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Incident Report Form

Reporting Officer: Officer S. Martinson

Date of Report: 5^th October 2024

Case Number: KLF/674/VL

Incident Information:

Incident Type: Physical Assault

Date of Incident: 5^th October 2024

Location: Brasslock Avenue 17, P6667 Piltover

Name/Role of the Parties involved:

-, Violet (Perpetrator) (Identification-No.: ZAUN167VL)

Ricktenbury, Archie (Victim)

Incident Description:

At approximately 01:00 AM on October 5, 2024, the undersigned officer responded to a report of an altercation at Brasslock Avenue 17. Upon arrival, the officer encountered A. Ricktenburg, who appeared visibly distressed and exhibited multiple injuries.

Ricktenburg stated that he had been walking along the road, when he noticed ZAUN167VL smoking outside a bar. He reported that he approached ZAUN167VL and politely requested a cigarette. According to him, ZAUN167VL appeared heavily intoxicated and immediately became verbally aggressive, directing slurred insults toward him. Ricktenburg stated that he turned to walk away, attempting to avoid further conflict, when ZAUN167VL suddenly grabbed him by the arm and forcefully pulled him back.

He reported that ZAUN167VL then struck him with a closed fist to the mouth, causing immediate pain and visible swelling. Before he could react, ZAUN167VL delivered a second, forceful blow to his abdomen, causing him to stagger. Ricktenburg stated that he attempted to defend himself, struggling against ZAUN167VL in an effort to break free. During the altercation, ZAUN167VL reportedly applied force to his right shoulder in what he described as a wrenching motion, resulting in a loud pop and intense pain.

Upon visual assessment, Ricktenburg exhibited injuries consistent with his statement, including a swollen and split lower lip, two missing teeth, and signs of a dislocated shoulder. Due to his condition, he requested immediate medical assistance, which was arranged.

The officer attempted to obtain a statement from ZAUN167VL regarding the incident, but she refused to provide any comment. The suspect was released into psychological care until further notice.

No additional witnesses were immediately available at the scene. Surveillance footage from the bar (if available) may provide further evidence.

This report is submitted for further review and possible charges.

Signed: Officer S. Martinson

Location: Brasslock Precinct, P6667, Piltover

The office was fucking freezing.

It was beyond Vi why anyone ever would be stupid enough to put the window on tilt in the middle of October, an October that seemed intent on outdoing December as the coldest month of the year.

„… a broken jaw, multiple knocked out teeth, shoulder completely dislodged – the boy is looking at a total of two medical procedures and twenty physical therapy sessions, not counting the regular check-ups he’ll have to attend. He suffered severe bruising along his ribs, likely from repeated impact, and a concussion. The doctors also noted torn ligaments in his shoulder - he won’t be using that arm properly for months.”

Maybe it was some sort of intimidation strategy.

Cool the room down to a comfortable sub-zero temperature only polar bears would thrive in and let the poor victims of the icy air shiver in their seats until they were desperate enough to beg for treatment, frozen popsicles to be devoured by modern medicine.

The only thing missing was a fucking walrus for ambience.

“He’ll get dentures. A twenty-year old boy, Violet.”

Vi tilted her head back, staring at the ceiling like it might suddenly break open and bury her under an avalanche of debris and dust, sparing her from suffering the horrible fate of turning into an icicle.

Or being bored to death.

Instead, all she got were those cheap-ass acoustic tiles, speckled and water-stained. The light above her flickered slightly, buzzing with the dull hum of something barely functioning.

Fitting.

“The shoulder was so severely dislocated it required surgery. That is usually only necessary in, let’s say, freak hockey accidents. Hockey, Violet! Not a street fight. Not because a certain someone decided to teach him a lesson.”

Vi let out a huff of air and let her head snap forwards again. She let her gaze drift through the room, keen on emphasizing just how uninterested she was in this whole ordeal.

Which she truly was.

The icy room didn’t really help spark her fire, all clean and neat, walls painted a boring eggshell-white and lined with boring shelves housing books in boring colours flashing boring titles Vi didn’t care enough to decipher.

The whole place looked like it had been decorated by someone who thought “a little bit of personality” was a dirty word.

The desk she sat in front of was no better.

Boring files stacked in a pile, a boring fossil of a computer, a boring Newton’s cradle– what was it with doctors and their obsession with that thing? -, some boring looking pens, none of the items measuring up to the exceptionally boring man on the other side of the desk.

Anyone entering this room with an issue other than depression was sure to leave with it.

And then there was the window. Still open. Just slightly, just enough for the draft to crawl up Vi’s spine like a cold, bony hand. It was almost impressive how much this place insisted on sucking.

The man in front of her sighed, took his glasses off and put them down on the tabletop in a swift motion, pinching his nose bridge with the other hand. Even his rectangular, thickly framed glasses were boring.

“You’ve taken quite a toll on him. And you’re lucky - very lucky - that he hasn’t pressed charges. If he had, you wouldn’t be sitting here, Violet. You’d be in a holding cell, waiting to see a judge.”

Vi shifted in her seat, leaned forwards and lifted one of the small spheres of the cradle to let it crash into the others, the ensuing clicking a toe-curling mismatch with the ticking of the huge clock on the wall and the constant thrumming of Vi’s fingers on the chair’s armrest.

Thr – tick – um - ti – click - ck- cli – thrum- ck – thr - tick -

She grinned with satisfaction and leaned back.

Okay, now she was kind of getting the appeal.

“We’ve known each other for, what, four years now? And yet, here we are, same story all over again,” Hoskel continued, tapping his fingers against the desk. His nails were trimmed too short, the skin around them raw, like he spent his nights gnawing at them while rereading Vi’s file over and over again, worrying his head bald.

“We have a lot of regular patients here, people returning once or twice a year, but you, Violet, you’ve been here more than most,”

He reached for the files piled on his desk, briefly skimming through them before pulling one out - her record, housed in a boring beige folder.

It was fat. Not just thick, but fat.

The kind of file that has its own dedicated spot in the cabinet, maybe even a warning label.

“You don’t get into fights often, I’ll give you that. You’re well-liked in here. Respected, even. Staff have no complaints about you. Patients seem to like you. You help out when someone’s struggling, you get along with everyone, you rarely pick fights. You keep your temper under control, for the most part.”

He shot her a sharp glance.

She stretched out in the – fucking uncomfortable - chair, legs lazily crossed at the ankles and granted him a smile. “Sounds like I should get a gold star.”

Hoskel blankly stared at her, not dignifying her words with a response. “You don’t really cooperate in therapy, though. Neither at group nor individual sittings. You don’t participate. You sit there, arms crossed, nod at the right times, shake your head at others, but you’re not actually engaging.”

Vi shrugged. “And that’s a problem because…?”

Hoskel exhaled slowly. Vi could practically see another stress-wrinkle appearing on his forehead.

“Because the second you step outside these walls, you’re a different person.” He leaned forward slightly, gaze pressing into her like he was trying to break past the wall of nonchalance. “Almost everyone in this building thinks you’re great. But outside, Violet? It’s another story. You lose your temper, and it gets ugly.”

Ta – tick – p -ti – click - ck- cli – tap- ck- ta - tick –

They sat in silence for a while, both watching the movement of the pendulum, the rhythm not yet slowing down, the uncomfortable silence stretched and deepened by the thrumming and clicking and ticking.

Maybe she should start flipping tables just for the fun of it.

When the pendulum got boring, too, Vi shrugged and crossed her arms over her chest, thrumming of her fingers replaced by the tapping of her boots on the floor.

“His blocking was pretty shit.”

Ta – tick – p -ti – click - ck- cli – tap- ck- ta - tick –

Doctor Hoskel returned to pinching his nosebridge.

He seemed to have lost the few remaining strands of hair he had always taken so much pride in, combing them over his otherwise bald head, parading around the facility like a plucked peacock.

The skin on his head was just as spotty as his wrinkled, saggy face, eyes a bit hazy and with a yellowish tint.

It was a truly tragic sight, like some sort of puppet made of mashed potato cruelly smushed together.

Damn, he’d gotten old.

When she remained silent, he sighed once more and replaced the fingers on his nose bridge with the rectangular glasses, leaning back into his chair – far more comfortable looking than hers - and folding his hands over his stomach.

“Violet, I don’t think I have to tell you that you’re running out of chances. This isn’t just ‘Violet being Violet.’ You’re building a reputation, and not the kind that keeps you safe. The kind that gets you locked up.”

Ta – tick – p -ti – click - ck- cli – tap- ck- ta - tick –

“We both know your file. This is your, what, fourth offense this year? You’re lucky they didn’t ship you off to the correction’s office right away.”

Vi scoffed and rolled her eyes, uncrossing her arms to add the thrumming back to the disharmony.

There had been more than four, she’d only gotten caught this time.

“We both know,” she imitated him in a tone bordering mockery, “that the fucker had it coming. And that he should be the one sitting here, or in fucking juvie, or in some fucking place reserved for fucking-“

Hoskel groaned, his face taking on a pained expression, hands flailing up in exasperation: “Dear god, Violet, language! You don’t have to add profanities to every utterance to get your point across.”

Ta – tick – p -ti – click - ck- cli – thr – tap – um -ti – click - ck- ta - tick –

“All I’m saying is that you’re incredibly lucky those officers took the time to check your medical file, incredibly lucky they didn’t immediately peg you a violent criminal, incredibly lucky to be back with us - but shouldn’t rely on luck saving you next time. You’re on very thin ice.”

He furrowed his brows, their bushiness mocking the lack of hair on his head.

“You’re almost twenty.”

He leaned forward once more, chair softly creaking with the shift of his weight, and tried to catch her glance, tried to meet her eyes, but Vi made a point of blankly staring at the clicking spheres.

“You won’t get away with a slap on the wrist anymore. You’ll get real time. A real record. And I don’t think you fully understand what that means. Your file is thicker than all of these,” he stabbed his index onto the pile of random patient files next to him, “combined. Believe me when I tell you that your next misstep won’t land you in here but in a far, far more uncomfortable place.”

Vi didn’t answer, but her thrumming and tapping picked up in pace.

Maybe those far more uncomfortable places would have at least enough common sense to not leave the fucking window open in the middle of goddamn October.

Doctor Hoskel continued studying her face for a few moments.

Then he lowered his gaze, leaned forwards and put the clicking spheres to a halt with one hand, the other busy flicking through some papers in front of him, eyes scanning what Vi assumed to be her information, dismissing her with a tired flick of his wrist.

“Alright, Violet, you know the procedure. Get to your room, unpack, settle in. Lunch starts at 2, please be punctual for once. You’ll get your schedule this evening. We’ll start you off with Propranolol.”

“Back already, Vi?”

Vi waved back at the nurse with a casual flick of her wrist. The woman had just left a room and was now regarding her with a fond, though slightly cautious smile, in front of her a tray stacked with a neat pile of white boxes.

Vi recognized some of the labels on the cartons.

‘Vyvanse’ – yeah, that one. They had tried that shit on her years ago. Kept her from sleeping and made her an irritable, jittery mess, snapping at anyone in eyesight.

‘Tranylcypromine’ – fuck that, it had left her mouth drier than the Shurima Desert.

‘Clonazepam’ – absolute fucking bullcrap. Had kept her running into doors and walls like some huge, uncoordinated toddler. Her hipbone had been bruised for days.

“You know it, Carla,” she tossed over her shoulder with a big smile plastered on her face, strolling down the familiar hallway in big, lazy strides, her footsteps loud on the polished floors. She was pretty sure her sneakers were leaving smudges on the surface.

Enthusiastically, she made a point of dragging one shoe over the floor intentionally harshly, the sound grating in a way that made her smile even more.

Vi reached the small stairway, her feet light as air, skipping up the steps with a carefree bounce, a whistle escaping her lips.

The Solace Psychiatric Centre was a small clinic tucked away at the outskirts of Piltover. Shortly after its construction, it had become a focal point of controversy in the media after it was revealed that it covered treatment for the underprivileged youth of Zaun.

Of course, the Topsiders had had a problem with that.

God forbid anyone would actually do something decent for the people from the Undercity.

Piltover’s delicate little ego had been bruised and the whole thing blew over when the next shiny scandal came along, as it always did, Topsiders moving on to something else they could clutch their pearls in horror about.

So, the Solace Psychiatric Centre wasn’t the biggest, nor the most prestigious psychiatric facility in Piltover. Hell, it wasn’t even in the running for the top five in the city.

But it was her favourite. And she’d been to her fair share - places with that cold, clinical vibe, all sterile walls and antiseptic air. But not here. The place felt... lighter, brighter - almost like they were trying to trick her into feeling comfortable.

Vi couldn’t help but respect the effort.

When she reached the second floor, smoker’s lung leaving her a bit out of breath, she pushed the doors open and took in a deep breath.

The fresh air was thick with the scent of plants dotted throughout the halls, tucked into corners like little pockets of life amidst the sterile surroundings. Large windows lined the walls, letting in floods of soft, golden natural light that made the place feel more like a cozy café than a place for fucking maniacs working through their demons.

Not even the security guard lounging on one comfortable looking chair – honestly, had her chair in Hoskels office been the only fucking backbreaker? – could change the vibe of this place.

He gave Vi a lazy wave as she passed by, clearly not in any rush to do whatever security guards did in their spare time here.

“Back already, Vi?” he asked, voice low but friendly.

Vi smirked, taking in his posture. He was sprawled in the chair, one leg over the other, eyes half-lidded.

"What, you slacking off already, Gerry?" she teased, stepping a little closer and giving a nod towards him. “I’ve been here, what, five minutes, and you already look like you need a vacation.”

Gerry stretched one arm over his head lazily, not bothering to move his legs from the chair, his expression a perfect portrait of apathy.

“Don’t know what you mean,” he yawned, unbothered by Vi’s jab. “I’m as sharp as always. This entire place would crumble without my expert oversight.”

Vi chuckled. Her own eyes mirrored the mischievous twinkle in his. "You’ve definitely got the tough job, Gerry. I’ll try to go easy on you, wouldn’t want you to pull a muscle or anything.”

He yawned again, this time exposing a few missing teeth and a mouth with molasses stained and yellowed from a steady diet of cigarettes. “How very kind of you. Just try not to break anything this time, we’re all still in mourning over the loss of the projector.”

Vi continued to walk, shrugging nonchalantly as she threw a wink in his direction. “I’ll try my best, but no promises”.

“Keep out of trouble, Vi,” he called after her, but the warning in his words didn’t quite reach the tone of voice, lazy and more playful than serious.

She strolled along the hallway, wall across the windows lined with private rooms. The floor fit up to thirty people, though Vi had never encountered more than twenty during lunch times and breaks.

They were all young – the clinic had specialised in patients under 25 -, a wild mix of issues and struggles thrown together in a whirlwind promising trouble, but Vi fucking loved it.

The doors were all closed, no one roamed the halls, but Vi could make out a faint smell of pasta, could hear light chatter and laughter, the clinking of cutlery from the dining hall behind her back.

Lunchtime.

Her room was at the other end of the hall, a good distance from the dining hall and the common room. She’d claimed it on her first visit, staked her claim with a bold sprawl during her second, and since then, there had been no dispute.

As she threw the door open, a rush of light from the October sun flooded the room, casting long shadows across the walls.

The floor squeaked under her sneakers – god, they really had to do something about that - as she stepped inside, inhaling the familiar, almost comforting mix of stale air and the sharp, clean scent of bleach.

It was the best room in the whole facility, there was no doubt about that, and it was exactly why she’d been so keen on it ever since her first day.

All patients shared the same, dull beige walls (“Neutral colours do have a positive effect on the mind, Violet… No, they do not look like someone wiped their ass on them!”), the same single bed with plain white linens (“I figured I’d been quite clear on the rules of our institution, Violet … The beds are clearly not intended for sharing, especially sharing of-… of this nature!”) and the same wooden desk (“I’d suggest you give up tiring yourself out, Violet, the desk is screwed to the floor.”)

What made this room – her room – so special, was the window.

It was modest, no curtains or blinds to prevent patients from strangling themselves – or others. Beyond it, the view was a serene expanse of rolling hills and dense forests, typical of the Piltover countryside.

Boring.

But it was the tree that stood just outside her window that had made Vi fall in love with the room.

A sturdy oak, its leaves rustling gently with every blowing breeze, creating a soothing melody that Vi found oddly comforting. At night, when the world outside was quiet, the rhythmic swaying of the tree's branches and the soft whisper of its leaves against the wind became a lullaby.

Of course, except when she had been high on Vyvanse.

Goddamn Vyvanse.

Her bag had already been placed on the bed—a worn, patched-up thing that looked like it had lived through hell, but somehow held together with sheer will and a few stitches.

Vi kicked the door shut behind her, the soft thud of it settling like a punctuation mark to her arrival. She tossed her bag carelessly onto the floor and threw herself onto the bed, the springs groaning in protest as she bounced once, then sank back against the pillow.

The leaves outside were rustling.

Her gaze wandered up to the clock on the wall – 2.07 pm.

The smile returned to her face.

10 more minutes and she’d make a perfect entrance.

“No fucking way, no fucking way!”

Vi barely had time to let her smug smile grow into a full-on grin before the other girl barrelled into her, wrapping her twiggy - yet goddamn strong - arms around her and squeezing the life out of her. Vi staggered back, caught slightly off-balance, but her grin only widened.

"No fucking way, Vi!”

Vi chuckled, trying to catch her breath as she tried to shove the girl off. "Dude, let go! You’re gonna kill me before I even get settled back in here!”

Margot let go, eyes wide and shimmering, excitement twisting her features into a manic grin.

“Fuck, man, I can’t believe you’re here, I was so bummed out when I heard you got released – I mean, good for you, I guess, but sucks for me. It is so dull in here, no fucking fun people except, you know, the regulars, but damn-“, she rolled her eyes dramatically, not even the slightest bit out of breath, “there’s no action, you know, nothing ever happens! You know what the most exciting thing this week was? Fucking bingo, Vi! I’m playing bingo, like some old fucker, and you know what the worst part about this is? I fucking liked it! Ugh, I can’t even begin to tell you-”

Her words spilled out in a rapid-fire monologue, a waterfall of nonsense and trivialities, but Vi’s smile only grew as she joined Margot at her table and let her chatter wash over her as a nurse placed a plate with food in front of her.

The two of them had met a few years ago, during Vi’s fourth or fifth stay, already a well-established figure in the clinic.

Margot had been a fresh face then, small and pale, with wide eyes darting around the room and a nervous and jittery laugh that seemed to fill every quiet moment.

At first, Vi hadn’t cared much for her, had grown a little annoyed by the way Margot had kept trying to insert herself into conversations, voice trembling and too high-pitched, words spilling out of her mouth before she could hold them back, nervous eyes always locked in on Vi.

Vi had tried her best to ignore her, gave her best to become deaf and mute in Margot’s presence, but the smaller girl hadn’t backed down, kept throwing herself into the mix with a determination that made Vi both irritated and curious.

No matter how many times she was brushed off, she kept showing up, her words flowing like an unstoppable stream, always trying to make Vi laugh, trying to get her attention, trying to get her to listen.

And at some point, she had started listening.

And she had never stopped.

“… and I was just wondering, like, ‘Dude, do you want me to blow you or no?’”

Okay, maybe she did tune out sometimes.

Vi chuckled, moved her arm across Margot’s shoulders – who was still babbling -  and pulled her in tightly, the familiar smell of cigarette smoke and lemon tickling her nose.

“Fucking missed you, chatterbox”, she cut in, Margot gleaming up at her, apparently not minding the interruption at all.

“So, no exciting people, I hear?”

Vi let her gaze drift over the desks, spotting a few familiar faces.

On a table in the very back of the room, Viktor sat across from Jayce, both regulars at Solace Psychiatric Centre. Viktor’s slender fingers were hidden by blue latex gloves, his eyes meticulously examining every bite of pasta, before he put it into his mouth. He chewed and swallowed with a sense of urgency, as if every bite was somehow contaminated. His crutch was leaning next to him, his bad leg stretched out.

Jayce was talking to him in a low voice, drowned by the hum of noise in the dining hall, his leg bouncing up and down while his fingers were fidgeting around with a small toy, twisting it, turning it without even looking at it, everything to keep his fingers busy and his mind calm.

When Vi had kicked the door to the dining hall open, her hollering “WHO MISSED ME?!” sending heads turning and necks craning, they had both looked up with a grin.

Viktor had waved at her. Jayce had flipped her off.

They were chill.

Margot followed her gaze, mouth stuffed with pasta and tomato sauce, which in no way hindered her ability to deliver a spit-filled and almost incomprehensible catch-up for Vi.

“Yeah, they’re both back. Or rather, Jayce is. I honestly don’t think Viktor even left since the last time I was here. He’s like some goddamn spirit of a dead orphan haunting the halls.”

She furrowed her brows, tilted her head and chuckled. “Kinda looks the part too. Though, honestly, I really like the junkie-aesthetic he has going for him, all pale and gangly and-“

Diana sat at the other side of the room, chin on her hand, fork playing around with the food on her plate with no real interest.

She looked quite pale, the colour of her skin practically drowned by her black hoodie, her black sweatpants and her black and chipped nail polish. She was still sporting the smudgy, dark eye-makeup Vi had mocked her for during their last joined stay – “Trying to look like a racoon or is this just your vibe today?” - but had dyed her hair – back then a dark, bluish tint – a greyish white.

It looked pretty hot.

“Oh, yeah, Diana is here! She got here, like, a week before I did.” Margot’s voice pitched up with excitement as she leaned closer, nearly dropping her fork. “She looks so hot with that new hair, doesn’t she? My work!” She flipped her own hair theatrically. “Maybe I should give it a go, you know, swinging both ways? I bet she wouldn’t complain when I try to go down on her.”

Vi didn’t respond - just sniffed, crossed one leg over the other, and narrowed her eyes at the figure by the windows. A nurse stopped beside Diana, said something quiet, and the girl gave a tiny smile in return. As soon as the nurse turned to leave, the smile vanished, her face slipping back into a flat, unreadable calm.

“Why aren’t you guys sitting together?” Vi asked, gaze still on Diana.

Margot chewed a bite of her pasta, then swallowed hard and wiped her mouth with her sleeve. “She’s been in a super pissy mood ever since she got here. Pretty sure she’s kinda mad that she got admitted again, hasn’t talked that much so far. Lately she’s been all, ‘I need time to think, I want to be alone’ blah blah blah.”

Margot wiggled her fingers in a mockery of air quotes, then giggled. “But, I mean, it’s always like that with her in the beginning, isn’t it? Starts off all broody, then like a week or two later, she’ll be braiding everyone’s hair and giving people unsolicited advice about their birth charts. Just wait.”

Vi didn’t answer. She just hummed, her shoulders hitching up in a vague shrug before her eyes drifted across the room again.

Leone was sitting on the far left of the room.

The girl with the dark curls was leaning forward, gesturing wildly with her fork as she tried to make some point Vi couldn’t care less about. The bulky guy across from her, arms crossed, looked like he was counting the seconds until he could escape.

Vi’s brows twitched. “And what’s Leona doing?”

“Oh,” Margot said, rolling her eyes dramatically, “she got into some discussion during group therapy, something about, like, criminal accountability versus mental health or whatever? I swear to god, I blacked out halfway through. But she had to keep going, so now she’s just harassing that poor dude during lunch instead of sitting with me.”

Vi snorted and had to suppress the urge to roll her eyes.

Leona had the annoying habit of getting into pointless arguments, especially with people who clearly didn’t have the patience for her.  Hot-headed and absolutely obnoxious, she never missed a chance to correct someone, always throwing in her opinion whether anyone asked for it or not.

She’d fight anyone over absolutely anything.

Leona never backed down from a fight, even when it was with the most annoying, uninteresting person in the room

They had gotten into physical fights, once, or twice. Or, like 15 times, but they always managed to make up.

Vi fucking adored her.

“Okay, it had been kinda fun with Leona, we played some video games the other day and she fucking sucked, got her ass handed to her, but with you, Vi, oh my god-“ Margot was squealing with excitement, swallowing a bite the size of her fist, the sudden barricade in her oesophagus forcing a moment of silence which Vi quickly seized.

“It’s a shame Zett’s not here, would’ve loved a good brawl, but oh well.”

She shrugged, leaned forwards and picked up her fork, shovelling almost half the plate into her mouth at once.

The food in the clinic always tasted slightly of cardboard, dry and somehow crumbling in your mouth, still Vi revelled in the taste, fork tightly grasped in the one hand, her other constantly tapping the tabletop surface in a rapid, vague beat, eyes still scanning the room.

“Oh, yeah, haven’t seen him in like, what? A year? Probably kicked the bucket, which would be a goddamn shame. Did you know he and I hooked up? Yeah, just after Summers Solstice two years ago, fuck, he was so fucking skilled with-“

None of the other patients looked particularly interesting, Vi had to admit.

A few tables over, two or three thin girls sat hunched together, their plates nearly untouched despite lunch having started half an hour ago.

The starving-crew.

One of them traced slow, repetitive patterns in her pasta with the prongs of her fork, her expression blank but her fingers trembling. Another had her arms crossed so tightly over her chest it was a wonder she could still breathe, her knuckles bone white. The third just sat there, staring at her food like it might bite her first.

A nurse perched beside them, hands resting loosely on his lap, smiling in that careful, patient way. He didn’t nudge them, didn’t push - just stayed, just waited.

Nope. No fun.

Vi let her gaze drift, focused on a boy sitting alone at a table, drowning in his large hoodie. She narrowed her eyes a bit and could see his pale lips moving, words tumbling from his mouth just as rapidly as from Margot’s, the only difference being that they weren’t directed at anyone.

She frowned. Nutcase.

Only a few feet to his right, a broad woman loomed in her chair, forearms the size of Vi’s head, hands like paws holding comically small cutlery. Her skin was tanned and – Vi perched one of her eyebrows with admiration – heavily tatted.

She looked like she’d be able – and willing – to gnaw someone’s arm off over a sandwich.

Vi quickly checked the woman’s lips – busy with devouring food and not uttering gibberish to herself – and nodded with satisfaction.

Potentially fun. Or at the very least pretty cool looking.

But she would be fine regardless.

Margot alone had the magic to turn a three-month stay into something almost bearable, maybe even fun. Jayce and Viktor always joined in on a game, whether it was video games or something on the board. Diana, with her low-key energy, was a calming presence.

Also, she was always up for a cigarette.

And Leona? She’d be the perfect mix of annoyance and entertainment, always ready with a snarky remark or heated debate to chase away any lingering boredom.

Enough interesting people to keep the monotony at bay.

“Vi, did you get your schedule yet? Oh, I hope we’re both in the same sports group! Though they’re calling it ‘dance and movement-therapy’ now.” Margot painted invisible quotation marks with her fingers in the air and rolled her eyes, mouth still twisted in a grin. “I would sure love to see you fucking dancing, Vi!”

She let out a snicker at the thought, wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and leaned on Vi’s shoulder, the familiar weight and frame briefly tugging at Vi’s stomach, before she quickly focused on her plate again.

“No fucking way. I’d literally rather die”, she mumbled through a mouth filled with food, pasta sauce dripping down her chin.

Margot sucked air through her teeth and looked up at Vi with feigned pity: “Ouh, sorry to tell you, but I’ll have to tell Dr. Hoskel about this…”

Vi shot her a sideways glance, scared lips quirking up to a half-smirk: “Maybe I’ll dance my way out of here. One killer pirouette, and I’m out.”

Margot broke into peals of laughter, the sort of laughter that took over her whole body, shaking her frame with the force. She pounded her small fists on the tabletop and kicked her feet with joy, at one point nearly losing her balance, teetering on the edge of her chair before she caught herself, still shaking with the intensity of it.

Vi grinned.

She finished the rest of her plate while Margot was still chuckling next to her. Vi briefly glanced at the plates of the starving-crew with jealousy before leaning back in her chair, stomach reasonably filled, the rays of the October sun warming her back, her friends laughter in her ear.

She closed her eyes.

Clack

She opened her eyes.

For the second time in less than 45 minutes, heads turned and necks craned, patients gawking at the door that had fallen shut behind someone who hadn’t bothered announcing her presence with the same booming enthusiasm Vi had displayed earlier.

Still, the hall went quiet.

Vi furrowed her brows with confusion and shifted slightly forwards, her view blocked by the tanned and tatted girl.

Man, she really was broad, maybe she played football or hockey or -

Hair, so dark it almost appeared black, though the sunlight caught it just right, revealing streaks of deep blue that glistened like the night sky reflected in a pond.

Fuck.

Slender and long, her legs stretched out beneath her with a grace that seemed almost unnatural. Hell, they even looked elegant in those stupid sweatpants.

Goddamn it.

Those eyes, those goddamn eyes, a blue so sharp and piercing it could peel the skin from you, peel you layer from layer until you stood bare and naked, no place to hide.

God – fucking – damn it,

Margot let out a small huff of air and gently nudged Vi with her elbow – a goddamn sharp elbow -, voice merely a whisper: “Fuck me, she’s hot! Isn’t she, Vi? Isn’t she like totally your type? Oh, man, I’m so fucking jealous of you, fucking dinner just prancing in here, you really must be the luckiest girl-“

Vi stared at Caitlyn Kiramman and felt like the unluckiest girl in the whole world.

Chapter Text

Notice to Pupils and Parents: Visit to Piltover Grand Lyceum

Dear Pupils and Parents,

Five years ago, Piltover and Zaun committed to closing the gap between our cities through a pact of cooperation and reparations. One of the most impactful initiatives of this pact is the Inter-School Partnership Program, which pairs schools from Piltover and Zaun to foster exchange, collaboration, and opportunity.

Through shared activities such as joint sports tournaments, academic competitions, cultural projects, and exchange visits, this program aims to connect young minds from both cities, promote understanding, and provide students from Zaun with access to new educational and professional opportunities.

As part of this initiative, we are thrilled to announce that Stonemire Secondary School has been paired with the Piltover Grand Lyceum, one of the most prestigious and well-resourced institutions in Piltover.

This partnership gives our students an incredible opportunity to experience the cutting-edge education, facilities, and resources that Piltover has to offer - while also sharing their own perspectives, skills, and creativity with their peers from the Academy.

Why This Program Matters

This initiative is designed to promote equal opportunities and foster lasting connections between the next generation of Piltover and Zaun. It’s a chance for our pupils to experience a world-class educational environment and open doors to potential future collaborations, mentorships, and career pathways.

We are confident this visit will inspire our students to dream big and see the immense potential of what can be achieved when our communities work together.

What to Expect

The first meeting between the Piltover Grand Lyceum and Stonemire Secondary School promises to be both educational and inspiring! Pupils will be paired one-on-one with students from the Piltover Grand Lyceum to:

• Explore the state-of-the-art facilities of the Lyceum, including their innovative labs, art studios, and athletic grounds
• Participate in collaborative activities like science workshops, sports challenges, and art projects
• Share lunch together, giving everyone a chance to make new friends and exchange ideas
• Wrap up with a reflection session led by mentors from both schools

What to Bring

• Comfortable clothing and shoes suitable for various activities
• A packed lunch (optional, as meals will be provided)
• Enthusiasm and a positive attitude!

Event Schedule

To ensure a meaningful exchange, each form will visit Piltover Grand Lyceum, on a separate day, where they will have the chance to meet and interact with students of the same age group.

• Year 1 (Ages 11-12): 7^th January 2016
• Year 2 (Ages 12-13): 8^th January 2016
• Year 3 (Ages 13-14): 14th January 2016
• Year 4 (Ages 14-15): 15th January 2016
• Year 5 (Ages 15-16): 21st January 2016
• Year 6 (Ages 16+): 22nd January 2016

Together, we are building a brighter future for Zaun and Piltover alike. Thank you for supporting this wonderful program. Let’s make the most of this opportunity!

Warm regards,

Principal Liora Kestrel

“Collaboration today for a united tomorrow.”

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Permission Slip – Year 1 Visit to Piltover Academy

Details of the Event

• Date: 7^th January 2016
• Time: 8.30 AM to 4PM
• Meeting Point: Stonemire Secondary School,
• Travel: Pupils will be accompanied to and from Piltover Grand Lyceum by school staff. If your child wishes to return home independently after the event, please provide a signed permission slip in advance.

Pupil’s Full Name: ___________________________

Parent/Guardian Name: ___________________________

Emergency Contact Number: ___________________________

My child has permission to attend the visit to Piltover Academy on January 7^th, 2016.

☐ My child will return home with school staff.

☐ My child has permission to travel home independently after the event.

Parent/Guardian Signature: ___________________________

Date: ______________

Permission and Contact Details

Please ensure the attached permission slip is signed and returned to the school by December 15^th.

Caitlyn Kiramman had spent less than four minutes in the dining hall and already, Vi was fuming.

It didn’t help that the sight of sheer perfection seemed to have sent a rush of adrenaline through Margot, whose small body seemed utterly unfit to process any more energy. It left the girl spilling words out in an unstoppable torrent, faster than Vi could even process, like the relentless clatter of an old-timey typewriter, filling the air with a rapid-fire staccato she not once stumbled over.

“She’s the most fucking gorgeous human being I’ve ever seen, good lord, Vi, have you seen those legs?! I mean, it’s impossible not to, right, they make up, like, two thirds of her fucking body. How can you have legs this fucking long and still look so goddamn-… I don’t know, proportional? And those eyes, man, if I had those eyes I’d never stop staring at the mirror, some people really are blessed-“

Vi definitely wasn’t.

She had decided not to spare Kiramman even a single glance, pointedly staring at the wall right above the newcomer’s head.

She tried her best to paint her face a mask of nonchalance and disinterest, almost straining a muscle in the attempt to wrestle the blank expression on her face.

The way she furiously gnawed at her fingernails – probably looking like a starving caged animal doing so – definitely didn’t help her case.

And the fact that everything in her face had dropped the second Vi’d first seen the girl.

Margot’s elbow plunged deep inside her ribs, the hushed whispers of the starving-crew in her ear, the taste of cardboard on her tongue and tomato sauce smeared all over her chin, Vi had been incapable of doing anything else but stare at her, mouth agape, caught in the gravity of Kiramman.

Just like everyone else.

It seemed like nothing stunned a room filled with maniacs more than a tall girl with great posture in hideous sweatpants.

A nurse, apparently the only person immune to Kiramman’s absolute fucking perfection, had gone over to her and placed a careful hand on her right arm – the other was wrapped in a sling -, whispering a few words Caitlyn responded to with a small nod.

The nurse had smiled and patted Caitlyn’s arm once before scurrying towards the kitchen door, probably to conjure up another portion of cardboard with sauce.

The low chatter had slowly picked up again as Caitlyn had scanned the room looking for a place to sit, Margot not even trying to lower her voice into a whisper.

“Isn’t she, Vi? Isn’t she, like, exactly your type? Man, I really don’t want to dent your ego, but she might be out of your fucking league, that’s insane! She’s like one of those- What were they called? Those dolls, do you remember, you could like clothe them and wash them and-“

Vi had seen Caitlyn’s gaze travel over the starving-crew shooting her hostile glances, not linger on the mumbling boy for too long, darting over Leona who had picked up her conversation again, make its way closer and closer to their table, like an unstoppable predator closing in on its prey.

Their eyes had met for a split second.

And of course, Kiramman – pretty, perfect fucking Caitlyn Kiramman – had managed to keep her expression in check, a picture of composure and grace, eyes drifting over Vi – mouth hanging wide open, sauce covered chin, Margot practically draped across her- as if she were one of the chairs, before floating over to the broad, tan girl and sitting right across from her.

Vi had probably popped a vein that moment.

Kiramman hadn’t paid her any attention since, her pasta seemed to be the most captivating thing she’d ever encountered judging by the way she kept her eyes glued to her plate.

And although Vi tried her hardest to treat the wall above Kiramman’s head with the same level of interest, she couldn’t keep her eyes from darting downwards from time to time.

Nibbling at her thumb, Vi noted - not without a tiny peck of satisfaction - that Kiramman did not look as perfect as she’d first thought.

Her dark hair was longer than the last time they’d met, goddamn beautiful strands of deep, midnight ink tumbling over her shoulders. But it was a bit messy, the usually orderly waves slightly dishevelled, as if she’d run her hands through it absentmindedly.

Though that was probably the kind of look people spent hours in front of the mirror trying to achieve – a perfect imperfection.

She was a bit pale, eyes rimmed with dark, almost lilac shadows.

The exhaustion painted across her face didn’t quite match the way she sat - back straight, posture perfect, presence unwavering.

There was, of course, her right arm in a sling, pressed tightly to her body and forcing her to eat a bit shakily with her non-dominant left hand, which – for some godforsaken reason – still did not rob her of a shred of grace and dignity.

Caitlyn had, however, also grown thinner.

She had always been tall and slender, but now her frame was bordering on gaunt, cheeks slightly hollow, cheek bones protruding and sharpening her features. It made her look harder, more mature, the slightest bit defiant and stubborn.

She looked beautiful and Vi hated herself for noticing.

“Vi?”

Vi had to rip her gaze from the girl she so desperately wanted to ignore like a fly tearing itself free from a sticky, gooey trap.

Margot stared up at her, head tilted with curiosity, lips still twisted in a faint, cheeky smile.

Her eyes wandered from Vi to Kiramman, and back to Vi again, eyebrows wiggling up and down like two very suggestive worms.

“What, you already planning your first hookup?”

Vi grunted, foot tapping a rapid rhythm against the floor.

“Well, I can recommend the bathroom on the first floor, you know, the one with the leaky tap? The nurses never go there, I’ve been there, like, two times before? And every time, amazing!”

Vi grunted, fingers thrumming on the tabletop.

“Okay, maybe it does smell a bit like sewage, but honestly, who fucking cares? This place drives you nuts as it is already, no need add abstinence, right? Oh, oh, there is also the closet right past the art room!”

Vi grunted, teeth worrying at her lower lip.

“Yeah, that might be better for you, though she’s fucking tall, damn it, so it might be a bit-… cramped? But, oh well, isn’t that what you want anyways? And come to think of it, if she’s on her knees the height really doesn’t fucking matter anymore, right, the most important thing is that she can reach-?”

“I won’t fuck her.”

Margot’s mouth shut, her teeth clacking together, her eyes growing wide with surprise.

What a strange sense of honor that the one thing capable of stunning Margot into silence was the idea that she didn’t want to fuck every girl roaming the earth.

Vi shrugged, finding it a bit hard to find a spot in the room she could pretend to be interested in, now that she was avoiding both Caitlyn’s blank and Margot’s shocked expression.

“What?”

Margot let out a disbelieving scoff, pulling her knee up to hug it against her chest. An unconvinced smile was creeping back on her face, corner of her mouth perking up like Vi just said the most ridiculous thing imaginable.

“You’re joking.”

Her voice was dripping with good-natured suspicion, eyes once more traveling over to Kiramman, whose shaky hand forced her to eat fairly slowly.

Vi pressed her lips into a tight line and pulled her eyebrows up in hopes of believably portraying someone not giving a shit and being completely unbothered.

“Nope.”

“What?!”

Margot’s fingers – perfectly manicured – shot up and clawed painfully into Vi’s forearm. The disbelief in her face had given way to  outright shock, eyes now rapidly darting between Kiramman and Vi.

“Are you fucking kidding me?”, she hissed as her nails numbed Vi’s arm, probably leaving permanent holes in it.

“That is the hottest fucking piece of ass I’ve ever fucking seen! She is gorgeous, did you not fucking see her properly? Do you need glasses? You-… oh god, Vi”, she let out a sigh of relief and weakened ger grip, “I know what this is about! We’ve finally found someone who intimidates you! Don’t worry, you’ll do great, I’ll bet she’ll be very impressed-“

“I am not intimidated by her. I just won’t fuck her.”

The claws were back again and Vi had to suppress a wince.

“Then what the fuck is wrong with you?! Look at her, Vi, really look at her! Maybe you didn’t see her right, that tattooed chick is fucking huge, wait, lean forwards a bit and really look at her! Do you see her fucking body? Do you see her face?! Do you see that goddamn goddess you should absolutely want to fuck?”

“I won’t fuck her, but why don’t you give it a try? You seem very smitten.”

Margot freed her nails from Vi’s sweater and fell back into her seat, letting out a small laugh while shaking her head slowly, confusion and disbelieving amusement written all over her face.

“What-… I really don’t get it, Vi.”

“There is nothing to get.”

Vi pushed her chair back and got on to her legs, stretching her arms into the air until her joints cracked and let out an intentional yawn.

She looked over to Diana – using every bit of strength to not let her gaze flicker over to Caitlyn – and caught her eyes. She slightly tilted her head towards the door, a silent question, and Diana immediately got up.

Vi turned back to Margot, who was still eyeing her with bewilderment.

“Wanna go for a smoke?”

The Beastworks Menagerie had burned down the year before Vi had been born.

It had been one of Zaun’s most infamous landmarks – a smorgasbord of towering beasts with scales that shimmered with the glow of Zaun’s neon lights, murky ponds thickened by algae, whose slick surface was occasionally pierced by a pale dorsal fine, furry monster pacing behind poorly patched-up bars.

It had been a place where the prices were lower and the safety precautions lower.

Cages had been rusty and hinges broken and bent, the air thick with the acrid scent of sweat, dust, and animal musk.

The walls had been stained with streaks of oil and grime, the remnants of a thousand hands that had touched the bars, peered through the gaps and dared one another to reach into the cage.

The older children liked to brag about the things they claimed to have seen:

The way the massive, glowing-eyed serpent had coiled around its metal cage, its tongue flicking the air.

The way the great, lumbering boar with tusks like daggers had once gotten loose and wreaked havoc, charging through the Menagerie like a storm, scattering terrified patrons and workers alike.

The way the bat-like creatures that hung from the ceiling like dark cloaks omitted an eerie screeching, fluttering clouds, their wings casting strange shadows as they beat the air.

Vi had never gotten to see any of those beasts.

Yet now, facing the ogling Year 1 pupils of Piltover’s Grand Lyceum, she felt oddly reminiscent of the great serpent, the lumbering boar and the eerie bats, beasts luring and terrifying and fascinating spectators.

It had taken Vi’s class almost two hours to get to the Lyceum, a journey that had left their teacher, Nathaly, utterly drained.

The cramped, rickety bathysphere, squeezed with fifteen eleven-year-olds had rattled them every inch of the way.

At one point, Mylo had pretended to jump out of the window.

