch is asking for attention at once.

it’s subtle, the shift the way her jaw tightens the way her hands flex once at her sides, fingers curling slightly before she forces them still again, like she’s resisting the urge to reach for something that isn’t hers to claim yet—not here, not now, not before everything else that’s supposed to matter.

“you said i’d see it first,” kate says, quieter this time, like the words have to move through something thicker than air to reach her, veronica steps closer, close enough that the space between them feels chosen, not accidental but close enough that kate has to either step back or stand her ground.

she doesn’t step back. “you are.”

it lands not loudly, not dramatically—just enough you can see it, the way it moves through kate, the way something pulls tight inside her, like a wire drawn too far, too fast. her breath shifts, shallow for a second before she steadies it again, pulling herself back into something controlled, something contained but her eyes don’t leave veronica.

not even for a second. “you’re unbelievable,” she murmurs, and it sounds less like annoyance and more like surrender to something she doesn’t feel like fighting.

veronica only smiles and it lingers.

the championship is loud in a way that lives under her skin.

it hums, it pulses but it also builds until it feels like everything is vibrating at the same frequency—the lights too bright, the crowd too close, the energy sharp and electric in a way that makes every moment feel bigger than it is.

kate disappears into it like she always does.

it’s instinct at this point, the way she shifts—shoulders squaring, focus narrowing, everything unnecessary falling away until there’s only the game left. her movements are precise, intentional, every decision made like she’s already seen how it ends and still every so often, her eyes find veronica.

it’s quick, it has to be a glance between plays, a flicker in the middle of motion but it’s there something warmer than the game, something that doesn’t belong to the court or the noise or the pressure building in the air. 

it lingers just a second too long before she pulls herself back, forcing her attention forward again, back into what matters right now but it leaves something behind veronica feels it she doesn’t push it, she lets it sit and lets it grow lets it become something that doesn’t need words to exist.

by the time the night shifts—when the lights soften and the edges of everything blur, when celebration spills into something looser, something that breathes differently—the tension has already settled deep.

the club is too warm and too loud, too full of everything all at once—music threading through bodies, laughter spilling into corners, the low hum of voices layered over bass that you feel more than hear.

kate stays near veronica at first, not obviously. not in a way anyone else would clock just close enough one hand brushing her waist as she passes, like it belongs there, like it’s instinct instead of intention. like it’s the only thing keeping her grounded after everything that just happened, after the high of it all hasn’t quite faded yet.

veronica doesn’t make it easy; she leans into it—just enough to let kate think she has her then pulls away.

it’s small things, a glance over her shoulder that lingers a second too long, a smile that isn’t quite for anyone else, a hand on kate’s arm that slides off before it can settle, she moves through the space like she knows she’s being watched because she is.

she laughs at something someone else says, stepping just a little too close, tilting her head just enough, letting the moment stretch until it edges into something that could be misread—if someone wanted to.

kate does god, she does.

veronica can feel it without even looking—the way kate’s attention snaps back to her every time, the way her posture shifts, shoulders tightening, like she’s holding herself in place by force alone like she’s choosing not to move.

when veronica finally makes her way back to her, it’s slow. deliberate. like she’s closing a distance she created on purpose. “you having fun?” she asks, voice light, threaded with something that doesn’t quite match the question.

kate looks at her like she’s been waiting hours like she’s been counting something she refuses to name. “you’re doing that on purpose.”

veronica tilts her head, expression soft with mock innocence. “doing what?”

kate’s laugh slips out, quiet, almost breathless, like it caught somewhere on the way up as she drags a hand back through her hair, shaking her head once like she’s trying to reset herself.

“don’t—” she stops, exhales, eyes dropping for half a second before lifting back to veronica’s, sharper now, steadier in a way that feels forced. “you don’t get to act like you don’t know.”

veronica steps closer the music dulls around them, not because it actually fades, but because something else takes its place. “maybe,” she says softly, “i just wanted to see how long you’d last.”

that, that nearly breaks her it’s not loud. it’s not obvious but it’s there.

veronica see it in the way kate stills, in the way something slips just a fraction beneath the surface her hand finds veronica’s waist again, but this time it doesn’t brush—it stays. fingers pressing in, grounding, like she needs something solid to hold onto.