Their teacher had turned as white as a sheet, her eyes bulging with panic as she yanked him back by his shirt and Vi was pretty sure she’d suffered a minor stroke.

Nathaly’s energy had returned, though, as soon as they’d come into sight of the Lyceum. Suddenly, she was all smiles and high-pitched exclamations, as though she hadn't just spent the past two hours on the verge of collapse.

Her hands fluttered in front of her like she was welcoming royalty, directing her students as if they were about to step into the grandest of palaces.

Vi half-expected Nathaly to start tossing confetti in the air, given how quickly she’d recovered.

There had been another short interruption when Mylo had attempted to rile up the security guards – Vi couldn’t believe it, security guards at school? - on their way to the classroom of Year 1.

He’d started making obnoxious faces and throwing exaggerated salutes at them, trying to get a reaction. Nathaly had nearly pulled her hair out, her voice rising an octave with every step as she hurried them along, Mylo enjoying every second of it.

But when they finally arrived at the classroom, even he had seemed a bit nervous, soothing his messy hair with twitching fingers, eyes nervously locked in on Nathaly, who seemed equally anxious as she raised her shaky hand and knocked on the wood.

The excited chatter they had heard through the door before entering had died down the second the door opened and Vi and her classmates had walked into a classroom practically four times the size of their own.

15 heads turned to face them.

15 pairs of eyes pierced them.

6 hands shot up to cover whispering mouths from their sight.

4 noses wrinkled.

2 scoffs echoed through the room.

The ensuing silence was thick with disdain and judgment.

The Pilties stared at them.

They stared at the Pilties.

Mistrusting spectators ogling at foreign, strange creatures.

It was at this point that Vi wanted to jump out of a window, too.

The strained, high-pitched voice of Nathaly cut through the silence a little too loudly as she ushered them to finally get inside and to the front of the room. She was practically vibrating with nervous energy.  

"Go on, go on, get to the front!" she squeaked, her hands fluttering like startled birds as she tried – unsuccessfully - to arrange the class into some semblance of order.

One moment she was pulling Vi into a certain spot, the next moment she had her hand firmly clutched around the hand of Piltover’s teacher, Mr. Durham, a bit too tightly.

She was a walking trainwreck, but she was trying.

Kind of.

The room was airy and light. While their own classroom back in Zaun was plastered in student’s artwork, aged and faded arts-and-crafts projects and garlands, the walls in the Lyceum were a spotless white, no marks, no blemishes, no distractions for Piltover’s precious prestige.

It smelt of polish and stale air. A tiny hint of lavender.

The desks - oh, the desks - stood in neat rows, all polished wood and shiny chairs, a perfect little workspace for each prim and proper student.

Not a speck of dirt in sight.

Vi expected the cushions to have little embroidered sayings like "Only the best for my delicate derrière."

And those windows.

Good lord.

They were tall enough to make Vi wonder if they were meant for gazing out at the peasants below or for letting in as much sun as possible to highlight the fact that everything in this place looked like it belonged in a high-end merchant’s vault.

“We’re so happy to be here, Mr. Durham, incredibly happy!”, Nathaly said a bit breathlessly to an incredibly unhappy looking Mr. Durham. “The kids are very excited. They haven’t talked about anything but the trip for days now!”

Now, that was a blatant lie.

In fact, they’d been avoiding talking about the trip, hoping their school would forget it all. It was their best-kept secret: pretend it didn’t exist, and maybe it would disappear.

Unfortunately, it hadn’t.

Nathaly twirled around to face the Pilties, a nervous smile plastered across her face.

“Isn’t this wonderful?” she exclaimed, her hands fluttering, as though she could barely contain her excitement. “I’m sure this is going to be an absolutely fantastic day!”

Vi didn’t share her enthusiasm.

And apparently, neither did the Pilties.

Two girls at the very back were practically sitting on each other’s lap, hand raised to the ear of the other, whispering and giggling nonstop, eyes darting ever so often over to Vi’s class, their sharp faces contorted by amusement and scorn.

They wore an absolutely ridiculous amount of ribbons in their hair.

Right next to the girls sat a small, thin boy with thick glasses that made his eyes double in size. But even without the glasses, the shock in his expression was blatantly obvious. His eyes travelled over the mixed bunch, registering pants littered in colourful patches, a wild mix of fabrics and yarn, scraped knees and elbows, messy hair framing dirty faces.

He looked like he was about to faint.

Vi’s gaze flickered over to a girl with straight, dark blue hair by the window, her profile sharp against the flood of light pouring in through the towering glass. She, too, stared at them, but not with fear or disdain, but with wide-eyed curiosity and a small, stunned smile, her head slightly tilted so she could take Vi and her classmates in from every angle.

Like bugs under a magnifying glass.

A blond boy sat at the very front of the classroom, arms crossed in front of his chest, blond strands curling into his round, soft face. He was blatantly staring at Vi, blue eyes practically plunging daggers into her chest, lips curled down into a pouty frown. Vi met his gaze, her eyebrow lifting in silent challenge, a smirk tugging at the corner of her lips.

He blinked, corners of his mouth curling even lower.

She didn’t blink, corners of her mouth curling even higher.

He looked away.

She decided to hate them.

Diana had taught Vi how to hand-roll cigarettes during her first stay at the Solace Psychiatric Centre four years ago.

Vi, a fresh-faced fifteen-year-old with a big attitude and an even bigger ego, had been absolutely terrible at it.

The papers ripped, the filters slipped, and the tobacco scattered everywhere, leaving behind a steaming Vi with veins almost bursting and a slightly amused Diana watching with a smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

Vi had spent goddamn hours cramped next to Diana on the bench in front of the clinic, fingers trembling in the cold air, tongue trapped between her lips and brows furrowed in frustration. She had stuffed, rolled, licked until her fingers were stained from tobacco and her tongue felt thick and swollen.

And one day, she had finally managed to roll a decent one.

Unfortunately she’d barely improved over the years.

Vi shot the finished, straight, even cigarette Diana patiently twirled in her slender fingers a short, frustrated glance before refocusing on the scattered tobacco in her lap and the wrinkly paper she was fumbling with, trying to coax it into the shape it was supposed to take.

It really didn’t help that Diana’s eyes were lingering on her poor efforts, lips curled in the same slight, almost hidden smile they had sported four years ago.

“You’ve used way too much tobacco, Vi.”, she said, her quiet, calm voice a welcome change from Margot’s constant shrill chatter.

Vi adored that girl, but she cherished her smoking breaks with Diana equally and had been secretly a bit happy when Margot had declined her offer to join them.

It wasn’t that she disliked Margot’s company, but these moments with Diana were different. They were quiet, uninterrupted - just them, badly rolled cigarettes, and the cold.

Vi grunted and flicked some tobacco from the creased paper, trying to smooth the remains over with fingers stiff from the cold. She twisted, prodded, shaped, calloused fingers appearing slow and sluggish to her.

The filter slipped.

It really was humiliating just how terrible she was.

Diana finally released her from her misery with a slight chuckle, carefully plugged the poor excuse for a cigarette from Vi’s fingers and replaced it with her perfect roll before getting to work and transforming Vi’s wonky, wrinkly, dirty stick into a smooth and effortless smoke in less than thirty seconds.

“It’s insane how fucking bad you are at this.”

Diana put the finished result between her lips coated in black lipstick and started patting her coat for a lighter, eyes still slightly twinkling with amusement. Vi’s ego was bruised, but the look in Diana’s eyes – a far cry from her apathic, empty stare during lunchtime – made making a goddamn idiot out of herself worth it.

A click, a flame, a lit-up cigarette.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Smoke twirling in the crisp air.

Silence.

God fucking damnit, she’d missed this.

The cold stone bench pressing against her thighs like a block of ice.

Diana’s knee touching hers, both huddled together to keep the cold out as much as possible.

Glimmering stick between her stiff fingers, nicotine making her a bit dizzy.

They were both trembling. Neither had bothered to put on their shoes, instead opting for some slippers, their jackets hastily thrown over their shoulders in their hurry to get outside, no hats, no scarves.

Vi had to think of Doctor Hoskel’s office, walruses and icicle-patients.

She chuckled.

Diana turned her head a bit to look at her, smile still on her lips.

“What is it?”

Vi shrugged and took another drag, forcing the smoke down her throat and letting it linger in her lung, the familiar burn making her eyes watery.

She exhaled through her nose and flicked some ash.

“Nothing. Just thought of something funny.”

Inhale.

Exhale.

Silence.

Vi glanced at the other girl, sitting there with the cigarette between her lips, her fingers deft and steady despite the cold, eyes scanning the clinical gardens with a neutral expression.

Diana had never been a woman of many words.

It was strange – when they had first met, Vi had been a raging wildfire, a storm of words and action, screaming, boasting, barking, biting. She had had an attitude for every occasion, an ego so big it could fill entire rooms. She didn’t know how to be anything but loud, her only weapon against the chaos unravelling around her to drown it in the volume of her own voice.

And then there had been Diana.

Vi had never understood it.

Diana was always so calm, so still. She had never once raised her voice, never once responded with a snarky comment, never once picked fights with nurses or patients.

She simply was, a calming, steady anchor observing from the corner of the room, quiet and unwavering.

Her calmness was like a foreign language, something Vi couldn’t quite grasp.

It wasn’t that Diana didn’t care. It was just... different.

Her silence didn’t feel like distance, didn’t feel like rejection.

It was almost the opposite - it was like she was choosing not to engage with the chaos around them.

In a way, it was almost as if Diana didn’t need to speak. She didn’t need to fill the air with words to be noticed, to make her presence felt.

Vi didn’t get it - how someone could be so calm in a world that was so loud, so chaotic.

She envied it, though, even if she’d never say it out loud.

Maybe that’s why she’d always come back to her, even when she was pissed off, even when the last thing she wanted was to sit still.

But now, after all this time, it was different.

Vi had learned to be still in her own way. The frustration, the noise, the chaos, all of it felt muted, even if only for a while. She had learned, through endless hours of frustration and quiet moments like this, how to just... be.

With Diana.

Vi shifted, flicking another stray bit of tobacco off her lap, and took another drag of her own cigarette, the smoke stinging her throat as she tried to focus on the stillness next to her.

“Do you know her?”

Vi pulled a grimace.

Another thing about Diana was that she always seemed to know exactly what was going through Vi’s head.

Inhale.

Exhale.

“No.”

And she always knew when Vi was lying.

“You’re lying.”

Diana chuckled and shook her head, shifting a bit closer to Vi, their shoulders touching casually, her eyes curiously scanning Vi’s expression, waiting for a response. 

Vi decided to study her cigarette with her utmost interest.

After a few seconds, Diana shifted back, crossed her legs and hugged her free arm around her chest to warm herself up. Her eyes were still fixed upon Vi whose eyes were fixed upon perfection trapped between her fingers. When the cigarette threatened to die, she quickly raised it back up to her lips and took another drag.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Inhale.

Exhale.

“It’s just some girl. We met-… It’s just some random girl.”

The words tasted bitter on her tongue.

She blamed it on the tobacco.

Diana nodded, put out her little stub on the edge of the bench and immediately started rolling up the second one, fingers so much more skilled and quicker than Vi’s. They moved with ease and precision, the correct amount of tobacco, the correct placement of the filter, the correct tugging in of the paper to twist the smoke into shape.

Vi felt like a klutz.

“Did you guys fuck?”

Vi sighed and put the cigarette out with the sole of her slipper, pulling the little rolling gear into her own lap and preparing to humiliate herself once more.

“Yeah.”

Vi shifted, fingers trembling as she pinched the paper between her cold, stiff fingertips. The paper seemed to fight against her, crinkling up as soon as she tried to bend it. The first one fell victim to her tight grip, ripping before Vi even put any tobacco in it.

She pursed her lips and picked up another one, Diana once more twirling her already finished cigarette in her fingers while patiently waiting for Vi.

“Just, like, once. Or twice.”

She put the filter to her lips and wet it, carefully sticking it onto the crease of the thin paper.

It hung crooked.

She pried it off and stuck it down once more, this time half-way decent. Diana’s knee pressed a bit more tightly against hers.

“Okay, more than twice. We had something going for, like, half a year. Okay, a year.”

Vi had always struggled with the tobacco. Her persistent struggle with estimating the right amount left her smokes either thin, delicate little sticks threatening to break if you just shot them a glance too sharp, or thick and bulgy, more cigar than cigarette.

“I-… She-… I’ve known her for some time, though. Think we met when we were, like, ten or eleven or something.”

She smoothed the tobacco over with her index. It was probably too much, but she didn’t want to dignify Diana with the satisfaction of having to start all over again. Slowly, carefully, she started rolling the thin paper between her cold fingers, tobacco already crumbling into her lap.

“She’s a Piltie. Fucking rich, and I mean filthy rich. Mother’s a Councillor or somethin’. You know Cassandra Kiramman?”

Diana nodded, expression still an unwavering calm.

Vi cursed quietly as a huge chunk of tobacco fell from the crooked construction in her fingers but continued rolling it.

She didn’t add anything, instead focusing on the trickiest part when rolling cigarettes, the one she had never gotten the hang of. She narrowed her eyes and tried her very best to fold the bottom right corner over the filter, tug it in in just the right way.

Of course, it didn’t work.

With a sharp breath, she pushed her tongue between her lips, trying to steady her hand.

The paper crinkled again, splitting just as she tried to fold it over the filter.

Vi could feel her heartbeat in her fingertips as she forced the paper to bend just right.

It slipped again.

The tobacco fell in a scatter, small flecks and bits that clung to her hands, to her lap, to the air.

She let out a strangled sigh.

Diana watched Vi’s fumbling fingers quietly, watched them slip again and again, the brown fibres tumbling from the paper to the ground. She watched the muscles in Vi’s neck tighten, her jaw clenching harder with each failed attempt.

Vi cursed under her breath once more, her hands trembling, frustration bubbling up like fire in her chest. She brushed the graveyard of tobacco off her lap. She took a deep, annoyed breath.

She tried again.

The filter slipped.

Vi hurled the half-formed cigarette to the ground. The paper was caught by a gush of find and slowly, carefully lowered to the floor.

Even this dramatic act of defiance hadn’t granted her any dignity.

“It’s just some girl”, she muttered, voice tight.

“I’m Caitlyn.”

Vi stared at the stretched-out hand in front of her.

It was small, a bit pale, with perfectly clean and groomed fingernails, cuticles cut neat and precisely.

She clenched her own chipped, dirt-rimmed fingernails into a fist and pushed them into her pockets. There was no way in hell she’d humiliate herself by leaving stains on those immaculate hands.

“Vi.”

The dark-haired girl – Caitlyn – didn’t seem to mind, though.

She pulled her hand back and laced her fingers behind her back, wide eyes traveling over Vi.

They were a colour Vi had never seen before, a whirling mixture of grey and light blue coming together in cerulean orbs. They seemed to drink in every detail - Vi’s messy hair, her worn clothes, her guarded stance.

She smelt like lavender.

“It’s nice to meet you, Vi.”

Caitlyn’s voice was warm and soft, though trembling slightly, like she wasn’t quite sure how to approach Vi. Her gaze lingered, soft and steady, but to Vi’s surprise, it didn’t make her feel uncomfortable. Caitlyn’s expression wasn’t one of pity or disdain or judgment, but of a childlike wonder and amazement.

Vi didn’t know what to make of it.

She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, fighting the urge to fold her arms tightly over her chest.

“Yeah, whatever.”

The chatter surrounding them was equally cautious.

After a few incredibly unpleasant attempts by Nathaly to start games between the classes - each met with complete indifference, if not outright refusal, from Mr. Durham - she had finally resorted to pairing them up in twos, hoping that at least some awkward conversations would spark.

If you could even call them conversations.

Mylo was clearly set on making this as uncomfortable as possible for his partner, muttering a steady stream of low, venomous insults under his breath, making sure they were quiet enough to avoid getting caught by the teachers. His partner, equally fed up, shot back with muttered offenses of her own, their silent back-and-forth an odd dance of tension and barely contained hostility.

“So, uhm… How was your journey here?”, Caitlyn asked.

“Fine”, Vi grunted.

Shera’s situation was no better. Her partner, one of the ribbon-covered girls with sharp features and pursed lips, was staring at her with the kind of contempt that would make most people shrink. Her eyes were darting from Shera’s messy auburn curls to her freckles to her wrinkly clothes. Shera met the girl’s gaze with a bored, neutral, completely unbothered expression, before loudly letting out a burp, watching the other girl’s face twitch in disgust.

“Oh, did you take the bathysphere? Isn’t it fun?”, Caitlyn asked.

“I guess”, Vi grunted.

Claggor was tortured in his own corner of hell. His partner was someone who liked to stare - no, glare - at him, as if he were something offensive. Claggor met her gaze with the kind of intensity that made it clear he wouldn’t let anyone intimidate him. The silent battle between their eyes was palpable, and his grim expression only added to the weight of it all.

“Have you ever been to this part of town before?”, Caitlyn asked.

“No”, Vi grunted.

Nathaly hovered near Mr. Durham, still desperately trying to get his attention. She fidgeted nervously, her bright smile never faltering despite his clear disinterest. He barely acknowledged her, his focus on the papers in his hands. Her enthusiasm only seemed to increase, though it was apparent that he had no intention of engaging.

What a fucking asshole.

Caitlyn shifted a bit, rocking from her heels to her toes, friendly smile still plastered on her face, though some uncertainty was starting to creep in.

“Hey, would you like me to show you around a bit?”, she asked, crisp consonants following round and clear vowels.

That stupid accent made Vi’s blood boil.

“No”, she answered, drawling vowels dragging behind smooth consonants.

There was a moment of silence between them.

Caitlyn was still staring at her, though the smile had almost completely vanished from her face, and she was now fidgeting with her perfectly groomed fingers. Vi shifted uncomfortably, feeling the weight of Caitlyn’s gaze.

It wasn’t hostile, wasn’t judgmental.

She just looked worried and a bit unsettled.

The thought made Vi’s skin itch, and she had to fight the urge to look away or shut down entirely.

“Did I say something wrong?”, Caitlyn asked softly, her voice hesitant.

Vi felt her cheeks flush and clenched her jaw.

“No”, she muttered, though it came out more like a grunt.

The silence stretched between them again, thick and uncomfortable. Vi shifted from foot to foot, unsure of what to do with herself.

“I just-... I’m trying to make this less awkward”, Caitlyn added quickly, almost apologetically.

Vi snorted, her irritation flaring up.

“Well, you’re doing a real good job of it,” she said sarcastically and regretted the words as soon as they left her mouth.

Caitlyn blinked, clearly taken aback, but she didn’t retreat or look angry. She just stayed quiet, her fingers fidgeting again, as if she didn’t know how to fix it either.

The silence between them returned.

Caitlyn was still there, eyes on Vi, but her smile was now a distant memory, replaced with a look of quiet confusion.

Her hands were twisting each other in front of her, the nervousness palpable in the small movements.

Vi shifted again, fighting the feeling of discomfort that clung to her skin, but she couldn’t find a way to break the silence.

She hadn’t meant to snap at Caitlyn like that, but the words had slipped out before she could stop them. Now, regret was gnawing at her insides, twisting into something sharp.

“Look”, Vi finally muttered, her voice a little rougher than she meant it to be. “You wanted to show me around, right?”

She glanced at Caitlyn, meeting her eyes for just a moment.

“You can do that. I guess.”

Caitlyn blinked, clearly caught off guard by the sudden change in direction, but her face brightened just a fraction, her smile flickering back to life, though still hesitant.

“Oh! Oh, sure! Yeah, I’d love to show you around.”

The five hours stretched between lunchtime and dinner were the longest Vi ever had to endure.

She wouldn’t get her schedule for the following weeks until the evening, and with the others busying themselves in therapy sessions, the only thing left for her was to avoid Kiramman.

Which was easier said than done, since that fucking girl seemed to magically appear everywhere.

When Vi and Diana returned from their smoke break, Kiramman met them halfway on her way down the stairs, her hair pulled back into a messy ponytail, strands of it still falling into her tired, pale face, the fingers of her left hand clutching a small bag of tobacco.

She was wearing a wide-cut blue windbreaker Vi didn’t recognize, and for some reason it hit her like a punch to the gut.

Caitlyn glanced up, eyes briefly meeting Vi's.

There was nothing in them - no spark of recognition, no warmth, just a glance that might as well have been aimed at a wall.

Vi held the eye contact for a second, but only because she didn’t know what else to do.

Diana gave Caitlyn a soft smile and a quiet “hi,” stepping aside to make room for her.

Caitlyn brushed past them with a murmur of greeting that barely disturbed the air. The faintest trace of lavender clung to the space she left behind.

Vi kept her mouth shut, her eyes narrowing slightly as she watched Caitlyn’s back disappear down the stairs.

Nothing to say to that.

With Diana excusing herself to get ready for her therapy session, Margot and Leona both off to ‘dance- and movement-therapy,’ and Jayce and Viktor still at their table, engaged in a conversation so boring that it made watching paint dry seem like an Olympic sport, Vi could only do her best to entertain and distract herself.

Her first stop was Gerry, the guard still lounging in his chair like it was a chaise at the coast, a far cry from the high-alert, professional security persona he was probably supposed to be rocking.

He barely lifted his head when he saw her, just enough to register that someone was standing in front of him.

"Cards?" Vi asked, arms crossed in front of her chest, a half-smile plastered on her face.

She could practically see the wheels turning in his head - probably deciding whether he’d rather keep indulging in his peaceful relaxation or entertain her for a while.

Gerry scratched his chin.

"Sure, why not," he muttered, clearly too unbothered to argue.

Vi led him back to the dining hall, and they dove into a heated game of Scapegoat.

Vi was absolutely killing him, using every trick she knew to keep him on his toes. Gerry, on the other hand, looked like he was regretting every second, but he played along.

She loved it.

But then came the creak of the door, and Vi didn’t need to raise her head to know who it was.

Vi didn’t want to look at her, she really didn't.

But she did.

Caitlyn was lingering in the doorframe, having returned from her smoke and now apparently a bit uncertain what to do with herself.

She really did look tired, an unusual expression foreign on her pretty face.

It was the kind of exhaustion that settled in the bones and weighed down the eyes, though she did try her best to hide it behind her straight back and chin held up high.

It was strange to see her like this.

A little scary.

Gerry followed Vi’s gaze, his furrowed brows quickly rising as his lips twisted into one of his broad, good-natured grins when he saw Caitlyn, locked eyes with her. Without missing a beat, he raised his hand and gave her a small wave, gesturing to the deck of cards in front of them.

Vi had to suppress the urge to roll her eyes.

“Guess I’m out”, she muttered, pushing back her chair not bothering to wait for Gerry’s protest.

She got to her feet and pushed past Caitlyn without a second glance.

Her next station was her room, her own private haven. No Caitlyn looking at her like she was furniture, no lavender lingering in the air, no forced pleasantries and awkwardness. Just her, the familiar emptiness, and the four walls that never judged.

Vi tossed her jacket on the bed and cracked her knuckles, considering her next move. Maybe a workout to burn off some of the tension.

She set up in front of the bed, kicking off her shoes, and dropped down into push-ups, counting them off in sets of ten.

Her muscles burned after the third set, but she kept pushing through, her breaths shallow and fast. When she hit fifteen, she switched to sit-ups, her abs screaming with each rep. She could feel the strain in her arms, the familiar burn she usually craved - but it wasn’t enough.

She stood up, pacing the room, annoyed at how restless she felt.

After another half-hearted round of shadowboxing, Vi finally gave up. Her body was sore, but her mind was still buzzing with nothing she could do about it. She wasn’t going to get anywhere trying to beat up thin air.

Maybe some fresh air would do the trick.

A stupid fucking walk for her stupid fucking mental health.

And so out of her room and down the stairs she went once more, still not bothered enough to put on some proper shoes. Still, she made sure to bring her slippers down with a loud thud on each step, echoing out her growing frustration about this whole fucking mess.

Vi spent a solid hour stomping around the clinical gardens like an angry elephant, her slippers slapping the gravel with every angry step. With every footfall, she cursed the situation, her frustration growing to an absurd level.

Slip. Slap. Slip.

She muttered floods of curses under her breath, little clouds leaving her lips and hanging in the air, an angry train rattling passed the rows and rows of perfectly neat hedges. Vi made a point of crushing every small twig daring to disturb her stampede underfoot for no reason other than to feel like she was doing something.

Slip. Slap. Slip.

Vi cursed everything and everyone.

She didn’t even know who she was more pissed at: the biggest mistake of her life waltzing into the place or that stupid fucking clinic for trapping her with it. She kicked the small stones in front of her, watching them skitter off into the bushes. Vi stopped in front of one , crossing her hands in front of her chest and peering at it like it had personally wronged her, eyes narrowed and hostile, glaring daggers piercing green leaves lazily moving in the cold evening breeze.

Slip. Slap. Slip.

Vi continued her one-woman protest against the garden, the maddening slap of her slippers driving her missing dignity home with every step. The air was getting cooler, the sky darkening, but she didn’t care. She was on a mission - a mission to walk off every ounce of frustration she had left, and damn if that garden wasn’t the perfect target.

After an hour, the craving for a smoke hit once more.

Vi stomped back to the clinic, her breath freezing in the cold night air, her slippers now scuffed and covered in bits of gravel. She couldn’t feel her toes anymore. Vi shoved her hands into her pockets, searching for her battered pack and lighter as she made her way to her and Diana’s bench.

Which was, of course, already occupied.

The bench was dimly lit, a single yellow bulb buzzing overhead.

Caitlyn was perched on its edge, her long legs crossed, her left hand holding a half-burned cigarette, the other one hidden in the insides of her windbreaker, probably still pressed against her chest by the tight sling.

Her posture was rigid, but her eyes were unfocused, staring off into the distance like she was trying to find something in the shadows. The soft curl of smoke rising from her cigarette gave her an almost ghostly quality in the faint light.

Vi froze, debating whether to turn around and leave, but her feet stayed rooted to the spot. Caitlyn hadn’t noticed her yet, which gave Vi time to study her - the absent-minded way she flicked ash onto the ground, the slight tremor in her hand as she raised the cigarette to her lips, the rapid blinks meant to disguise the glossy sheen in her eyes.

Vi’s chest tightened.

But before Vi could gather her thoughts, Caitlyn’s eyes flicked toward her. Their eyes met, and for a split second, Vi thought she saw a crack in Caitlyn’s mask - something raw and unguarded flashing behind those pale blue irises.

But it vanished just as quickly, replaced by the same familiar, unreadable expression that drove Vi up the wall.

Frustration flared hot in her chest.

Vi scoffed, shoving her fists deeper into her pockets, and stomped forward, the gravel crunching beneath her feet as she approached Caitlyn, who looked up at her with an empty, disinterested expression.

She stopped right in front of her, chest puffed out, voice dripping with venom: “Good lord, Kiramman, maybe pace yourself for once. What’s the plan? Smoke yourself into an early grave so we don’t have to deal with you anymore?”

Caitlyn’s head jerked slightly, but she quickly recovered, her features a cool mask of indifference. “Though I am flattered by your concern”, she said icily, taking a slow, deliberate drag from her cigarette, “I assure you that I am perfectly capable of handling myself, thank you very much.”

Her voice sounded a bit hoarse, as if she hadn’t spoken in quite some time.

“Oh, yeah? Is that why you’re here?” Vi tilted her head with feigned innocence, opening her eyes wide and sticking out a pouting lip.

Caitlyn slightly perked one of her eyebrows. The look on her face made Vi immediately feel incredibly stupid and childish.

“No. I am here to smoke a cigarette. In peace. Why are you here?”

Vi couldn’t think of a good response, so she just scoffed and pulled her rumpled pack and loose tobacco from her pocket. She almost immediately regretted it as soon as her fingers brushed against the paper.

What an absolutely fucking fantastic setup for humiliation.

Caitlyn’s eyes travelled down to the pack in Vi’s hands and back up to her eyes, her lips slowly curling up into a cold, amused smile, a cat knowing it trapped its prey.

She leaned slightly forwards, prodding her elbow up on her knee and tilted her head while looking up at Vi, voice sweet and light: “Oh? Did someone finally figure out how to roll?”

Vi could feel her heartbeat in her ears, the loud thrumming sending heat waves through her body, making her cheeks flare up red and her fingers tremble.

No way out now.

She shrugged in a way that hopefully appeared casual and pulled a sheet of paper and a filter out, fingers stiff and jerky.

Vi had never rolled a cigarette standing up, but she wouldn’t reward Caitlyn with the satisfaction of having to sit down next to her. So she planted herself firmly on the spot, legs apart, eyes determinedly fixed on the paper in her hands, as if sheer willpower could make this go right.

The paper trembled in her hands as she poured the tobacco into the crease, the loose bits spilling out and scattering onto the ground like her dignity. Vi decided to pretend it had been intentional – for whatever reason – and quicky added some fresh tobacco back into the paper.

Her fingers fumbled, clumsy and stiff, and the tobacco threatened to spill again.

Caitlyn didn’t move, didn’t even blink as she watched Vi struggle. She didn’t speak, but her presence was enough. That irritating, confident stillness. Vi could feel her eyes, sharp and calculating, tracing every move she made.

It was like the entire world had narrowed down to this one, humiliating task.

Vi clenched her jaw, forcing the paper into place with a quick jerk. Her hands weren’t steady, and the roll immediately crumpled in the wrong places, the tobacco spilling again. She could hear Caitlyn’s soft breath, probably suppressing a laugh.

She shot her sharp glance, immediately rewarded with a smirk tugging at the corners of Caitlyn’s mouth.

Vi’s fingers fumbled again, the paper crumpling further under her touch. She could feel the heat of her cheeks burning, but she refused to back down, refused to give Caitlyn any satisfaction. The cigarette, now a mangled mess of tobacco and paper, felt like it might just be the straw that broke her composure.

“Shit,” Vi muttered under her breath, her voice tight.

Caitlyn’s smirk only widened. “You know, you might want to try sitting down. It’s a lot easier to focus when you’re not balancing on your feet like you’re about to fight a whole army.”

Vi’s jaw clenched, and she let out a forced, overexaggerated, barking laugh. “Yeah? Well, I prefer to stand when I’m humiliating myself. Makes it more dramatic.”

Caitlyn's eyes gleamed. “That’s the spirit.”

Vi grit her teeth and finally managed to roll the paper with a quick jerk, fumbling less than before but still not as smooth as she’d like. Her jaw tightened, and with one last flick, the cigarette was done. She held it up, forcing herself to sound casual, despite her pulse hammering in her ears.

She held it up, voice dripping with forced confidence. “There. Think you can do better?”

Caitlyn didn’t answer right away, letting the silence stretch between them. Then, she gave the cigarette a cursory glance before meeting Vi’s eyes. The slight amusement in her features had vanished and given way to her hollow, absentminded look.

“Yes.”

Caitlyn’s voice was distant, and for a moment, Vi could have sworn she saw something in Caitlyn’s eyes - a flicker of something darker that made her stomach twist. Caitlyn didn’t elaborate, just took another slow drag from her cigarette, the tip glowing faintly in the dim light.

Vi waited, but Caitlyn didn’t move. Didn’t offer to show her how it was done, didn’t mock her further. She just sat there, distant and unreadable, lost in her own world.

Vi could feel the heat of the moment slipping away, the pressure building up inside her chest. She wasn’t about to stand here and take any more of Caitlyn’s indifference, her sharp, calculating silence that only reminded Vi just how little she mattered to her.

Without another word, Vi pulled her jacket tighter around her, glancing at the cigarette in her hand for the last time - a pathetic, jagged mess of paper and tobacco.

“Yeah,” she muttered, her voice sharp. “You’re really something, Kiramman. A real fucking piece of work.”

Caitlyn didn’t flinch, didn’t react in any way, as Vi turned on her heel and marched away. The sound of her slippers striking the gravel was absolutely pathetic, the only sound that filled the air between them as Vi walked off, her anger seething just below the surface.

As she walked towards the entrance, Vi exhaled sharply, her fingers still trembling from the failed roll, from the way Caitlyn had watched her. A sickening taste of defeat lingered in her mouth, but she wasn’t going to let Caitlyn see it.

She wasn’t going to give her that satisfaction.

She slammed the door behind her, the sound echoing through the empty space.

The trip to the Lyceum was well on its way to becoming one of the worst experiences of Vi’s life.

And that was saying a lot.

Nathaly had been overjoyed by Caitlyn’s offer to show Vi the rest of the school, fluttering hands patting Vi’s back, shoulder, head, whatever she could reach, eyes wide with excitement and relief that at least one of her students seemed to foster some sort of meaningful exchange with a Topsider.

She had gracefully ignored Vi’s glaring eyes.

The Lyceum wasn't just a school: It was a display of wealth so excessive it bordered on grotesque.

They had made their way through the empty, echoing hallways, Caitlyn explaining and babbling and gesticulating, Vi hoping for lightning to strike and release her from her misery.

The floor tiles weren’t just tiles; they were mosaics, each one depicting some intricate scene of history or art Vi didn’t care to analyse. She had made a point of stepping on the small, detailed faces, deliberately grinding her boots into them and hoping for some dirt from her shoes to linger. Each time her heel pressed down, she had imagined the smug, polished faces cringing at the touch.

The walls had been lined with glass cases displaying an absurd number of trophies, medals, and certificates. Some dated back decades, their plaques detailing victories in sports Vi had never heard of, while others proudly proclaimed awards in categories like "Innovation in Robotics" and "Excellence in Debate."

Vi had been tempted to ask Caitlyn whether there was also a trophy for "Biggest Asshole with a Fancy Title".

Every surface had gleamed, as if a team of people had polished it that morning and would do it again in an hour. Vi had wondered how long it would take the cleaning crew to scrub away every trace of her class after they left. Hours? Days?

Maybe they’d bring in specialists to deep-clean the “poor” out of the marble and fumigate for good measure, just in case the poverty was catching.

Vi had been relieved when they finally reached the gates that led into what Caitlyn called “the courtyard”.

It was a fucking park. A marble fountain stood in the centre, ornate and gleaming, probably worth more than the entirety of Vi’s school back home. The grounds were completed with manicured lawns—they probably trimmed the blades of grass one by one— and flower beds in symmetrical patterns. Vi wouldn’t be surprised if they spelled out something like “Born Better”.

She squinted at the flowers, half tempted to march over and rearrange them into something more honest, like “Go Fuck Yourself”.

Simple. Got the message across.

Caitlyn was walking a step ahead of her, practically bouncing with excitement as she gestured to Vi who trailed behind, arms crossed, jaw tight, and trying not to look as out of place as she felt.

“You see that fountain, Vi?”

Caitlyn half-turned to her and pointed at the massive construction that even a blind person would never be able to miss. Her friendly smile hadn’t wavered since they’d left the classroom and Vi couldn’t keep her eyes from darting to the small gap between her teeth.

It looked very cute.

She shrugged.

Caitlyn slowed her steps down a little, now walking right next to Vi, gravel grating under their feet. Her face will still turned towards her, while Vi was staring ahead, stubborn and stiff.

“That, without question, is my absolute favourite place in the entire school,” Caitlyn said, her voice tinged with a softness that made her sound almost wistful. “Whenever I feel the slightest bit homesick or... melancholic, I just come here.”

Vi didn’t want to ask what “melancholic” meant.

“You know”, Caitlyn leaned in a bit closer, her shoulder slightly brushing Vi’s, “there is a little secret hidden in it. I don’t think anybody else knows about it.”

She hesitated, her eyes drifting over Vi’s expression, who really tried her hardest to hide the small spark of interest flickering in her gaze. For a moment, there was silence between them, only disturbed by the sound of gravel under their boots and the chirping of birds.

Then, Caitlyn tilted her head, voice lowered and soft: “Would you like to see it, Vi?”

Vi clenched her jaw.

She really did.

She shrugged.

Caitlyn chuckled and all of a sudden her perfect, groomed, warm hand was grasped tightly around Vi’s, slender fingers curled around her bruised knuckles, not cringing at her rough, calloused skin and her dirty, chipped nails, but holding her hand with firm determination.

Vi stiffened, her mind scrambling, her heart thudding in her chest as she looked down at their hands, the contrast striking in a way she wasn’t sure how to handle. She didn’t pull away, though.

The dark-haired girl didn’t say anything, just continued smiling and gave her hand a gentle tug, urging Vi to follow.

She let Caitlyn lead her forward, still holding her hand. Every step felt strange, like they were both crossing an invisible boundary, and Vi wasn’t sure what would happen once they reached the other side.

When they came to the fountain, Caitlyn leaned closer to the stone, the fingers of her free hand brushing gently against the smooth surface, as if she were guarding something precious.

Her voice dropped to a whisper:  “They are really, really tiny. I don’t think people linger long enough to discover them. But I did.”

There was a small tinge of pride in her voice, the soft kind that didn’t boast but simply acknowledged a quiet accomplishment.

Vi stood next to her, looking at the fountain, unsure what exactly she was supposed to discover. All she saw was the same intricate stonework, the perfect symmetry, the marble and water reflecting the sunlight. Nothing out of the ordinary. Nothing special.

Did Caitlyn think people from Zaun did not know what fountains were?

She shifted, the familiar discomfort creeping back in.

Was Caitlyn messing with her?

‘Cause if she was, the gap between her teeth would be a lot wider in a few moments.

Her eyes scanned the marble again, but all she saw was the grand display of wealth, the polished stone, and the sunlight bouncing off it all. But Caitlyn was still there, looking at the fountain with that soft, almost reverent smile, and Vi didn’t want to make a bigger fool of herself by asking what the big deal was.

She didn’t have to.

Caitlyn gently nudged Vi's elbow, her warm hand still tightly clutched around Vi’s stiff fingers.

"You have to learn forward", she whispered, carefully pulling on Vi’s hand to get her into the correct position, pointing at the inside wall of the fountain.

Vi swallowed and obeyed, leaned in closer, squinting at the spot Caitlyn was indicating.

And then she saw it.

There, on the inside wall of the fountain, was a delicate pattern of tiny fish painted in vibrant, almost glowing colours. The fish were so small, they could have been overlooked by anyone not paying close attention. Their scales shimmered in the sunlight, shades of blue, gold, and green, each one painstakingly detailed in a way that made them feel alive. The colours were so beautiful, they seemed to shift with the light, creating a soft, mesmerizing effect.

Vi stared at the artwork, her breath catching in her throat. It was unlike anything she had ever seen before - so delicate and intricate, it seemed almost magical.

“It’s my secret. I have never told anybody about it", Caitlyn said softly, her voice nearly lost in the sound of the fountain's gentle flow. "I found it by accident. I think it’s been here for ages, and no one else knows about it. Not even the teacher."

Vi looked at Caitlyn, a small knot tightening in her chest. And for a moment, she forgot how hard she tried to pretend that she wasn’t just a kid from Zaun trying to make it through one more day at a school that wasn’t hers.

“You’ve got a good eye”, Vi said, her voice quieter than usual, a hint of admiration slipping out.

Caitlyn looked over at her, the soft smile still in place, but her eyes now held something else, something Vi couldn’t quite put her finger on. Still, she found herself yearning for more. Caitlyn’s grip around Vi’s fingers tightened ever so slightly, in a warm, comforting way.

Vi felt her own lips curl upwards.

“Is that your charity case, Kiramman?”

The snarky, nasal voice cracked through the peaceful silence like a whip, chasing the smile from Vi’s lips almost immediately. They both turned at the sound and found themselves face to face with three kids Vi recognized from Caitlyn’s classroom.

The blond boy at the very front was sporting the same look from earlier, utter disdain painted across his features, his eyes flickering over Vi’s figure as if she had just pranced in from the gutter, shit-stained and reeking.

“Is that your charity case, Kiramman?”, he repeated, dragging out every word as if it deserved to be savoured. His lips twisted into a cold grin, eyes twinkling with malice.

One of the ribbon-victims stood right next to him, arms crossed in front of her chest, lips pursed and eyes narrow. Her ringlets were tumbling down to her shoulders, not one hair out of place. She was eyeing Vi with the same blatant disgust and wrinkled her nose when she saw Caitlyn’s hand wrapped around hers.

“You should keep your distance, Kiramman. I heard they carry all kind of diseases.”. Her voice was dripping with venom, curls bouncing as she tossed her head in faux disgust.

“Oh, really?” Vi snapped back, her tone sharp enough to cut. “Guess it’s a good thing I’m not carrying whatever makes you sound like that.”

The ribboned girl’s mouth opened in shock before she let out a shrill, high-pitched laugh, the sound cutting through the air like nails on glass.

It wasn’t the only sound.

Vi could already hear the familiar thrumming of her blood, the pulsing beat of her heart reverberating in her chest. Her fingertips tingled, vibrating with the restless energy that always surged through her when her temper flared. Her muscles tightened, ready to spring into action, the anger coiling in her stomach like a live wire.

But she wouldn’t let them get to her, not now, not here.

With a deep, controlled breath, Vi forced herself to keep her fists unclenched, to stand still, to not let her rage consume her.

Caitlyn’s hand tightened around hers. She stood taller, her chin held high, though the tension in her shoulders betrayed her calm façade.

“Well, I’d rather risk a disease than be infected with your ignorance.”

Caitlyn’s voice was cold, no trace of the warmth and softness left, just pure and open contempt.

The third boy, the one Tork had devoured in the staring-contest, merely scoffed, hands pushed deep inside his pockets. He gave Caitlyn a quick once-over, but there was no spark of challenge in his eyes - only that familiar, practiced indifference, as though her words were little more than a nuisance, quickly dismissed.

The blond boy let out a short bark of laughter, his grin widening.

“Ignorance?” he echoed, his tone dripping with mockery. “You’re one to talk, Kiramman.”

The ribboned girl sniffed, her arms still crossed tightly over her chest. “It’s pathetic, really,” she added, the corners of her mouth curling in derision. “Dragging around a stray like her to feel better about yourself. How noble.”

Vi’s vision blurred at the edges as the anger coiled tighter in her chest. Her breathing quickened, each word stoking the fire inside her. She could feel her pulse pounding in her temples, the thrumming of her blood drowning out Caitlyn’s quiet, measured breathing beside her.

“Watch your mouth,” Vi growled, her voice low and dangerous.

She could feel Caitlyn’s thumb rubbing soothing circles over the back of her hand. It was trembling.

“Why are you here, anyways?”, Caitlyn asked, eyes darting from one face to another, her voice still calm and cold, a politician addressing a crowd of unruly dissenters.

No one answered. No one even looked at her.

Their eyes were all fixed upon Vi.

The blond boy took a step forward, merely an arm’s length separating him from Vi. “You better watch your mouth, trash.”

He tilted his head, his blue eyes opened wide, sizing Vi up, assessing her.

“Did you parents not teach you to keep quiet around people who stand above you?”

Vi’s teeth were clenched so tightly, she could almost hear them crack. Her fists clenched at her sides, the muscles in her arms coiled so tightly they trembled. She felt the sting of her nails digging into her palms. The rage surged, a living, writhing thing in her gut.

“What did you just say?”

Her voice was tight, breathless, every single muscle in her body tense with the effort of holding back. His eyes lit up as he knew he’d hit the spot, the corners of his mouth curling even more, revealing perfect pearly whites.

He leaned forwards, his voice low and smooth, almost a whisper.

“Are you deaf?”

He savoured every single syllable, took his sweet time to let them leave his plump lips and float through the air.

Vi’s heart slammed against her ribs, her pulse a deafening roar in her ears. Her vision tunnelled, narrowing until the boy’s sneering face was the only thing she could see. Her breathing turned shallow, ragged, every breath stoking the fire in her chest until it burned white-hot.

“I said”, and with that, he took another step forward, now almost chest-to-chest with Vi, the condescending grin not once leaving his twisted features, “did you parents not teach you to -”

The words didn’t even finish leaving his lips.

Vi’s body moved on its own, a force of nature unleashed. She ripped her hand from Caitlyn’s grasp and lunged at him, the short distance between them evaporating in a heartbeat.

The first blow was a clean strike to his jaw, the shock wiping the smirk clean off his face. He stumbled back, his hands shooting up too late to protect himself.

But Vi didn’t stop.

Her knuckles collided with his cheekbone, her entire arm vibrating with the impact. The crunch of flesh and bone beneath her fists sent a savage satisfaction rippling through her, drowning out the shouts and cries around her.

She felt the slick warmth of blood spatter across her hand.

Her breaths came in sharp, broken gasps, each one a ragged exhale of the rage that consumed her. She felt nothing but the thrum of power in her limbs, the primal need to hurt and keep hurting.

The boy’s pleas barely registered. She could see his mouth moving, blood dripping from his split lip, but the sound was swallowed by the roaring in her ears.

Another punch.

His head snapped to the side, his body folding like paper under her relentless assault.

Another punch.

Her knuckles screamed in protest, the skin tearing open, but the pain didn’t register. Her entire world was reduced to this singular act of violence, the way his body crumpled under the force of her fists.

Another punch.

Her breath hitched, and suddenly, her arm was yanked back. She thrashed instinctively, fighting the restraint, but the pull was strong, unrelenting. It took her a moment to realize she wasn’t punching anymore, that someone was holding her back.

The world came rushing back in pieces - the distant shouts of alarm, the gasps and whispers around her, the sharp pain radiating up her arm, still tightly trapped in someone’s grip – a man with glasses, probably some random teacher.

Her chest heaved as she blinked down at the boy beneath her.

His face was unrecognizable, swollen and bloodied, his eyes squeezed shut in terror.

Her stomach churned.

Vi lowered her gaze, stared at her free hand, bloodied and trembling, her knuckles raw and split open. For a moment, she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. The fire in her chest had burned itself out, leaving only ash and a sinking pit of something she didn’t want to name.

She looked up and saw Caitlyn, her beautiful, beautiful hand pressed to her mouth, her blue eyes wide with shock and something else, something she did not dare to decipher. Vi quickly tore her gaze away, unwilling to face those eyes that seemed to ask too much of her.

Chapter Text

Dear Families,

We are beyond excited to welcome your child to Camp Catalyst, a unique and transformative experience designed as part of a restoration initiative to bridge the gap between Piltover and Zaun. This summer, your child will embark on a journey that blends adventure, learning, and self-discovery, in a safe and welcoming environment that celebrates growth and opportunity.

Camp Catalyst is not just a summer retreat - it is part of a groundbreaking effort to provide underprivileged children from both Piltover and Zaun with the chance to experience what life can be like beyond the boundaries of their everyday world. Thanks to this special project, your child will have the opportunity to explore new perspectives, develop invaluable skills, and build friendships with children from diverse backgrounds.

Why is this camp so special?

• This camp is a rare opportunity for young minds from Zaun and Piltover alike to showcase their strengths, discover their passions, and unlock their full potential. It’s a chance for your child to break free from limitations and envision a future full of possibilities.
• By bringing together children from the heart of Zaun with those from Piltover’s privileged neighborhoods, we are fostering an environment of understanding and collaboration. Your child will experience the beauty of diversity, learning to work as part of a team regardless of different social backgrounds.
• Every activity, from team-building exercises to creative workshops, is designed to inspire and empower. We believe that every child deserves the chance to dream big, and this camp is our way of helping them take the first step towards those dreams.

Camp Details:

• Dates: July 25^th to August 8^th, 2017
• Location: Lake Peckerton Campgrounds

                              1025 Silverpine Road

                              Piltover, Piltover District 4501

• Arrival Time: 1 PM on July 25^th, 2017
• Pick-Up Time: 1 PM on August 8^th, 2017

What Your Child Will Need:

• Comfortable clothing for outdoor activities
• A swimsuit and towel
• Sunscreen, bug repellent, and a refillable water bottle
• Personal hygiene items
• Any medications or special requirements (if applicable)

Our Commitment to Safety and Care:

The well-being of your child is our highest priority. We have a dedicated medical team on-site and adhere to strict health protocols. If your child has specific medical needs, please let us know in advance so we can ensure they receive the best possible care during their time at camp.

We are so proud to offer this opportunity to your child, and we are excited to watch them grow, thrive, and be inspired throughout the camp experience. This project is more than just a summer camp; it is a step toward creating a more unified and hopeful future for the children of Zaun.

Thank you for allowing us to be part of your child's journey. We look forward to an unforgettable summer of adventure and discovery!

Warm regards,

Seraphine Vasquez

Camp Director

Camp Catalyst

“Collaboration today for a united tomorrow.”

8:00 AM - Wake Up & Morning Routine

7:59:57

7:59:58

7:59:59

8:00:00

The alarm rang, the shrill, piercing sound ripping through the stillness of Vi’s room.

She groaned, burying her face in the pillow like it could shield her from the blaring noise. The beeping was relentless - louder than a hundred drills at once, piercing her skull. With a growl, Vi blindly reached to her left. Her hand flailed across the nightstand, brushing against everything except the damn alarm clock.

The edge of the table, a pencil, a half-eaten granola bar.

No clock.

Her eyes were squinted shut, her brain still somewhere far away in a haze of exhaustion, and that relentless beeping was turning her skull into a drum. She grumbled under her breath, swiping at the empty space like she could will the clock to magically appear.

Nothing.

“Come on”, she muttered, her voice thick with sleep, the beeping somehow seeming to grow louder by the second . She swiped again, more desperately now, and - nothing. Her hand skittered over the smooth wood, then caught the edge of a book that slipped off the nightstand and hit the floor with a dull thud.

Frustration surged, sharp and hot. She reached farther, stretching as far as she could, her back arching, her legs tangled in the blankets, her body straining in every direction.

It wasn’t there.

Not there.

The beeping taunted her like it had a mind of its own, refusing to give her a break.

“Fucking-” Her fingers scraped against something soft and then... her hand slid off the edge of the nightstand. She was tipping now, barely holding on, and before she could stop herself, she tumbled forward, catching herself on the edge of the bed just in time.

No fucking way.

This was it.

She shot up in her bed, hair sticking out in every direction, eyes still heavy with sleep, but fuelled by her raw, sheer frustration. Vi reached out and - there it fucking was. Her hand closed around the clock.

She didn’t even pause to celebrate.

She yanked it up and, in one swift motion, hurled it across the room. It smacked into the wall with an impressive crack, the beeping silenced in an instant. For a moment, there was nothing but the echo of the clock’s destruction.

Vi threw herself back into her pillows, still luring her with their delicious warmth and closed her eyes again.

She felt like a truck had run over her.

A truck with long, dark hair, legs that were going on for ages and an arm wrapped in a sling.

Vi yanked the covers over her messy hair, curling into herself with her knees pressed to her chest. She pressed her palms against her eyes, desperate to scrub away the image of Caitlyn that seemed seared into her mind.

The smoke curling from the cigarette trapped between her slender fingers.

The slight tilt of her head as she stared into the darkness.

The glossy sheen dimming those maddeningly beautiful eyes.

Vi groaned, digging her palms deeper into her sockets until white swirls danced through the darkness, but the image of Caitlyn remained burned into the insides of her eyelids, undisturbed, unwavering.

She stayed like this, curled up like a small dog, the air under the blanket growing stuffy with each hot, shallow breath, as the clinic around her slowly stirred to life. Vi could hear doors creaking open and clicking shut, the friendly chatter of nurses echoing in the hallway, the squeak of a trolley wheeling breakfast into the dining hall, and the muffled laughter of someone passing by.

She stayed until the warm, comforting scent of bread rolls and eggs wafted through under her door, breaching her cocoon and making her stomach growl.

For a fleeting moment, Vi thought about ignoring it, thought about remaining under her blankets until she suffocated or starved to death.

Then her stomach growled again.

Fifteen minutes later, Vi shuffled into the dining hall, silently praying to God that she didn’t look as crumpled and exhausted as she felt.

The look on Margot’s face shattered that hope in an instant.

Margot couldn’t take her eyes off Vi as she dragged a chair back and slumped into it, only leaning forward to grab one of the seemingly twenty plates Margot had already collected for herself.

It had always amazed Vi how a girl Margot’s size could devour this absolute armada of food in the blink of an eye.

“Wow. You sure look shit.”

Vi resisted the urge to shoot her a glare. Instead, she silently shoved scrambled eggs into her mouth, pretending like she couldn’t hear the blatant observation.

Of course, Margot wasn’t going to let that slide.

Bleached hair fell into Margot’s face as she studied Vi, her wide, curious eyes brimming with both confusion and amusement. Vi could practically hear her brain working in overdrive.

“Vi? You okay?”

The ominous creak of the door sent both their heads turning, serving Margot her answer in grey sweats and a dusty blue sweater.

Margot’s eyes lingered on Caitlyn for a few moments before slowly drifting back to Vi, who had quickly lowered her gaze again. The smaller girl’s lips curled into a small, knowing smile. Leaning back with a teasing “Ohh!” she pulled one of her plates closer and started eating, her gaze never leaving Vi.

“No ‘Ohh’”, Vi murmured, her mouth filled with eggs and small pieces of ham. “Nothing happened.”

“Oh, yeah? Then why do both of you look like you haven’t slept in fucking ages?”

The victorious grin didn’t leave Margot’s face, teeth stained with jam and breadcrumbs.

“Did you bribe one of the nurses to let you stay in her room? Who was it, Carla? Jackie? Oh, I bet it was Hugo, that fucking guy, I bet he gets off from just imagining the two of you. But honestly, who can blame him, I bet it was hot, right? Tell me, Vi, oh please tell me, what did you guys-“

“Nothing happened”, Vi repeated, pushing the empty plate from her and grabbing the second one. Her eyes darted up for a short moment, scanning the room for midnight strands and finding them at the tattooed girl’s table once again. The huge girl was saying something to Caitlyn, whose back was turned to Vi, and Vi felt her stomach twist.

She was relieved when Diana joined their table, somehow balancing three cups of steaming hot coffee in her hands, providing both energizer and distraction for her.

 “Wow, you look like shit, Vi”, Diana chuckled as she sat down and slid their cups over.

Vi didn’t answer, instead forcing the scalding, bitter liquid down her throat, which made her eyes water and her cheeks flush.

Margot leaned over the table, practically draped completely across it, her voice lowered as if she was revealing some sort of government secret to Diana, eyes sparkling with glee: “She fucked the Newbie!”

Diana’s eyebrows perked up, her eyes slowly travelling over to Vi to shoot her a startled, yet impressed look.

Vi glared at Margot, her tongue and oral cavity sore from the cheap coffee.

“I did not fuck her. And I won’t. So shut the fuck up.”

Margot just chuckled and shrugged, flopping back into her chair to devour her second plate. Vi knew that she wouldn’t leave it at that, but for now, Margot seemed content with Vi’s imaginary nightly adventures and soon engaged in a one-sided conversation about different brands of hair dye with Diana.

Vi was left brooding over her food, drowning her immeasurable sorrow in eggs and bread and coffee.

The tragedy of her life - her grand, cursed existence - played out in dramatic waves as she stabbed her scrambled eggs with the determination of someone avenging a fallen comrade, until the sound of the bell interrupted her private melodrama, announcing the start of group therapy.

Nothing like a circle of awkward stares and forced vulnerability to brighten the day.

9:00 AM - Morning Group Therapy

As Vi gathered the empty plates, stacking them into a precarious tower, she tried not to gag at the sticky battlefield Margot had left behind. Pancakes drowned in syrup, crumbs scattered like shrapnel—it was less breakfast, more crime scene. The perpetrator had scurried away with some mumbled excuse of having to use the restroom, leaving Vi to deal with the aftermath.

Diana slid up beside her, gently nudging her elbow, her eyes just as curious as Margot’s, her voice thankfully a lot quieter: “So… did you do it?”

Vi groaned, wiping her now sticky-as-hell fingers on her trousers.

“No, I did fucking not, I don’t know how many more times I’ll have to say it.”

She bent over to reach one of the plates at the very end of the table, eyes travelling once more over to Caitlyn, who had joined the tattooed girl in wiping the table, the latter laughing at someone she had just said.

Margot hadn’t lied.

Caitlyn really did look like she hadn’t slept in ages.

The circles under her eyes had been prominent yesterday, but now they seemed to have deepened, smudging like bruises against her pale skin. Her movements were slower, less precise, as if exhaustion had wrapped itself around her shoulders and refused to let go.

Even her smile looked exhausted - a faint, weary curve that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

Vi yanked her eyes back to the plates, muttering under her breath as she added another sticky disaster to the stack: “Wouldn’t fucking touch her, even if she was the last fucking person roaming the earth.”

The words tasted bitter on her tongue.

Diana let out a small whistle, shaking her head with clear irritation as she swiped some crumbs from the tabletop and onto the ground.

“That’s harsh, Vi. Pretty mean.”

Vi just shrugged and carefully lifted the wonky, unstable tower of messy dishes, granting neither Caitlyn nor Diana another glance as she carried it over to the trolley.

Diana followed close behind, her hands buried deep in the pockets of her pants, her gaze practically drilling into the back of Vi’s neck. She didn’t say another word, though her presence was loud enough on its own. The silence felt deliberate, heavy with unspoken questions, as they made their way down the hallway and into the sprawling room for group therapy.

The room smelled faintly of the stale coffee Vi had annihilated her throat with earlier. Soft, warm light filtered through the large windows, casting golden streaks across the hardwood floor. The walls were painted a nice light blue, a nice change from the beige that had apparently been on sale when they painted this place. A few plants sat on the windowsills.

It was a room that should make people feel at ease, a room meant to nurture some semblance of peace.

Vi had never felt less at peace.

She slumped down into her chair, an uncomfortable, unstable little thing that creaked under her, her leg bouncing immediately, unable to stay still. Her nails, already bitten down to nubs, found their way back between her teeth.

Diana settled into the chair right next to her with a smooth grace, crossing her long legs and tilting her head slightly toward the window. The sun's rays warmed her skin, and for a moment, she looked like she was basking in it, as calm and serene as the world outside.

She looked pretty much at peace.

The room was slowly starting to fill up, each person trickling in, some of them laughing and joking with one another, others with barely hidden hesitation, scanning the room with wide, uncertain eyes before settling on a chair.

Caitlyn arrived shortly after, accompanied by the tattooed chick, lips still twisted in her small, tired smile, eyes firmly glued to the other girl.

They sat down right across from Vi, who narrowed her eyes and let out a small scoff. Not that she cared, of course. She was much too busy focusing on the cracks in the floorboards, because honestly, why would she give a fuck where Caitlyn was sitting?

Margot was the last to arrive, as usual.

She shuffled in with a grin plastered across her face, mumbling half-hearted excuses in the general direction of the therapist, a small, elderly Yordle. Margot didn’t even bother to look at anyone as she found a seat. She just threw herself into the chair with a dramatic sigh, almost toppling over and catching her balance barely in time.

Vi noticed how Margot’s eyes lingered on Caitlyn for a moment before she settled in, her grin widening even more.

“Alright, settle down everyone!”

Dr. Heimerdinger adjusted his round spectacles, peering over them as his sharp, almost unsettlingly calculating eyes swept across the group. They paused on Vi for just a second, but he quickly moved on, his gaze settling on Caitlyn, a little knowing look crossing his wrinkled face.

“I see we have a new face in our round! Miss Kiramman – may I call you Caitlyn? Caitlyn, I’d like to warmly welcome you to the Solace Psychiatric Centre. My name is Doctor Cecil B. Heimerdinger and I am leading both our morning and evening group therapy sessions.”

He smiled at Caitlyn with kind, twinkling eyes, his furry little hands adjusting his notes in his lap.

“Now, Caitlyn”, he continued with a warm, calming voice, “"In these sessions, we each take a turn to share our thoughts or anything we’re struggling with. You can talk about anything you feel comfortable with - your feelings, your experiences. And remember, this is a safe space for everyone to express themselves. We don’t judge here."

Caitlyn only gave it a small nod, lips pressed together in a tight line, the fingers of her unharmed hand fumbling around with the hem of her shirt – a loose, dark green thing. Vi had seen her wear it before, she’d seen her take it off.

She’d stripped it off Caitlyn herself.

Vi’s foot was now bouncing a mile a minute.

Dr. Heimerdinger clapped his hands together, as though the room wasn’t already dead quiet.

“Alright! Now, Illaoi”, he gesticulated towards the tattooed girl next to Caitlyn, “would you like to start us off? Do you have anything to share with the group?”

The session dragged along.

Struggling to adjust to life outside the walls of the clinic.

Struggling to shake old habits.

Vi wasn't really listening, she never was.

She kept her eyes on the cracks in the floorboards, tracing the lines with the edge of her slipper. She didn’t care about the scraping sounds she produced, didn’t mind the annoyed glances shot at her. Each shift of her foot, each tap of her heel, helped to keep her from looking at Caitlyn.

Struggling to stand on my own feet.

Her eyes were glued to the floor. It was easier that way. Easier to pretend she wasn’t bothered by the way her mind seemed to gravitate towards Caitlyn as if she was the fucking sun. To pretend she didn’t notice how Caitlyn was sitting so still, her eyes carefully watching each speaker as if their words mattered.

Struggling to pick up where I left.

Struggling to share my struggles with friends and family.

What the actual fuck was Caitlyn doing here?

Vi didn’t care.

Didn’t care and didn’t want to know.

Struggling to find a way out.

No, she didn’t care.

She didn’t want to know what happened to Caitlyn. It was none of her business.

She was fine, wasn’t she?

Everything was fine.

Struggling to reclaim what’s mine.

But Caitlyn was obviously not fine.

Vi tried to shut the thought down. She wasn’t going to think about it. She wasn’t going to think about Caitlyn looking so out of place, so utterly exhausted. She wasn’t going to care about the way Caitlyn’s tired eyes were dim and cloudy, about her shaky hands and hollow cheeks.

Vi’s gripped the edge of her seat until her knuckles turned white.

She didn’t care.

She didn’t want to know.

“Violet?”

Her head snapped up. The room had gone quiet. Apparently, Diana had just finished her share – Vi silently cursed herself for missing it – and now every eye in the circle was on her.

Caitlyn’s blue eyes were on her.

Dr. Heimerdinger’s voice was soft, patient. “Would you like to share with the group today?”

Vi's heart pounded in her chest. She swallowed hard, trying to ignore the feeling of Caitlyn’s stare weighing down on her. She shifted uncomfortably in her seat, bouncing her leg up and down as she forced her gaze back down to the floor.

“Nope”, she muttered, her voice flat. “I’m good.”

It was the same answer she always gave.

The group moved on and so did Caitlyn’s glance, not lingering on Vi for a second longer than necessary, not granting her any indication of actual interest or care.

Because she obviously didn’t care.

Of course, perfect, ever-composed, cool Caitlyn Kiramman did not give a fuck about Vi, her thoughts, her feelings or any other crap.

She never had.

So why should Vi care about her?

Struggling to manage the circumstances.

Struggling to get into relationships.

Vi’s knuckles ached from gripping the chair. The cracks in the floor blurred as her leg bounced faster, the same thought looping endlessly in her mind: Don’t care. Won’t care.

The room buzzed faintly as the group carried on. Someone else was talking now - a nervous, halting voice that Vi vaguely recognized. She didn’t bother to tune in, couldn’t bring herself to listen. Their words were little more than static, a dull hum against the pounding in her ears.

Her foot tapped harder against the floor, the rhythm jagged and uneven.

Struggling to trust people.

Caitlyn could say anything, and Vi still wouldn’t care.

Could spill her heart out to this whole fucking group, and it wouldn’t make a difference.

It didn’t matter.

Nothing mattered.

Not Caitlyn, not her tired eyes or her stupid, perfect posture. Not her clenched, strained jaw that hardened her whole face. Not the way her voice had taken on that tinge of quiet amusement as she had watched Vi humiliate herself trying to roll the cigarette.

She didn’t care. She didn’t.

“Caitlyn, how about you? Would you like to share anything with the group?”

Vi’s foot stopped in its tracks.

She kept her eyes glued to the floor, determined not to look, but her body betrayed her. Her shoulders stiffened, her breathing slowed, and she strained to catch even the faintest sound from Caitlyn.

A long silence stretched across the room, thick and uncomfortable.

“I, uh…” Caitlyn’s voice faltered, quiet and hesitant. She cleared her throat, the sound brittle, before trying again. “I, uhm, I don’t think so, no. Thank you. No.”

The words hung there, fragile but final.

Vi let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding, her chest tightening with something she couldn’t name. Relief? Annoyance?

It didn’t matter.

She shoved it down, burying it under layers of apathy she forced herself to believe were real.

“That is perfectly alright, Caitlyn.” Heimerdinger smiled one of his wrinkly, warm smiles and nodded reassuringly, eyes fixed onto Caitlyn’s narrow, fidgety frame. “Sharing takes time. You won’t ever be obligated to talk if you do not feel ready.”

His eyes darted over to Vi, only for the shortest of moments, before he gathered his notes on his lap and jumped down from his chair: “Alright, guys, thank you all for your time! We’ll see each other at 7 PM – that includes you, Margot!” He shot the small girl a warning, yet amused look.

The group stirred, chairs scraping against the floor as people shuffled to their feet. Some drifted toward the windows, chatting in low voices, while others lingered near the snack table.

Vi stayed rooted in her chair, her leg bouncing relentlessly, her gaze flicking between the floor and the scattered movement around her. She felt Diana looking at her, felt her curious, concerned eyes drift over face, head slightly tilted, like a child ogling at some insect.

“Vi? You okay?”

Vi didn’t care.

It didn’t matter.

She forced herself to believe that with every fibre of her being. But still, her gaze wandered, drawn almost magnetically across the room, searching for Caitlyn.

Maybe, just maybe, Caitlyn would look back. Maybe she would see Vi staring, maybe those beautiful, sad eyes would meet hers and there would be something - an acknowledgment, a flicker of grief and regret, a silent apology.

Caitlyn had already left.

Vi’s stomach twisted, the bitterness rising in her throat as she snapped her gaze away, like the sight of Caitlyn’s absence was too much to handle. The room around her seemed to grow distant, colder, as the weight of it settled over her.

She didn’t care. She wasn’t going to care.

“I’m fine. Wanna go for a smoke?”

The summer of 2017 was the hottest on record, and it felt like the world itself had been set on fire.

The sun blazed high in a cloudless sky as families began to roll up Camp Catalyst’s gravel parking lot, engines idling and air conditioners sputtering in a futile effort to combat the heat.

Parents stepped out of their cars wearing thin linen shirts already glued to their backs, barking last-minute instructions at their sticky kids while their perfectly manicured fingers were cutting through the air, pointing, ordering, condescending.

Campers stumbled out of the vehicles, cheeks flushed and hair sticking to their foreheads, dragging glossy suitcases and duffel bags that looked brand new out of the trunks. The crunch of sneakers on gravel was joined by the occasional clatter of a hard-sided suitcase toppling over, much to the dismay of its sweaty owner.

The sun glared off the glossy black vehicle as it rolled into the fast-filling parking lot, joining about twenty others of the same build, sleek and polished, their tinted windows shielding their precious passengers from the sweltering sun.

Its engine hummed smoothly before coming to a stop.

The door on the passenger side swung open with a jarring creak, and Vi jumped out, her sandals kicking up a puff of dry, dusty gravel.

She didn’t bother glancing back at her Darlene, who was already leaning out of the driver’s seat, about to remind her once again to be "gentle with the door."

Instead, she shoved the door shut with a sharp bang, savouring the satisfying sound echoing over the parking lot. She caught the slight wince from her foster mother in the reflection of the spotless window but didn’t acknowledge it.

The heat hit her like a wall, thick and stifling, turning the humid air into a suffocating cloak. Sweat trickled down her back almost instantly, making the fabric of her shirt cling to her skin. She adjusted the strap of her fraying bag, the edges worn smooth from too much use, pushed her hair out of her face and let her gaze wander.

The parking lot looked like an advertisement for luxury vehicles. Squeaky-clean and polished they lined the gravel, each one shinier than the last, their passengers standing off to the side, chatting or pretending to look busy.

Or just behaving utterly obnoxiously.

Vi couldn’t stop herself from rolling her eyes as she watched a woman in a wide-brimmed sunhat and a beige suit furiously barking at some poor Counsellor trying to pick up her daughter’s luggage, which apparently consisted of four different suitcases.

A girl in a pristine white dress climbed delicately out of a vehicle, her polished shoes somehow avoiding the dusty gravel. The girl didn’t even have to carry her own bag - her dad had already hoisted a massive rolling suitcase out of the trunk.

It probably cost more than Vi’s entire wardrobe.

Vi spotted a boy in crisp khakis and a white shirt, holding a water bottle that looked like it had been engineered for an expedition to Mars. He took one sip and immediately handed it back to his mom, who unscrewed the lid and inspected it with pursed lips, like the water might have personally offended them.

The scent of hot asphalt and bug spray mingled in the humid air, and parents fanned themselves with registration papers while their offspring, flushed and sticky, looked around with nervous, yet snooty expressions painting their sweaty faces.

Insects flitted around the edges of the scene, and one particularly determined mosquito seemed set on making a meal of Vi’s arm.

Counsellors in sweat-soaked t-shirts stood at the ready, their cheerful smiles only slightly wilted by the oppressive heat. They waved campers toward the check-in table, where the ink from pens smudged on damp hands and clipboards clung to sweaty palms.

In the distance, the lake shimmered under the sun, looking cool and inviting but probably as warm as bathwater. The cabins stood in uneven rows, their warped wood and sagging porches a sharp contrast to the polished luxury vehicles parked out front.

Vi almost laughed at the thought of some of these kids trying to survive a night in those cabins, equipped with nothing but a flimsy fan and a few thousand mosquitoes for company.

“Violet, darling?”

Vi rolled her eyes at the sound of Darlene’s high-pitched, nervous voice, the saccharine tone practically grating against her ears. She didn’t bother turning around, letting the silence speak for her instead.

“Violet, can I just remind you to be gentle with the car?”

Darlene’s voice wavered with that familiar, shaky laugh she used whenever she tried to keep the peace.

Vi didn’t respond.

Darlene sighed but didn’t press the issue, pivoting instead to her other priority. She opened the back door of the SUV with all the care of someone handling a priceless artifact, carefully supporting her precious little offspring climbing out of the car.

Vi watched out of the corner of her eye, her lips twitching in a barely-contained smirk. God forbid little Ludwig actually climb out of the car on his own and risk twisting an ankle. She half expected Darlene to roll out a red carpet for him.

Ludwig was a plump, fleshy ten-year-old boy, two years younger than Vi. His round face was flushed as though he'd been sunburned even though he’d barely stepped out of the car. His blond hair curled over his watery blue eyes and his cheeks were perpetually rosy, as if Darlene had applied blush with a heavy hand and forgot to blend it.

Darlene’s “gorgeous little angel” was a bit of a squirmy brat - his favourite activity was setting ants ablaze through a magnifying glass, though Vi had quickly taught him to fucking refrain from doing so.

As Ludwig stepped onto the gravel, Darlene immediately straightened his shirt and adjusted his “darling curls”, fussing over him like he was about to strut along a runway instead of into the bug-infested wilds of camp.

Vi turned away.

She didn’t plan on spending a lot of time with Ludwig.

It had been Darlene’s idea to send them to Camp Catalyst together, a plan forged in the fires of Vi’s personal hell.

Of course, Darlene had been eager to shout her amazing vision from the rooftops: How she, a sacrificial single mom who was barely getting by and had to make do with only two long-distance vacations a year, was still doing her very best to ensure that Vi, poor, poor, troubled Vi, would finally experience some fun.

What a true saint.

Vi could still hear it - the self-satisfied tone that would slip into Darlene’s voice whenever she recounted how she was 'giving Vi the experience of a lifetime.' She could practically see Darlene’s hands fluttering as she told her friends all about how she’d 'sent Vi off to an amazing summer camp,' their faces lit with admiration, eyes twinkling at the thought of Vi finally getting out of the 'suffocating pits of Zaun’.

Vi had spent five days sulking. She had refused to eat anything, refused to leave her room, refused to open the door or talk to anybody. Darlene practically set up camp in front of Vi’s door, subjecting her to the relentless torture of adamant cooing and coaxing and bribing.

Vi would get to pick her very own cabin, would get to choose the very best one.

Vi would be allowed to phone home every night.

Vi would finally meet some new people, make friends.

But Vi had remained stubborn.

The idea of spending two weeks with those perfectly polished kids from Piltover, trapped in a cabin with their perfect teeth, perfect hair, and perfect little lives, had been enough to make her stomach turn.

But then, during another one of their pretty one-sided conversations through the closed door, Darlene had mentioned something that actually made Vi pause her strike.

“Some kids from Zaun are joining, too,” she had said, as if it were a side note.

And that had changed things.

Now Vi’s eyes were scanning the parking lot for those supposed kids from Zaun – and she didn’t have to wait for too long.

The first hint of their arrival was the low rumble of a struggling engine in the distance. It was a stark contrast to the smooth, quiet purring of the luxury cars in the parking lot. Heads turned as the bus came into view, kicking up a plume of dust as it crawled along the gravel road.

The vehicle was ancient - paint peeling in places, streaks of rust along the edges, and a squeaky wiper hanging uselessly off the windshield. It groaned to a stop at the far end of the lot with a loud, almost mournful hiss, its engine sputtering like it might give out entirely.

The reaction from the Piltover parents was immediate.

Conversations halted, and eyes widened as the bus doors creaked open with a mechanical wheeze. A few parents clutched their bags closer or reached instinctively for their kids, as if preparing for some kind of invasion.

And then, like a storm breaking loose, the Zaun kids poured out.

They tumbled from the bus in a chaotic flurry of noise and energy, their laughter and shouts carrying across the lot. One boy leaped down the last few steps, landing in a cloud of dust, his patched-up pants flapping around his ankles. A girl with a shock of unevenly cut hair swung a beat-up bag over her shoulder, the strap held together by a series of mismatched stitches. Another kid darted around her, grinning as he shoved a friend lightly, earning a shove right back that turned into an impromptu wrestling match on the gravel.

Their clothes were a patchwork of mended seams and worn fabrics, faded from too many washes and too few replacements. Shoes with duct-taped soles scuffed the ground, and t-shirts bore the faint outlines of logos long since cracked and peeled away.

They were loud, wild, and unapologetically alive, their excitement as palpable as the heat in the air. While the Zaun kids clambered over one another to grab their bags from the bus, the Piltover parents and their offspring stood frozen, their perfect smiles replaced with thin-lipped stares of disbelief.

Vi felt her lips twist into a broad grin.

She heard Darlene gasp behind her and shot her a quick glance.

Her foster mother had turned pale, her fingers clutched around Ludwig’s shoulder whose face was twisted in a pained expression, hands deep inside of his pockets. Darlene’s mouth stood slightly agape, eyes wide with an odd mixture of terror and feigned excitement – it made her look dumbfounded.

Vi had to suppress a chuckle, turned from Darlene, pulled the straps of her bag a bit higher and strolled down to the bus, passing wrinkled noses and narrowed eyes, hushed whispers and pursed lips with pride swelling her chest.

One boy, his hair a wild, curly mess, his eyebrows just as thick and bushy, pushed through the chattering crowd of kids, his broad smile revealing some missing molasses. “Yo, Vi, is that you?!”

She gave him a quick wave and bridged the short distance between them with big strides, not hesitating to pull him into a warm hug. Mylo smelled of sweat, smoke and machine oil, a scent so familiar it brought a strange knot to Vi’s chest. He seemed a bit taken aback by her hug, but didn’t wait long to return it, pressing her tightly onto his narrow chest.

“Damn, Mylo, still rocking that unibrow, I see?”, she teased, hands pressed softly against his wet back.

Mylo chuckled. “And you’re still mouthy as ever. Man, I can’t believe you’re here! Thought they shipped you off to Piltover?”

Vi breathed in his scent once more before letting go, keeping her hands on his shoulders and grinning back at him. Mylo had grown a lot, towering over Vi by a whole head, his whole body gangly and lanky, like a foal still growing into his limbs.

“Sure did. But you won’t get rid of me that easyly.”

She jerked her chin toward Darlene, who was still staring at the Zaunites, seemingly frozen in face of those poor, oh, so poor underprivileged children who really did deserve some luxury in their life, brought to them by their precious heroes and saviours from Piltover. Ludwig stood beside her, shoulders hunched, looking thoroughly miserable.

“See her?”, Vi said, a mischievous glint in her eyes, “That’s Darlene. She’s really set on saving my soul.”

Mylo followed her nod, squinting at Darlene and Ludwig standing stiff as statues among the polished Piltover parents. He snorted, shaking his head with a grin that was equal parts amusement and disbelief.

“Honestly, Vi, I believe your soul is way past redemption.”

Vi let out a laugh, the sound drowning in the deafening clamour surrounding them, clapping him on the back. Mylo looked back at her, smile softening a bit: “It’s great to see you again, Vi. Honestly.”

Before Vi could answer, a deep, familiar voice called out, and both turned to see Claggor jogging toward them, his face breaking into a warm, toothy smile.

“Claggor!” Vi greeted, her grin broadening as she met him halfway, pulling him into a tight hug. His bulk was reassuring, a sturdy contrast to Mylo’s lanky frame.

“Damn, Claggor,” Vi teased as she pulled back, her eyes glinting with mock disapproval. “What’s with the shirt? You tryin’ to impress someone?”

Claggor looked down at his slightly too-small button-up, which strained a little across his broad chest. He rubbed the back of his neck, smiling sheepishly. “Hey, don’t knock it. This was my best one, and it’s not like I get new ones every week like some people.”

“Yeah, Vi,” Mylo added, smirking. “You forget about us poor Zaunites with your fancy Piltover life?”

Vi rolled her eyes, shoving Mylo lightly. “Oh, please. You both look like you’ve been wrestling gremlins for breakfast. At least I know how to clean up when I have to.”

“That so?” Claggor asked, raising a brow. “Last I checked, you were the queen of grime.”

“Only because I was stuck babysitting you two,” Vi shot back with a smirk.

Their banter bounced back and forth, each jab landing with the easy camaraderie of lifelong friends. Claggor ribbed Mylo for his perpetually unkempt hair, and Mylo fired back about Claggor’s shirt buttons. Vi laughed, caught up in the warmth of it all.

Until a sudden, light voice cut through the noise.

“Vi?”

Vi turned around.

Her smile froze on her lips.

“Oh, it really is you!”

Caitlyn Kiramman’s whole face lit up, her striking blue eyes sparkling with excitement, her freckled cheeks slightly flushed from the heat. She stood only a few feet away, dressed in a simple navy shirt and wide-legged linen pants, a bottle of water clasped delicately in her slender hands.

The gap between her teeth still looked pretty cute.

She stepped closer, tilting her head with curious delight. “Do you remember me?”

Vi shifted her weight, glancing back at Mylo and Claggor, who were both staring with wide, incredulous eyes. Mylo’s eyebrows – or rather, his singular eyebrow - shot up as he mouthed, “Who’s this?”

Caitlyn, oblivious or ignoring the Zaun boys’ bewildered stares, stepped closer until she was within arm’s reach of Vi.

“It’s me! Caitlyn, Caitlyn Kiramman!”, she said, her voice brimming with enthusiasm, “We met a year ago, do you remember?”

She leaned slightly to the side, peering past Vi towards the boys. With a pointed finger, she gestured toward Mylo, her eyes lighting up even further. “I remember you, too! You both visited my school as part of the Inter-School Partnership Program. You were partnered with Katherine, weren’t you?”

Mylo’s eyes grew even wider. He glanced between Caitlyn and Vi, comprehension dawning with a silent, slow “Oh” that shaped his lips.

Vi cleared her throat, rubbing the sweaty back of her neck, her voice low. “Oh, yeah. Caitlyn. I remember.”

Caitlyn’s bright smile grew even warmer, her joy seemingly unaffected by Vi’s hesitation. “I thought so! It’s so nice to see you again.”

Vi could hear Mylo shuffle behind her, could feel him pulling Claggor a bit closer, could make out his faint, rapid whispering. But her eyes were set on Caitlyn, smiling, enthusiastic, kind Caitlyn Kiramman who smelt of lavender. Caitlyn’s smile was slightly wavering, uncertainty creeping in.

For a few moments, none of them spoke.

Their silence was drowned in the sputtering engine of the bus taking off, the clamour of the children around them, the hissing whispers of Mylo.

“So,” Caitlyn carefully continued after a while, twisting and turning the water bottle in her hands, “It’s pretty hot, huh?” She let out a small, uncertain chuckle as a small flicker of nervousness crossed her features.

“Yeah,” Vi answered flatly. She ignored Mylo’s snicker behind her back.

Caitlyn shifted her weight from one foot to the other, glancing down before meeting Vi’s eyes again. She was fumbling around with her bottlecap, eyes travelling over Vi’s features with a strange sense of caution.

“Hey,” Caitlyn began, her voice soft but steady. “I, um… I was wondering…” She trailed off, her fingers tightening around the bottle.

Vi’s heart was pounding, sweat slowly trickling over her back. “Yeah?”

Caitlyn’s eyes kept darting from Vi’s face to the ground, before she took a deep breath, as if gathering courage.

“I was just thinking… if you and your friends haven’t picked a cabin yet, uhm-… maybe-…” She hesitated, glancing between Vi and the boys behind her. “Maybe we could, you know, uhm-… share one?”

Vi blinked, swallowed.

Caitlyn hurried to fill the silence, her words tumbling out in a nervous rush. “I mean, if you want to, of course! No pressure. I just thought it might be nice… to catch up. Or something.” Her cheeks were flushed, teeth worrying at her lower lip, looking at Vi with a mixture of hope and apprehension.

Vi stared back.

Behind her, Mylo snorted, barely containing a laugh.

Caitlyn’s eyes darted over to him, and suddenly the bright joy that had lit up her face just mere seconds ago was replaced by a knowing, resigned look. Only the faint trace of a smile remained on her face.

Vi shot Mylo a quick look before turning back to Caitlyn.

“Uhm,” she began, her voice feeling dry and rough, “You know, uhm, I’m sorry, but, uhm-“

“It’s okay,” Caitlyn quickly interrupted, her voice small and tight. “I get it, don’t worry.”

She glanced down at the bottle in her hands, twisting it nervously. The quiet that followed felt thick and awkward, and Vi wasn’t sure how to fill the silence. Mylo was no help at all, surprised scoffs and irritated huffs leaving his lips by the second.

“It’s fine,” Caitlyn added after a moment, forcing a tight-lipped smile. “I just thought, you know-… It’s fine.”

Vi shifted her weight from one foot to the other, wishing she could say something else—something that wasn’t so clumsy, something that didn’t feel so final. But the words stuck in her throat.

"Yeah," Vi muttered softly, unsure of what else to say.

Caitlyn looked up at her again, her eyes briefly meeting Vi's, before she stepped back slightly, her back straight, her chin held up high. Vi opened her mouth to say something, anything, but the words never came.

Instead, she just nodded, a stiff, awkward gesture that felt completely wrong.

“Right,” Vi said quietly, her voice tight.

She turned away before she could second-guess herself. Mylo and Claggor followed immediately, elbows nudging and wide eyes questioning, but Vi didn’t stop, didn’t look back. She couldn’t.

It was only when she reached the edge of the group, that she turned her head back.

Caitlyn stood still where they had left her, her expression unreadable, her arms clutching the water bottle a little too tightly. The world seemed to fall away as Vi whipped her head back around and kept walking, her steps quickening as the noise of the camp drowned out her buzzing thoughts.

10:30 AM - Individual Therapy

“Where is Dr. Bolbok?”

The woman behind the desk was built like a goddamn tank.

She wasn’t wearing a lab coat, but a black, tight compression shirt straining over her big, broad shoulders and muscles that looked like they could crush steel. One of her arms seemed to have been replaced with a mechanical one, screws and gears drawing odd shapes through the fabric.

She looked like she could snap someone’s neck in half without breaking a sweat.

Her elbows were on the table, chin resting on her hands, piercing eyes fixed on Vi who was still standing in the doorframe, utterly dumbfounded at the sight that had greeted her when she had barged through the door 10 minutes too late.

“You’re late.”

A Zaunite accent.

Vi was taken aback.

The woman’s voice was rough, hoarse, like something heavy dragging over gravel - gritty and raw, with an undertone of something metallic, as if every word had been worn down by years of strain. It was the kind of voice that might crack or tear at any moment but still had enough force to make it cut through the air.

Vi found herself wondering if her own voice would end up like that one day - gravel-scraped and rough - if she kept at her smoking habit.

It did sound kind of hot.

Vi finally peeled herself from the doorframe, shuffling over to the chair in front of the table and slumping down on it, legs stretched out with as much nonchalance as she could muster.

“Sorry,” she sighed, stretching her arms over her head and feigning a yawn, “Had to attend a meeting of the utmost importance.”