“you’re unbelievable,” she says again, softer now, the edge gone, replaced with something heavier veronica’s smile lingers, slow, knowing. “you already said that.”

for a second, the space between them shifts it tilts it feels like something is about to happen—something that would change the shape of the night entirely if it did, something that wouldn’t be easy to walk back.

kate feels it too, veronica can tell in the way her breath hitches, in the way her forehead almost brushes veronica’s before she pulls herself back, just enough, just in time control well barely. “we’re leaving,” she says.

veronica raises a brow, like she might argue, like she might push just a little further. “already?” kate’s grip tightens—not enough to hurt, just enough to mean something.

“now.” this time veronica doesn’t resist.

the quiet of the car is louder than anything that came before it, no music, no voices, just the low hum of the engine and the weight of everything that’s been building all night, settling thick into the space between them.

kate’s hands stay locked on the wheel, knuckles pale, her focus fixed straight ahead like it’s the only thing keeping her from turning her head from looking from giving in too soon.

veronica doesn’t help; she shifts slightly in her seat, slow, intentional, the fabric of her dress brushing against itself in a soft whisper that feels louder than it should in the silence.

kate’s breath catches barely but it’s enough. “you’re not making this easy.” she mutters, voice low, tight around the edges.

veronica turns her head, watching her instead of the road, taking in the tension sitting just beneath her skin, the way it shows in the smallest things. “i don’t think i’m supposed to.”

that earns her a look finally quick, sharp, and full of something that’s been held back far too long—something that flickers in kate’s eyes before she reins it in again, pulling her gaze back to the road like it’s safer there, like distance is the only thing keeping this from tipping over.

the rest of the drive feels like a countdown every second stretching every breath heavier than the last until the door barely closes before kate is there.

it’s not rushed, that would be easier if this is controlled.

measured like she’s been holding onto this moment for hours, turning it over and over, waiting for the exact second she could finally let it happen without interruption, without anything pulling her away.

her hand finds veronica’s waist again, firmer this time, pulling her in until there’s no space left to negotiate, no room for teasing distance or careful restraint. “you’re trouble.” she says, low, the words settling somewhere deeper than they should.

veronica tilts her chin up slightly, meeting her gaze without hesitation, without softness. “and you still came home with me.”

that does not all at once not explosively just enough the last thread of restraint gives kate exhales against her, the sound softer now, something shifting in her expression—less control, more acceptance of whatever this is, whatever it’s been building into all night.

her hand tightens slightly at veronica’s waist, grounding, certain.

“yeah,” she murmurs, closer now, her voice brushing the space between them, warm and quiet and steady in a way that feels final, “because i wasn’t planning on letting you get away with it.” yet this time when the distance disappears neither of them even thinks about pulling back.

it isn’t rushed, not the way the night might have suggested, not the way all that tension could have snapped into something reckless and messy. instead, it’s slow in a way that feels heavier, like every second is being felt all the way through, like neither of them is willing to miss a single piece of it now that it’s finally happening.

kate’s hand stays firm at veronica’s waist, anchoring her there, keeping her close in a way that feels less like possession and more like certainty—like she’s grounding herself just as much as she’s holding her. her other hand lifts, almost hesitant for a fraction of a second before it settles at veronica’s jaw, thumb brushing lightly along her cheek like she’s confirming she’s real, like she’s been replaying this moment in her head for hours and it still doesn’t quite match the feeling of it actually happening.

veronica doesn’t fill the silence right away she lets it stretch, lets it breathe, her hands sliding up slowly, deliberately, resting against kate’s sides, feeling the tension there—the way it hasn’t fully left her yet, the way it hums just beneath the surface, quieter now but still present, still alive.