Her humiliating encounter with Caitlyn the evening before had sent Vi into a frenzy, set on mastering the stupid fucking task of rolling cigarettes in record time. After she had cut her lip on the thin papers twice, ripped over twenty papes and scattered almost half of her tobacco over the ground, Diana had expressed the idea to switch over to store-bought cigarettes.

Vi had only glared at her.

The woman on the other side of the desk kept her eyes fixed on Vi, one eyebrow slightly perking up. Her stare was insanely intense and Vi had to fight the urge to squirm uncomfortably.

“I expect you to be punctual,” the woman shot the file in front of her a quick glance, obviously pretending not to be aware of Vi’s name, “Violet. It is one of my only rules, but it is one I take very seriously.”

Vi returned her stare, scoffing with disbelief. “It’s Vi.”

The woman unlaced her fingers and quickly flicked through the file, eyes scanning the pages with not much interest, before closing it harshly with a pang.

“That’s not what it says here.”

Vi crossed her arms in front of her chest, eyes traveling up and down the woman, studying every inch of her. She was taken aback. It wasn’t just the mechanical arm or the sheer physical power that made her hesitate - it was the fact that this woman, with her Zaunite roots, had somehow landed herself in a position like this.

Most universities plastered their walls with fancy titles, bragging about their anti-discriminatory missions and equal opportunity policies. But in reality, less than 1% of Zaunites ever made it through their doors. The odds were stacked so high that even Vi, with all her experience battling her way through life, felt a flicker of something between awe and disbelief.

“Where is Dr. Bolbok?”

The doctor had been her therapist for the past four years.

He had been easy to please. Vi knew just what he liked to hear, knew what he expected her to say, knew exactly what he needed to draw up his preferred diagnosis. It wasn’t hard - his patterns were predictable, his questions routine. She nodded when he wanted her to nod, shook her head when he wanted her to decline something.

Sometimes, Vi wondered if he even realized how little of herself she was giving him. But that didn’t matter. He got what he wanted a neat little checkmark in his notes - and she got what she needed: some fucking peace and quiet.

No hustle. No problems.

But Dr. Bolbok had been mechanical - literally. Gears for joints, a hum of servos whenever he moved. Easy to read, easy to please. But that woman? She wasn’t easy. And Vi hated how that made her stomach knot.

The woman shifted, leaning backwards and crossing her arms in front of her broad chest, a perfect imitation of Vi’s pose.

“Retired.”

Vi furrowed her brows, scoffing once more with disbelief.

Why did a fucking robot have to retire?

“I am Sevika,” the woman continued, not bothering to add honorifics to her name. “We’re going to spend quite some time together, Violet, so I suggest a slight change of attitude.”

Vi leaned back further in her chair, letting her legs sprawl out even more, one boot tapping lazily against the floor. She tilted her head, not giving Sevika the satisfaction of showing her discomfort and instead smirking at her.

“Well, Sevika,” Vi drawled, emphasizing the name just a little too much, “if you’d read my file you’d know that I am pretty reluctant to change. So I think you’d better just get used to it.”

She shot her a charming smile.

Sevika didn’t flinch. She just arched an eyebrow, her mechanical fingers tapping once against her bicep. The faint sound of metal against fabric made Vi’s smirk falter for half a second, but she quickly recovered.

“Look, here’s how this works,” Vi continued, leaning forward slightly, resting her elbows on her knees. Her smirk widened, but her eyes were sharp, challenging. “You ask me a bunch of questions, I give you answers that sound good enough to scribble down in your little file, and we both walk out of here happy. You get your notes, I get my peace, and we call it a day.”

Sevika didn’t respond right away. Instead, she let the silence stretch between them, her piercing gaze unyielding. Vi hated the way it felt like Sevika could see right through her, past the cocky facade she’d worked so fucking hard to perfect.

After a while, the broad woman raised an eyebrow, the faintest twitch of her lips suggesting amusement. “Cute. Is that the same line you fed Bolbok?”

Vi shrugged. “Worked for him. We had a system. It was beautiful, really. A little banter, a few nods, some sad violins playing in the background - textbook therapy.” She spread her hands like she was presenting a masterpiece before crossing them in front of her chest once more.

Sevika didn’t take the bait. Instead, she leaned back, crossing her arms. The faint whir of her mechanical arm accompanied the movement, the sound somehow more intimidating than if she’d slammed a fist on the table.

“Well,” Sevika said, her voice low and even, “lucky for me, I don’t give a  fuck about Bolbok’s system. Or your little routine.”

Vi’s smirk faltered for half a second, but she recovered quickly, waving a hand dismissively. “Figures. You don’t strike me as the warm and fuzzy type.”

Sevika tilted her head slightly, her eyes narrowing. “And you don’t strike me as someone who actually wants to be here, yet here you are. Funny how that works.”

Vi let out a bark of laughter, leaning back in her chair and lacing her fingers behind her head. “Oh, I’m here, alright. But only because some genius decided to put my name on a list and call it mandatory.” She raised her eyebrows, her grin widening. “Trust me, Sevika, this isn’t exactly my idea of a good time.”

“Trust me, Violet,” Sevika shot back, her voice smooth but sharp as a knife, “the feeling’s mutual.”

Vi blinked, caught off guard by the quick retort. She crossed her arms, tapping her boot against the floor in mock impatience. “Alright, then. If you’re so over this, why don’t you go ahead and sign me off? You can put, I don’t know, ‘hopeless case,’ and we can both move on with our lives. Saves me an hour of my day.”

Sevika let out a short, humorless laugh. “Hopeless? Nice try, kid. I don’t scare that easily.”

Vi leaned forward, a glint of defiance in her eyes. “What, you think you’re gonna fix me? Is that it? Gonna dig into my deep, dark secrets and have me crying on the floor? Hate to break it to you, but I don’t cry.”

Sevika’s lips twitched, almost – almost - forming a smirk. “Oh, don’t worry. I’m not here to fix you. I’m just here to make sure you stop wasting everyone’s time, including your own.”

Vi’s jaw tightened, her fingers curling into fists on her thighs. For a moment, she said nothing, her mind scrambling for a comeback. Finally, she scoffed, leaning back and throwing up her hands.

“Well, congrats. You’ve officially made this the most annoying ten minutes of my week. And trust me, that’s saying something.”

Sevika didn’t flinch. She leaned forward, resting her elbows on the desk, her voice dropping to a near growl. “Good. Maybe you’ll start taking this seriously now.”

Vi opened her mouth for a retort but found herself momentarily speechless. She hated that Sevika wasn’t biting, wasn’t giving her an inch to work with.

Sevika leaned back, her mechanical fingers tapping rhythmically against her armrest. “You’re here, kid. Whether you like it or not. So you can keep trying to play the tough act, or you can actually get something out of this.”

Vi glared at her, her stomach twisting with frustration she couldn’t shake.

Sevika’s gaze stayed locked on Vi, unflinching and unreadable. Her fingers were tapping a steady, almost mocking rhythm. “Well, Violet,” she said slowly, her voice like gravel grinding against steel, “if you’re done with the theatrics, we can get started.”

Vi didn’t reply. She just stared back at Sevika, arms crossed, her jaw tight.

The corners of Sevika’s mouth twitched as if she were suppressing a smirk. “What’s the matter? Run out of clever things to say?”

Nothing.

Sevika tilted her head, her eyes narrowing slightly. “Alright. We’ll play it your way. You sit there and brood.” She shrugged, picking up a pen and lazily spinning it between her fingers.

Vi didn’t flinch. She wasn’t about to crack. Not today. Not tomorrow. Not ever.

For the next ten minutes, the only sounds in the room were the faint ticking of a clock on the wall and the occasional scratch of Sevika’s pen against her notebook. She wasn’t writing much - just a few notes here and there, punctuated by long stretches of deliberate, pointed silence.

Vi could feel the weight of Sevika’s presence pressing against her, like the woman’s sheer willpower was trying to drag words out of her throat. But she kept her arms crossed, her eyes fixed on a spot just over Sevika’s shoulder. She wasn’t about to give in.

The seconds dragged on, then minutes.

At one point, Vi’s eyes flitted briefly to the clock, and Sevika caught it. “Got somewhere better to be?” she asked dryly. Her voice was low, gravelly, and edged with mockery.

Vi rolled her eyes, the most acknowledgement she was willing to give.

“Thought not.” Sevika put down her pen and folded her arms, mimicking Vi’s posture once more with an exaggerated air of indifference. The metallic plating on her mechanical arm caught the light, the faint glint drawing Vi’s attention despite herself.

Silence.

Sevika didn’t move. She didn’t cough, didn’t fidget, didn’t so much as blink. She just stared, her presence filling the room like a storm cloud.

Vi’s foot tapped against the floor, slow and defiant. Sevika glanced down at it, then back up at Vi’s face, one eyebrow arching ever so slightly.

Vi stopped tapping.

More silence.

The faint hum of machinery in the walls was suddenly the loudest thing in the room. Vi shifted in her chair, feigning nonchalance, but the oppressive quiet was starting to gnaw at her nerves.

Sevika smirked, the corner of her mouth curling just enough to feel like a challenge.

Vi clenched her jaw, her nails digging into her arms where they crossed over her chest. She refused to squirm. She refused to blink. She refused to give Sevika the satisfaction of thinking she’d won.

The clock ticked on.

Sevika didn’t speak again.

She didn’t need to.

By the time the hour finally ended, Vi was ready to bolt. She pushed herself out of the chair with enough force to send it skidding back an inch, glaring at Sevika as if daring her to say something.

Sevika just leaned back further, a smirk tugging at her lips. “See you next week,” she said, her tone flat and indifferent, as if Vi’s dramatic exit was the most predictable thing in the world.

Vi didn’t reply. She slammed the door behind her instead, the sound echoing down the hallway.

12:00 PM – Lunch

“Sevika? Oh, yeah, she’s amazing!” Leona lifted the top bun of her burger, pried off the thin slice of tomato with a look of pure disgust, and tossed it to the side. With a satisfied grunt, she stacked the burger back together and took a big bite, crumbs tumbling down her chin.

“I’ve had, like, five sessions with her already, and she’s so much better than fucking Bolbok,” she continued, speaking around her food. “She actually listens, you know? She really tries to understand you.”

Vi just grunted in response, already at her second burger. She wiped her hands on a napkin, her eyes not leaving the table.

Leona, oblivious to the silence, took another bite and leaned back in her chair. “Honestly, I don’t know why the clinic put up with that idiot for so long.” She chewed thoughtfully. “Sevika doesn’t just nod at you and wait for you to leave.”

Vi gave a half-shrug, finishing her burger with a quiet sigh.

Margot reached across the table, snatched the tomato from Diana’s plate, and popped it into her mouth without a second thought, not bothering to add it to her own burger. She chewed quickly, eyes glinting contentedly .

“I like her, too,” she muttered around the mouthful, “She really gets you talking, gets you thinking. And, uh, she's super fucking hot.”

Leona rolled her eyes, a smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. “Honestly, Margot, are you sure you’re straight? You think every damn girl’s hot.”

Margot shrugged casually, her eyes flicking to Leona’s second burger. “No, I don’t. I just think hot girls are hot.” She hesitated for a beat, then shot Vi a quick, mischievous glance. Leaning in slightly, she lowered her voice: “Especially that Kiramman.”

Vi scoffed.

Margot and Leona exchanged a silent, knowing glance.

Leona set down her second burger – which was immediately snatched and deconstructed by Margot – and propped her chin in her hands, letting her brown waves cascade over her shoulders.

“What’s your deal with her, Vi?”, she asked, voice tinged with badly hidden curiosity. “She is hot. We can all see that. So what’s your problem?”

Vi wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and shrugged.

She glanced at Caitlyn, who was sitting at her usual spot across the tanned girl – Illaoi -, back turned towards her.

Nothing new.

Margot leaned forward a little, nibbling on the tomato pried from Leona’s burger, clearly enjoying the subtle chaos she was stirring. “Come on, Vi,” she prodded, her voice light but persistent. “We all know you’ve got some kind of issue with her. What is it? Did she say something mean about your game? Maybe you’re just mad she’s better at, you know, playing it than you?”

She smirked, leaning in closer. “Some girls just know how to make things happen.”

Vi’s face went red, her hands clenching into fists on the table as she shot Margot a sharp glare.

Leona chuckled, watching the exchange with a slight smile. “Margot, you’re cruel.”

Vi pushed her plate away, leaning back in her chair with a deep breath. She flexed and relaxed her fingers, her eyes darkening as she let the tension roll off her shoulders.

“She’s just some stupid bitch from Piltover,” Vi muttered, her voice low and rough. “Thinks she’s better than everyone. Don’t like that.”

Leona’s expression sharpened, her curiosity now laced with determination. “Hold on, hold on.” She waved a hand between Margot and Vi, clearly unwilling to let the topic drop. “You’re deflecting. If she’s just some random rich kid, why do you care so much? There’s gotta be more to it.”

Vi did not have neither the patience nor the nerve to engage in one of Leona’s endless discussions right now, so she just shrugged. “She’s a fucking hypocrite. Nothing else to say about her.”

Leona raised an eyebrow, watching her carefully. “Sounds personal,” she remarked, her tone teasing but a little more thoughtful now.

Margot smirked, clearly enjoying the reaction she’d sparked. “Oh, it’s personal alright,” she said with a knowing grin. “But hey, don’t worry. Nothing some wild, angry animal-sex can’t fix.”

Vi rolled her eyes and pushed her chair back, getting to her feet and once again scanning the room to meet Diana’s eyes, who had decided to eat lunch at Jayce and Viktor’s table.

Their gazes interlocked.

Diana got up.

“I won’t fuck her. Anyone up for a smoke?”

Against all odds and her better judgment, Vi surprisingly found herself enjoying her time at Camp Catalyst.

Not because she bought into the camp’s mission of fostering “unity” between Piltover and Zaun - what a fucking joke that was.

The Pilties were every bit as bad as she’d imagined.

At the canoeing session, they hogged the best boats - the shiny, polished ones that glided through the water like a breeze. Vi and her friends were left with old, scuffed canoes that leaked if you paddled too hard, Councillors feigning pity and fumbling for excuses. The water sloshed around their feet and the boats smelt of damp wood.

Not that Vi minded.

They simply turned it into a competition on which canoe would be able to survive the longest, slapping water at each other and laughing as their canoes wobbled dangerously close to capsizing.

Mylo soon figured out how to steer their leaky old canoe just right, so it veered straight into the Pilties’ pristine boats.

The collisions sent the Topsiders shrieking and scrambling to steady themselves, their polished oars flailing wildly, their perfectly manicured fingers clutching their ridiculous lifejackets, while the barking laughter of Zaunites echoed over the lake.

Ludwig, a passenger on the Piltie’s canoe, leaned over the railing and threw up.

During an archery session, the Pilties snickered when the Zaunites fumbled with the sleek, high-tech bows provided by the camp.

One girl from Piltover, a pesky, bony little thing with blond curls tumbling down her back, shot a perfect bullseye, then turned and said, “Guess you don’t see much of this in Zaun,” her voice dripping with fake sweetness, eyes gleaming with ill-content.

Vi’s jaw tightened as she watched the girl bounce back to her whispering friends and bask in their approval, their laughter like nails on a chalkboard.

She clenched her fists, biting back the urge to tell her where she could stick that bow.

Mylo picked up a bow, holding it upside down like it was some alien device he couldn’t make sense of, furrowing his brows. The gleaming, mean eyes of the Pilties were immediately fixed on him as they burst into fresh giggles, their condescension practically radiating.

The giggles quickly turned into gasps and screams, though, as Mylo aimed his freshly notched arrow directly at them, eyes wide with feigned innocence and confusion. “Oops,” he drawled, squinting down the bow as though he were trying to figure out how it worked. “Is this how you do it? Or is it - oh, wait, maybe like this?”

By the time the panicky Councillors reached Mylo, prying the bow from his fingers, the damage had already been done. The Pilties were huddled together in a nervous cluster, scared chickens in a pen, glancing at Mylo like they were waiting for the next disaster to strike.

Workshops were just as bad.

Vi watched as the Pilties giggled at their clumsy attempts, then complained that the tools were too dull. One girl asked the instructor if someone could do it for her because her hands were “getting sore.” Another complained about the clay getting stuck underneath his nails and demanded a manicure.

One smug boy with slicked-back hair and an ugly mosquito bite on his forehead snickered at Vi’s uneven clay bowl, eyebrows perked up, and said, “I guess fine craftsmanship isn’t common in Zaun.”

Vi threw the bowl at him.

Evening bonfires were no different.

While the Zaunites sat on rough logs, tired legs stretched out and wrapped in patched up hoodies and old scarves, telling scary stories and cracking rude jokes, the Pilties stayed on the other side of the fire, lounging on cushioned blankets they'd somehow smuggled in from their homes. Their laughter had been reserved, as they nursed their hot chocolates and whispered to each other about their ‘perfectly curated’ bonfire experience.

One group even had a stash of imported marshmallows they refused to share, claiming they were “special order.”

Vi rolled her eyes so hard it hurt. She made a point of grabbing a stick from the ground, slowly strolling over to the giggling and whispering group and casually speared a marshmallow from the pile, holding it up to the flames with exaggerated care.

The other Pilties watched in silent horror as she let it burn to a crisp, the sugary coating turning into a blackened mess.

So, yeah, the Pilties were bad.

But still, Vi was having the time of her life.

Not during the structured activities, obviously - those were a total drag - but in the in-between moments, the stolen hours that didn’t have some camp counselor breathing down their necks.

That was when Vi and her friends made their own kind of fun.

More than once did they sneak off during free time and stumbled onto hidden trails in the forest. The Pilties probably avoided them because they weren’t  neatly marked with those painted signs.

They followed the winding paths until the trees grew thick and the air smelled like damp earth and pine.

One time, Claggor swore he saw a rabbit and took off after it, crashing through bushes and nearly tripping over his own feet, while Mylo swore he heard a bear and refused to take another step.

They discovered clearings covered in moss and sunflowers and little brooks they could cool their hot feet in. They stuffed their mouths with the sweetest berries littered all over the forest until their lips were stained purple and their stomachs hurt.

Then there were the evenings by the lake.

Not the official “water activities,” but the times when they’d sneak down after dinner, the air cooling just enough to feel refreshing, Pilties already safely tucked in their beds, probably being read a good-night story. The mosquitos had retreated, the crickets chirped and the air smelt of grass and wood.

They’d strip down to just their shorts and plunge into the water, not caring if it was freezing or if the mud squished between their toes. They tossed one another into the water, pushed each other down the surface, dove up small stones and rocks and compared their sizes and looks.

Claggor had once tried to balance on a floating log, only to topple over with a splash so big it soaked Mylo, who had been napping on the shore. Mylo swore revenge, chasing Claggor into the water with handfuls of lakeweed while the rest of them nearly choked laughing.

And then there were the nights.

Vi had never cared much for curfews, and sneaking out after lights-out became her favourite pastime.

The counsellors had a strict “no leaving the cabins after dark” rule, which made breaking it all the more fun. They’d slip out one by one, careful not to let the old floorboards creak too loudly and meet up in the shadow of the trees.

It wasn’t like the Pilties were going to catch them - they were probably too busy staying up late whispering, posting letters home complaining about the “primitive conditions.” Vi could practically hear them from across the camp, whining about how the cabins didn’t have heated floors or how the stars were too bright.

One night, they climbed up a hill overlooking the whole camp, where the cabins glowed faintly in the distance. Vi had pulled out a pack of cigarettes she’d swiped from poor Darleen’s nightstand back home.

They sat there for hours, passing the cigarette around and watching the stars, laughing at Vi’s crude jokes and making up wild stories about what the camp counsellors did after curfew. Mylo swore he saw two of them sneaking into one of the sheds the day before, whispering and looking over their shoulders like they were up to something scandalous.

So, no, Vi wasn’t buying into the camp’s mission.

But when she was laughing so hard her stomach hurt or floating on her back in the lake, staring up at a sky full of stars, she had to admit: Camp Catalyst wasn’t all that bad.

Still, there was something dulling her fun.

It wasn’t big enough to ruin her good time, but it was there, crawling under her skin.

She had noticed Caitlyn.

During the canoeing session, Vi had caught a glimpse of the slender girl standing at the edge of the bridge alone, hands clutching her paddle a bit too tightly, lips a tight line.

There were no more canoes left.

One councillor stood next to her, scratching his head with blatant confusion, his eyes darting between Caitlyn and the rest of the group, as if he wasn’t sure how to explain that the boats were all taken.

The councillor was saying something to her, but Caitlyn didn’t respond. She just stood there, eyes fixed ahead, not looking at the councillor or anyone else, like she’d already accepted it.

Vi had wanted to shout something. To tell the councillor to just call one of the groups over and give Caitlyn one of those damn canoes.

But she hadn’t.

She just turned back to the snickering Mylo and grunting Claggor, who were struggling to keep the canoe afloat. Vi only looked towards the shore again, when they had already reached the middle of the lake.

Caitlyn was still standing on the bridge, perfectly still, her back straight and head held up high. She just watched, her figure small against the wide expanse of the lake, the distant laughter of the kids echoing across the water.

At the bonfire, when the rest of the Pilties gathered in their cliques, building little rich nests of down sleeping bags and fluffy blankets, Caitlyn remained seated on one of the logs, her cheeks and top of the nose flushed from the heat.

No one invited her to join.

No one even spared her a single glance.

The Pilties were wrapped up in their little world, passing marshmallows and sharing whispered stories about their latest vacations. Caitlyn was always on the edge of it. Sitting just outside the circle, her posture straight, arms folded tightly around herself as if she was holding herself together, an island of quiet on the outskirts of their chatter.

The firelight flickered in her eyes, but she didn’t lean forward to share a joke or even glance over at the others. She simply stared at the flames, her face still and quiet.

And then there were the nights.

Vi noticed her sneaking out one evening, slipping past the creaky cabin doors like she was trying to escape notice. Vi had quickly pressed herself tighter to the wooden wall, tried to disappear in the shadows.

But Caitlyn hadn’t seen her.

She’d walked down to the lake alone, her figure a pale ghost under the moonlight, barely a shadow against the trees. She didn’t jump into the water or walk along the shore - she simply sat on a rock, legs drawn up to her chest, staring out at the dark water.

Vi stood frozen in the shadows, watching from the distance. For a moment, she wanted to walk up to her, ask if she was okay, but the words stuck in her throat. Instead, she just sneaked away, ducking away from the light filtering out of the cabins, making her way over to Mylo’s, Claggor’s and her meeting spot.

She hadn’t meant to notice at first, but it was like Caitlyn’s isolation was written on her skin, as plain as the dirty smudge on Vi’s own fingers.

Vi couldn’t figure out why it bothered her. She certainly wasn’t responsible for Caitlyn.

But it did.

2:00 PM - Anger Management

“This has to be a fucking joke.”

Sevika stood in the centre of the room, arms crossed, her towering figure casting a shadow over the low-lit space. The yoga mats that usually greeted Vi were stacked haphazardly in the corner and Dr. Shoola, a woman who was very confident in the healing abilities of “breathing through the anger”, was nowhere to be seen.

Sevika’s lips curled into a cold smile. “I don’t see you laughing.”

Vi scoffed, banging the door shut behind her and furrowing her brows at the imposing woman. She planted her feet apart and crossed her arms in front of her chest as well, already feeling her heartbeat picking up.

This really was a fucking nightmare of a day.

“Where is Dr. Shoola?”, she asked, voice merely a hiss.

Sevika unfolded her arms and pushed them into the pockets of her pants instead, shrugging. “On a retreat. Probably learning a bunch of new breathing exercises just for you.”

The smile never left her face. Vi noticed a faint scar tracing her cheek, a jagged, pale thing .

Her jaw tightened as her eyes darted over Sevika’s expression, half-hoping this was some elaborate – and painfully unfunny - prank and Dr. Shoola would pop out from behind a curtain with her usual irritatingly calm demeanor and smell of cider.

But there were no curtains, just Sevika, standing there like she owned the place.

“A retreat,” Vi repeated, her voice dripping with disbelief. “And they thought you were a good replacement?”

Sevika’s smirk widened, a flicker of amusement crossing her face. “Guess I’m versatile.”

“Guess they’re desperate,” Vi shot back, her tone sharper than the edge of a blade.

“Maybe. Maybe not. But you’ll have to make do with me for now.”

“Oh,” Vi let out a small, unamused laugh, perking one of her eyebrows and tilting her head, “So you’re going to teach me some yoga poses? No offense, but I don’t think you’re able to touch your own feet.”

Sevika’s smirk didn’t falter, though her eyes narrowed just slightly, like she was weighing whether or not to rise to the bait. Instead, she casually took a slow step forward, her boots barely making a sound against the floor.

“Nah,” Sevika said, her tone almost lazy. “I’ll leave the bendy stuff to Dr. Shoola. I’m more into… practical solutions.”

Vi rolled her eyes, crossing her arms tighter across her chest. “Practical solutions. Right. Like scaring the shit out of people with your discount villain routine?”

Sevika just shrugged, her silence cutting sharper than any retort. Then, without a word, she shifted her stance, stepping slightly to the side and out of Vi’s line of sight.

A punching bag.

It hung in the far corner of the room, its surface cracked and worn, the chain creaking softly as it swayed ever so slightly in the dim light.

For a second, Vi just stared, her brain scrambling to make sense of it. Her mouth stood slightly agape, probably giving her the appearance of some dumbfounded ape, but she couldn’t help it.

“Wait.”

She had been begging Hoskel to get one of those for ages. She had whined about how it would be the only thing to keep her sane, bargained, even threatened, but he seemed to share Shoola’s absolutely ridiculous trust in the power of breathing, friendship and love.

“Is that -” Her voice was a mix of disbelief and something she hated to admit sounded a little like hope. “That’s a fucking -”

Her eyes darted over to Sevika, who was now leaning against the wall, legs crossed lazily at her ankles, arms crossed over her broad chest. She didn’t respond. She didn’t need to. The faint smirk on her face said it all.

Vi’s heart thudded against her ribcage as she took a step closer, her feet heavier than they’d ever felt. The bag looked perfect - better than she’d ever imagined when she’d spent hours complaining to Hoskel about how much she needed one.

Her voice was tight when she spoke again. “What’s the catch?”

“No catch,” Sevika said, her voice as smooth as it was infuriating. “Figured you’ve got enough pent-up rage to keep that thing busy. Call it… an investment.”

Vi turned back to her, narrowing her eyes. “Investment in what? Watching me beat the crap out of something while you stand there looking smug?”

“Sure,” Sevika said, smirking again. “That’s part of it.”

She bent down to a blue duffle bag slumped on the ground, scrambling for a brief moment before pulling a pair of boxing gloves out and tossing them over to Vi, who almost missed catching them, raising her hands in just the last second.

That would have been crazy humiliating.

The gloves were a dull red, leather cracked and leaving little crumbs on Vi’s fingers. The fabric on the rim was ragged and stained yellow. When Vi shoved her hand inside, fingers sliding over the cushioned, yet rough insides, she could feel preexisting dents and dips, like someone had already clenched their first inside the gloves.

She flexed her fingers inside them.

They were old.

They were used.

They fit perfectly.

Vi loved them.

For a few moments, she stood frozen in place, eyes fixed on the gloves, tracing the fine cracks and tears, scanning the spots and stains. It was almost like the gloves had a history - one that had nothing to do with her, yet felt familiar. She could feel it in the way the fabric stretched, the way they seemed to mold to her hands as if they’d been waiting for her to slip them on.

Sevika’s voice cut through the silence, a gleam of amusement in her eyes. “Alright, let's see if you’re all bark, no bite, then.”

Vi’s lips quirked into a half-smile as she snapped out of her trance, eyes flicking up from her gloves, over to Sevika and finally to the punching bag. She stepped forward, eyes narrowing on her target. The gloves felt more like an extension of herself now, the way they hugged her hands, the way they seemed to come alive with each movement.

She exhaled sharply, her legs shifting into a slight bend as she raised her fist.

“I’ll fucking show you bite,” she muttered, before unleashing a quick jab at the bag, following it with a fast combo of punches.

The bag swayed with the force, but the impact was solid, controlled. Vi felt the familiar rush as her muscles surged, her adrenaline pumping, her thoughts narrowing down to the rhythm of each strike. She hit again and again, her body moving instinctively, finding its flow.

It didn’t take much for her to settle into a rhythm, her fists flying faster than her thoughts, pounding into the bag with everything she had. She grinned, hitting harder, faster. This felt right. This was what she needed. This was what she did well.

But after a few seconds, Sevika’s voice cut through the rhythm. "Alright, alright, slow down there, kid. You’re just throwing punches like a fucking toddler in a tantrum."

Vi didn’t stop.

Instead, she landed another solid hit, the bag rocking back and forth.

“No, seriously,” Sevika’s tone sharpened. “You’re all arms. You’ve got no control over your movements. You’re not using your body, just flailing around like a jackhammer. Is that really what you call boxing?”

Vi didn’t let up, sending a few more punches, her confidence rising with every swing. “I don’t know what your problem is. This is working fine for me,” she answered through gritted teeth, voice tight and a bit out of breath.

Sevika shook her head, pushing off the wall, her expression one of mild exasperation. "You’re not getting the full punch if you’re not using your legs and core. You're just wasting energy, and you're going to burn out fast."

Vi paused mid-punch, chest heaving slightly as she glared at Sevika, sweat trickling down her brow. Her fists dropped to her sides, and she shot Sevika a look that could cut glass. “Oh, now you’re a boxing expert? Gimme a fucking break. This is just fine,” she said, voice dripping with venom.

Sevika’s lips twitched, but she didn’t smile. She simply walked over, her boots thudding softly on the floor. Standing right beside Vi, she placed one hand lightly on her shoulder, forcing her to look at her. She smelt of cigarette smoke and moss.

“You’re wasting your strength,” Sevika said, her voice surprisingly calm, but her eyes locked onto Vi’s with that same steely intensity. “Let me show you how it’s done.”

Vi rolled her eyes, but it didn’t come as easy to her as before.

Sevika stepped into position with a casual grace that made the whole room seem to shift. Her legs were spread wide, the muscles in her calves taut, like she was preparing to strike at any second.

“Alright, pay attention, kid,” Sevika said with a small nod. She turned her body sideways, feet planted firmly on the ground. “Start by positioning yourself like this. Legs apart, but not too wide. A solid base. Now, watch closely.”

She threw a single jab at the bag.

It wasn’t fast.

It wasn’t hard.

But it landed with a dull thud, and the bag swung with force, a clear, sharp punch that sent a shudder through it.

“That wasn’t a fucking punch,” Vi muttered huffy, “That was a love tap.”

Sevika smirked, but didn’t respond immediately. She threw another punch, this time with her mechanical arm, accompanied by a low grunt. The bag rocked violently, swinging back further this time.

“The difference, Violet,” Sevika said, her voice steady, “is that I’m not using just my arms. I’m using my whole body. My legs, my hips, my core... Everything. The power comes from the ground up.”

Vi scowled, reluctantly taking in the way Sevika’s movements were smooth, fluid, and controlled. It was like watching a machine in motion - a well-oiled, absolutely terrifying fucking machine. Every gear was clicking together, every screw doing its job, every lever being pulled at exactly the right moment.

“It’s Vi,” Vi said, forcing boredom into her voice. “And so what? I just stand here and pretend like I don’t already know how to throw a punch?”

Sevika’s smirk deepened, and she took another step closer to the bag. “Oh, so you think you know how to throw a punch? Alright, let’s see you do it my way.”

She stepped back, her hands dropping to her sides as she waited for Vi to follow her lead. Vi took a deep breath, cracking her neck as she stepped up to the bag, raising her fists and narrowing her steel-grey eyes.

Sevika raised an eyebrow. “And you’re still standing all wrong. Narrow your stance. Bend your knees more. And you’re gonna push your body into the punch, not just your arms.”

Vi shot her an annoyed glance, but did move to adjust her posture, trying to replicate the way Sevika had stood. It felt insanely awkward - too stiff, too controlled. But when she threw her punch, she couldn’t deny the force behind it. Her whole body, her legs, hips, core, all pushing forward as one.

The bag hit harder this time. Not as hard as Sevika’s punches, but it was a definite improvement. It swayed, creaking as if it had taken the blow with a bit more force than it was used to.

Vi blinked, not expecting it to feel that different.

“Huh.”

She tried again, this time putting more of her weight into it. Her legs bent deeper, her hips pivoted, and the punch came out with a satisfying thud. The bag swung with more impact and a small laugh slipped from Vi’s mouth before she could hold it back.

Sevika watched her, a flicker of something in her eyes. “Not bad,” she said, her voice flat but with just the hint of something almost resembling praise. “But you’re still rushing it. You need to focus on control. Slow down. And don’t forget to breathe.”

Vi snorted, her breath coming fast and sharp from the effort. “I know how to fucking breathe.”

Sevika rolled her eyes and returned to her spot at the wall, casually leaning against it, arms crossed once more. “You’ll burn out if you don’t. Trust me.” She gave a nod toward the slightly swinging bag. “Go again. But this time, use your body like I showed you. Think about it. Don’t just throw your fists. You’re no fucking monkey.”

Vi took another step forward, adjusting her stance again, this time with more focus. She closed her eyes for a moment, took a deep breath, and exhaled slowly. Then, with deliberate precision, she sent a punch into the bag.

This time, it was even more controlled. Her body moved as one fluid motion, the power driving up from her legs, her torso twisting into it. The bag swayed harder, and for a moment, she thought she could hear the sound of her knuckles meeting the leather.

She stood there for a moment, staring at the bag, her pulse racing. A small, triumphant grin tugged at the corner of her mouth. Then, she whipped her head around to meet Sevika’s gaze.

The woman simply nodded, but the slight curve of her lips told Vi everything she needed to know.

“Good. You’re getting the hang of it. Now, let’s see if you can keep that up for more than five minutes.”

4:00 PM - Physical Activity/Group Exercise

The October sun had vanished entirely, swallowed by a dense blanket of dark clouds sagging low in the sky. A faint but steady drizzle soaked the rolling hills and brittle roads that wove through them, blackening the dusty stones with cold droplets.

It was the kind of weather that made one want to curl up and wait for spring to come.

But Dr. Hoskel, in all his infinite wisdom, remained resolute, insisting that all patients partake in the day’s scheduled recreational walk.

Like trudging through mud in the fucking freezing rain was some kind of life-changing experience.

Vi trudged along near the back of the group, shoulders hunched against the cold.

She didn’t own a raincoat - of course she fucking didn’t - and had briefly entertained the hope that this might be her ticket out of the miserable activity. But instead of letting her stay behind, Dr. Hoskel had doubled down on his apparent mission to ruin her stay at the clinic entirely.

He’d handed her one of the hospital’s spares: a bright, blinding orange monstrosity that clung awkwardly to her shoulders, damp and too wide in all the wrong places. Her protests had fallen on deaf ears, leaving her with no choice but to stomp along, glaring at the world through the drizzle in silent protest.

She looked like a miserable traffic cone.

“You look like a miserable traffic cone,” Leona chuckled, her hands buried deep in the pockets of a fashionable navy-blue coat. Her dark curls were tucked under a knitted hat, now speckled grey from the raindrops. She looked like she’d just stepped out of some moody autumn photoshoot for some high-fashion magazine.

Vi scoffed.

On her other side, Diana walked with a red scarf wrapped snugly around her neck and hair, rubbing her hands together to keep warm. She glanced at Vi, an amused spark in her eyes, and nudged her with an elbow: “A cute one, Vi!”

The whole group trudged along one of the narrow lanes leading into the outskirts of Piltover, the sound of damp shoes slapping against the wet earth accompanying their every step. Dr. Hoskel was a few paces ahead, walking with the confidence of someone who had no idea how miserable his patients were. His hands were tucked into the pockets of his coat, shoulders stiff as he led his little herd of wet, shivering sheep.

Around them, fields stretched endlessly, dotted with actual sheep that looked as sullen as Vi felt. A few fences lined the edges, their crooked posts and sagging wire a fitting metaphor for the entire day.

It was the kind of scenery that could suck the life out of anyone who wasn’t already looking for a reason to give up.

“I thought they wanted our mental health to get better,” Leona groaned, kicking a small stone in front of her feet, “I’ve never been more tempted to kill myself than right now.”

“Don’t say that, Leona!” Diana shot her warning glance, but a smirk was tugging at the corners of her lips. “Someone might hear you.”

They were a few feet behind the rest of the patients, yet Diana had lowered her voice.

The group looked like a bad joke.

If anybody had spotted them - though seriously, who the hell would be dumb enough to take a walk in this weather? - they would’ve undoubtedly been able to trace them back to the nuthouse without even breaking a sweat. A parade of rain-soaked misfits with dreadful and miserable expressions, mismatched raincoats and pajama pants peeking out under hastily pulled-on boots.

No way they’d pass for normal.

“Do you think Hoskel stuck us at the back so we could serve as rear lights?” Margot asked, apparently utterly unbothered by the possibility of being sacrificed to a speeding tractor that might only see them too late. She was sporting the same coat Vi was, only hers was the colour of the world’s most obnoxious pink.

Margot hadn’t been bothered by it at all, practically screeching at the prospect of imitating a fucking piece of bubble gum.

Leona laughed and interlocked her arm with Margot’s. “Well, if that was his plan, he’d sure as hell have success with it. Your fucking outfit would blind anybody from a mile away.” They both snickered, though Leona’s laughter turned into a squeal as Margot decided to launch herself into one of the murky puddles lining the path.

A wave of muddy water shot out in all directions, drenching Leona’s pants in a sickly shade of brown.

“Fuck, Margot!” Leona yelped, trying to pull her arm free, but Margot only tightened her grip, pulling her right back in with a mischievous laugh. Leona gave up after a moment, letting out a dramatic sigh. “I’m going to kill you when we get back to the clinic, you know that, right?”

“Ohh, don’t let Hoskel hear that!” Margot grinned, her pink raincoat now splattered with mud, bright eyes already scanning the ground for other puddles. “Murderous fantasies don’t go down well in nuthouses, Leona.”

Leona shrugged, cheeks flushed from the cold, eyes gleaming at the smaller girl clasped around her arm. “Alright, might just settle for punching you in the guts.”

Margot snickered, not even slightly worried about the threat. “Good luck with that, Leona. You’d need some serious upper body strength to get through all this pink,” she said, tapping her coat, proud of her fluorescent nightmare of a jacket.

Vi chuckled and immediately regretted it, when all three girls - Leona, Margot, and Diana - darted their eyes to her like hawks zeroing in on a rabbit. The first two didn’t even hide the blatant nosiness twisting their lips into devilish grins, while Diana simply stared at her with wide, curious eyes.

Vi quickly shut her mouth again, pressed it into a fine line and continued staring up front, pretending to be invisible.

But the damage was done. The focus was on her.

Fuck.

“So, Vi,” Leona broke the silence, her tone light but undeniably smug. “You’re awfully quiet today. What’s the matter?” She gave Vi a little nudge with her elbow, ignoring the way Vi’s jaw tightened.

Vi let out a sharp huff, the kind that usually sent people backing off.

Not Leona.

Never Leona.

She just grinned wider, waiting like she always did. Patient, irritating, persistent.

They’d met two years ago, in a hallway reeking of bleach and bad decisions. Leona had said something snide - hell if Vi could remember what - and in less than a minute, she’d had her pinned to the wall, Vi’s fists clutching the front of her shirt, practically daring her to keep talking.

She had.

Leona was still a know-it-all, still insufferably nosy and opinionated, and still a person Vi couldn’t seem to shake.

Worse, she didn’t want to. And that made avoiding her interrogations really fucking difficult.

Vi just shrugged, keeping her gaze fixed ahead and her lips pressed tightly. “Diana isn’t talking a lot either," she muttered, briefly glancing at the calm girl beside her.

Leona raised a perfectly plucked eyebrow, her lips curling into an exaggerated grin. “Diana’s never talking a lot, fuck-face, don’t deflect.” Her elbow jabbed Vi’s ribs again - a move that would’ve sent most people nose-first into the nearest ditch.

Vi just shot her a glare sharp enough to cut glass, but Leona didn’t budge.

Diana smiled, eyes travelling over Vi’s face. She reached out and wrapped one hand around Vi’s arm, pulling her in a bit closer. “Vi, what’s going on with you? You’ve been acting super strange since yesterday, what’s your deal?” Vi could feel her fingers tracing little circles on her arm.

“Oh, come on, we all know what her deal is,” Margot groaned, her grin nearly splitting her little face in two. She flashed a mischievous look at the others, before slowly turning her head to glance at the very front of the trudging herd of maniacs.

Diana, Leona and Vi followed her gaze.

Caitlyn was walking directly behind Dr. Hoskel, Illaoi trotting beside her like a loyal dog. She was once again wearing that stupid, stupid, stupid beautiful windbreaker. There was no way in hell this thing kept her either warm or dry. Vi could see her shivering all the way from the back.

It was beyond her, why Caitlyn hadn’t been forced to wear one of those hideous hospital coats, maybe in a nice, flashy neon green.

But then again, God clearly had some favorites.

The eyes of the three girls drifted back to her, six orbs glowing with badly hidden glee.

Vi wiped her nose with the back of her hand, sniffed and shrugged once more. “Don’t know what to tell you. There’s nothing going on.”

The road ahead twisted past a small hill, grazing cattle dotting the field without so much as a glance in their direction. Vi wrinkled her nose, squinting at the horizon. “Smells like shit out here, doesn’t it?”

The deflection was pitiful, and everyone knew it.

Leona groaned, throwing her head back dramatically, her neck arching as she rolled her eyes. “You’re fucking killing us, Vi!” Her hat nearly slipped off in the process, but she caught it just in time, straightening herself with a little too much flair.

“It cannot be fucking healthy to leave your friends out dry like that,” added Margot with a tiny sniff. She pushed past Leona to get next to Vi, drilling her sharp nails into her arm once more, teeth gritted and eyes wide open: “I never, never, never wanted to know anything in my fucking life more than this! Please tell us, please, please, please, please, plea-”

“It’s not that deep,” Vi cut in, wincing at the stinging pain flaring up from her arm, but not making any attempt to pry Margot’s claws from her. It would have been to no avail anyways.

Margot gasped and shot Leona a horrified glance: “Not that deep? Not that deep?” She exaggerated the gasp like she was hearing the most outrageous confession of the century. “Vi, you’re making me lose my fucking mind over here and you have the guts to say “it’s not that deep”?! Diana, tell her she’s driving me mad, tell her she’s a fucking pain!”

Diana chuckled quietly, her fingers still painting patterns on Vi’s orange sleeve.

“You’re a fucking pain, Vi,” she confirmed, tilting her head to catch Vi’s eyes. “It’s okay if you don’t want to talk about it, but don’t get mad when we fill in the blanks.”

Leona nodded, eyes darting between Vi and Caitlyn, lips still curled upwards into a mischievous smirk: “She’s right. Being secretive doesn’t do you any favours.” She brushed an escaped curl from her pretty face and behind her ear, swapping gleeful glances with Margot.

“Oh, I’ve got it,” she continued, leaning in as though sharing the juiciest piece of gossip. “I bet you two met in some shabby bar, right? The one right down Smoker’s Lawn - you know, the one you once dragged us to! Shitty music, shittier drinks and Caitlyn - oh, Caitlyn - she’s got that sweet little smile of hers, and you, Vi, you’re standing there all tough, like you’re just dying to punch someone, but then - ”

“I know what you’re doing,” Vi groaned with a roll of her eyes, but couldn’t keep a little smile from appearing on her face.

“Shut up and let me talk!”, Leona barked, undeterred. “You’re standing there looking all mean and broody, probably just did punch someone, your face all sweaty and bloody and fucking disgusting. And sweet little Caitlyn? She’s just standing there, giving you that look, like she knows you’re not the big, bad tough girl you pretend to be. And you- ”

“‘Oh, Vi, this isn’t you! I can fix you!’” Margot chimed in, her high-pitched, overly posh voice a horrible imitation of Caitlyn’s. She clasped her hands to her chest, mimicking some dramatic swoon. “And she’s got her delicate little hands on your knee, then around your waist, and she pulls you in - ”

“And she smells so fucking good,” Leona cut in, picking up the thread like it was gospel, her voice just as loud and excited as Margot’s, “and you’re so damn smitten that you decide, screw it, you’re taking her then and there - ”

“Okay,” Vi cut in, her voice sharper than she intended, heat rising to her cheeks. “That’s enough.”

Leona and Margot froze mid-giggle, their breaths caught in their throats. Their wide eyes glimmered with anticipation, like two kids waiting for fireworks to go off.

Vi let out a long, exasperated sigh, pinching the bridge of her nose as she closed her eyes for just a moment. Maybe if she stayed like that long enough, she could pretend they weren’t there, or that she wasn’t ready to combust from the heat crawling up her neck.

When she finally dropped her hand, their expectant faces were still there, unrelenting.

Vi sighed.

“There was… we had, like, a thing. For a year or so.” Her voice faltered for just a moment, and she cursed herself for it. “And it was good – like, really good - until it wasn’t.”

Vi sniffed, shrugged, and kept her eyes fixed forward, refusing to meet theirs.

“It was stupid, okay? We were kids. It wasn’t… it wasn’t what we thought it was. She-… I-…” She stopped, grinding her teeth as her jaw worked, trying to force out words that didn’t want to come. “We tried. I don’t know. But then it turned into this whole… thing. And I couldn’t deal with it. Neither could she, I guess.”

She crossed her arms tightly across her chest. Another shrug, another sniff.

“And that’s it. That’s all there is to it.”

Silence.

No snickering, no bickering, no teasing laughter.

Just the rhythmic plod of their boots against the wet ground, the sound swallowed by the heavy, damp air.

“Well, that was a lot less fun than I’d imagined,” Leona said dryly, breaking the quiet.

“And less steamy,” Margot chimed in, her voice light but cautious, like she wasn’t quite sure if it was safe to tease yet.

Vi shot them both a glare that could’ve turned steel to rust. “You two done?”

Leona raised her hands in mock surrender, though the smirk never left her face. “Fine, fine. We’ll stop. For now.” Margot leaned in toward Leona, lowering her voice to a whisper that still carried across the quiet road. “Bet it’s still steamy in her head, though.”

Vi snorted, rolling her eyes so hard she almost gave herself a headache. “Jesus, Margot, if I had a silver for every time you’ve made me regret not fucking punching you in the throat...” She shot a side-eye at both of them. “I’d be richer than goddamn Kiramman.”

Diana, who’d been quietly observing the banter from the side, finally let out a soft laugh. It wasn’t loud, but it had that distinct warmth to it. Her eyes flicked to Vi with a touch of caution, as if testing the waters.

Vi noticed the glance and raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at her lips. “What, you think I can’t take a little jab?”

She looked back at Caitlyn once more, eyes traveling over her hunched figure drowning in the blue jacket, her long legs stretched out underneath her, her black leather boots wet with rain and mud – Vi remembered the day she’d bought them for her. Caitlyn had been so happy, she had almost cried.

“It’s over, anyways. There’s nothing left to say,” she muttered, before glancing over at Leona and Margot and letting the smirk return to her face. “And you two are amateurs anyway.”

Leona’s grin widened, undeterred by the snark. “Yeah, but you love us, Vi.”

Vi crossed her arms over her chest, the tension in her shoulders easing just a little. “You two are the worst,” she muttered. “But yeah, I guess I do. Only because I don’t have anyone else to make me regret my life choices every ten minutes.”

Margot snickered, leaning in just enough to whisper in Leona’s ear, her voice laced with teasing mischief. “Except for Caitlyn Kiramman.”

5:00 PM – Creative/Recreational Therapy

Important Notice:

Due to unforeseen circumstances and illness, the 5:00 PM Creative/Recreational Therapy session has been cancelled for today. We understand this may be disappointing and encourage you to use this time for personal reflection, relaxation, or engaging in other self-care activities.

If you have any questions or concerns, please feel free to reach out to the staff for support.

Thank you for your understanding and cooperation.

Solace Psychiatric Centre Medical Team

Vi went for a smoke.

6:00 PM – Dinner

Dinner consisted of an awfully bland goulash and stale flatbread that tasted like cardboard, which left their mouths dried up and their throats parched.

Yet the disappointing meal didn’t manage to dull their surprisingly high spirits.

Maybe Dr. Hoskel had been right about the wonders of muddy walks through the rain in soaked clothes after all.

The starving crew shot them annoyed glances as Margot draped her wiry body over the tabletop, effectively almost pushing one of the plates over the edge, practically screaming with laughter. Leona continued effortlessly imitating her latest hook-up with exaggerated flair, her hands flailing dramatically.

“No, seriously,” she continued, voice dripping with feigned appal. “I am not kidding! Those nails were like fucking screws, you know, it felt like she was trying to claw her way into me.”

Diana winced slightly at the thought, but a smile remained plastered on her pale face, eyes fixed on Leona.  

Leona brushed a loose curl from her face, eyes gleaming at the undivided attention. “It hurt so fucking bad, but, you know she had those seriously beautiful eyes, fuck, that chick was so fucking hot, so of course I didn’t say anything, and she continues gutting me.”

Vi snickered and Leona shot her an amused glance: “You wouldn’t have said anything either, Vi, so shut the fuck up!”

She took a deep breath, as if bracing herself for whatever truth she was about to unleash on them: “So I try my best to have an orgasm while being impaled and all of a sudden, she’s like ‘Oh’ and I’m like ‘What?’ and she just looks up at me – seriously, such beautiful eyes -, pulls out and shows me her hand.”

“Ohh, I think I already know what’s coming.” Vi smirked at Margot, who was still trying to catch her breath, eyes glossy from tears of laughter, cheeks flushed. “And it definitely wasn’t Leona.”

Leona couldn’t suppress her laugh any longer, her expression an odd mixture of shame and glee. She raised her own hand and wiggled her long, colourful acrylic nails: “Well, what can I say. She lost one of her fucking nails inside of me and because I couldn’t reach it myself, she had to, you know…”

She made the most inappropriate and disgusting gesture Vi had ever seen. It had the table in stitches.

Vi banged the table with her palm, completely ignoring the sharp glances and annoyed whispers from all sides of the room, cheeks hurting from laughing so hard. Her rough voice mingled with Margot’s shrieking, hysterical giggling and even Diana couldn’t help but laugh loudly, her cheeks flushed with the infectious energy in the air.

It took them a while to calm down, since every time they almost managed to catch their breath, one of them would start giggling again, and the laughter would quickly spread like wildfire through the group.

When Margot’s ass was finally back in her chair, she leaned forwards, cheeks still wet and flushed, her eyes bright and wide. “I got one, too,” she proclaimed with a voice trembling with excitement, not giving the slightest fuck about adjusting her volume.

“You remember the guy I hooked up with last year, Ezrael? Diana, you met him once, right, the tall, blond one?” She didn’t wait for Diana’s confirmation, words tumbling out of her mouth with rapid speed, as if she couldn’t wait for the story to already be told.

“Super hot. I mean, probably not in your fucking eyes, but objectively speaking a goddamn hot piece of ass. So, you know, we were both super fucking horny, like, all the time, so he visited me here. And it was so fucking difficult to shake Hoskel, I swear, that fucker has it out for me, but somehow I managed to sneak Ez into the leaky bathroom.”

Her nails were tapping the tabletop in a quick rhythm, her legs bouncing up and down, her whole body a bundle of contained energy ready to bust.

“And I was so fucking wet, fuck, and he pulled down his pants and, ugh,” she groaned and rolled her eyes, “that idiot had one fucking job, one, he was supposed to bring the condoms, because where the fuck would I get condoms from in here?! And he forgot them and there’s no way in hell I’d ever let someone that fucking stupid put a baby in me.”

Diana nodded affirmatively, lips twisted in a grin: “Very wise, Margot.”

Margot shot her a grin: “I know, right? So, I told him he can fucking go on and get, you know, I was super fucking mad because I was so goddamn horny, and Ez was looking at me like a fucking ape, pants down and all, and then he said, that stupid, stupid fucker said ‘Well, how about we just use toilet paper?’”

“What?”  Leona barked out a laugh and shook her head, baffled at this much stupidity. “How-… What-… I mean, how would that even work? What was his plan?”

Margot was also giggling, wiping the back of her hand over her eyes. “Mummify his dick, I guess,” she suggested with a shrug, earning a wave of laughter that trickled through the group, warm and infectious. She sighed. “Safe to say that was the last time I hooked up with him, which is a goddamn shame, those cheekbones were to die for.”

Diana tilted her head, elbows on the table, chin resting on her hands. Her bleached hair was tumbling down her shoulders in soft, beautiful waves. She was eyeing Margot with a wry smile: “Didn’t you meet up with him like three days before you came here?” she asked innocently.

Margot was completely unbothered being caught red-handed, grinned a mischievous grin and shrugged once more. “As I said: Cheekbones to die for!”

“God, I’m so fucking happy I don’t have such problems,” Vi groaned and leaned back in her chair. She crossed her arms in front of her chest, lips twisted in a confident  and cocky smile.

Leona raised an eyebrow, leaning forward slightly as she took the bait. “Oh, come on, Vi, don’t act all tough! You’ve fucked, like, thousands of girls - as if you’ve never had at least one embarrassing encounter.”

Vi’s grin almost split her face in two, the confidence practically radiating off her. “Oh, please. I haven’t fucked thousands of girls. But the ones I did, I fucked fairly well.”

She paused, letting the words hang in the air for a moment, her gaze flicking around the table before that familiar mischievous glint sparked in her eyes. “Except for-… Well, now that I think about it… nah, never mind.”

Margot’s head whipped toward her so quickly, Vi swore she saw her neck crack.

She leaned in, her elbows on the table, her hands splayed out like she was about to launch herself across the surface. Her voice dripped with curiosity, practically vibrating with excitement. “Oh no, no backing out now, Vi, not again! What happened?”

Vi leaned back in her chair, arms crossed with an air of casual deflection, but her lips betrayed her with a faint smile. She tilted her head left and right, pretending to consider her words. “It’s nothing, there was nothing.” she said, trying to sound nonchalant.

Margot looked like she was about to jump out of her skin, her eyes practically glowing with unrestrained energy. Her hands gripped the edge of the table, her fingers twitching like she couldn’t decide whether to claw at the air or burst into a full-on sprint. “Vi, I swear to fucking god, if you do this to me again-“

Vi raised her hands in mock surrender, rolling her eyes in exaggerated defeat. “Alright, fine,” she said, her smirk widening as she leaned forward, lowering her voice just a tiny bit. The others instinctively leaned in closer, as if they were being let in on some forbidden secret.

“There was this one girl – and no, it wasn’t fucking Kiramman.” She shot Leona a warning glance, who quickly shut her open mouth again and smiled gleefully. “I met her at some club - can’t even remember her name, if I’m totally honest – and we hit it off right away. She was very fucking hot and very fucking horny, so we went over to her place and started making out, like, pretty heated from the very beginning.”

Vi cleared her throat deliberately and made a show out of taking a long, leisurely sip of water. She took her sweet time, no rush whatsoever, letting the silence hang in the air just a little longer. Margot’s trembling made the whole table vibrate. Vi slowed down even more.

By the time she set down the bottle, Margot’s face was flushed.

“So,” Vi continued with a smile, “we make out and it’s very hot and we’re both super fucking horny. And I’m about to go for it, when she, like, grabs my wrist to stop me. I’m super fucking confused, because, you know, she was clearly ready, but then she hits me with the ‘Can we try something?’”

“And of course, I’m not one to skip out on a new experiment. So I’m like, ‘Sure.’ And she gets up, leaves the room for a second, and I’m sittin’ there, getting pretty damn excited. I mean, fucking hot chick, apparently kinda freaky - this is gonna be great. And then she comes back and-“

Vi couldn’t help but laugh, earning her a quick, frustrated jab from Leona’s elbow. “She comes back and there’s, like, this massive cucumber in her hands and-“

She was cut off by the eruption of laughter from the group. Margot nearly fell out of her seat, clutching her stomach, while Leona choked on her own giggles. Vi couldn’t help herself either and joined in the laughter, shaking her head in disbelief.

“Yeah, that was kinda crazy,” Vi finally managed to say, wiping at her eyes. She ran her fingers through her hair, still grinning like she’d just won the lottery. “Can’t say it wasn’t a fucking amazing night, though.”

Leona stared at her, mouth open in pure disbelief, her brows furrowed as though she couldn’t even process what she’d just heard. “What?” she asked, her voice rising in shock. “You went with it?!”

Vi just smirked.

Leona’s expression twisted in a mixture of disgust and reluctant admiration as her eyes darted from Vi to the other girls and back again, Margot hollering at the mere thought of Vi’s sheer audacity. “That’s messed up,” Leona said, but she couldn’t conceal the sparkle in her eyes.

“You wanna hear something messed up,” Margot gasped between the rippled of laughter shaking her body, delving into a breathless, giggly story about some guy who had apparently been very keen on fucking her squeezed tightly between tourist in a crowded bathysphere.

Their laughter filled the small room, drowning out the clinking of cutlery and the quiet murmurs from the other tables. It was effortless, something warm and free. Vi’s chest felt light, her smile wide and unguarded, the sound of her laughter bubbling up without restraint. For a moment, it was like everything else – the tension of the past day, the pattering rain outside, the girl on the other side of the room - faded away.

All that mattered was the joy she felt, the warmth of being in the moment with people who made her feel like she could breathe.

Vi didn’t look over at Caitlyn the whole time.

It happened two days before the end of camp.

The heatwave had hit its peak, suffocating everything beneath its weight.

The grass, lush and bright green when they arrived, had turned brittle and brown, scratching the backs of their bare legs whenever they sat. The air was thick and dry, carrying the faint, acrid smell of scorched earth. Mosquitos buzzed relentlessly, as though on a mission to drain every last drop of blood from the campers. More than one child sported peeling noses and sunburnt cheeks, their skin flaking in the unrelenting sun.

The Pilties had retreated indoors for the most part, preferring to pretend the rattling, squeaky fans in the cabins offered any real relief. They moaned and groaned in their whiny voices about the unbearable conditions of the camp, probably already drafting a detailed list of complaints to bring home.

The Zaunites, meanwhile, sprawled in the shadows of the large trees that lined the camp, their silhouettes the only refuge from the blistering sun. Heads rested in laps as they nodded off or chatted lazily, unfazed by the heat for the most part. They had endured worse. Also, it gave them a break from the Topsiders.

Vi wouldn’t have minded for things to stay this way until the end of camp.

But of course, they couldn’t.

Some genius councillor with a savior complex had the brilliant idea to crown the utterly disastrous reunification of Pilties and Zaunites with a "friendly" soccer match under the blistering sun. It was the kind of misguided optimism that only someone who’d never sweated through a bad idea could dream up. Moaning pleas for shade, refreshments, or simply to call the whole thing off fell on deaf ears.

Blind idealism, wrapped in a thick layer of utter stupidity, had drowned out any semblance of reason.

And so, they had gathered - reluctantly, resentfully - on the big meadow that stretched along one side of the camp. The sun blazed mercilessly, beating down on the cracked ground and wilting what little grass dared grow there.

On one side, the Pilties clumped together like a herd of overdressed sheep, their crisp white shirts and previously spotless shoes now bearing the first tragic casualties of sweat and dust. They wrinkled their noses, sneaking glances at the Zaunites as if a bad smell might waft over at any moment.

On the other side, the Zaunites stood scattered in a looser, more relaxed cluster, some of them lounging lazily on the ground without a care for the dry earth smudging their already-patched clothes. Their gazes drifted towards the Pilties, but unlike the wary glances they received, their stares brimmed with amusement, like this whole absurd charade was the punchline of a very bad joke.

Vi had to wonder which part of this glorious plan was supposed to bring everyone together.

Was it the heatstroke? Or the inevitable screaming match that would break out the second someone accused the other side of cheating?

Because nothing said unity like pitting Pilties, with their sparkling shoes and whiny voices, against Zaunites, who’d treat the game like a back-alley brawl.

Of course, the counsillors were all smiles, making a big show of setting up the field – brown and stubbly blades of grass crushing beneath their sandals - and preparing an armada of water bottles and orange slices.

"Friendly competition" was the phrase they kept using.

Vi nearly snorted.

She’d seen friendlier looks during bar fights in Zaun.

The sun beat down on the makeshift soccer field, baking the brittle grass and heating the air until it shimmered. The counsillors had scurried off toward the storage shed, their clipboards, jangling keys, and too-bright smiles in tow, on a mission to fetch balls and slips.

This left Vi and some scrawny Piltover boy stranded near the centre line to pick teams, both standing in awkward silence.

They didn’t shake hands.

A low buzz of conversation hummed around them as the campers stood clustered in their respective groups, eyeing each other like predators circling prey.

The boy across from Vi looked so much like a walking Piltover brochure it was almost funny. A bit taller than her, he stood stiffly in his perfectly pressed shirt, socks yanked up so high they might as well have been choking his knees. His neatly combed blond hair glistened in the sunlight like it had been freshly oiled, and he was sporting a painfully serious expression.

He crossed his arms, scanning the Zaunites with thinly veiled disdain.

His eyes set on Claggor, who sat cross-legged on the ground, muttering curses under his breath as he wrestled with the sole of his shoe, trying to patch it up with a strip of duct tape that refused to stick. The stubborn tape flapped limply in his big fingers, matching the frustrated slump of his shoulders.

They travelled over to Mylo who lounged on the brittle, yellowed grass, his posture almost theatrical as he leaned back on his elbows. Every so often, he’d toss a wink at some random Piltie girl happening to catch his glance, his smirk widening with each glare or roll of the eyes they shot back.

His nose wrinkled slightly, as though he could smell the sweat and dirt from where he stood.

Finally, his eyes met Vi’s. Her feet were planted apart, her arms crossed, shoulders squared, and her sharp, deadpan gaze meeting his. Vi shifted her weight to one foot, grass rustling beneath her shoe. She narrowed her eyes and arched a single eyebrow.

“Got a staring problem?” she asked flatly.

The boy scoffed and looked away.

He picked first – of course he did -, his nasally voice clipped and deliberate as he called out the name of some Piltie girl with perfectly braided hair and a haughty expression. She practically pranced to his side, not sparing the Zaunites a single glance and lifting her pointy chin as though she'd already scored the winning goal.

Vi couldn’t help the snort that escaped her.

“Mylo,” she said lazily, jerking her thumb at the lanky boy who was lounging in the grass, pretending not to care. He grinned, rolling to his feet like he had all the time in the world and sauntered over like he was doing her a favour.

“Watch out, Topsiders,” he said with a broad smirk, winking at the Piltie’s. “Wouldn’t want your precious knees to scrape.”

A ripple of annoyance passed through the Pilties, one of them - the braided girl - letting out a sharp, disdainful scoff. The boy ignored Mylo entirely, fixing his attention on his next pick.

The process was as predictable as it was pointless.

The Piltie called out one posh, absurd-sounding name after another, his choices as laser-focused on Piltover kids as if the rest of the world didn’t even exist. He didn’t bother pretending otherwise, and honestly, neither did Vi. Every time it was her turn, she reached into the Zaunite cluster, picking another teammate without so much as a glance at the Pilties' side.

So much for unification.

The back-and-forth dragged on.

Vi chose Claggor, whose shoes were barely held together by the frizzy duct tape - probably the least coordinated footwear to ever grace the field.

The boy picked another Piltie, some broad guy with brown curls and an ego bigger than the entire field. He joined the line, all condescending smiles and provoking glares.

Vi pointed at a Zaunite girl, her wild red curls bouncing as she stepped forward. Freckles splashed across her cheeks, and a gap-toothed grin spread across her face as she strolled toward the group.

The groups split up like oil and water - if the water was disgusted and the oil practically oozing with smugness. The Pilties and Zaunites stood in their little cliques, throwing glares at each other that could’ve melted steel. It felt like the only thing unifying them was their collective desire to end this nonsense as soon as possible.

The side-lines were thinning.

Vi wasn’t paying close attention to the roster at first.

She was too busy rescuing her fellow Zaunites, plucking them from the sidelines and sparing them from the slow suffocation of being marinated in that obnoxious, expensive cloud of Pilties.

But after a while, she noticed.

At first, she tried to ignore it, letting her gaze drift aimlessly, forcing herself to focus on her own people - anything to avoid acknowledging the weird knot that was forming in her stomach. But as the seconds dragged on, it became impossible to brush it aside.

Caitlyn wasn’t getting picked.

At first, Vi thought maybe the Piltie was saving her for later - after all, Caitlyn wasn’t the type to make waves, but she looked fit enough. Her long, slender legs and straight-backed posture made her seem like she’d know how to follow rules and pull her weight.

Certainly more than some of the other Pilties, who looked like they’d drop dead if the ball so much as brushed against their delicate little feet.

But the boy skipped her again.

And again.

And again.

Vi frowned, glancing between him and Caitlyn.

The boy’s gaze skimmed over Caitlyn again and again, almost like she didn’t exist, although his lips were tightening ever so slightly every time she came into view. Caitlyn, for her part, kept her face calm and composed, but her jaw was tight, and she wasn’t looking at anyone. Her gaze was fixed somewhere far off, her bright blue eyes stark against the midday sun.

It was almost like some cruel game, with everyone around her too wrapped up in their own drama to notice the glaring gap.

Vi's gaze kept sneaking back to Caitlyn, standing there, perfectly poised, but a little too still, a little too forgotten in the shuffle.

The boy skipped her again, picking some lanky Piltie with nervous eyes and glasses that kept sliding from the bridge of his nose.

“What the hell is this about?” Vi muttered under her breath, her finger stabbing toward a Zaunite boy with spiky hair as she continued to shoot glances from the boy picking teams to Caitlyn.

The boy called another name, his voice steady and deliberate as he chose a Piltover boy with spiky blond hair. The boy shuffled awkwardly to the Piltie’s side. His arm was in a fucking cast.

Vi shook her head with disbelief and furrowed her brows.

She picked a Zaunite girl with chipped green nail polish and a mischievous grin, who immediately jogged over and high-fived Mylo.

The group on the sidelines had thinned out considerably, but Caitlyn was still standing there, her shoulders square but rigid. Her hands were clasped neatly in front of her, and Vi could see her thumb moving in slow, soothing circles on the back of her hand

The boy skipped Caitlyn again.

Vi pointed to a small girl with wild, red curls framing her freckled face and two missing front teeth.

The boy skipped Caitlyn again.

And then there were only two left.

Vi hesitated, just for the slightest second - just enough to make her own stomach knot - but then she gave the tiny Zaunite boy standing next to Caitlyn a wave.

"Get over here, squirt."

His face lit up like he’d just won the lottery, and he scurried over with a grin wide enough to split his face. Claggor slapped him on the back, and Mylo gave him a thumbs-up.

Caitlyn remained.

Silence.

Vi narrowed her eyes even more and stared at the boy across from her,

His jaw was set, his hands buried deep inside his pockets. He didn’t look at Caitlyn, instead staring at his shoes like they were the most fascinating thing he’d ever encountered.

The Pilties gathered behind his back followed suit, staring down at the ground or casting sidelong glances at Caitlyn as if she were some kind of inconvenience they didn’t want to acknowledge. Whispers spread through the Zaunites like ripples in water. Confused glances were exchanged, eyes darting from Caitlyn to the Pilties, trying to figure out if they’d all missed some unspoken rule.

Caitlyn’s posture stiffened with every passing moment, like she was preparing for a rejection she couldn’t fight.

Vi felt a familiar flash of anger ripple through her.

“It’s your turn,” she said, voice cutting through the whispers and silencing them effectively.

The Piltie’s head shot up, eyes narrowing at her with stunned disbelief. He tilted his head just the tiniest bit, like he couldn’t quite believe she’d just dared to speak to him. “What?” he shot back, his tone dripping with that special mix of condescension and confusion, like she was the one being out of line here.

Vi didn’t blink.

She met his stare with a deadpan expression, her face a perfect mask hiding the growing heat in her chest. Her voice was quiet, almost eerily calm as she spoke.

“You heard me.”

She took a slow step toward him, and the boy, despite himself, took an instinctive step back, like he was suddenly unsure of the situation. “It’s your fucking turn. So go ahead and fucking pick.”

His eyes widened for just a moment, the mask of superiority slipping ever so slightly before he regained control, his posture stiffening as though he were trying to force himself back into the comfort of his bubble.

He shot a brief glance at Caitlyn, still staring off into the distance.

Vi followed his gaze.

Caitlyn’s lower lip was trembling ever so slightly, a barely perceptible crack in her otherwise composed facade.

Vi felt her heartbeat quicken, the thrumming rhythm echoing in her ears and making the tips of her fingers vibrate. She slowly looked back at the boy, whose lips had turned pale. Still, he kept his chin up, his shoulders squared with a slight shrug, trying to sell the act of indifference.

“It’s okay,” he said with a forced nonchalance, his words slipping out like a bad taste. “You can have her.”

Vi’s hand curled into a fist at her side, the heat rising faster now, her pulse quickening as the anger surged beneath her skin. She wasn’t sure who she was angrier with – the Pilties for being self-righteous fucking pricks, or herself for letting this go on as long as it had.

“What’s your fucking problem?”

Her words were low, controlled, but still sharp - each syllable a blade, cutting through the tension in the air.

The Piltie’s eyes flickered for a moment, just a flash of hesitation that was quickly masked by an arrogant tilt of his chin. He didn’t answer her right away, instead looking away for a second, as if he could ignore the question away.  But Vi didn’t back down. She stayed locked on him, her fists clenched, her body vibrating with tension.

“Nothing,” He muttered reluctantly after a while, but his words came out like a half-hearted excuse. “I’m just-” he stopped short, clearly trying to force his way back into control, but the edge of unease in his voice was unmistakable.

Vi stepped forward one more step, effectively closing the gap between them, her voice colder now, sharper. “No, seriously. What. Is. Your. Fucking. Problem?” She could feel the anger pouring out of her, unmistakable, yet under her control. For now.

“Why aren’t you picking her?”

Her breath was coming faster now, and as much as she wanted to keep it together, she couldn’t stop the way her voice cracked, just barely.

The boy huffed, taking another step back to reestablish some distance between them, his eyes wide. “What is your fucking problem? If you like her so much, just take her on your team!”

His voice was starting to get a bit shrill and it earned him a silent laughter from the Zaunites.

Vi took another slow, deliberate step forward, her shoes kicking up dust, following the boy like a predator its prey. The air around her seemed to crackle with intensity. Her jaw was clenched tight, her hands trembling with the need to do something – anything - but she forced herself to stay still.

Just for a moment longer.

“You listen to me,” she spat, her voice dangerously calm but thick with fury. “You’ve been fucking treating her like she’s invisible for the past goddamn weeks.” Her eyes were locked on the boy, her stare unwavering, burning through him with the intensity of a firestorm. “Now you can either tell me what your fucking problem is, or you start manning up and just fucking pick her.”

She didn’t know why this bothered her so much, but it did.

It shouldn’t.

But it did.

The boys’ arrogance faltered, his posture slipping just a fraction, but he still managed to hold his ground. He shifted on his feet, the heel of his boot scraping the ground nervously as he glanced around, looking for some escape from the pressure.

The other Pilties didn’t look at him - eyes down, pretending they weren’t there.

Vi did look at him – a cold, glaring stare making him shrink a little.

The heat in her chest wasn’t just anger anymore. It was something raw, something that made her blood run hot and her fists clench even tighter, painting little red half-moons onto the palms of her hands.

Coward.

That was all he was, a fucking coward.

He huffed, trying to regain some composure, but it was shaky. “You don’t get to talk to me this way. Not you.” His voice was tinged with frustration, but there was a slight tremble in it - fear just barely hidden behind his bravado.

He tried to take a step back once more, but Vi moved forward again, cutting him off. She was right in front of him now, so close she could see the way his pupils darted nervously to the side, looking for any kind of escape.

He couldn’t meet her gaze anymore. His chest rose and fell sharply with shallow breaths, his confidence completely gone under the pressure.

Vi leaned forwards, just the slightest bit, grey eyes fixed on his blue ones. Her voice was steady, cold, like ice. “I’m going to say this one last time. It’s your fucking turn. So fucking pick.”

The boy flinched, his lip curling into a faint sneer as he tried to hold on to whatever little power he thought he had. But the Pilties around him had stopped smirking. They weren’t laughing anymore, weren’t exchanging whispers behind their hands. They were backing off, retreating into themselves.

The Zaunites behind Vi shifted. Mylo cracked his knuckles, the sound sharp and deliberate. Claggor folded his arms over his chest with a small, smug grin. They were silent, but the weight of their presence was undeniable.

The boy’s gaze flickered over to Caitlyn again. His shoulders dropped, the fight slowly draining out of him as the reality of the situation set in. Vi wasn’t letting him off the hook, and neither were the Zaunites standing at her back.

Finally, he broke.

He muttered something under his breath, his voice barely audible. “It’s not like that…”

Vi leaned in closer, pushing him. “Then what the hell is it, huh? You’ve been treating her like she’s some fucking afterthought.” She could feel her breath catching in her throat. "Pick her. Now."

Silence.

The tension hung in the air, suffocating.

No one spoke.

The meadow was eerily quiet, all eyes locked on Vi and the boy, their standoff the only thing that mattered now. It was a battle of wills, a test of who would break first. The boy couldn't hold her gaze for long - his eyes darted around, trying to avoid the weight of her cold, angry stare - but he stubbornly forced himself to meet it again, his jaw clenched tight. Vi's eyes were unforgiving, unblinking, a storm of fury held in check only by her sheer will.

Silence.

Vi could taste the metallic edge of her fury on the tip of her tongue. Every muscle in her body screamed to act, to lash out, to put the Piltie in his place. Her jaw tightened as she gritted her teeth, nostrils slightly flaring.

The silence stretched.

Vi could feel the heat crawling up her neck, the familiar burn that rushed through her chest. Her pulse hammered in her ears, the steady thump matching the tightening in her ribs. With every passing second, her vision narrowed - everything around her became distant, blurry – except for the boy in front of her.

The smug bastard’s expression, the way he hadn’t even bothered to look at Caitlyn, made her hands twitch. She could feel the need to hit him building, her fingers aching to form a fist, to slam it into that stupid face, to make him see her.

Make that fucking coward see Caitlyn.

But then, as if the world itself had cracked open, Caitlyn's voice sliced through the tension, soft and quiet.

“It’s okay,” she said softly, her words barely more than a whisper, but enough to stop Vi in her tracks.

Vi’s eyes snapped to Caitlyn.

Caitlyn stood a little straighter, her beautiful eyes still not meeting anyone’s, her voice thin and the tiniest bit shaky. “I don’t have to play.” There were no tears in her eyes and her lower lip had stopped trembling, yet there was a hurt in her voice - a hurt so soft, so tender, that it lodged itself in Vi’s chest like a splinter.

She wanted to scream.

Wanted to tell Caitlyn that it wasn’t okay, that it wouldn’t be okay.

But instead, she simply stared at Caitlyn

Vi stared at the girl she hadn’t invited to join their little group at the bonfire, the girl she hadn’t tossed a patchy blanket over her shoulders and made laugh with crude jokes.

Vi stared at the girl she hadn’t shared her canoe with, the one who hadn’t squealed with laughter as Vi swayed the boat wildly, trying to throw her off balance.

Vi stared at the girl she hadn’t snuck out with at night, the girl she hadn’t shown the hill overlooking the camp, shared a cigarette with, pulled into a tight hug as the stars stretched above them.

Vi stared at the girl who had been completely alone for the past weeks, and god knows for how long before that, until Caitlyn turned around and walked away, midnight ink cascading over her back.

7:00 PM - Evening Group Therapy

One could not always be stuck with bad luck, and for once, fate seemed to take pity on Vi.

While morning group therapy sessions were mandatory, the psychiatric facility had recently made evening group attendance voluntary, a small mercy that felt like a rare gift.

Vi whistled a little tune as she dug through the chaotic mess of her bag, her fingers brushing against random items - an old wrapper, a half-empty pack of gum, a pair of mismatched socks with holes - before tossing them aside without a second thought. Wrinkled pants and crumpled shirts joined the growing pile littering the floor of her room until her fingers finally found the familiar, soft fabric of her favourite hoodie.

With a satisfied grunt, she wrestled it free from where it had been trapped beneath her scuffed and worn boots. Standing up, she gave the hoodie a quick shake to rid it of imaginary dust before pulling it over her head.

The rain outside had dwindled to a faint trickle, soft enough that it barely tapped against the windowpane, but Vi knew the cold out there would be unforgiving. She wasn’t about to lose any limbs to it, so she put on another pair of mismatched socks – one striped, the other solid – before finally reaching for Diana’s scarf and wrapping it around her neck.

She’d borrowed it earlier with no real intention of giving it back - it was warm, it smelled nice, and, frankly, it was hers now.

Diana, Margot and Leona had all decided to join evening group for whatever fucking reason.

Vi couldn’t possibly imagine why anyone would voluntarily want to stew in both their own and foreign misery, but hey, who was she to judge?

She sure wasn’t going to.

With a grunt, she yanked her hood over her hair, grabbed her jacket, and shrugged it on before heading out. The corridor was eerily quiet, but her whistled tune filled the space, bouncing off the closed doors and beige walls as she strolled down, one step ahead of the cold that was waiting outside.

For a day with an unpromising start as such, Dinner had lifted her spirits immensely.

Sure, Kiramman was still in the facility, haunting the rooms and hallways with her dim eyes and pale face like some bad joke of a ghost, always lurking on the edge of Vi’s awareness.

Sure, a fucking tank with resting brooding face had taken over her therapy sessions, countering every jab Vi threw her way with goddamn bravour and the smuggest smile Vi had ever seen.

Sure, her friends seemed to be on a self-imposed mission to extract every single, juicy detail about her relationship with Caitlyn from her, apparently lacking absolutely any fucking form of social awareness.

But she would be fine.

This would be fine.

Vi gave a quick wave to Gerry, lounging in his usual spot by the entrance, a plate of donuts precariously balanced on his round stomach. He only lifted one eyebrow in response, his minimal movements doing all the talking, greeting her without even having to lift a sticky, sugar-coated finger.

Vi skipped down the stairs, taking two at a time, her tune picking up in pace, now lighter and more playful, as if the rhythm was carrying her down with it.

It would be fine.

She could always deter her friends, feeding them pointless stories of her past romantic endeavours, watching them eat it up like they were starved for drama.

Sevika wasn’t a true match for her - just another dog that would eventually lose its teeth to Vi’s iron stubbornness.

And Caitlyn?

Vi skipped the last step, whistle pausing for the briefest moment, before picking up again as she strolled towards the glass-panelled door leading into the gardens.

She could ignore Caitlyn. She had to.

Vi wasn’t about to let that rich, self-entitled, perfect little princess ruin her one shred of peace. Not when she had so many more important things to focus on - like smoking in peace with her friends, getting three decent meals a day, sleeping in an actual fucking bed and having a few moments of calm before being released.

After that, well, she’d probably fuck up again, end up in trouble, and eventually wind up in prison.

But that was a future problem.

So, yeah. Vi would be fine. It would all be fine.

She pushed the door open, and the cool, misty air rushed at her, tiny droplets of water immediately coating her skin, making her narrow her eyes against the chill. She could hear the soft hiss of the rain hitting the ground.

Vi closed the door behind her with a soft click and made her way across the wet path, gravel crunching beneath her slippers - now feeling a bit tight, with the two pairs of socks she’d stuffed inside.

Unfortunately, they were to no avail.

Vi found herself shivering at the cold when she arrived at the bench, which was once again occupied by the very person Vi had just pretended she could easily ignore.

Which, of course, she fucking couldn’t.

Caitlyn turned her head at Vi’s sharp huff, dim eyes travelling over her face with an unreadable expression.

Her slender frame was trembling as well, her long legs crossed in a futile attempt to conserve warmth. Her unharmed arm was wrapped tightly around her body, pressing close as if trying to hold onto whatever body heat she could manage in the chilly air.

They stood in silence, two shivering girls, a very poor attempt at ignoring the other, while staring directly into the other’s face.

After what felt like a goddamn eternity to Vi, Caitlyn finally broke the silence with her even, quiet voice - the kind that made Vi so fucking furious.

“Have you come here to bless me with your admirable rolling gifts once more?'"

Caitlyn lifted her own painfully perfect rolled cigarette to her lips and took a long drag, its tip gleaming softly in the dark. Vi couldn’t help but notice how her lips were a bit chapped, the skin cracked and raw, and for some reason, it sent a tiny spark of satisfaction through her.

She immediately abandoned her bulletproof plan to ignore Caitlyn, deciding instead to replace it with pure smugness and gloat.

“No,” she answered, already fingering her pockets for the cigarettes stored in them. She had asked Diana to roll a few for her earlier – for no particular reason, of course. “In fact, I didn’t want to intimidate you any further.” She pulled one of the cigarettes out with a flourish, tapping it against her palm before bringing it to her lips.

Caitlyn’s gaze travelled to the cigarette – straight, even and flawless. She lifted one of her eyebrows and looked back at Vi, a small smile playing around the corners of her mouth. “You pre-rolled some?”

Somehow it sounded a lot less cool coming from her mouth.

Vi just shrugged and lit the cigarette with a flick of her lighter. The flame sparked briefly, casting a small glow across her face before she inhaled deeply, the smoke curling into her lungs like it had all the time in the world. She held it for a moment, savouring the burn in her chest, then exhaled slowly, watching the smoke drift lazily into the cold air.

Somehow, it offered no true relief.

Caitlyn mirrored her movements, slightly narrowed eyes fixed on Vi. “So, no flukes this time?” she asked in between drags, the smoke curling from her nostrils like the snort of a bull.

“Nope,” Vi answered with a sharp, popping "p," shoving one hand into the pocket of her jacket to hide the tension in her fist. “Got it all figured out, thank you very much.”

Caitlyn was still watching her, her head tilted just the slightest bit, a curl of her hair falling into her face. The cigarette between her fingers was already almost smoked up and two other stumps littered the ground in front of her feet – she had been here for quite some time.

“You still use too much tobacco. I’ve told you before, more tobacco doesn’t automatically mean better-“

Vi cut her off, voice a bit sharper than she had intended. “If I had wanted a lesson, Kiramman, I’d have asked.”

Caitlyn didn’t flinch.

She just stubbed out her cigarette, her fingers moving with practiced ease as she shifted, patting her jacket with searching fingers. The tiny wince at the movement didn’t escape Vi’s notice. She didn’t say anything about it, and Caitlyn pulled her packet of tobacco from the depths of her pocket, starting to roll another cigarette without a word.

Vi had always been transfixed by Caitlyn’s hands.

They were those slender, long, and magnificent things - soft and caring, yet firm and rough in all the right ways. Vi had watched her for long moments, fascinated by how those hands could cradle something delicate and yet hold it with unshakable certainty.

Now, Caitlyn’s fingers were moving with practiced precision, the tip of her thumb pressing into the corner of the tobacco packet before she pulled out a small, neatly portioned pile. Her fingers flicked through the leaves, distributing them evenly on the paper, her eyes focused but unfaltering.

The roll was swift, easy, every movement fluid and sure.

Caitlyn licked the edge of the paper to seal it, the paper gliding together like an intimate, secret act, before putting the finished product between her lips and lightening it.

Vi’s mouth was dry.

She swallowed, tried to gather some saliva in her mouth. “You really smoke a lot, huh?” she asked, voice a bit too throaty for her liking.

Caitlyn looked back at her, thumb brushing over her own lower lip carelessly. “Why, do you care?” It wasn’t a real question. Her voice was flat and there was no hurt, no accusation in it, merely a simple matter-of-factness.

Vi pressed her nails into her palm, the biting pain flooding her hand and clearing her brain.

“I don’t,” she responded, matching her tone to the icy indifference she was trying to summon. She felt the cold of the night seeping in through her socks – her toes were already numb. “As a matter of fact, I couldn’t fucking care less.”

She flashed Caitlyn a cold smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes before taking another angry drag.

Caitlyn finally averted her eyes as she uncrossed her legs and stretched them out with a small, almost inaudible sigh. “Yeah, I can see that,” she muttered, voice almost drowning in the hiss of the rain and the murmur of the trees.

Vi narrowed her eyes. The fingers of her one hand were still clenched around the cigarette, while the pain in the other served as a distant, almost comforting distraction from the growing heat in her chest.

“And what’s that supposed to mean?” she asked, a slight irritation pulling at her chest.

Caitlyn didn’t answer immediately. She was twisting and turning the cigarette in her beautiful fingers, eyes fixed on the gleaming stick, lips a bit tight. “It means,” she said slowly, calmly, as if speaking to some dumb child, “that you haven’t looked at me all day.”