“you were holding out on me all night,” veronica murmurs, her voice softer than before, less teasing now, something warmer threading through it, something that feels closer to honest.

kate lets out a quiet breath, something almost like a laugh but not quite, her forehead dipping forward until it rests lightly against veronica’s for a second, their space shrinking even more, if that’s possible.

“you made it impossible not to,” she admits, and there’s something in the way she says it—something unguarded, something that doesn’t try to hide behind control or composure anymore.

veronica feels it as it shifts something her fingers press just slightly into kate’s sides, not enough to pull, just enough to remind her she’s there, that this isn’t something fleeting or imagined. “you didn’t have to keep it together,” she says quietly.

kate’s head tilts just enough to meet her eyes again, something flickering there—something that looks like restraint, but softer now, like it’s unraveling instead of tightening. “i did,” she replies, just as quiet. “not there.”

it lands differently in the quiet of the room not there but here, though here is different veronica studies her for a second, really looks at her, the way she had earlier but without the distance, without the teasing edge layered over it. 

up close, kate looks less like control and more like everything she’s been holding back all night finally settling into something real—something she’s choosing instead of resisting. “and now?” veronica asks, softer still.

kate doesn’t answer right away her hand shifts slightly at veronica’s waist, thumb brushing slow, absent circles against the fabric of her dress like she’s thinking, like she’s letting the moment settle fully before she steps into it.

“now,” she says finally, her voice low, steady in a different way than before, “i don’t think i want to.” there’s no tension in it this time, no edge, just truth.

it changes the air between them again, not sharper, not heavier—just deeper, like everything that came before this has finally landed where it was supposed to.

veronica exhales softly, something easing in her shoulders, something quiet and certain taking its place. her hand lifts slightly, fingers brushing along kate’s jaw this time, mirroring the way kate had touched her, slower, softer, like she’s learning the shape of her in real time.

“good,” she murmurs and for a moment, neither of them move; they just stand there, close enough to feel each other breathe, the quiet wrapping around them in a way that feels earned after everything loud and chaotic that came before it.

kate’s gaze flickers briefly, not away, but softer, tracing over veronica’s face like she’s memorizing something she doesn’t want to forget later her hand at veronica’s waist tightens just slightly, not pulling, just holding, like she’s reminding herself this is real.

“you’re still wearing it.” she says after a second, her voice quieter now, almost thoughtful veronica’s lips curve faintly. “you didn’t tell me to take it off.”

kate huffs out a quiet breath, something like a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth, her forehead brushing veronica’s again for just a second. “i didn’t think i had to.”

there’s something lighter in it now, something that wasn’t there before, but it doesn’t take away from the weight of everything else—it just makes it easier to hold.

veronica tilts her head slightly, studying her, letting the silence stretch just enough to feel intentional again. “you don’t.” she says, just as softly and the way kate looks at her after that it’s not sharp, not controlled, just certain.

her hand slides slightly at veronica’s waist, not pulling her closer this time because there’s nowhere left to go, but resting there, steady, like she’s found exactly where she wants to be.

the night doesn’t rush forward, after that it settles slowly but in every moment stretching just enough to feel it fully, to let it exist without trying to get ahead of it and for the first time all night kate isn’t holding anything back and veronica isn’t asking her to.

it changes the shape of everything not in a way that’s loud or overwhelming, but in something quieter, deeper—like a door that’s been pressed shut all night finally easing open, not forced, not rushed, just allowed. 

the tension that had been wound tight in kate’s shoulders, in her jaw, in the careful way she’d been choosing every movement, every glance, every word—it doesn’t disappear all at once, but it softens, loosens, settles into something that feels steadier, more certain.

her hand stays at veronica’s waist, but it’s different now than before, it had been restrained, something grounding her, something keeping her from crossing a line too soon now, it’s something else entirely—something deliberate, something that lingers without hesitation. 

her thumb moves slowly against the fabric of veronica’s dress, tracing absent, almost thoughtful patterns, like she’s still trying to process the fact that she doesn’t have to stop herself anymore.