Vi blinked, a flash of confusion mixing with the first twinges of irritation. She shrugged, her mind scrambling for an answer. “Maybe I’ve just grown tired of seeing your fucking face,” she finally chocked out, “since you seem so set on following me everywhere.”

Her voice was still rough, but now there was an edge creeping in.

Caitlyn didn’t even seem to care.

Her fingers brushed absent-mindedly over the fabric of her sleeve as her gaze remained steady, her expression unreadable. “I’m sure that’s it,” she said quietly, her words cutting through the smoke-filled air between them like a knife, too calm, too unbothered.

Vi’s hands tightened, her nails now digging into the damp fabric of her sleeves instead of her palm. The mild irritation she’d been holding onto snapped a little tighter, a flicker of frustration twisting in her gut.

“Yeah, and maybe if you would just keep your mouth shut, I wouldn’t be so tired of it!” The words felt too loud in her chest, too sharp, as if they were clawing their way out of her without permission.

She threw her hands up in the air, frustration painting her movements as the cigarette in her fingers flicked away, forgotten. The cold from the rain seeped deeper into her skin, and she hated the way it made her feel - like she was being made into a fool.

Caitlyn’s eyes flicked down to the discarded cigarette, then slowly returned to Vi.

The smallest movement - almost a glance, but enough to make Vi feel every ounce of her own rising anger. Caitlyn brushed a stray lock of hair behind her ear, her composure absolute. Her voice was too calm, and Vi could feel her pulse quickening with every word.

“Are you done now?” she asked with a blank face, barely a shift in her tone, the quiet underneath it making Vi’s frustration boil over.

Vi’s hands balled into fists at her sides, the tension coiling in her arms, her chest. The rain came down harder now, slapping the ground with a rhythmic beat, as if the world around them was demanding Vi stop, but she couldn’t. The storm inside her was too loud.

“You think I’m done? You think I’m done when you keep looking at me like that, acting like you don’t give a fucking damn?” The words spilled out, too fast, too hot, the anger bubbling over now, fierce and uncontrollable. “You think I’m done when you keep acting like this, like everything is fucking fine, when it is clearly not?”

Caitlyn took another drag, her cigarette almost burned down to the filter.

“Well, apparently you’re not,” she said with a slight twitch of her eyebrows.

Caitlyn flicked the remains of her cigarette away, the embers glowing briefly before being swallowed by the rain. She got to her feet in a swift motion and exhaled the last bit of smoke into the night air, before turning towards Vi, eyes dead-pan and serious.

Vi hated how tall she was, hated the way she was towering over her.

“Damn right I’m not,” she hissed through gritted teeth, spit flying from her lips. “Damn right I’m fucking not, Caitlyn. I’m not done because you treat me like air, like fucking furniture. I’m not done because you keep on pretending none of this matters.”

Her voice was tight, way too tight.

Caitlyn looked at her for a long moment, eyes glinting with something unreadable. She took her time with her next word, as if savouring it. “Well, I’m not the one who keeps looking at the ground instead of looking at me, Vi.” Her voice remained quiet, calm, like nothing would ever faze her.

Vi’s teeth ground together, anger surging hotter and hotter in her chest, burning away the cold of the rain. “I have looked at you, Caitlyn, I fucking looked and you and you didn’t give a stupid damn.”

Caitlyn scoffed, the sound cutting through the air like a knife. It was the first time her calm and composed facade truly cracked.

"You have glared at me, Vi. Don’t act all high and mighty now."

She took a deliberate step forward, closing the space between them until they were barely an arm’s length apart. Vi stayed rooted to the spot, eyes narrowing, but she didn't step back.

Every breath Vi took was ragged, each inhale sharp with the bitterness of everything said and  unsaid between them. Her pulse throbbed in her ears and fingertips, and her eyes locked onto Caitlyn's with an intensity that could burn.

“High and mighty?” She spit the words out like something hot, her whole body tense and vibrating, as if every inch of her was coiled, ready to snap. The anger surged up from her gut, boiling like acid, and spread through her veins like wildfire.

“High and mighty? Fuck, Kiramman,” she chuckled with disbelief, “is you head really this far up your own ass? You prance in here after nine fucking months, nine months without a single message, a single call or just fucking anything and expect me to slither over and kiss the ground in front of your feet?”

Her voice had risen, crackling with anger, her chest heaving as the words tumbled out faster than she could stop them. “That’s rich, Caitlyn, even coming from you. Especially coming from you. But I guess I shouldn’t expect more from a Piltie, shouldn’t expect more from the daughter of Cassandra Kiramman, right? Congratulations on making another thing about you, on twisting and turning fucking everything until-“

Caitlyn’s hand shot out and gripped her collar, yanking her forwards with a force that made Vi stumble.

Vi barely had time to register what was happening before Caitlyn’s lips crashed against hers, hard and angry, shutting her up.

It wasn’t gentle - nothing about it was.

It was raw, angry and unrelenting, their teeth clashing for a moment before Caitlyn’s hand  snaked up to grip Vi’s jaw, locking her tightly in place. There was no hesitation, no space to breathe, only the press of Caitlyn’s mouth on hers, as if she were trying to devour every ounce of frustration and fury between them.

Her fingers instinctively found Caitlyn’s shoulders, gripping tightly, her nails clawing into the fabric of Caitlyn’s stupid, stupid windbreaker, hard enough to make her flinch. Vi’s hands slid down from her shoulders to her narrow waist, her fingers digging into the curve of her sides.

The fabric of Caitlyn’s jacket bunched under Vi’s grip, and for a moment, the tension shifted, growing heavier, hotter.

Caitlyn’s tongue slid against Vi’s lip before licking into her mouth, hot and insistent. Vi couldn’t stop the involuntary shiver that coursed through her, a mix of adrenaline and something far more confusing.

The taste of her was sharp - smoke and mint battling for dominance - and Vi hated how much she noticed it, how it made her grip falter for half a second before she refocused, pushing back with just as much intensity.

There was a bruising rhythm to the kiss, each movement charged, angry and messy. Caitlyn’s teeth caught Vi’s lip, tugging hard, and Vi growled low in her throat, her fingers slipping under the hem of Caitlyn’s jacket to clutch at her shirt instead, pulling her closer as her heart hammered against her ribs.

The kiss burned - seared through every nerve as Caitlyn kissed like she had something to prove. Vi pushed back even harder, meeting Caitlyn’s intensity with her own, her lips moving roughly, her teeth grazing Caitlyn’s bottom lip in retaliation.

Caitlyn’s breath hitched - ragged and shallow - the small sounds she made vibrating against Vi’s lips, stoking the fire burning so brightly in her chest.

The hand on her jaw pulled Vi forward, drawing her closer until there was no space left between them, and Vi could feel the press of Caitlyn’s warm body against hers, could feel the heat radiating off her. Her thumb was brushing against the edge of Vi’s jaw as her nails lightly scraped the sensitive skin just below her ear, sending a jolt down Vi’s spine.

When Caitlyn finally pulled back, they were both breathing hard, their cheeks flushed, their foreheads nearly touching. Caitlyn’s grip on Vi’s jaw was still tight, her knuckles white, and her beautiful eyes burned with something raw and unreadable.

Vi’s hands stayed where they were, trembling, clutching at Caitlyn’s sides, the fabric of her shirt hiked up and tight in her grip. Her lips throbbed, her chest heaved with every ragged breath, and her mind raced in a thousand different directions, none of them making sense.

“Are you done now?” Caitlyn repeated, her voice trembling ever so slightly, a faint trace of something that Vi couldn’t quite place - maybe desperation, maybe something else - lingering in the tone.

The rain was heavier now, droplets sneaking into the gaps of Vi’s hoodie, dampening her hair and cheeks. She flicked her tongue across her lips, tasting the faint metallic tang of rainwater and smoke. Caitlyn remained where she was, perfectly still, save for the slight shift as she slowly loosened her grip from Vi’s jaw and let her hand drop to her side.

Vi’s chest rose and fell with her uneven breaths, the heat from her outburst still burning in her face, mingling with the intense heat of the kiss. She pried her hands from Caitlyn’s shirt and stuffed her hands deep into her pockets, fingers brushing over her ridiculous stash of pre-rolled cigarettes.

Her jaw tightened against the cold and against the words she still wanted to spit.

“Yeah,” Vi muttered eventually, her voice low, bitterness barely masked beneath it. “I’m fucking done.”

8:00 PM - Relaxation Time

Vi didn’t know how they got back into the clinic, rushing through the corridors with their clothes dripping from the rain, the chill creeping under their skin, but somehow they did.

Vi didn’t know how they avoided meeting a single person on the stairs and the hallways, with muffled chatter and laughter from the dining hall echoing through the floors, but somehow they did.

Vi didn’t know how they managed to slip into the closet right next to the art room without raising any alarms, Gerry off to god knows where, but somehow they did.

She only knew the feeling of Caitlyn’s mouth back on hers, unrelenting, angry and raw.

Vi stumbled backwards from the force of it, her back hitting one of the shelves stacked with old paint-brushes and empty canvases with a sharp thud, the noise muffled by the pounding of her heartbeat.

She gasped at the sudden pain jolting through her, but it was nothing compared to the fire coursing through her veins. The rain-slicked fabric of their clothes pressed between them, cold and wet, but their skin burned hot against each other. Caitlyn’s fingers were everywhere, tugging at Vi’s soaked jacket, desperate, pushing and pulling, trying to get closer, to lose themselves in the moment.

Vi’s heart raced, every inch of her skin on fire from the contact. She didn't stop to think - she couldn't, not when Caitlyn's lips moved against hers with such urgency, swallowing every tiny sound, every small breath, every fleeting moment of hesitation.

Vi’s fingers were tangled in Caitlyn’s wet hair, bundling it up, tugging at it, deepening the kiss further and further, the hunger between them unmistakable, unrelenting.

Caitlyn's hand roamed, pushed the jacket from her shoulders, brushed over her chest for a fleeting moment before finally settling on Vi’s waist, and Vi felt like she was falling, being pulled under, drowning in the intensity of it all.

It was reckless.

It was messy.

But Vi didn’t care.

When they finally broke apart, the silence between them was filled with ragged, quick and hot breaths and the sound of clinking metal as Caitlyn fumbled with the zipper of Vi’s pants, struggling to open it with one hand – one badly trembling hand.

“Wait, wait, let me-,” Vi panted with a low, raspy voice, cheeks burning with a feverish heat.

She reached down, pushing Caitlyn’s hand out of the way, ignoring how her own fingers trembled in sync with Caitlyn’s. She fumbled around with the zipper for a few moments, quietly cursing the goddamn thing for getting stuck at this fucking moment, before finally yanking it open.

Caitlyn’s hand was immediately back, brushing past Vi’s fingers and slipping into her pants with no hesitation. She could feel her fingertips brushing over the fabric over her underwear, hovering so closely over her folds, she could practically feel the warmth radiating from them.

She let out a shaky breath, her eyes flicking up to Caitlyn’s for only a moment.

Caitlyn’s lips were slightly parted, breathing in quick, shallow bursts. Her pale cheeks were flushed, and her curls fell into in face in dishevelled waves. She hadn’t been looking at Vi, gaze fixed on her own hand, but now her eyes met Vi’s.

Lust. Yearning. Hunger. Grief.

Vi couldn’t bear it and quickly pulled Caitlyn into another kiss, licking her way into her mouth, tongue claiming Caitlyn’s teeth, tongue, gums. She pried one hand from Caitlyn’s hair, sliding it down her collarbone and chest. Caitlyn was still wearing her wet windbreaker, but Vi didn’t want to waste any time taking it off her. Instead, her cold fingers crept underneath it, sliding under her shirt and over Caitlyn’s warm, flat stomach.

She brushed against the sling pressed tightly against Caitlyn’s chest.

Caitlyn shivered and hummed into the kiss.

Vi could feel Caitlyn’s fingertips twitch, could feel them tracing the thin fabric separating them from the wetness between Vi’s legs, but still hesitating.

She broke from the kiss, her other hand sliding to Caitlyn’s neck and tilting it ever so slightly, so she could start pressing searing, hot kisses onto her skin.

“What, you shy now?” she muttered lowly between kisses, making sure to sink her teeth into the soft skin every once in a while. The fingers of her right hand travelled upwards, nails dragging over Caitlyn’s stomach until she finally reached her chest, grabbing a handful and squeezing harshly.

Caitlyn’s wince sent a jolt of satisfaction through her chest.

And finally, those fingers were pushing the fabric aside, brushing over coarse curls before settling in between Vi’s soaking wet folds.

Caitlyn leaned forwards, lips travelling along Vi’s jaw, brushing it ever so slightly, before coming to a halt beneath her ear. Vi tilted her head back and shivered at Caitlyn’s hot breath, shivered at the wetness of her lips coating her earlobe, shivered at the almost inaudible moan escaping from Caitlyn’s lips.

Caitlyn continued drawing wet traces on Vi’s skin, while her fingertips traced the very same patterns along the length of Vi’s core, gathering some of the slick to spread it over Vi’s clit, before slowly drawing wide circles around it, always close enough to send a jolt of heat through Vi’s stomach, never close enough.

Vi knew those long fingers, knew those slow movements, knew those frustrating patterns.

Caitlyn was great at what she did, fucking great, always had been.

But she was also a tease.

Vi couldn’t suppress a low groan, her head tilted back, and her eyes closed, slowly rocking into Caitlyn’s hand in a pitiful attempt to find more friction. She squeezed her chest once more, before trapping one of Caitlyn’s nipples between her fingers and pinching it, applying more and more pressure, until Caitlyn finally pulled back with a hiss, eyes narrow, but clouded with a haze of lust.

“Fucking soft, Vi, jeez,” she said under her breath, but Vi only shrugged with a grin, reached out with her left and grabbed Caitlyn’s elbow, pushing her hand a bit further down her pants. “Do it properly, then,” she answered, flicking the nipple once more in a playful manner.

Caitlyn scoffed and pulled her hand out, wiping the slick on her trousers.

Vi was about to protest, her folds feeling eerily cold without the warmth of Caitlyn’s fingers beneath them, when Caitlyn took a tiny step back, brushing her messy hair out of her face and sunk to her knees, fingers already hooking the hem of Vi’s pants.

“Woah, woah, wait-“ Vi inhaled sharply, fingers lifting Caitlyn’s chin to meet her gaze before she could stop herself. They stared at each other for a moment, pale irises meeting cerulean. Vi quickly pulled her hand back and – unsure what to do with it – hid it beneath her back.

She cleared her throat. “You, uhm-… You sure? I mean, fingering is one thing, but-“ She tried to continue, but lust and arousal were fogging up her fucking mind and she couldn’t think straight, and Caitlyn was in front of her on her knees, and she was so fucking beautiful-.

 “You want it properly or not?” Caitlyn was still staring up at her, fingers frozen around Vi’s waistband, their skin touching slightly. It sent a burning sensation though Vi’s entire body, a searing heat travelling from her waist up to her head, before making its way down between her legs.

Vi shifted, licked over her dry lips, tried to clear her head from the mist. “It’s just-… Well, your arm, uhm-“

Dear God, when had it become so fucking hot in the tiny closet?

Caitlyn arched one eyebrow and tilted her head. “I wasn’t aware I needed both hands to eat you out,” she answered dryly, not bothering to wait for a response and instead tugging Vi’s pants down with her one hand, only to be soon joined by Vi, who helped pull them the rest of the way off.

Caitlyn wasn’t one to linger unnecessarily.

Vi barely had time to register Caitlyn’s hot breath travelling up her thighs, barely had time to notice her hand caressing the back of her knees, barely had time to gather some breath, before Caitlyn’s mouth pressed into her core and the world exploded in feeling.

“Fuck-“

Her hand jerked forwards in an uncontrollable motion, grabbing a fistful of midnight ink and tugging, tugging at every greedy lap, every wet stroke, every dragged-out circle between her legs. Caitlyn kept her eyes on her, kept those beautiful fucking eyes fixed on Vi as she fucked into her with her tongue, lapping up every bit of slick like a starved dog.

“Shit, Cait, you’re so fucking good at this, fuck-“ Vi couldn’t stop the words tumbling from her mouth, couldn’t stop the soft moans and gasps and groans fleeting her lips. Her grasp tightened, which only seemed to fuel Caitlyn’s fire, pulling back for the briefest second, just to spit right onto Vi’s cunt and continue eating her out.

“Oh God-… God, that was so hot, you’re so fucking hot, Cait-“ There was no shame left in her, every ounce of composure drowned in arousal and lust.

Vi grabbed the shelf behind her with her other hand, clawing her nails into the wood until she was sure her nails were bloody. Caitlyn’s head was bobbing between her legs, her finger slowly travelling up the back of Vi’s legs, venturing over her skin until they, too, sunk between her folds.

Vi’s didn’t even attempt to stifle the moan leaving her lips, the heat rippling through her like wildfire, every nerve igniting from the contact.

It was too much. Too much wetness, too much heat, too much of everything.

Vi rocked her hips into Caitlyn’s mouth, used her hand on the back of her head to lead her ever so slightly – not that Caitlyn needed it. She knew exactly what to do, knew when to go slow and when to go fast. She fucked two fingers and her tongue into Vi, nose nestled into the coarse hair, making the most ungodly sounds ever produced by men.

And her eyes were still on her.

The heat in her core was building up with every stroke of Caitlyn’s tongue, every thrust of those long fingers, every slight curl of her fingertips. Vi couldn’t hold back anymore, thrusting her hip into Caitlyn’s face, fucking herself on her tongue, her fingers, making Caitlyn almost topple over at one point, before she quickly regained her balance.

Caitlyn was lapping at her like a woman dying of thirst, swallowing messily, greedily, nose and chin coated in glistening slick. She added a third finger without asking, which made Vi’s guts coil, the heat within her growing evermore.

“Cait-… Fuck, soon, just keep doing that-… God, wanna fuck you so bad, wanna touch you so fucking bad-“

Caitlyn’s eyes narrowed a bit, her tongue pausing momentarily, while her fingers continued fucking, thrusting, searching that very special spot that would make Vi see stars. “Yeah? You want to fuck me?”, she softly hummed, warm breath hitting Vi’s folds. Vi could only nod, every ounce of oxygen in her lungs apparently gone.

Caitlyn smiled a tiny, barely visible smile and tilted her head, slowly licking her glistening lips, cleaning them off Vi. She moved her mouth closer to Vi’s cunt again, her words a vibrating hum against the folds.

“Why don’t you let yourself be fucked like a good girl for now, huh?”

She pressed her wet lips onto Vi’s clit, added a fourth finger, and the world exploded in a blinding, white light.

Vi’s whole body went tense, fingers stiffening in Caitlyn’s hair and jerking her head forward, pressing her core tightly onto her fingers and tongue, which was still tracing, moving, lapping. Her legs were trembling, knees almost buckling and it took every ounce of strength for her to remain upright. Her vision narrowed down, the edges of it darkening, tunnelling until all there was, were Caitlyn’s beautiful eyes and her fucking tongue.

Vi couldn’t breathe for a moment, couldn’t hear, couldn’t see, couldn’t think.

All there was, was feeling.

Caitlyn didn’t pull back as Vi was finally able to draw a shaky breath. She didn’t pull back when Vi’s grip softened, and her fingers tangled in Caitlyn’s hair loosened. It was only after Vi muttered a breathy, rough “Enough” that she let up, slowly slipping her fingers out and wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

The room was silent again, save Vi’s breathing, which was once more ragged and shaky.

Caitlyn carefully shuffled to her feet, pushing herself off the floor with glistening fingers, before wiping them on her pants again. Her cheeks were flushed and there were still some faint traces of Vi on her skin, but she didn’t seem to mind.

Her eyes were travelling over Vi’s face with an unreadable expression – something between curiosity and hesitation. Vi didn’t respond to her gaze, bending down instead to pull her pants back up. Her thighs were still wet and trembling, cunt pulsating with the aftershocks.

She kept her eyes on the zipper – which was stuck again – and fumbled around with it in a pitiful attempt to yank it up. The clinking of metal echoed through the silence.

What an odd déja-vu.

Caitlyn watched her struggle for a moment, before clearing her throat and wiping her face once more, this time with her wet sleeve. “So…” Her voice was thin and quiet, a stark contrast to the dark lust that had deepened it before. She cleared her throat once more, words apparently stuck in her throat.

Vi kept staring at the zipper. It really was fucking stuck.

“So…” Caitlyn started up again, making the silence even more awkward while fidgeting around with the hem of her windbreaker. She hesitated and Vi could feel her eyes on her. Then, she finally managed to speak the words: “So, how is Pow-“

Vi’s hand was clasped over Caitlyn’s mouth before she could finish the word.

Caitlyn’s eyes widened, the weight of Vi’s touch forcing her back into the door with a harsh thud. The sharp noise echoed around them, but it was quickly swallowed by the sound of their laboured breathing. Vi’s other hand pressed firmly into Caitlyn’s chest, pinning her in place, and she could feel Caitlyn’s heartbeat beneath her palm, thudding erratically.

Vi's breath was shallow, ragged, chest rising and falling quicker than before.

“This is not what this is,” she hissed, her voice sharp and low, the words almost a growl as they tore through the silence.

Vi’s fingers trembled, even though she didn’t let up on her grip. Her hand was still covering Caitlyn’s mouth, but her thumb had started to press harder, digging into her skin as though to hold her in place - hold her still. There was a tremble in Vi's own chest now, her body was coiled tight, ready to snap.

Caitlyn’s eyes were wide, locked onto hers, but she didn't try to move. Didn’t try to push Vi away. Her breath came in quick, irregular bursts, dampening the palm of Vi’s hand. Vi could feel the heat of her, still warm from their shared kiss, from her lips on her core, still pulsing against her skin.

Vi’s chest tightened with a low growl as she leaned in closer, her body pushing Caitlyn further into the door, if that was even possible. Her forehead brushed against Caitlyn’s, and she could feel the warmth of her skin seeping through. She could smell the rain on Caitlyn’s clothes, feel the slickness of their soaked bodies pressed together.

Every inch of her was on fire.

She narrowed her eyes and moved her face even closer to Caitlyn, spit the words coated in venom into her stupidly beautiful face: “You don’t get to ask that, Caitlyn, not you.”

The force of her words left a bitter taste in the air, each one sharp enough to draw blood, to slice through whatever had been between them. Caitlyn’s breath hitched, but she didn’t pull away, didn’t protest.

Her grip on Caitlyn’s mouth tightened again, fingers curling into her skin as she leaned in, so close now that their lips would have touched, if it weren’t for her fingers separating them. The sharp edge of Vi’s anger made her voice drop even lower, almost a whisper: “Listen to me, really listen to me.”

Her ragged breath was brushing against her own knuckles.

“We’re not friends. This is not what this is.” Vi’s voice shook now, low and raw, but there was no mercy in it. “We fuck. And that’s fucking it.”

Caitlyn didn’t speak. Her mouth was still covered by Vi’s hand, but her eyes  - her eyes - were a universe unto themselves. Vi could see the mix of surprise, pain, and something else she couldn’t quite place. Caitlyn was frozen, staring at her like a deer in headlights.

Vi's fingers twitched against her lips, but she kept her gaze locked on Caitlyn’s. Her heart was still racing, but it wasn’t the same kind of heat as before. It was colder now, more real.

And it hurt.

She stepped back a fraction of an inch, still holding Caitlyn's gaze, her hand finally releasing her mouth. Caitlyn didn’t move to speak, her breath coming in soft, ragged pants. She stared at Vi for a long moment, her expression unreadable. And then, without saying a word, Caitlyn nodded once, a simple, quiet acknowledgment of everything Vi had just said.

It wasn’t agreement.

It wasn’t understanding.

It was just acceptance.

It was enough for Vi.

She bent down once more, picking up her wet jacket from the floor. Without sparing Caitlyn another glance, she brushed past her, her shoulder barely grazing Caitlyn's as she slipped through the door. The sound of her footsteps echoed in the empty hallway, but she didn’t look back, didn’t stop.

She walked straight into her room, shutting the door with a soft thud behind her.

It was only then, when the door clicked into place, that she allowed herself to cry.

10:00 PM – Lights Out

Chapter Text

THE PREMIER PILTOVER GIRLS' INTERCLUB RUNNING CHAMPIONSHIP

An Exclusive Invitation to Young Athletes of Piltover

Are you prepared to demonstrate your prowess in speed, endurance, and teamwork? Assemble your club, don your finest running gear, and partake in a distinguished sporting event designed to celebrate excellence in athleticism.

EVENT DETAILS:

• What? The Premier Piltover Girls' Interclub Running Championship
• Who? Aspiring young female athletes of Piltover, ages 13 to 15
• When? March 24^th, 2018
• Where? Piltover Grand Stadium

RACE CATEGORIES:

• 100m Sprint
• 400m Dash
• 1500m Run
• 4x100m Relay

PRESTIGIOUS ACCOLADES:

• Elegant Trophies & Medals for outstanding performers
• Special commendations for Team Spirit & Sportsmanship
• Certificates of Excellence awarded to all participants

 WHY PARTICIPATE?

• Compete amongst the finest young runners from elite Piltover clubs
• Hone your speed, resilience, and collaborative prowess
• Cultivate friendships and revel in the spirit of healthy competition

HOW TO SECURE YOUR PLACE:

Register with your club or as an individual.

For further details, please contact us at: [email protected]

Registration deadline: March 1^st, 2018

This prestigious event is made possible through the generous patronage of Cassandra Kiramman. Her dedication to youth development and excellence in athletics ensures a platform for the next generation of champions.

Embrace the challenge, seize the glory, and etch your name in the annals of Piltover's sporting excellence.

They weren’t friends.

They fucked. And that was it.

Vi had made that clear and Caitlyn never questioned it, not once.

After their evening in the closet, they'd developed a simple, unspoken system.

Vi no longer shot glares that could pierce through stone, and Caitlyn - well, Caitlyn continued to treat her like Vi was air.

By day, they were two separate beings, each encased in their own invisible bubble, moving past each other as though the other were just part of the furniture. No exchanged glances, no flickers of recognition, and – god forbid – no chit-chat.

They went through their programs and therapy sessions, each following their own path.

Caitlyn spent her breaks with Illaoi or alone, while Vi clung to Diana, Leona, and Margot, never sparing the dark-haired girl a single look. They moved through the day in isolation from the other, and it was only during the evening, when the others disappeared to their session of collective pity, that Vi and Caitlyn acknowledged the other again.

Though, ‘acknowledge’ probably wasn’t the right word to describe what they did.

It was always the same and always in Vi’s room.

7 PM.

A soft knock on Vi’s door, quick and anxious, the sound of bony knuckles tapping in a nervous rhythm.

The door creaked open, just a small gap, and Caitlyn slid through it, long legs encased in those hideous sweatpants, the smell of smoke and lavender clinging to her dishevelled hair, her beautiful, dim eyes always drifting through the room, as if scanning it for threats tucked away in the corner.

And then they fucked.

It was never gentle, never soft, always messy, raw and rushed.

7 PM.

A knock.

Caitlyn panted ragged, hot breaths into Vi’s open mouth, lips wet with saliva, her half-lidded eyes hazy, her pale cheeks flushed, while Vi fucked two fingers into her in a quick, punishing rhythm and bit at her throat, always careful to not leave any marks.

7 PM.

A knock.

Vi pressed a pillow into her face to stifle her moans, calloused fingers almost ripping the thin fabric, while Caitlyn kneeled between her spread legs and lapped at her, swallowing thickly, cheeks and nose glistening.

7 PM.

A knock.

Caitlyn’s wet core pressed against Vi’s as she rocked her hips forwards, desperately searching for any kind of friction, any kind of relief, while Vi’s fingers were hooked into her open, gasping mouth, roaming over her tongue, teeth and gums, gathering saliva and spit.

They barely talked during it all, pants and moans only rarely interrupted by some mumbled instructions or a muttered curse.

They sure as hell never talked after it.

Caitlyn would untangle herself from the sheets, put her clothes back on, and make a pitiful attempt to straighten her hair before slipping out of the room as quietly as she came, disappearing without a goodbye.

Vi was glad Caitlyn never attempted to talk to her.

Or else, the questions lingering on the edge of her mind, the questions burning on the tip of her tongue might have just burst out of her.

And there were a lot of questions.

During their first few meet-ups, Caitlyn had refused to take her clothes off, let alone let Vi touch her lower half. Every time Vi’s fingers brushed against her core, or when her hand tried to slip beneath the hem of her sweatpants, Caitlyn gently redirected it, guiding it under her shirt and toward her chest instead, allowing Vi to cup her breasts.

Not that Vi didn’t fucking love Caitlyn’s tits.

A week after their evening in the closet, Caitlyn finally did take off her pants unprompted after a heated make-out session, struggling to kick them from her long legs with only one supporting hand.

It took everything in Vi not to stare at the state of her right side.

Caitlyn’s left side was flawless as usual- smooth, unblemished skin, as if nothing had ever touched it. Her right was the complete opposite. Her leg was covered in one large, purple and green bruise, barely faded, and her skin was scratched and rough, as though someone had pushed her through a fucking meatgrinder.

Vi’s gaze flickered up to Caitlyn’s ribs, half-hidden by her right arm in a sling. Beneath the sling, Caitlyn’s skin was bruised, blue and purple spots bleeding like ink on white linen. It was a stark contrast to the pristine, untouched skin of her left side.

It was a true wonder she could walk straight.

The sight made something tight and uncomfortable coil in Vi's chest.

But she said nothing.

She didn’t ask, didn’t let the question slip.

Instead, she nuzzled her nose into the dark, coarse hair between Caitlyn’s thighs, breathing in the familiar, musky scent and fucking into Caitlyn with her tongue and fingers until Caitlyn was so breathless, she came without a single sound.

A week later, the knock came ten minutes later than usual.

Vi had already made peace with the idea that she wouldn’t be getting any that night and was halfway to considering asking Leona if she could borrow her vibrator - something the girl somehow always managed to sneak into the facility - when the faint knock snapped her out of her thoughts.

Caitlyn slipped into the room, her head lowered, hair falling into her face.

“Sorry,” she said, her voice strangely thin, faltering.

Vi straightened up, swinging her legs over the edge of the bed, and tilted her head, a small smirk playing at her lips. “Got me a bit worried for a second, Kiramman. Thought you jumped from your window or som-”

Her words trailed off when Caitlyn’s eyes flickered up to meet hers.

She had been crying.

Her eyes were red-rimmed, circles underneath more pronounced than ever, and her cheekbones reddened, as if she’d rubbed them with some rough fabric.

They both stared at one another in silence for seconds that stretched to eternities, Caitlyn still at the door, her hand still on the knob, Vi frozen in her bed, unsure whether to stand or not. Caitlyn’s lips were pressed into a tight, pale line and her fingers were trembling ever so slightly, yet there was a faint trace of stubbornness in her features.

Vi swallowed at the rawness in Caitlyn’s eyes, the swirl of defiance, challenge and hurt clouding those cerulean orbs.

She didn’t ask, didn’t let the question slip.

Instead, she let Caitlyn sit on her face, rock her hips into Vi’s open mouth and tongue, her slender hand gripping the headboard until her knuckles turned white. Caitlyn didn’t even attempt to lower her voice when she came, her cunt pulsating and fluttering like a trapped bird on Vi’s hungry lips.

Some days after that, Caitlyn was pressed into the covers beneath her, hair plastered to her forehead with sweat, mouth hanging open. Sweet, fluttering gasps were leaving her lips, each of them sending a pulsating heat into Vi’s core. Vi’s breath was ragged as she added a third finger with ease, Caitlyn’s wetness clamping around her calloused skin.

Her other hand was clasped around Caitlyn’s left shoulder – Vi didn’t care, of course she didn’t, yet she had been careful to avoid putting any pressure on Caitlyn’s right bodyside – thumb rubbing absent-mindedly over her skin.

Vi’s eyes were fixed on Caitlyn’s core, pace picking up just the slightest bit, when she felt the brush of Caitlyn’s long fingers around hers, prying her hand from her shoulder and instead urging it towards her long, beautiful neck.

She looked up at Caitlyn with slight confusion, not haltering or changing the rhythm of her hand between her legs once and was met with hazy eyes darkened by arousal and a slight squeeze to her fingers. Vi’s eyes flickered from Caitlyn’s face towards her hand around her neck, and back to Caitlyn again.

“Choke me,” Caitlyn whispered lowly, voice a bit shaky, but firm.  

Vi almost stopped fucking into her, but she quickly gathered herself, fingers continuing to slide in and out of Caitlyn, making the most unholy sounds. Her eyes travelled over Caitlyn’s flushed cheeks, over the droplets of sweat on her forehead, over those half-lidded, dark eyes.

Caitlyn squeezed her fingers once more. “Just-…” Her eyes rolled into the back of her head when Vi sped up even more, her fingers already soaked and cramping. "Just fucking do it, Vi, fuck-“

She didn’t ask, didn’t let the question slip.

Instead, she squeezed, applied pressure to Caitlyn’s throat, always careful, always ready to release at the slightest word, slightest reaction of Caitlyn. But the words never came. Caitlyn’s whole body trembled through an orgasm so intense, it left them both panting, staring wordlessly at each other.

Whenever the door shut behind Caitlyn, whenever only the faint trace of lavender lingered in the room, mixing with the stuffy, sweaty air, Vi couldn’t help but let out a breath of relief, a breath filled with all her unspoken questions begging for answers.

Then, she’d air out the room, sex, sweat and questions drowning in the cold night air and the murmur of the tree in front of her window.

But they didn’t leave her mind.

“So, Vi,” Leona said, her casual tone losing all credibility with the unmistakable curiosity in her eyes.

She was kneeling next to Vi, the dampness of the earth soaking through her faded jeans, darkening the fabric. The rain drizzled steadily around them, soft, constant, the droplets collecting on Vi’s hood and making the back of her neck itch.

This time Vi had successfully refused to put on the traffic cone.

Sure, now she was shivering and wet, but at least she looked hot.

“You seem oddly fine,” Leona continued, letting her words linger as she made a show of inspecting her own seedling, brushing dirt off her gloves with unnecessary precision.

Vi, fairly certain she had just crushed the fragile plant she’d been entrusted to care for, simply stared ahead at the patch of earth in front of her. Her hands were caked with wet soil, the cold squelching between her fingers.

“What do you mean?”

Leona’s grin widened, her perfectly plucked eyebrows wiggling as she shot a sidelong glance at Vi. “Well, you know,” she said, with a playful tilt of her head. Vi followed the motion, her gaze drawn across the garden to where Caitlyn kneeled a few feet away.

She was bent slightly forward, her hands moving carefully over the earth, while Jayce talked at her with eager intensity, gesturing animatedly with a hand full of soil. Caitlyn’s lips parted in that soft laugh of hers, a sound that was cautious, like it didn’t quite belong.

She wiped the sweat off her cheek with the back of her hand, leaving a streak of dirt right beneath her eye.

A flock of birds crossed the grey skies and for short moment Caitlyn’s gaze flickered upwards, blue eyes narrowed against the cold winter sun barely visible behind the rain clouds, following the birds until they disappeared over the hilltops.

Something in Vi tightened.

She looked back at her poor excuse of gardening and shrugged.

“Don’t know what you mean.”

She tried and failed again to get her hands to cooperate with the soil. The wet dirt clung to her palms, sticking to the edges of her gloves.

“Oh, come on.”

Leona rolled her eyes, a sound of mock exasperation escaping her as she pushed her shovel deeper into the earth. Her manicured nails were hidden in gloves that were entirely too big for her, still she somehow managed to look like she belonged in some magazine about farm beauties.

“You’ve stopped glaring at her. I mean, you don’t even look at her anymore. You’re not brooding or moody, not even snappy.”

She poked at the seedling with her shovel, burying it too deep and effectively crushing it as well, though her satisfaction was obvious as she straightened up, stretching her arms and cracking her joints.

“It’s annoying how fucking well-adjusted you are.”

Now she looked back at Vi, who had to suppress a smile.

“Guess therapy did its wonders, huh?” Vi answered, not giving Leona the satisfaction of meeting her noisy gaze.

She stabbed her shovel into the earth again in an attempt to free her seedling from its crushing prison, the wet ground sucking it down with a soft squelch. She grimaced at the small crack beneath her.

She had successfully decapitated her slip.

Leona scoffed and dropped her shovel into the dirt. She put her hands on her hips and pursed her lips.

“Don’t give me that shit, you fucking hate Sevika.”

Vi did.

It was the same game every time.

Their individual sessions had been going on for three weeks, and Vi’d decided to abandon her sarcasm, instead enduring all of them in stubborn silence, sitting across from Sevika like an immovable wall. Every time Sevika so much as looked at her, Vi had clenched her jaw, eyes fixed on some point in the corner of the room, anything to avoid engaging.

Vi had been stubborn, her silence an unspoken challenge to keep everything bottled up.

Sevika didn’t give a flying fuck.

She’d lean back in her chair, dark eyes fixed unblinking on Vi with that goddamn blank expression on her face. She would just sit there, like a damn statue, matching Vi’s stony silence, waiting for her to break.

The quiet was almost suffocating. The tick of the clock on the wall would sound louder than usual, like it was mocking Vi with every second that passed. Her throat would feel dry, and the air in the room was thick with tension, the stale scent of old coffee and antiseptic hanging in the corners.

Not a single sound would come from Sevika, not even the scrape of a chair leg or the shifting of a foot.

Just that damn staring.

Vi would hear her own breath, too loud in her ears, and she hated it. She could almost feel Sevika’s gaze crawling over her, like it was pressing in from all sides. It made her skin itch, but she kept her eyes fixed on the wall or the table or just fucking anything to avoid Sevika’s piercing eyes.

It was like Sevika was waiting for a crack to appear, for Vi to lose it, for something.

Vi hated it, but a part of her knew it was working.

Vi’s eyes would flicker occasionally, just for a split second, betraying her calm demeanor. She’d catch a flash of Sevika’s gaze - shrewd, knowing- and for a moment, Vi wondered if Sevika could see right through her.

That was the part that got to her.

The anger management sessions were a whole other thing, of course.

Not that she’d ever say it out loud, but she actually liked learning from Sevika. Though, to be fair anything was better than those fucking breathing exercises Dr. Shoola had tortured her with for the past four years.

Sevika knew her shit, she really did. She didn’t waste time with useless fluff, just corrections, sharp and to the point.

Fix your stance.

Keep your guard up.

Don’t just swing - aim.

Sevika watched her like a hawk, arms crossed, her expression unreadable. When Vi messed up, she’d know before she even finished the motion. A flick of Sevika’s fingers was enough - again. Vi would huff, reset, throw the punch right this time.

And when Vi actually followed through, Sevika wouldn’t praise her, wouldn’t so much as nod, just move on like she’d expected Vi to get it right all along. Just fists, movement and precision.

Vi liked that too.

It was better than the usual patronizing bullshit. No speeches about relaxing your muscles, no painfully boring meditation, no weird metaphors about taming the beast inside.

And yeah, okay, maybe Vi found herself actually looking forward to those sessions.

Just a little.

If Sevika ever caught on, Vi would rather bite her own tongue off than admit it.

Fucking Sevika.

Leona silently stared at Vi for a few moments, then she scrambled closer, throwing a quick glance at Margot and Diana, who were partnered up on a patch a few feet away from them. Margot hadn’t even started digging her hole yet, instead practically gnawing Diana’s ear off, who was just smiling quietly, eyes fixed on the seedlings.

Leona lowered her voice to a whisper, her breath warm against the shell of Vi’s ear. Her gaze practically burned into the side of Vi’s face, sharp with amusement, curiosity, and just the right amount of mischief.

"Did you guys fuck?"

Vi blinked.

“Did you talk?”

Vi scoffed, but before she could even react properly, Leona was already shaking her head, a lazy grin tugging at her lips.

"No, sorry, that was uncalled for. Talk, as if. Forgot who I was talking to for a sec’." She let out a huff of laughter, rolling her eyes. "But did you fuck?"

Vi gave up on her late seedling.

She dropped her shovel next to Leonas and looked up at her, a smile tugging at the corner of her scared lips.

“Nope. Just came to terms with her being here. Nothing I can do about it.”

Leona didn’t buy it – of course she didn’t.

She was staring at Vi with one raised eyebrow, forehead wrinkled in a mix of disbelief and amusement. Then she clicked her tongue and gave a slow, exaggerated nod, like she was pretending to be convinced.

Vi just grabbed another seedling, picked up her shovel again and stabbed it into the wet earth, refusing to give her the satisfaction of a response.

“You know,” Leona said, shifting to lean forwards and grab a seedling for herself, her careless fingers already bruising some of the small leaves between them,  “She’s actually kinda nice.”

She said it casually, as if it were an offhand comment, but Vi knew her better than that. Leona was studying her every flicker of emotion, cataloguing it, ready to dissect it later with Margot in one of their endless gossip sessions.

Vi remained stoic, her face carefully neutral as she pressed the seedling deeper into the earth, the cold rain wetting the back of her neck. She paused her work to pull her hood over her red, wild hair.

Leona shifted closer to her, the dampness of the day clinging to her clothes, but she hardly seemed to mind.

“Yeah,” she followed up, “I was partnered up with her during cooking class, like, a week ago, I think.”

Vi’s breath hitched slightly, though her face remained unreadable. She continued planting, her hands moving mechanically, working the soil with determination.

She remembered that class.

The room had been a mess of sizzling pans and sharp, burnt smells, the clang of utensils echoing as students fumbled their way through whatever sorry excuse for a recipe they’d been assigned.

Vi had spent most of it yanking things out of Margot’s hands before she could set something - or someone - on fire.

“For fuck’s sake, stir it, don’t whip it,” she had snapped, trying to wrestle a bowl of batter from Margot, who was gleefully slapping a spoon against the surface, sending droplets flying onto Vi’s sleeve.

“Relax, chef,” Margot had grinned, “I’m adding my personal touch.”

That “personal touch” had nearly involved an exploding bag of flour, a melted spatula, and something Vi was fairly sure had been a whole, uncracked egg dumped straight into a pan.

By the time the class was over, Vi had been too busy scrubbing dough off her shirt to pay much attention to whatever the hell Leona and Caitlyn had been talking about. But she’d heard Leona’s laugh - loud and easy, echoing through the chaos.

She hadn’t looked. Hadn’t wanted to.

“Doesn’t really talk a lot. Thank fucking god, that accent drives me nuts,” Leona continued, glancing at Vi sideways, her voice gentle but probing.