veronica feels it immediately shifts it’s in the way kate looks at her now—not sharp, not searching for control, but open in a way that feels rarer, like something she doesn’t give easily. there’s no rush in it, no urgency to prove anything or claim anything, just a quiet kind of certainty that settles between them, steady and unspoken.

veronica exhales softly, her hands resting more comfortably now against kate’s sides, no longer testing, no longer teasing. her touch slows to match kate’s, grounding instead of provoking, her fingers brushing lightly along the fabric of her shirt, feeling the warmth beneath it, the steady rise and fall of her breathing.

for a moment, neither of them speaks the silence isn’t empty—it’s full in a way that feels almost unfamiliar, like they’re both adjusting to the absence of the tension that had been driving everything before. the room feels smaller somehow, quieter, like the world outside has dimmed just enough to let this exist on its own.

kate’s gaze flickers over veronica’s face again, slower this time, more intentional. there’s something softer in it now, something that lingers without trying to hide itself. her hand shifts slightly at veronica’s waist, not pulling, not pressing, just staying—like she’s grounding herself in the reality of her.

“you’re different like this.” veronica says after a while, her voice low, thoughtful rather than teasing kate’s brow furrows slightly, not defensive, just curious. “like what?”

veronica tilts her head, studying her for a second longer, like she’s trying to find the right way to say it without breaking whatever this is. “like you’re not waiting for something to interrupt,” she says finally. “or stop you.”

it lands quietly between them kate’s expression shifts—not dramatically, just enough to show that she understands what veronica means, that she feels it too. her hand stills for a second at veronica’s waist before moving again, slower this time.

“i think i was,” she admits, her voice softer now, stripped of the edge it carried earlier. “all night.” veronica nods slightly, like she expected that answer. “i know.”

there’s no judgment in it, just recognition kate exhales, her forehead dipping forward again, resting lightly against veronica’s, their breaths mixing in the small space between them. 

it’s quieter like this, closer, the edges of everything blurring in a way that feels intentional instead of overwhelming. “i don’t want to now,” kate adds after a second, almost like she’s saying it more to herself than to veronica.

veronica’s lips curve faintly, something softer than her earlier smiles, something that doesn’t need to push or pull. “then don’t.” it’s simple but it settles deeper than anything else tonight.

kate lets out a small breath, something easing further in her shoulders, like the last bit of tension she’d been holding onto finally lets go her hand shifts again, sliding slightly along veronica’s waist, not searching, not uncertain—just moving in a way that feels natural now, like she’s not second-guessing where she belongs.

veronica’s fingers trail lightly along kate’s jaw again, slower this time, more deliberate, her touch soft but steady. she doesn’t rush it, doesn’t try to pull her into anything more than what’s already there. instead, she lets the moment stretch, lets it settle into something that feels grounded instead of fleeting.

“you’ve been thinking about this,” veronica murmurs after a while, her voice barely above a whisper, more observation than question kate huffs a quiet breath, something almost like a laugh, but softer, more honest. “yeah,” she admits. “probably longer than i should’ve.”

veronica’s eyes flicker slightly at that, something unreadable passing through them for just a second before it softens again. “and you still waited,” she says.

kate lifts her head just enough to meet her gaze again, something steady there, something that doesn’t waver this time. “i wanted it to be right,” she says simply and there’s something about that—about the way she says it, about the lack of hesitation, the absence of anything guarded—that settles deep in veronica’s chest, quieter than the teasing, heavier than the tension.

real.

veronica’s hand stills briefly against kate’s jaw before her fingers curl slightly, holding there for a second longer than before. “it is,” she says softly and this time, when the silence returns, it feels different again.

not charged, not waiting, just full kate doesn’t rush to fill it she stays where she is, close, steady, her hand still resting at veronica’s waist like it belongs there, like she’s not questioning it anymore her gaze lingers, softer now, tracing familiar lines in a way that feels like she’s finally letting herself see instead of just look and veronica lets her.