“But she was nice. Asked me some questions about myself. And it actually seemed like she really cared about the things I said – which is a bit weird, I mean, with her being a Kiramman and all, right?”

She paused, as if carefully weighing her next words. “She looked kinda sad, though. Always does.”

Vi shrugged, though a tightness in her chest threatened to spill out.

“Guess what, Leona, we’re in a fucking psychiatric facility. Half of the people here look kinda sad. Would be weird if they didn’t.”

She wanted to ignore the rest of the conversation, wanted to keep her focus on the earth, on the task at hand, but there was something in Leona’s voice that pulled at her.

“Okay, sometimes she laughs,” Leona went on, not acknowledging Vi’s words in the slightest, “but it never looks right, does it? Like, do you remember Diana last year?” Her brown eyes flickered over to Diana once more, who was trying her best to rescue Margot’s pitiful attempt at gardening.

Vi looked at Diana, too.

The girl was smiling her quiet smile, completely unfaced by Margot gesticulating so wildly with her shovel that she hurled dirt around everywhere.

She did remember Diana last year.

She remembered how her smile never quite reached her eyes, how everything about her seemed a little too carefully constructed, like she was always holding something back, like the laughter was a mask she put on just to survive. She remembered their talks, remembered Diana finally breaking down in her arms, her sobs shaking her whole body, remembered the tears dampening her hoodie.

Vi wanted to roll her eyes and ignore Leona, but the words hung there, pressing on her chest.

She didn’t want to think about Diana, didn’t want to think about that smile.

Or Caitlyn’s smile.

Or Caitlyn’s anything, really.

Leona frowned, her gaze drifting over to Caitlyn in the distance. “It’s kinda like that.” She trailed off, eyes taking in Caitlyn’s hunched over figure, the smidge of dirt on her pronounced cheekbones, the tired little smile on her lips.

Vi clenched her jaw harder and returned to her work, her hands moving with sharp, deliberate motions. Her fingers tensed around the seedling, pressing down a little too hard. A leaf tore under her grip, and she quickly covered it with soil, burying the slip before Leona could notice.

Caitlyn’s problems weren’t her problems.

They weren’t friends.

Leona was still staring at Caitlyn absent-mindedly, shovel forgotten in her hands. “You know what?” she said, voice a bit distant, like she wasn’t really expecting Vi to answer, “I wonder why she isn’t in one of those more prestigious hospitals in the city centre. You know, with her being a Kiramman and all”

She sniffed. Vi dug.

“You’d think someone like her would have access to better care, right? Bet she could easily afford a fucking private suite with a pool and personal masseur. It just really doesn’t make any sense, does it?”

The words settled heavily in the air between them.

Leona was absolutely fucking right.

It didn’t make sense.

Nothing made any sense.

Vi’s stomach twisted uncomfortably, and for a moment, she could feel the faintest crack in her resolve. She fought the urge to look at Caitlyn, to meet the familiar sadness Leona spoke of in her eyes, waiting for Vi to finally notice, to finally ask.

Vi clenched her jaw. Kept ger hands in the dirt.

“I don’t know,” she muttered, her voice barely a whisper as she kept her gaze fixed on the ground. “Maybe she’s just really into poverty. For whatever fucking reason.”

Leona didn’t push, which was surprising.

She simply nodded.

"Yeah," Leona said after a beat, her voice softer now. She returned to her work with a resigned sigh. "I guess so."

Soon, their conversation turned into a rather one-sided monologue again, with Leona ranting about the place’s clothing regulations and how she was running out of decent outfit combinations. Vi only half-listened, occasionally throwing in a grunt or a shrug to keep up the illusion of engagement.

Her thoughts were elsewhere, no matter how hard she tried to bury them with the muddy soil beneath her.

Why the fuck was Caitlyn here?

What the fuck happened to her?

What was going on in her fucking head?

Vi didn’t ask, didn’t let the questions slip.

Instead, that evening she pulled Caitlyn over her lap and let her ride on her fingers until Caitlyn couldn’t keep her head up straight anymore, dropping it onto Vi’s shoulder and panting hot breaths against her skin. Caitlyn continued rocking her hips with desperation, gasps and whimpers escaping her lips, and Vi let her, drawing soothing circles on her back.

They weren’t friends.

They fucked. And that was it.

Darlene gave up after three months, fourteen days and 9 hours. Give or take 15 minutes.

Vi wasn’t sure what her pushing straw had been.

It could’ve been the time Darlene caught her crouching on the windowsill, a lit blunt caught between her lips, eyes red and foggy, the faint smell of weed mixing with the stale air of the room. The windowsill was scorched in places, cigarette burns marking the guest room – her room – as her territory.

It could’ve been the time she trashed the bathroom, breaking the small, beautiful tiles lining the walls, tearing down every towel, stomping on the white softness with her dirty boots, flipping every bottle and dumping the soap onto the floor after Darlene had forbidden her from visiting Mylo and Claggor at their group home in Zaun.

It could’ve been the time she came home drunk, stinking of cheap liquor and clinging to the edge of the doorframe just to stay upright. Vi’d stumbled past a pale Darlene and into the kitchen, but before she could make it to the sink, everything inside her came up in a violent rush, right onto Ludwig, who had been standing by the door, eyes wide in shock as Vi’s stomach emptied itself on his new shoes.

It could’ve been that.

Whatever it had been, Darlene gave up, her hand barely brushing Vi’s shoulder as she dropped her off at the shelter, offering a smile that was more relief than sympathy, her eyes flicking away too quickly.

She didn’t wait for a word, didn’t linger for even a second longer than necessary. As soon as the door clicked shut behind Vi, Darlene turned and hurried away to her parked vehicle, almost eager to leave, her pace quickening like she couldn’t wait to put the whole mess behind her.

A soul past redemption.

Darlene was followed by Marinus and Marlene, an absolutely endearing couple from the South of Piltover, who treated Vi like their personal maid. They sweet-talked her with syrupy compliments, all the while making her scrub their floors until her knees screamed, fetch drinks for their guests like some unpaid waitress, and muck out their garden shed like she was born to clean up after them.

After one month, four days and 12 hours, Vi had taken a bat to Marlene’s late mothers’ porcelain. Marinus had slapped her. Vi responded by planting her fist squarely in his face.

The following weeks had been the closest thing to peaceful Vi had experienced in a while. Mrs. Fortescue, an elderly woman with a hoard of cats and an unsettling number of photo albums dedicated to the dead ones, had taken her in.

The old woman insisted on showing Vi the albums every time they had tea. Vi would nod politely, feigning interest, but really, it was just the same old thing - more cats, more dead cats, more endless stories about their lives and eventual passing.

But there had been a certain comfort in it. Vi had her own small room, tucked away in a corner of the house, where she could close the door to lock out the lingering smell of cat piss and mold. And Mrs. Fortescue’s hearing was so bad that Vi could slip out at night without anyone noticing.

Mrs. Fortescue had died three weeks later.

It had been a stroke, ending the woman’s life in the pet food aisle of the supermarket.

Vi didn’t even find out until a day later, when a neighbour came over with the news. No one seemed too broken up about it. Just like that, the woman was gone, and Vi found herself packing her things again - though she didn’t have much to pack - heading across town once more.

She had initially hoped the foster agency might have finally given up on finding a family willing to take her in – her record for sure wasn’t doing her any favours. Mylo and Claggor had lived in a group home in Zaun for two years by that point and Vi had clung to the faintest shimmer of hope that she might get placed there as well.

But she hadn’t.

Since the universe had apparently decided to make her existence a living hell, Vi found herself in another family in the West of Piltover.

Five of them this time. Five people, five months until Vi moved on.

Then, Vi landed on the doorstep of Coach Blevins.

Coach Blevins wasn’t the type to ask about Vi’s past. He wasn’t the type to ask anything.

No, he was the type to talk about sports.

His entire existence revolved around running, stats, and, if he was feeling particularly wild, the next big race. His house was a shrine to his own self-importance - ribbons on every wall, trophies capturing his former glory collecting dust on every shelf. He even owned a cup sporting himself hoisting some trophy into the air, his face younger, thinner and gleaming with pride.

He had apparently been some big shot years ago, could have “made it pro” if it hadn’t been for his busted knee. Not that Vi had ever heard of him.

Needless to say, the resemblance to his past self was… questionable.

His watery eyes were permanently squinted like he’d just woken up, his beard was an untrimmed disaster, and his shirts were a couple of sizes too small, hugging his stomach in ways that were nothing short of offensive. His diet seemed to consist exclusively of burnt coffee and whatever questionable protein sludge he mixed in his blender at 6 AM.

When Vi showed up, he hardly even looked up from his half-empty coffee mug, letting the awkward silence stretch between them like some sort of twisted initiation.

Then, with all the enthusiasm of a man signing his own death certificate, he grunted and made a vague motion toward the spare room – whose corners were also stacked in yellowed newspapers and articles about sports clubs Vi didn’t give a crap about.

He never told Vi his first name, leaving her guessing Coach might actually be his first name.

Two days later, he made her join the running club.

Not suggested. Not recommended. Made.

Vi hadn’t even settled in - had barely figured out how to tolerate the smell of old sweat and whatever protein powder concoction he lived off - before he shoved a crumpled registration form at her and muttered something about “discipline.”

She’d blinked at him, still chewing on a stale piece of toast she’d stolen from the counter, before realizing he was serious.

“You’re joking,” she’d said, wiping crumbs off her sleeve.

Coach Blevins had just stared at her.

Vi stared back.

Neither of them blinked.

Then he walked away.

So that was that. You didn’t just say no to Coach Blevins.

By the time she had fully processed what had happened, she was already standing on a track at the crack of dawn, surrounded by a bunch of rich Pilties in coordinated outfits, stretching like they were preparing for war, eagerly chatting with one another.

Vi had never heard people talk so much about something as basic as putting one foot in front of the other.

They hadn’t talked to Vi. Vi hadn’t talked to them. It was a perfect arrangement.

Coach Blevins didn’t talk to her, either. He didn’t care about her day at school, didn’t ask about her life, didn’t even bother with small talk.

He just told her to run faster. And faster.

Until her legs burned and her lungs screamed.

Until she was too tired to think about anything other than the pounding of her feet against the pavement, like a monotonous drumbeat that drowned everything else out.

But, to her surprise, she didn’t hate the running.

It was something she was good at.

She'd been running her whole life, dodging fights in the Undercity, avoiding the enforcers, getting away from whatever mess she'd landed herself in. So yeah, she could keep up with these polished, overly eager kids, no matter how many angry glanced they shot her. She didn’t even need to break a sweat.

But did she care about beating their times?

Absolutely not.

Vi was just there to make sure she wasn’t the slowest person on the track.

If she could do that without wanting to punch someone in the face, she’d call it a win.

“I arranged a pick-up for you,” Coach Blevins grunted one day into the familiar silence of their breakfast, nose buried half-way in the cup featuring his past self. He was flicking through some stats with his other hand, eyes fixed on the number and tables and times.

Vi looked up from her cereal, cheeks too filled with sweet crunch and milk to respond.

She had spent the past few weeks in near-total silence with this man, their mornings consisting solely of the crunch of cereal, the scrape of cutlery, and the low hum of whatever ancient radio station he kept on in the background.

Those six coherent words were probably more than he’d ever sad to her in all their time together.

Vi swallowed her bite, almost choking on the mushy pulp, choking a breathless “Huh?”

Coach Blevins shot her a short look, frowning at her unhealthy breakfast choice, before returning to his utterly pointless activity. “For the Running Championship,” he added, as if that explained anything.

Vi stared at him for a long moment, slowly lowering her spoon back into the bowl. She felt an immediate sense of dread coil in her stomach.

“What championship?”

With another grunt, he shoved a crumpled flyer across the table toward her, eyes still glued to his stats. The edges of the paper were slightly damp - probably from the condensation on his coffee cup - and the print was faded, like it had been left sitting in some forgotten corner for too long.

Vi picked it up, squinting at the bold letters: THE PREMIER PILTOVER GIRLS' INTERCLUB RUNNING CHAMPIONSHIP.

The date beneath it was circled in red ink.

She set her spoon down with a dull clink, staring at the side of his face, waiting for some kind of follow-up explanation that never came.

Vi let out a slow, heavy breath through her nose, tapping a finger against the paper. “And when, exactly, were you gonna tell me about this?”

Coach Blevins grunted, which was not an answer.

Vi narrowed her eyes. “And when did I agree to this?”

Another grunt. He took a long, deliberate sip from his coffee.

She resisted the sudden urge to snatch the cup out of his hands and throw it at the wall. Instead, she tossed the flyer back onto the table like it had personally offended her. “Yeah, no. Not happening.”

Coach Blevins finally, finally looked up. Not with anger, not with frustration, not even with mild interest - just that same unreadable, half-bored expression he always wore. Like she was a number on one of his stat sheets.

“You’re going.”

Vi let out a short, incredulous laugh, leaning back in her chair. “No, I’m really not.”

“You’re already registered.”

Her laughter stopped.

There was a long beat of silence, save for the radio crackling in the background and the faint drip of the leaky kitchen faucet.

Vi squinted at him. “You’re fucking with me.”

Coach Blevins was not fucking with her.

Vi ran a hand down her face and groaned with frustration. “Are you serious? You didn’t even ask me.”

“You would’ve said no.”

“Yeah, that’s kinda the point of asking, isn’t it?”

Just more grunting.

More numbers.

More of that stupid cup pressed against his lips, the ghost of his past self mocking her.

She exhaled sharply, dropping the flyer back onto the table like it had personally offended her, not bothering to read any further. “I don’t need a pick-up,” she just muttered, grabbing her spoon again and continued shovelling the sweet, sticky mess into her mouth.

Coach Blevins gave a noncommittal grunt, which she took as agreement.

Or maybe just acknowledgment.

Hard to tell with him. The man had the emotional range of a brick wall.

“What the actual fuck, Margot, where did you get that from?!”

Vi stared at her, half in disbelief, half in admiration. Margot just grinned up at her, cheeks flushed with pride, her bleached hair still damp from the shower. She shoved the small plastic zipper bag back into her pocket like it was nothing.

Vi shook her head, a reluctant smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. She shot a glance toward the nurse by the door - too busy flirting with the grumpy cook wheeling in their meals to notice a damn thing. Good. Vi turned back to Margot.

Leona let out a low chuckle, reaching out to clap Margot on the back. "Good fucking job, tiny. What’d you do, shove it up your ass?"

Margot shook her head, sending little droplets flying from her wet hair. She crossed her arms over her narrow chest, grinning like she'd just pulled off the heist of the century.

“Nope,” she said with a popping “p”. Her whole body was buzzing with the effort of withholding the information, lips pressed into a tight, trembling line, as if the words might burst out her the second she opened her mouth again.

Which they probably would.

“Oh, come on, don’t be all secretive now,” Vi teased, nudging the smaller girl next to her with her elbow.

The girls were huddled at their usual table, voices lower than usual. The stale cafeteria air buzzed with the hum of distant conversations, the clatter of trays being distributed, the clinking of cutlery.

“Yeah,” Leona said, probing her elbow against Margot’s other side, eyes wide and curious, “or did you shove it up your pu-“

The floodgates opened and the dam fell.

“Fuck, you shoulda seen me, Vi, I - okay, okay, so you guys know the delivery guy, right? The hot one, the one with the dark curls that always walks around in that fucking tanktop, not that old, miserable prick.”

The girls all nodded and hummed, but Margot didn’t need their acknowledgement to continue her gabbling.

“So, last week I was on pick-up duty, so I went down there and you know, kinda flirted with him, I mean, who wouldn’t, right? So fucking hot. But that’s besides the point, we got talking and he told me he’s growing and I was like ‘cool, can you get me some?’ and he was like ‘sure, if you blow me’ and I was like ‘sweet, killing two birds with one stone’ and he was like-“

Leona groaned and rolled her eyes, patience as thin as the one of a toddler.

“Okay, okay, sorry. So, I was on duty again today and I went down to the delivery entrance with Hugo, and the hottie was there again and he just hands me the fucking weed, like, in plain fucking sight for the whole world to see. And first I’m thinking, ‘this is gonna be a nightmare, they’re gonna catch me, I just know it,’ right? Because Hugo was just right fucking there! But then I - "

Margot paused, looking around like someone might be eavesdropping, but the nurse was still busy twirling her hair around her index, making lovey-dovey eyes at the cook. She leaned back in, eyes gleaming with pride.

"I just put it in my mouth. Just put it right under my tongue, like, super fucking fast and fucking Hugo didn’t even fucking notice, can you believe that? I mean, he did ask me why I was so quiet on our way up, you know, ‘cause I couldn’t speak and all, but I just gave him the finger and I’m pretty sure that settled it for him.”

Vi rolled her eyes, but there was a glint of amusement in her pale blue eyes.

“Jesus, Margot, not again. You’re a fucking mess.” She cut herself off, glancing around quickly. “Do I need to remind you of that time you almost swallowed the evidence?”

Margot’s cheeks flushed a shade darker, and she threw up her hands defensively. “Okay, okay, that was a mistake, I swear! But this? This obviously shows that I improved a whole fucking lot, right?”

Leona barked a laugh, loud and unfiltered as usual.

“Genius? That’s more like a damn miracle, you fucking dumbass!”

She reached over and ruffled Margot’s hair, sending more water droplets scattering across the table.

“Seriously, tiny, you’ve got guts. I can’t even imagine trying to sneak something in. I would’ve just stolen someone else’s stash, y’know?”

Margot grinned right back, nodding eagerly. “Hell yeah, Leona! We could - " Diana quickly cut her off, leaning in, eyes bright with curiosity. “Don’t give her any more stupid ideas, Leona. Also, you did sneak stuff in, don’t you remember what happened, like, two years ago?”

Vi groaned, rubbing her forehead as the memory came flooding back. “God, that was really something.”

It had started, as most of Leona’s harebrained schemes did, with overconfidence. She’d walked in one day with a small bag so packed with weed that it was practically bulging. Not the casual little stash she usually had hidden away - no, this was enough to turn the entire place into a mini weed dispensary if it went unnoticed.

The plan had been simple, or at least Leona had called it that.

During lunch, while everyone was distracted with their food, she’d sit there casually rolling joints under the table like it was just another Tuesday. "So chill," she’d said, grinning to herself, as she meticulously rolled each joint with far too much pride for anyone’s comfort. Not even Vi had ever been this fucking bold. Or stupid.

Vi couldn’t help but laugh quietly at the memory. “I can still see her, all smug, sitting there at the table like she was some sort of professional. Like anyone wouldn't notice a goddamn weed factory in the making.”

Diana’s joined her chuckle and shrugged. “And then Dr. Hoskel showed up.”

Vi’s face twisted in amusement. “Of course he did. That man never misses an opportunity to appear when shit’s about to hit the fan.”

Dr. Hoskel had this way of sneaking in, like a balding ghost with incredibly bad posture, and this particular day had been no different. The second his sharp eyes landed on Leona’s table, she froze mid-roll, panic flashing across her face. She hadn’t been clever enough to think about a way to hide the evidence.

The panic had hit Leona full force. As soon as she saw him walking towards the table, she made a split-second decision: Shove everything into the mashed potatoes right in front of her.

It wasn’t a good plan to begin with, but she executed it even worse - she barely got half the stash in before the plate was covered in a mound of weed-infused mash. It was a disaster, but Leona was never one to back down.

Vi still remembered how everyone at the table tried so hard to keep a straight face, their eyes flickering between Leona and the approaching Dr. Hoskel. Leona had leaned back, acting casual, but her shoulders were too stiff, her face too tense, and everyone knew that it was only a matter of seconds before Dr. Hoskel would figure out what had happened.

Vi had felt the tension rising in the air, but Leona, ever the cool one, had whispered a half-hearted joke as Hoskel stopped by their table, watery eyes peering over his ugly glasses. “Hey, Doc, got bored of your office?” She'd offered a strained smile, which somehow made everything even worse.

Hoskel had leaned in, his eyes narrowing as he took in the scene - Leona’s wide eyes, the perfectly rolled joints tucked under the mashed potatoes, the faint smell that lingered even with the distraction of food. It was like the universe had decided to stack the deck against her.

“Leona...” he’d said, his voice calm but with an edge that could cut through steel, “What’s in your mashed potatoes?”

And there it was - the moment the shit hit the fan.

Vi could almost hear Leona’s mind racing, her thoughts trying to come up with a quick lie. “Nothing, just... uh... potatoes. And, uh… peas?” Her voice had cracked at the end, but the damage was done. Dr. Hoskel’s expression had changed in an instant - from confusion to knowing.

And, because Leona never took the easy way out, she tried to act normal.

She reached for a spoon, trying to mix the potatoes casually, but the weed was way too obvious, chunks of it poking out like some bizarre topping. The smell was unmistakable, and now, everyone in the room had started to realize that Leona’s lunch had turned into a crime scene. For a few moments, she seemed to be considering shoving some of it in her mouth.

It was an absolute trainwreck, but somehow, they all managed to avoid the full consequences. Dr. Hoskel had made them all sit through a long, awkward silence, but no one got kicked out, and Leona didn’t get expelled. Instead, they all had to endure a very uncomfortable lecture about boundaries, drugs, and how food was definitely not an appropriate hiding place.

“Yeah, well, I’m still mad I didn’t get to keep the weed,” Leona shrugged with a quiet smile. “Cost me like sixty bucks. Fucking sixty! And the clinic never paid me back.”

Vi snorted. “Sixty bucks? Jesus, Leona. Maybe just shove it down your bra next time, you know, like fucking normal people?”

Leona shot her a playful glare. "Next time, next time." She looked around the cafeteria, eyes narrowed like she was trying to figure out when the best moment would be to get her hands on some weed again.

"Okay, so when do we smoke this?"

Vi tapped her fingers on the table, half-pensive, half-impatient. "How about tomorrow? Five o'clock sounds good," she said, tilting her head with consideration. "Recreational therapy's still cancelled anyway. That’s as good a time as any."

Leona gave a dramatic sigh. "Five o'clock. Right when we’re supposed to be ‘reflecting’ on our progress. How very unfortunate." She mimicked Dr. Shoolas’s unnervingly calm voice, "'Now, Leona, how does it make you feel to know that you are emotionally evolving into a better version of yourself?'"

Margot chuckled under her breath. "If the emotionally better version of myself involved getting buzzed and talking shit for an hour, I’m all fucking in.”

"Yeah," Leona agreed. "That’s the real therapy."

Vi gave an affirmative nod, leaned back and crossed her arms in front of her chest. They were still a bit sore from her training session with Sevika yesterday, but she was starting to see some progress. Not only were her punches more precise and stronger, her already bulky arms were starting to become a bit more defined and toned.

Maybe she’d spent a good twenty minutes checking herself out in the bathroom mirror.

Maybe she’d thought about what Caitlyn might say about them.

“Tomorrow, 5 PM it is. Behind the garden shed?”

Leona and Margot both nodded enthusiastically.

“How about you, Diana?”

Diana wasn’t answering, eyes fixed at something across the room.

“Diana?” Vi furrowed her brows and leaned forwards, waving one hand in front of Diana’s face to catch her attention. “Di? 5 PM, tomorrow, shed? That okay with you?”

Diana’s smile had vanished from her face, brows knitted together in a half-concerned, half-questioning expression. She still didn’t look at Vi, only narrowed her eyes a bit before she spoke up.

“Caitlyn’s sitting alone.”

Brown curls and bleached, wet hair whipped around in a sharp motion, as both Leona and Margot turned their heads around and craned their necks, while Vi quickly dropped her eyes down to her lap, the twisting need to look at Caitlyn coiling in her chest again.

Margot was practically hanging of her chair, only keeping herself upright by grabbing the tabletop with her bony fingers, mouth slightly agape. “She actually is, huh,” she confirmed and tilted her head a bit. “Where’s that huge guard dog of hers?”

“Illaoi?” Leona turned back to the table, eyes flickering over to Vi for the briefest of seconds. “Got out, right after breakfast. Saw her pack her stuff.”

Margot let out a small, pitying sound and returned to the table as well, pulling one of her knees up to her chest and resting her chin on top. “That sucks. They seemed to get along pretty well.” She paused for a second, then continued, though with a bit more caution. “I remember when I first got here and Vi got released before I did. I was super fucking lonely. Really was fucking shit.”

Silence.

Vi was still not looking up, but now she could feel six eyes drilling holes into her,

"She’s fine," Vi muttered more to herself than anyone else.

"She doesn't look fine," Diana said quietly, not unkindly, but with a certain sharpness.

Vi didn’t reply. She started picking at her bruised and sore knuckles, fiddling around with the sensitive skin until it burned. The eyes on her didn’t disappear.

“You know,” Leona started carefully, and Vi immediately knew what she was going to say, “we could – I mean, I know we’re not her babysitters and all – but we could, like, ask her to join-“

Vi snapped her head up, locking eyes with Leona. “No.”

The response came out sharper than she intended, and the table went still for a second.

Margot raised an eyebrow, but didn’t say anything, her usual sharp wit reined in – which was a really bad fucking sign. Diana studied Vi, her expression unreadable, but there was a hint of surprise in her eyes. Leona, unfazed, just tilted her head, unfurling her arms from the back of her chair.

“You sure?” Leona asked, voice light but tinged with something more serious. “I mean, it’s not like we’re doing anything special. We could just offer. Couldn’t hurt.”

Vi stiffened, fingers still picking at the skin around her knuckles, leaving them red and raw. She felt her pulse quicken. Her mind raced, a mix of guilt and irritation clouding her thoughts.

She swallowed hard, unwilling to let her emotions get the better of her. “I’m sure. She’s fine.”

The silence stretched for what felt like an eternity, until Diana spoke, her voice cutting through the tension like a knife. “She doesn’t look fine,” she repeated, this time with a certain finality, as if she’d reached some kind of conclusion.

Vi looked at Diana, met her firm, intense stare.

She shrugged. “ And I don’t see how that is my problem.“

And then, as if pulled by some invisible force, her gaze shifted back to Caitlyn across the room.

Caitlyn was sitting there, hunched in on herself, shoulders tight, eyes downcast. She hadn’t touched her plate of food, the steam of the potatoes fogging up the window she was sitting next to. She was pale, lips pressed into a thin, unmoving line, strands off hair framing her face like midnight curtains.

Vi's stomach turned.

She felt it - the sudden weight of what she’d been avoiding, what she’d been trying to sugarcoat, what she couldn’t look away from anymore. Caitlyn was not fine. Vi couldn’t pinpoint it exactly, but the sadness was radiating off Caitlyn in waves, the kind of emptiness that made Vi want to look away.

But she didn’t. She couldn’t.

And just like that, the fire in her chest flared up - anger, confusion, frustration - all mingled together, twisting tighter. She hated how Caitlyn looked right now, hated how it made her feel. She didn’t know how to fix it. She didn’t know what Caitlyn needed. She didn’t know how to deal with this feeling.

They weren’t friends.

They fucked. And that was it.

Vi looked down at the table, forcing herself to focus, but the image of Caitlyn wouldn’t leave her. It was like trying to ignore a fire that was already burning in her gut.

“She’s fine,” she muttered again, but this time she couldn’t even convince herself.

Vi would never admit it out loud, but she regretted declining Coach Blevin’s ride.

Sure, it was the middle of March, but apparently summer had decided to come early, clearing the sky of its clouds, letting the sun scorch the streets like it was mid-July. The air was thick and unmoving, the kind that made everything feel just a little bit heavier, and her shirt was already clinging to her back by the time she dragged herself through the entrance gates of Piltover Grand Stadium - after a fucking Odyssey across town.

The stadium was new, shiny, and so goddamn proud of itself, the kind of place that made rich people feel good about living in Piltover.

It was a sprawling beast of metal and glass, reflecting the sunlight like it was trying to blind anyone who dared to look at it directly. Banners hung from the walls, all boasting some variation of Piltover’s Finest Athletics Facility! and Home of Champions! as if sheer enthusiasm could make up for the absolute lack of soul the place had.

It reeked of fresh money, over-polished surfaces, and the kind of over-engineered design that was supposed to scream innovation but really just said we spent way too much on this.

Vi hated it.

She pushed through the revolving glass doors, stepping into the overly air-conditioned lobby. It was as sterile as a hospital but twice as expensive, all sleek marble floors and high-tech check-in kiosks. The place was crawling with athletes, coaches, and staff buzzing around in various states of panic. Vi pushed her way through, ignoring the security guards in their sharp uniforms, the volunteers handing out water, the runners stretching and bouncing on their toes like over-caffeinated rabbits.

She just needed to check in, grab her number, and get this over with. She was already looking forward to her smoke afterwards.

Dragging herself toward the registration desk, Vi gave the lady behind the counter a quick once-over - older, severe-looking, the type that probably got off on enforcing pointless rules.

“Name,” the woman said, not even looking up.

“Vi.”

A pause. The woman’s eyes flicked up, unimpressed. “Full name.”

Vi sighed, rubbing the back of her neck. “Shit, I don’t fucking know. Blevins?”

The woman rolled her eyes and let out a huff, fingers darting over the keyboard in front of her.  Vi started tapping her foot in a quick rhythm, ignoring the occasional glances the woman shot at her.

“There’s no one registered under that name,” the lady finally said, looking back at Vi with squinted eyes. Vi stared back, a small smile forming on her lips and shrugged, not even attempting to feign disappointment.

“Oh. Hm. Well, guess I can’t compete. Thanks anyways.”

She was already turning to leave, when the woman spoke up again. “Are you from Zaun?” she asked, her bored tone sharpening at the edges.

Vi stopped mid-turn, shoulders tensing. She exhaled through her nose, then turned back, slouching against the counter. “What gave it away? The charming personality?”

The woman wasn’t amused. “People from Zaun don’t have registered last names in our system. You’ll be under your identification number.”

Vi rolled her eyes. “Great. Love being reduced to a number.”

The woman simply stared, waiting.

Vi drummed her fingers against the counter, debating whether this was worth the trouble. Then she just sighed and muttered, “ZAUN167VL.”

The woman typed it in, her long nails clacking against the keys. A beat of silence. Then her expression smoothed into neutrality. “There you are. Violet.”

Vi scoffed. “It’s Vi.”

The lady ignored her.

A few keystrokes, a beep, and then the woman handed over a race bib with her number – #516 - stamped across it in thick black print. “You’re in heat three. Track opens for warm-ups in fifteen. Locker rooms are that way.”

She gestured vaguely behind her, already moving on to the next person in line.

Vi took the bib and moved toward the locker rooms, shoving the paper into her pocket. The inside of the stadium was just as obnoxious as the outside - everything in clean, sharp angles, the floors polished to an almost mirror-like shine. Even the damn signage looked fancy, the letters in some sleek, futuristic font that was probably custom-made for this place.

Inside the locker room, the air was thick with the scent of sweat and overpriced deodorant.

Girls were scattered around, tying up laces, stretching, checking their reflections in the too-bright mirrors like they expected a press conference instead of a footrace. Vi ignored them all, making a beeline for the nearest empty bench. She pulled off her sweat-drenched shirt and swapped it for her running gear: a faded tank top and a pair of running shorts that were technically Coach Blevin’s old ones.

He’d tossed them at her a few months ago, mumbling something about them being ‘better than what you’ve got.’ Which, sure, fair enough. But the shorts were a little too loose, the tank was a little too tight, and overall, she looked like a kid wearing their dad’s gym clothes.

Whatever.

She wasn’t here for a goddamn fashion show.

After lacing up her shoes - worn but still holding together - she left the locker room and walked over to the list posted near the track entrance. It was a roster of all the runners, organized by heats. She skimmed down the names until she found hers, narrowed her eyes at the tiny letters.

THE PREMIER PILTOVER GIRLS' INTERCLUB RUNNING CHAMPIONSHIP

400m Women's Heat 3

#128 Claremont, A.

#583 Fontaine, E.

#344 Cadwell, J.

#516 -, V.

#033 Kiramman, C.

#096 Zhang, T.

#298 Ariette, A.

Something in the back of her mind tingled - an odd familiarity she couldn’t quite place.

She ignored it.

A bunch of Piltie kids, no doubt. Probably all from the fancy training academies with their personal coaches, custom shoes, and diets that didn’t involve whatever leftovers they could scrape together.

“Damn,” a voice drawled beside her. “Didn’t know they let charity cases run.”

Vi turned her head just enough to see the girl next to her. Blonde ponytail, crisp sky-blue uniform, shoes so clean they looked like they’d never touched actual pavement. The kind of person who had a nutritionist and a carefully curated hydration plan.

Vi looked down at herself - sweaty, wearing old clothes that didn’t fit, hair probably a mess - and then back at the girl.

 “Oh, totally,” she said, nodding seriously. “It’s part of Piltover’s new outreach program. ‘Let a Poor Kid Get Smoked on the Track’ - real inspiring stuff.”

The girl’s lip curled, and Vi took that as a win. She didn’t stick around for a reply, just turned on her heel and headed to the warm-up area, where clusters of runners were already gathered - stretching, chatting, sizing each other up like this was some grand battle instead of a track meet.

The track was gleaming under the overhead lights, its surface some fancy rubberized material designed to absorb shock and make rich kids feel fast. Even the grass lining the lanes was manicured, no stray weeds, no patches of dirt where people had stood too long.

Just splendidly perfect.

Some team members of her club were huddled together near the benches, their matching uniforms pristine, their conversation light and easy.

She didn’t even bother going over. Instead, she found an empty patch of track and started warming up on her own, rolling out her shoulders, shaking out her legs.

The tingling sensation in the back of her mind was still there, the gnawing feeling that she was forgetting something, overlooking something.

But it didn’t matter who was running.

She rolled her neck, exhaled slowly, and planted her feet firmly on the ground.

Didn’t matter who they were.

Didn’t matter what the stadium looked like, or how much money got pumped into this place to make it shine.

When the race started, none of that would mean shit.

She was still going to run them into the ground.

The first heat was already lining up at the starting blocks, but she wasn’t paying attention. She could hear the officials going through their usual pre-race spiel, the muffled sound of the announcer's voice over the speakers, the faint murmur of the crowd. It was all just background noise.

Vi didn’t bother watching.

What was the point? She wasn’t here to make friends, and she sure as hell didn’t need to psych herself out watching a bunch of Piltie kids sprint like their lives depended on it.

Instead, she kept to herself, moving through her warm-up routine. High knees. Leg swings. Arm circles. Anything to keep her body loose, to keep her mind from wandering into places she didn’t want it to go, trying to ignore that gnawing, tingling sensation in the back of her mind.

The first gunshot rang through the air that was all off a sudden filled with cheers and shouts and the sound of shoes against the track. Vi didn’t spare the runners a single glance and lowered herself onto the grass lining the track, continuing her warm-up routine.

She was mid-stretch, fingers grazing the tips of her shoes, when something shifted in the corner of her vision.

Everything in her coiled.

Midnight ink on narrow shoulders, considerably longer than a year ago.

Eyes bluer than the depths of the ocean, slightly squinted in concentration.

Long legs in crisp and tailored shorts, bending and stretching with precision.

How could Vi ever forget that name?

#033 Kiramman, C.

Vi froze, the perfectly trimmed grass pressing soft against her naked calves.

Caitlyn Kiramman was alone, as usual.

Her long legs moved with effortless grace as she stretched a few feet away from Vi, the muscles in her calves tightening and releasing in a fluid rhythm. Her running shorts fit her perfectly, hugging her lean frame, and the tank top she wore – sky-blue and slightly more fitted than Vi’s - seemed to almost glow in the harsh stadium lights.

She wasn’t looking at Vi – Vi wasn’t even sure if she’d spotted her. Instead, her gaze was focused onto the far away side of the stadium, locked onto the empty seats in concentration – or absent-mindedly, Vi couldn’t really tell.

Vi wanted to look away, wanted to continue her stretches and pretend she hadn’t seen Caitlyn, but for whatever reason she couldn’t.

And so she just kept staring at the girl she had last seen a year ago.

They hadn’t talked again after the soccer match – which the Zaunites had won, by the way.

Of course they had.

Vi hadn’t seen Caitlyn again that day - not at dinner, not when she snuck out at night, not at breakfast the next morning. It was only during pickup time, when the campgrounds were buzzing with kids eager to leave, that she spotted that familiar navy crown of hair.

She had almost missed her at first.

The parking lot had been chaotic, filled with the excited chatter of children scrambling for their bags, parents waving, counselors shouting last-minute instructions. The Pilties were practically screeching with excitement at the prospect of leaving this place - and, more importantly, the "filthy" Zaunites - behind.

Mylo had been gnawing her ear off, blabbering about some bar in Zaun he really wanted to sneak into, but Vi hadn’t really listened to him, eyes fixed on the little girl perched stiffly on a bench near the registration table.

None of the Pilties had even so much as looked at Caitlyn.

Vi had.

Caitlyn’s hands, small and delicate, had been folded neatly in her lap, and her bag sat close to her side, zipped and ready. Her head had been slightly bowed, her dark curtain of hair concealing most of her face. If Vi hadn’t known better, she would’ve thought Caitlyn had turned into one of the statues at Piltover Grand Lyceum  - motionless, silent, out of place.

Vi’s mouth had all of a sudden felt very dry and she had to swallow, wet her parched lips with her tongue.

She had already racked her brain on a way to join Caitlyn on the bench as casually as possible, racked her brain on what to say, when an all-too-familiar, grating voice pierced through the air like nails on glass.

"Vi! Over here, sweetheart!"

Vi had winced. Darlene.

The woman had waved so enthusiastically that for a second, Vi feared her arm might detach from her socket. She stood next to Ludwig, who looked as indifferent as ever, hands in the pockets of his perfectly ironed pants.

“Look, Vi, salvation is here,” Mylo had snorted next to her.

She had groaned under her breath, but before she could throw something snarky back at him, he pulled her into a quick, tight hug. "Don’t disappear on us, okay?" he had muttered into her hair.

Vi had sighed, nodding into his shoulder. "Yeah, yeah. You better not either."

When they had broken apart, Mylo slung his bag over his shoulder and jogged back toward the bus where the other Zaunites were loading in. Claggor was already inside, waving at her through the window. Vi returned it absentmindedly, her eyes already drifting back toward the bench.

Her pale eyes had met beautiful blue ones.

Caitlyn had looked a lot more tired than the first day of camp, dark circles rimming her eyes and lips pressed into a thin, tight line. All off a sudden, Vi had wanted nothing more but to make her smile, to see that tiny gap between her teeth again. She wanted to hear that soft, breathy chuckle that had surprised her the first time she heard it.

Instead, all she had managed was a tiny, uncertain wave, before dropping her hand back to her side.

Caitlyn had tensed a bit, lips twitching, eyes flickering from Vi’s face to her hand and back again.

Then, slowly, carefully, she had lifted her own hand and mirrored the gesture.

Just as small. Just as hesitant. Just as unsure.

And then it was gone, her hand disappearing back into her lap as if it had never left.

"Vi!" Darlene's voice snapped her out of it again, grating and insistent.

Darlene had swooped Ludwig and Vi into her car before Vi had a chance to see who Caitlyn got picked up by. She had twisted her neck as they pulled from the parking lot, trying her best to catch another glance of that strangely invisible, lonely girl.

But the crowd of running, shouting kids swallowed her whole, and just like that -

She was gone.

And that had been it.

Caitlyn had to be about thirteen by now. She had grown a bit, but was still on the smaller side of things, her arms and legs lanky, her frame wiry in a way that suggested she’d yet to grow into it. Still, the softness of childhood had started to fade from her face, round cheeks giving way to more pronounced cheekbones, her features sharper than Vi remembered.

She looked beautiful.

Vi blinked.

Beautiful?

She hadn’t meant to think that. But the thought was already there, hanging in her mind like a damn neon sign. Her stomach twisted, and her gaze involuntarily flicked lower, searching -

Did she still have that adorable little gap in her teeth?

What the fuck.

She shook her head, clenched her jaw and forced herself to look anywhere else but Caitlyn. She wasn’t supposed to care about how cute or beautiful or whatever Caitlyn looked.

It wasn’t like they were friends.

They weren’t anything.

Her eyes darted across the field, desperate for something else to latch onto, and landed on the benches at the far end.

Perfect. Distraction.

She let herself focus on them, scanning the different groups sprawled across the wooden planks. Some kids were chattering loudly, animated in their excitement, while others scrolled through their phones, heads bent low. A few teams lounged in their matching uniforms, their easy confidence making it clear they belonged.

Her gaze skimmed over them until -

Sky-blue.

Caitlyn’s team.

Vi’s stomach twisted as she took them in - the cluster of teenage girls sitting close, heads angled toward each other in conversation, their words a murmur too distant to make out. But she didn’t need to hear them. She could see it.

The glances.

Quick, darting looks toward Caitlyn, never lingering for too long. Expressions carefully neutral, just subtle enough to seem harmless if you weren’t looking closely. But Vi was looking closely. And she knew exactly what those kinds of looks meant. She had seen them before.

She looked back at Caitlyn.

This time, she noticed how Caitlyn’s posture had shifted - slightly hunched, her focus still intense but distant. Was it just her imagination, or was Caitlyn trying to make herself smaller?

Like she knew they were talking about her.

Vi’s hands curled into fists against the grass.

Caitlyn’s face was set in that all-too-familiar serious expression, the same one Vi had seen a year ago. The one that said she wasn’t going to let it get to her, even if it already had.

She should go over there.

Should say something to Caitlyn.

Tell her she wasn’t like them.

Tell her that she didn’t care what they thought, that the way they treated her didn’t matter.

But Vi couldn’t do it. And yet she couldn’t stop looking at Caitlyn.

She just sat there, feeling the heat press down on her, thick and suffocating against her skin. She could barely breathe. The weight of indecision settled in her chest, hot and heavy.

Then, the loudspeaker crackled to life.

"Attention, all runners for Heat 3, please report to the starting blocks."

The tension shattered like glass.

Vi felt a surge of relief flood through her and exhaled sharply, the excuse cutting through her hesitation like a lifeline. She didn’t have to deal with this. Vi pushed herself up from the grass, grabbed her water bottle, and forced her legs to move.

She didn’t look back as she made her way to the track.

She was here to run.

She just hoped Caitlyn wouldn’t run right next to her.

The starting blocks were set up just a little way down the field, and she jogged over, ignoring the subtle glances and whispers from the other runners. Their whispers didn’t matter, just like the judgment didn’t.

She wasn’t here for friends. She wasn’t here for anyone except herself.

Okay, and maybe Coach Blevins.

Vi found her slot and slid into her starting position, feet finding the blocks like she had done a dozen times before. She took a deep breath, her muscles already twitching, the familiar hum of adrenaline coursing through her veins.

She was ready.

And then, right as she was getting into position, right as she was adjusting her blocks, she heard a voice, quiet and almost tentative.

“Hi.”

Vi’s body froze, her hand still gripping the side of the block. Her head snapped sideways, and for the briefest of moments, her breath caught in her chest.

Caitlyn.

She was standing right next to her, only a few feet away, adjusting her own starting blocks. She had pulled her hair back into a ponytail. She wasn’t looking at Vi directly, but there was a strange, almost hesitant energy about her. Her posture was more rigid than usual, fingers of her unoccupied hand twitching at the edge of her shorts like she didn’t quite know what to do with herself.

Vi blinked, and for a second, she thought she might actually say the things she wanted to say.

But then she remembered who she was, who Caitlyn was, and the got  stuck in her throat.

Instead, she only shot Caitlyn a shy glance and muttered, “Hey.”

Caitlyn didn’t respond, not verbally anyway. She just nodded, her focus turning back to her own blocks as she adjusted her stance. She didn’t look at Vi again, not once, not even as the announcer’s voice boomed through the speakers, calling them to get ready.

Vi tried to do what she always did: shut down the unnecessary thoughts and focused on the race ahead. She blocked out everything - the crowd, the tension in the air, the weird moment with Caitlyn - and focused on the one thing she knew she could control.

The race.

The announcer's voice boomed over the speakers again, signalling the start of Heat 3.

Vi’s heart picked up its pace, but not from nerves. It was the feeling she loved - the feeling that came before she took off. The feeling of potential, of speed, of not caring what anyone thought or who they were. Just her and the track.

Goddamn Coach Blevins had been onto something.

“Runners, take your mark.”

Vi pushed herself down, feeling the blocks firm beneath her palms, her body already coiling, ready to explode.

“Set.”

Her feet shifted into the blocks, her knees bending, her heart racing in time with the count of the announcer. She glanced over at Caitlyn again, but this time, there was nothing. No sideways glance, no timid smile, no sparkle of recognition. She looked away.

The gunshot rang out.

And Vi was off.

Everything melted away. The stadium. The crowds. Caitlyn. The cheers.

She didn’t hear the way the runners behind her pushed ahead or the slap of sneakers against the track. She didn’t care. It was just her, the track, and the feeling of her legs working, her body moving with the rhythm of a sprint she knew so well.

It was like everything clicked into place, like she could forget everything else, just for a moment.

All that mattered was the finish line.

Vi’s legs churned, propelling her forward in a chaotic yet powerful storm of muscle and raw determination. She wasn’t one of those fancy runners with picture-perfect form; no, Vi ran like a freight train - heavy, loud, and unstoppable. Her arms flailed in some ridiculous rhythm, like she was trying to swat away the air itself.

But hell, it worked.

She was built for this, and there was nothing pretty about it.

But who needed pretty when you had power, right?

She gritted her teeth, focusing on the finish line ahead. The wind stung her face, but she barely noticed. Her legs were burning, her chest tight, but that was what she was here for. She was running for something. Even if it was only beating those stuck-up Pilties.

This was her element.

The world blurred around her, and for a few moments, it was just her, the track, and the raw thrill of it all. The finish line came closer and closer, lines littered with officials tracking their time, their eyes locked onto their tiny stopwatches and clipboards.

Vi could already see herself crossing the line, could already feel the tug of a smug grin at the corners of her mouth, could already see the sourpuss on the faces of her competitors, appalled at the prospect of having lost to literal scum.

And then, out of nowhere, she caught a flash of movement in her peripheral.

A streak of midnight.

Caitlyn ran like she was born to run. Every step was like she’d got some secret track-trophy algorithm built into her. She was smooth. Graceful. Her arms swung in time with each stride, like she was gliding.

She was practically floating.

Like she’d never even heard of gravity.

Vi's feet pounded against the ground, a heavy rhythm that clashed with Caitlyn's effortless pace. Caitlyn was pulling ahead now, her legs stretching out, each stride smoother than the last. It was like watching a swan glide over water, while Vi was... well, a goddamn boulder in comparison.

Vi could only stare at Caitlyn’s bouncing ponytail in front of her, the only thing keeping her from stumbling and falling flat on her face pure muscle memory.

It was strange.

There was no anger in her.

Not the usual flare that came when someone showed her up. Instead, Vi felt this weird, prickling admiration creeping up her spine, like she couldn't help but respect Caitlyn for being so damn good at it.

No, it wasn’t respect.

It was pride.

She was fucking proud of Caitlyn Kiramman.

Caitlyn shot ahead, a blur of midnight and determination, and it was clear: she wasn’t slowing down. The wind barely seemed to touch her, her arms moving in perfect sync with her legs, her breath controlled.

Vi tried to push herself faster, forcing every ounce of strength into her legs, but it was already too late. The distance between them stretched wider, and no matter how hard she pumped her arms or gritted her teeth, Caitlyn was untouchable.

Caitlyn crossed the finish line with ease, barely breaking stride as she slowed to a stop. She planted her hands on her hips, her head tilting slightly downward as she took measured, steady breaths. Her cheeks were only the faintest bit flushed, her chest rising and falling as if she’d just finished a warm-up rather than an all-out sprint. She didn’t look particularly out of breath.

Vi dragged herself over the line a few seconds later, chest heaving, breath unusually loud in her ears. A trickle of sweat rolled over her temple. She bent over, placed her hands on her knees and tried catching her breath, her eyes not once leaving Caitlyn’s lean figure.

Caitlyn had come to a stop a few feet from the finishing line, eyes on the ground, mouth slightly agape as she let out slow, controlled breaths. A strand of dark hair clung to her damp forehead.

She still had that tooth gap.

Vi slowly straightened up again, dragging the back of her hand across her forehead, smearing sweat and dust. The other runners trickled in behind her, their footsteps heavy, their breaths ragged, some of them stumbling to a stop with exhausted groans.

“Don’t beat yourself up about it.”

Startled, Vi turned around, her body still humming from exertion. She was met with the sharp, hostile gaze of #298, a petite girl with a head of dark curls and a spatter of freckles across her nose. She was wearing the same sky-blue uniform Caitlyn wore. But the girls open hostility wasn’t directed at Vi. She was glaring at Caitlyn’s back, practically hurling daggers at the lean girl.

Vi furrowed her brows. Another drop of sweat rolled down the bridge of her nose, settling on her lips. She licked it off, the sharp tang of salt spreading across her tongue.

“What?”

The girl nodded at Caitlyn, her expression tightening with something almost smug. “I said, don’t beat yourself up about it. That’s Kiramman.” She spit out the name like something venomous, her lips pursed and her eyes narrowing even more.

Vi followed her gaze back at Caitlyn, watching as she accepted a water bottle from a volunteer. Her fingers trembled slightly as she twisted the cap off, her eyes still fixed on the dirt beneath her feet.

None of her teammates had come over to congratulate her.

Hell, they would rather console her, a trencher from the Lanes, the epitome of dirt underneath their soles, than congratulate Caitlyn.

It was fucking pissing her off.

Vi could feel her chest tighten with familiar heat, could feel her nails digging into the palms of her hands.

She turned her head back at #298 and sized her up. “I know who she is. What’s it to you?” Her voice was a bit raspy from the race and her words came out in a low, intimidating growl – which she wasn’t particularly mad about.

The girl flinched a bit at her voice and quickly shrugged, crinkling her nose. “Her mother paid the officials off. Everybody knows that.”

Vi blinked at the girl. “Oh yeah? And how exactly does that work?”

#298 turned her glare on Vi now, like she couldn’t believe she had to explain something so obvious, like Vi was being wilfully stupid. “Her mother is Cassandra Kiramman.”

When Vi didn’t visibly react to the name, she scoffed, rolled her eyes and continued explaining in a slow, over-exaggerated way, as if Vi was some sort of overgrown toddler. “She sponsored the whole competition. Rented out the stadium, paid for the equipment, the staff, transportation, all that kind of stuff. Of course they’re going to make sure she wins.”

Vi let out a breathy, low laugh, shaking her head.

“Right. So what, they bribed gravity to be nicer to her? Paid off the wind so it wouldn’t mess up her stride? Maybe they slipped the ground a few coins to tilt itself in her favour?” She raised an eyebrow. “If her mom’s cash can make her that fast, I think I’d rather get a loan than train.”

A flicker of uncertainty crossed the girl’s face. She crossed her arms in front of her chest and cocked out her hip in a move she probably thought made her look completely unbothered, when in reality she only looked like a toddler mid-tantrum.

“Well, I don’t know how they did it, but everybody knows they did.”

Vi grinned, widening her eyes in feigned surprise. “Oh, really? You think they rigged the whole thing? Made the finish line move up whenever she got close? Maybe stuck a couple extra muscles in her legs when no one was looking? You’re right, she’s looking particular buff today.”

#298s mouth opened, then shut. The girl’s face twisted like Vi had smacked her with her fist – which she probably would, if the Piltie wouldn’t keep her fucking mouth shut.

“She was fucking better,” Vi said with a flat voice, tilting her head until her neck cracked. “That’s all there is to it.”

The grin had disappeared from her face, replaced by something sharper, something darker. Vi turned from #298, before her pea-sized brain would come up with another outrageous conspiracy theory about Caitlyn, which would ultimately lead to Vi beating the shit out of her.

Vi wasn’t planning on walking over.

She really wasn’t.

But somehow, her feet were already moving before she could think twice about it.

Her hands twitched at her sides, like they weren’t sure what to do, so she stuffed them into her pockets, pretending like this wasn’t a thing. Like this was just casual. Like she didn’t feel every damn eye on her as she stepped toward Caitlyn, who was still standing there, gripping that stupid water bottle like it was the only thing anchoring her to the ground.

Vi slowed as she got close, suddenly aware of how heavy her own breath still was, the dampness at the back of her neck, the way her pulse hadn’t quite settled yet.

She hesitated.

For a second, she almost turned around.

But before she could even think about backing out, her hand was already out of her pocket stretching out toward Caitlyn, calloused fingers uncurling in a way that felt strangely unnatural.

Caitlyn looked up.

Her lips were parted slightly, still catching her breath in slow, measured pulls. Her brows furrowed, just a fraction, her blue eyes flicking between Vi’s face and her outstretched hand like she wasn’t sure what was happening. Like she wasn’t sure it was real.

Vi swallowed. Then, before she could second-guess herself, she jerked her chin up and said, “Nice run.”

Her voice was still rough, but it didn’t tremble, didn’t falter. Thank fucking god.

For a moment, Caitlyn didn’t react.

Like the words had somehow gotten lost between them, like they didn’t make sense, like she was waiting for the punchline. It was like Caitlyn was trying to work out the rules of a game she hadn’t realized she was playing.

Then, slowly, her grip on the water bottle tightened, her knuckles going pale.

“…What?” she asked, voice even quieter than before, almost a whisper.

Vi snorted, tilting her head, a tiny smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “You deaf or something? I said nice run.”

Caitlyn blinked.

Once.

Twice.

Her lips parted again - like she wanted to say something, maybe call Vi out, maybe laugh - but nothing came. Her eyes searched Vi’s face, scanning it like she was trying to spot the trick, the joke, the catch.

Vi’s fingers twitched in the empty space between them. She hadn’t even realized her hand was still there, lingering mid-air like an idiot, waiting for Caitlyn to do something. This had the potential of becoming very awkward very quickly.

Then, finally, Caitlyn moved.

Slowly - almost hesitantly - she reached out and clasped Vi’s hand.

Her grip was firm. Steady. But her fingers lingered for half a second too long, her uncertain gaze flicking to Vi’s as if checking, one last time, that this wasn’t some elaborate joke at her expense.

“Thank you,” she said at last, like she was testing the word on her tongue.

Vi smirked, shaking their hands once before letting go. “Don’t get used to it.”

Caitlyn let out a breath - something close to a laugh, something light, something real - and for the first time since crossing that finish line, she actually looked like a winner.

Vi’s room was a goddamn mess.

The floor was a graveyard of discarded clothes - hoodies, shirts, socks, all crumpled and kicked into corners like they’d been flung there in frustration.

Her sheets were in a permanent state of disarray, tangled up like she’d spent half the night wrestling with them – which she had. She was a very avid sleeper. The pillow was on the floor, dust collecting in the creases, and the blanket was barely clinging to the mattress, one edge trailing down like it had tried to escape.

The nightstand was its own disaster zone.

Crumpled filters and old, empty packets of tobacco sat in a haphazard pile, the occasional loose flake of dried tobacco ground into the surface. A half-finished cup of water, gone stale overnight, teetered dangerously close to the edge. A few scraps of paper - some from the clinic, some just ripped-out pages covered in mindless scribbles - were scattered across it, some torn, others folded so aggressively the creases had nearly split.

Near the wall, her shoes were kicked off at odd angles, one resting sideways against the door. Her boxing gloves sat beside them, one upright, the other collapsed on itself like it had given up. A hoodie was draped over the back of the chair, barely hanging on, and beneath it, a tangle of earbuds that only worked when held in a very specific angle.

Everything smelled faintly of antiseptic and smoke, the ever-present hospital-grade cleanliness clashing against the stale remnants of whatever she’d smuggled in last.

The only thing untouched was the standard-issue crap the clinic had provided - a neatly folded set of spare linens in her cupboard, the tiny, sterile desk against the wall, the unopened pamphlets about “managing emotions” and “healthy coping mechanisms” stacked on the shelf.

Vi didn’t mind the chaos. She actually preferred it that way.

She sat cross-legged on her bed, absently picking at a loose thread in her sheets, waiting. Her gaze travelled over the crap littering the floor and up to her nightstand, falling onto the clock she had half-heartedly fixed with some tape.

The red digits were flickering.

7.03 PM

No knock.

7.04 PM

No knock.

The minutes dragged. The light above her buzzed faintly, a dull, constant hum filling the quiet. Vi glanced toward the door for the hundredth time in the past four minutes, as if staring at it hard enough would make Caitlyn appear.

Then she looked at the clock again.

7.05 PM

Nothing.

She exhaled through her nose, flopping onto her back, arms stretched out. She hated waiting. Hated not having something to do. But right now, her options were limited. The others were at group therapy - an even worse fucking alternative to sitting here, doing nothing. She’d rather count ceiling tiles.

But after another few minutes, even that felt unbearable.

7.09 PM

She could always go for a smoke. But what if Caitlyn showed up right in this moment?

With a groan, Vi swung her legs off the bed and stood.

Restless energy curled under her skin, urging her to move. She glanced around her room, taking in the absolute disaster she’d been living in.

Fine. Whatever. She could kill time cleaning.

She started with the clothes, scooping up whatever was closest and tossing it into the general direction of her cupboard. Some landed inside, some missed. She didn’t care enough to fix it. She wasn’t that bored. The shoes were next, kicked into a slightly neater pile by the wall.

The nightstand was trickier. She frowned at the collection of filters and flakes of tobacco, brushing them into an old paper bag she found under the bed. The half-finished cup of water went down in one gulp before she tossed it aside. The loose scraps of paper she stacked into something that resembled order, too lazy to sort them out.

She tugged her sheets into place, flipping her pillow back onto the mattress. It wasn’t perfect, but at least it looked less like a warzone.

Finally, she sat back down on the edge of the bed, rubbing the back of her neck. The room was still the same sterile box it had always been, just slightly less chaotic. And Caitlyn still hadn’t shown up.

Her gaze flickered towards the clock.

7.21 PM

She looked at the door again, waiting, straining her ears for the faintest of knocks.

And then it finally came, the liberating whisper of weak knuckles on wood.

Vi huffed when the door opened with a creak and Caitlyn slipped inside without a word, softly closing the door behind her with a subtle click of the latch. “You know, Kiramman, it’s kinda really fucking rude to leave someone waiting like that,” she grunted and leaned back, her elbows digging into the bed beneath her.

Caitlyn was standing with her back to her, hand still on the doorknob. Her hair in a messy ponytail – half-done, half-pulled back in a rush-, a few strands falling out from the hurried way she'd put it up, and her shoulders were strangely stiff.

“I got fucking better things to do” - (she hadn’t) – “than waiting for you all fucking evening,” Vi muttered, slowly pushing herself up to her feet,  “you know that, right? So maybe just a quick word or note the next time you decide to-“

But Caitlyn turned to face her, and Vi’s words died on her tongue, hanging in the air, jagged and unfinished.

She had been crying again.

Caitlyn was trying – really trying - to hide it.

The way she blinked too much, the way she sniffed and wiped at her nose with the back of her hand, the way her red eyes were boring into the ground in front of Vi’s feet like it was the most captivating thing she’d ever encountered, the way her lips were just a little too thin, trying to hold back whatever had cracked her apart.

But the thing was, Vi wasn’t an idiot, and Caitlyn wasn’t fooling anyone.

She stared at Caitlyn, the tension between them suddenly palpable, heavy in the room.

It was Caitlyn who broke it, sniffing once more and shrugging, feigned nonchalance betrayed by the tightness of her lips.

“I’m sorry. Got caught up,” she said flatly, still not meeting Vi’s eyes. She was still standing by the door, hand on the knob, seemingly ready to dart out the second Vi said the wrong thing.

Vi narrowed her eyes, taking in Caitlyn’s tense shoulders, her pale face, the dark bags under her red-rimmed eyes, the way her fingers were grasping the doorknob so tightly her knuckled turned white.

They fucked. And that was it.

They fucked. And that was it.

That was it.

“You good?”

The words came out before she could stop them, all twisted up and breathy.

Caitlyn stiffened even more, a breath caught in her chest as she looked anywhere but at Vi. She finally let go of the doorknob, instead wrapping her arm around her own midsection and grasping at the fabric. She tried to force one of her annoying fake smiles onto her face, but it was thin, strained, and the slight tremor in her voice when she spoke didn’t help.

“Yeah. Of course. I’m fine.”

Vi hesitated.

She bit down on her lower lip, her fingers itching to do something – anything - other than stand there, watching Caitlyn pull further away. She decide to start picking at the cuticle of her thumb with her index before her body would decide on some unfortunate and stupid displacement activity, like, who fucking knows, hug Caitlyn.

“You sure ‘bout that?”

Vi’s voice came out rougher than she meant, too sharp for comfort, and Caitlyn’s shoulders twitched. She didn’t flinch, not quite, but Vi could see the tension creep up her spine, making Caitlyn even more rigid.

She still didn’t look up, still didn’t make eye contact, and it grated on Vi more than she expected.

Caitlyn raised her hand to brush some hair out of her face, but gave the motion up halfway, letting it drop to her side. A few strands of hair clung to her cheek, stuck there by the faint trace of tears that had clearly still been lingering on her skin.

She opened her mouth, lips quivering just slightly as if she wanted to say something, but the words just wouldn’t come. She closed it again quickly, wetting her lips with the tip of her tongue, her eyes flickering in Vi’s direction for a moment before she looked away again.

Then, with a deep, almost weary breath, Caitlyn shrugged again, a quick, sharp motion that didn’t match the weight in her voice when she spoke.

“Yes. I’m sure.”

Caitlyn tried to mask the crack in her voice with a quick, strained breath.

Vi narrowed her eyes. “You’re so full of shit,” she muttered, her voice rough and flat.

The words hung in the air between them, heavy with something unspoken. Caitlyn didn’t respond, her shoulders stiffening even more at the sharpness of the words, but she didn’t argue.

Vi hesitated, then she took a small step forward, keeping a careful distance between them, index continuing to worry at her cuticle.

“Cait,” she said, the nickname strangely foreign on her tongue. She forced the softness, trying to ease the harsh edge in her voice.

Caitlyn’s eyes finally flickered up to meet Vi’s, cautious, wary, stubborn cerulean orbs. Vi swallowed, wet her lips and tilted her head slightly.

“You want to just skip this evening? Sleep it off?”

It wasn’t what she had expected to offer. It wasn’t what she wanted. Maybe because it was easier. Maybe because Caitlyn clearly didn’t want to talk, and maybe, just maybe, a good night’s sleep would actually make everything better.

Dr. Shoola would have been pretty fucking proud of her.

But Caitlyn’s reaction was immediate - too immediate - and it caught Vi off guard.

“No.”

Caitlyn’s voice was sharper and more biting than it had been, more forceful, even as the strain of her emotions still tugged at the edges of her words. Her posture went from stiff to defensive in the blink of an eye, as if the suggestion itself was an offense.

“No, I need this.”

The dark-haired girl lifted her chin the slightest bit, defiance and stubbornness hardening her exhausted features.

Vi frowned, her chest tightening, but she held her ground, meeting Caitlyn’s gaze with an unblinking stare.

She wanted to argue, to force Caitlyn to understand that the little act she was putting up was nothing short of ridiculous, but the words were stuck, tangled up in a knot of uncertainty and confusion in her chest.

Caitlyn didn’t give her time to say anything more.

She took a deep breath, chest rising and falling with the weight of it, and stepped away from the door, her shoulders still tight, still closed off. Vi watched her come closer, her own hands twitching at her sides, unsure whether to reach out or not.

Then Caitlyn’s fingers brushed her shoulder, a light touch at first, gathering the fabric between them, rubbing it absent-mindedly, like she was trying to ground herself in something, anything.

It wasn’t until Caitlyn’s face hovered a little closer, those beautiful, beautiful eyes traveling over Vi’s face, that Vi could clearly see the faint, wet shimmer on Caitlyn’s pronounced cheekbones, the residue of tears she hadn’t been able to hide. Her eyes were slightly swollen, the edges raw and red, and her lashes clumped together from the dampness.

Her hands moved before her brain could register it, instinct and something else urging her to pull Caitlyn closer.

One hand wrapped around Caitlyn’s narrow waist, drawing her in until there was barely any space left between them, the other slipping beneath her shirt, fingers grazing the soft skin of Caitlyn’s warm stomach, feeling the taut muscles under her touch, the shallow rise and fall of Caitlyn’s breath beneath her palm.

Caitlyn’s soft breath brushed against her lips, the familiar scent of smoke and mint and lavender clouding Vi’s senses. Still, she hesitated, thumb tracing slow, cautious circles on Caitlyn’s abdomen, the movement almost a question in itself

“You sure?” Vi whispered, voice thicker than she’d liked it to be.

Caitlyn’s response was silent, her lips brushing against Vi’s, warm and soft. The kiss was a stark contrast to everything they’d shared before - there was no anger, no heat, just a quiet, almost reverent care that pulled at Vi’s chest.

It was a kiss so different from the frantic ones they'd shared on countless nights before, and yet it felt more real, more vulnerable than anything they'd done in the past. Vi’s heart stumbled in her chest, tightening painfully as she leaned into it.

They fucked. And that was it. They fucked. And that was it. They fucked. And that was it.

Theyfuckedandthatwasittheyfuckedandthatwasittheyfuckedandthatwasittheyfuckedandthatwasit-

Caitlyn’s hand trailed from Vi’s shoulder to her neck, the fingertips lightly grazing her skin before moving into her hair, fingers slipping through the strands, gathering a handful at the back of her head. It wasn’t the usual rough tug or forceful, eye-watering grip that Vi was used to - no, this was different.

The touch was soft, deliberate, almost hesitant.

The kiss deepened, slow and unhurried.

Caitlyn's lips parted slightly, just enough to invite Vi in, and that small motion sent a jolt through Vi, a flicker of something sharp and electric shooting down her spine. Her fingers tightened around Caitlyn’s waist, pulling her closer, as though she couldn't get enough, couldn’t stay far enough away.

Vi broke the kiss, just enough to catch her breath, but before Caitlyn could pull back, Vi shifted them.

In a fluid movement, she spun them around, both hands gripping Caitlyn’s waist to stabilize her as she turned, guiding them both toward the bed. Caitlyn’s back of her knees hit the edge, her legs colliding with the mattress with a soft thud, and she sank into it. She looked up at Vi, eyes hazy with desperation and unveiled lust.

Vi stood between her legs for a moment, chest heaving, eyes dark and focused, her gaze never leaving Caitlyn’s. Her fingers hovered over Caitlyn’s shoulders, and she could feel the slight tremor in Caitlyn’s breath, could see a faint flicker of something in her eyes.

Her own breath caught in her throat as she lifted one hand, gently cupping Caitlyn’s chin. “Caitlyn,” she started, her heartbeat drumming in her ears, “Are you sure? We really don’t have to-”

But Caitlyn cut her off, grabbing her collar and pulling her forward, silencing her with a kiss. This time, it was deeper - more urgent. Caitlyn’s tongue slid over Vi’s lips, nudging them apart, coaxing her way inside. Vi couldn’t help but melt into it, her breath caught as Caitlyn’s tongue brushed against hers, soft and deliberate, sending a shiver down her back.

Right.

They weren’t friends. They didn’t care for another, didn’t ask, didn’t want to know.

They fucked. And that was it.

And so Vi let go of Caitlyn’s chin, her fingers finding their way around Caitlyn’s neck instead, pulling her deeper into the kiss. Her tongue slid into Caitlyn’s mouth, tasting, savouring the heat, the way Caitlyn’s breath hitched against her lips.

Vi’s other hand found its way to Caitlyn’s chest, pressing gently but firmly, urging her back, guiding her until Caitlyn’s back hit the covers. Slowly, Vi climbed over her, never once breaking the kiss, the weight of her body settling against Caitlyn’s, the heat between them growing, tightening.

When she finally pulled back, her lips swollen and wet, small, ragged breaths escaping her mouth, she could already feel the familiar heat between her legs, the pulsing, aching desire spreading through her body.

It thrummed beneath her skin, making her every nerve vibrate with need, a quiet intensity that gnawed at her with each shallow breath.

“Okay. Okay, what do you need?” she asked, voice already low and raw. Caitlyn stared up at her with those beautiful eyes. Her ponytail had come undone, dark strands spilling over the covers like a knocked-over inkwell, a mess of midnight silk spreading across the sheets.

“I- You-… I don’t know, I just- I figured, I-“

Caitlyn’s voice faltered, her words stumbling over each other.

“Caitlyn,” Vi cut her off, voice soft and quiet, one hand roaming from Caitlyn’s shoulders down to her chest, slipping beneath the hem of her shirt and travelling up the delicious warmth again, until she could finally cup one of her breasts, thumb lazily tracing the side of it.

“Breath, okay? Think. Take your time. What do you need?”

She leaned forward, plastering small, soft kisses alongside Caitlyn’s jaw, gently nibbling at the soft, unblemished skin of her throat, coaxing a small gasp from the girl underneath her. Vi could feel Caitlyn’s hand returning to her waist, grabbing the fabric of her hoodie tightly.

“I-…“ Caitlyn’s voice gave in once more, her breath already ragged and hot. She tried again, and this time managed to get a bunch of coherent words out.

“Just-… Just your fingers. Please.”

Vi just nodded, lips still brushing softly over Caitlyn’s sky, travelling closer to the shell of her ear. Her tongue traced the shell of Caitlyn’s ear ever so slightly, which made the girl below her shiver. She could feel the flutter of Caitlyn’s heartbeat under her fingers, like a little bird caught in her ribcage.

"Okay," Vi echoed softly, her voice low and soothing as she pressed one final kiss on Caitlyn’s jaw, feeling the warmth of her skin against her lips. She lingered for just a second longer than necessary.

“Let’s just get a bit more comfortable, alright?”

Vi straightened her back with a small groan and slowly slid off Caitlyn’s lap, careful not to jostle her in the process. She guided Caitlyn gently by the shoulders as she shifted, allowing her upper body to sink deeper into Vi’s pillow. The soft fabric of the pillow caught the back of Caitlyn’s head, cushioning it like a cloud, but Vi could see the way her body sagged, still tight with tension.

“This better?” Vi asked, her voice quieter than she intended, silently cursing the uncertainty that crept in despite herself. She lay down beside Caitlyn, wiggling one arm under her head to offer some support. Her other hand was already back on Caitlyn’s waist, drawing small circles on the soft fabric.

Caitlyn only nodded, nervous eyes flicking from Vi’s eyes to her lips and back again. Then,  she carefully shifted closer, inching forward like she wasn’t sure whether it was okay but desperate to close the gap. Their noses almost touched, and Vi’s heart thudded in her chest.

She was strangely aware of the proximity, the warmth of Caitlyn’s breath brushing over her skin, the soft flutter of Caitlyn’s eyelashes as she slowly closed the distance. Their lips met and Vi’s heart slammed against her rips.

This was nothing new.

This was fucking nothing new.

They had kissed a thousand times, fucked a thousand times, why was her heart beating so goddamn fast?

They deepened the kiss, their hands started to roam, but it still didn’t mirror their angry, messy encounters of the past weeks.

Vi could feel Caitlyn’s unharmed hand brushing against her abdomen, the coolness of Caitlyn’s fingers a sharp contrast to the heat that had gathered between them. It was almost imperceptible at first, a light, teasing touch that skimmed across the fabric of Vi’s hoodie.

Her breath caught as Caitlyn’s fingers finally made contact with her skin. A soft, almost trembling touch that sent a ripple of warmth through Vi’s body. She could feel Caitlyn’s fingertips tracing the muscles of her stomach, moving slowly and deliberately as if she were mapping out the contours of Vi’s body.

Vi broke the kiss, Caitlyn’s warm, small huffs of air still brushing faintly against her lips. She moved her hand from Caitlyn’s waist, fingers tracing the hem of her sweatpants, but not yet slipping underneath.

Her mouth was strangely dry, and she quickly wet her lips, her pale eyes drifting over Caitlyn’s face - over the flush on her cheeks, the exhaustion lingering in her tired eyes, the hesitant, almost fragile smile tugging at her lips.

She hated how hesitant she was, hated how something inside her twisted uncomfortably at the sight of Caitlyn. But she couldn’t help it.

“Cait,” she muttered, her voice barely above a whisper, and she couldn’t stop the concern from slipping in. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to.

Caitlyn’s breath hitched, and Vi felt her fingers twitch slightly where they rested against her stomach.

“Are you really sure?” Vi asked, her thumb brushing just above the hem of Caitlyn’s sweatpants, more grounding than teasing. “It’s-… honestly, it’s okay if we don’t do anything. It really is.”

The words lingered in the quiet space between them for a few seconds, barely disrupted by the muffled sounds from the world outside the room. A distant laugh. The hum of pipes. The soft rustling of the sheets as Caitlyn shifted just the slightest bit closer.

Her cold hand left Vi’s abdomen, sliding up to brush against Vi’s fingers - hesitant at first, then surer, curling around her hand.

Vi’s breath hitched. She searched Caitlyn’s face, her flushed cheeks, her parted lips, the way her lashes fluttered as she kept her gaze down, focused on where their hands met. Slowly, but firmly, Caitlyn guided her hand down, slipping it beneath the waistband of her sweatpants.

Vi’s fingers brushed over the thin fabric of Caitlyn’s underwear and were met with familiar dampness. Caitlyn let out a small, thin breath at the sensation and her eyes fluttered close.

Okay. She did want this.

Still, Vi couldn’t bring herself to look away from Caitlyn as she carefully pushed the thin fabric aside, coarse hair tickling the sore skin of her knuckles and she slid one finger between Caitlyn’s folds. Caitlyn’s breath hitched a little, her eyebrows knitted together over closed eyes.

Usually, Vi would have already slipped two fingers inside Caitlyn, would have already pressed her into the pillows as she fucked into her in a merciless, quick pace, Caitlyn’s small whimpers and moans spurring her on by the second, heat pulsating through her own core.

But she remained slow, careful, strangely aware of every little flicker of emotion crossing Caitlyn’s pretty face. Her other arm was still trapped beneath Caitlyn’s head, but she somehow managed to curl her fingers around her neck, tracing soothing patterns on the other girls’ skin as she kept up the steady, calm rhythm of her fingers between Caitlyn’s legs.

“Is that good? Is that okay for you?”

Caitlyn only nodded, eyes still shut close, lips trembling ever so slightly as little breaths left her mouth. Her head was heavy on Vi’s arm – which would for sure fall asleep any second now, but Vi would have rather died right on the spot than push Caitlyn away.

“Okay. Okay, I’ll add a second, that alright?”

Caitlyn nodded again, and Vi carefully slipped another finger between the damp folds, not yet entering, but lightly circling her clit, gathering slick with every tiny movement. Caitlyn was shivering at her touch, small sounds escaping her mouth whenever Vi brushed over the little bud.

Vi shifted, bringing her lips back onto Caitlyn’s neck and pressing small kisses on her skin, not biting, not nibbling, all soft and careful. She could feel Caitlyn’s pulse flatter against her lips, could feel Caitlyn’s hand back underneath her shirt, hesitantly travelling over Vi’s chest.

“Could you-“ Caitlyn’s voice faltered and she shifted forwards, burying her face in the crook of Vi’s neck. Vi only continued caressing Caitlyn’s nape with her other hand, lips leaving her skin for only a second to speak.

“Yeah? What do want, Cait?”

Caitlyn swallowed, fingers timidly playing with Vi’s nipple, not twisting or pinching, only rolling it around between them. Still, Vi could feel her core flutter at the touch.

“Could-… Could you keep talking? Maybe? I mean-“ Caitlyn swallowed again, nose nuzzled into Vi’s collarbone, hands now cupping her whole chest, but not yet squeezing. “I mean, no, you don’t have to-“

Vi cut her off with a small bite to her neck, which made Caitlyn gasp ever so slightly.

“Yeah, sure,” she muttered against the other girls skin. Her kisses travelled up Caitlyn’s neck until she reached her ear, the top of her nose brushing over the shell. She swallowed, her mouth once again drier than the fucking desert, voice raspy and rough. “You’re so wet, fuck.”

Caitlyn whimpered, hips rocking slightly against Vi’s hand, chasing her small, slow movements.

“I’ll add one, okay? Is that okay, Cait?”

It was okay.

Vi slipped one finger inside, velvety, hot walls clenching around her, thumb still circling Caitlyn’s clit in slow, measured movements, which coaxed even more of those wonderful, tiny sounds from Caitlyn’s mouth. They were so much different than her usual groans and moans, her usual hissed curses and tight gasps.

They were absolutely wonderful.

Vi’s lips didn’t leave the side of Caitlyn’s neck, tongue leaving small, wet trails on the skin. She could faintly taste Caitlyn’s shower gel, which left a bitter tang on her tongue, but she didn’t mind in the slightest.

“You feel amazing, Caitlyn, you really do. Is this okay for you, yeah?”

“I’ll add another, that okay? Fuck, you’re so fucking tight.”

“Really love fucking you, Cait, feels so fucking amazing.”

“Can I go a bit faster? Yeah? You’re hot, Cait, fuck, you’re so hot.”

They never talked during sex. They never did.

But Vi couldn’t keep the words from tumbling from her mouth, soothing reassurances and muttered compliments, all of them met with those little whimpers and gasps Caitlyn huffed against Vi’s skin.

Her two fingers were buried knuckle-deep inside of Caitlyn, fucking her in a slightly faster pace, thumb on her bud matching the rhythm. Caitlyn was rocking her hips against her palm, hand slowly moving from Vi’s chest, lower and lower, until they brushed against the hem of her sweatpants.

Vi quickly slid out of Caitlyn, which made the other girls breath hitch, and grabbed her wrist before she could slip it into Vi’s pants. Caitlyn shifted back, eyes half-lidded and glossy, confusion painted all over her features.

Vi just guided her hand back underneath her shirt and pressed a small kiss on Caitlyn’s lips, before plunging her hand back into the darkhaired girls’ pants and returning her lips to her neck.

“No,” she muttered, slipping the fingers back inside Caitlyn – which wasn’t too hard, Caitlyn truly was fucking soaking. “No, just you today, okay?” Caitlyn didn’t respond, only nuzzled her head back into the crook of Vi’s neck, small sounds returning the second Vi started fucking into her again.

She could feel Caitlyn’s rocking grow more frantic by the second, could feel her insides clenching around Vi’s fingers, making it harder and harder for her to keep up her pace. She stopped rubbing circles on Caitlyn’s nape, instead bundling some of her midnight hair in between her fingers, pulling Caitlyn even closer to her.

“You close, yeah? You gonna come soon, Caitlyn?”

“That’s it. That’s it, keep fucking yourself, come on, you’re almost there.”

“So good, Caitlyn, you’re doing so good. This okay for you, yeah?”

“You’re so hot. You’re so hot, fucking yourself on my fingers, fuck-“

Caitlyn’s small gasps were more rapid now, leaving her lips in short-timed intervals, dampening Vi’s skin. Her thighs were twitching, trapping Vi’s wrist between them. Vi had stopped kissing her, instead only panting against Caitlyn’s skin, wet lips mere inches from it.

“That good for you? You coming soon, Caitlyn?”

A small sound came from Vi’s neck. It wasn’t wonderful, it didn’t send heat pulsating between Vi’s legs, it didn’t make her heart flutter in excitement.

It was a sob.

Vi immediately stopped moving her fingers, her breath catching as her entire body tensed.

“Caitlyn?”

The warm, slick heat around her hand was suddenly the last thing on her mind. Carefully, she inched backward, trying to get a glimpse of Caitlyn’s face, but the girl had buried it in the crook of her neck, her dark hair spilling over Vi’s shoulder in a curtain. Caitlyn was clearly trying to hide it, her body curling in on itself as if she could will herself to disappear.

But there was no mistaking it.

The small, choked sobs shook through her frame, pressing against Vi’s chest like tiny tremors, and the wet heat spreading against Vi’s skin wasn’t just breath anymore. Caitlyn’s fingers were clawed into her hoodie, bundling the fabric on her waist between them.

For a moment, Vi just lay there, frozen, her heart hammering against her ribs. Her fingers were still inside of Caitlyn, the fluttering walls still hot, wet and pulsating. She didn’t dare remove them, didn’t dare rob Caitlyn of her orgasm, didn’t want to take this from the girl, but something was so clearly wrong.

“Cait?” she tried again, clearing her throat and trying once more to sneak a glance at Cait’s face, but the girl only pressed closer, curling into her, moving her hips against Vi’s hand.

“Cait, please, you’re-,“ Vi started, her voice tight, uncertain.

“Can you just-“ Caitlyn’s words were muffled against her skin, her voice raw and trembling, thick with tears. “Can-… Can you please just continue?”

Another sob racked her small frame, her body shaking in Vi’s arms, and Vi’s insides coiled. She clenched her jaw, her entire body stiffening. Every instinct in her screamed to stop, to hold Caitlyn, to tell her it was okay, that they didn’t have to do this.

But Caitlyn was pleading now, voice cracking, pressing even closer as if afraid Vi would pull away.

“Please. Please, Vi, can you-… can you just continue? Please.”

Vi’s grip in Caitlyn’s hair tightened slightly. And even though it felt so wrong, even though she wanted nothing more than hold Caitlyn close, hug her as tightly as she could while telling her that she got her, that she was there for her, she slowly started to move her fingers again, so slow that there was barely any movement at all.

Soon they found their old rhythm again, Caitlyn gasping between choked sobs, pressing herself tightly into Vi’s arms, Vi whispering sweet nothings into the air, trying to ignore the knot in her stomach and the flutter of her heart.

“You’re doing so well, Caitlyn, you’re doing so good. Come on, just a bit more, you’re almost there.”

“That’s it, fuck, that’s it, Caitlyn. You’re almost there, fuck, you’re so hot.”

“You’re beautiful. You’re so beautiful and so good for me, such a good girl.”

“Fuck yourself on my fingers, come apart, yeah, that’s good. That’s okay.”

And when Caitlyn’s body finally tensed, when her orgasm finally ripped through her, when the last chocked gasp left her lips and her hips came to a stuttering halt, Vi finally managed to wrench herself from the girl’s grip, shifting backwards to finally look at her face.

Caitlyn’s cheeks were flushed, her lips parted as she pulled in shaky breaths - but her cerulean eyes, red-rimmed and glistening, were filled with something so raw, so painful, that Vi felt like she might throw up. It was the kind of hurt that settled deep, that lived in the bones, and it made Vi’s stomach twist violently.

She wanted to say something – anything – but all of a sudden she was out of words again.

So instead, she pulled her hand from Caitlyn’s pants, wiping her fingers on the covers before cupping Caitlyn’s face with shaky hands and kissing her softly, as if that could chase the pain away. Caitlyn’s lips were trembling between hers.

Vi hated that she could taste her tears.

They didn’t talk as Caitlyn got up, her movements slow and methodical.

The silence in the room was thick and suffocating.

Caitlyn wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, trying to hide the evidence of her tears, but they were still there, lingering like a shadow. A shaky breath escaped her lips as she absent-mindedly ran her fingers through her hair, the messy strands falling around her face, but her hair tie had disappeared somewhere in Vi’s sheets, and neither of them seemed particularly keen on searching for it.

Vi remained on the bed, sitting up slowly, her body still heavy from the silence that hung between them. She watched Caitlyn, unsure of what to say, or even if she should say anything at all.

Caitlyn shifted, her gaze not quite meeting Vi’s. She took a step toward the door, then paused. She still wasn’t looking at Vi, her red-rimmed eyes drilling holes into the floor. The moments stretched into eternities until Caitlyn finally spoke up, her voice barely audible.

“Thank you. See you tomorrow.”

Vi’s breath hitched in her throat. She didn’t know what to say. Her mouth opened, then closed, words stuck behind her teeth. Her heart raced. She stared at Caitlyn, but her mind couldn’t catch up, the lump in her throat growing bigger with each passing moment. All she could do was stare at Caitlyn, who turned from her and made her way over to the door.

Her hand was already on the handle, when Vi finally figured out how to speak again.

“Caitlyn,” she said, and her voice was sounding fragile, even to her own ears.

Caitlyn stopped in her tracks, her body tense. She slowly turned around, her eyes meeting Vi’s, filled with something unspoken - hope, shame, maybe both.

They stood there, just staring at one another, the silence stretching between them like an invisible thread. Vi felt the pressure in her chest, a knot of emotion too tangled to sort through. She wanted to say something – anything - to reach out to Caitlyn, to make things right - but her mouth went dry, and the words once again felt miles away.

This girl was seriously impacting her ability to speak.

The quiet felt deafening. It was like she couldn’t move, couldn’t speak, couldn’t do anything but stare back at Caitlyn whose eyes searched her face. Vi wasn’t sure what they were looking for.

After a long pause, Caitlyn’s lips trembled as she gave a small, almost imperceptible nod, and then, without another word, she turned and walked out, the door clicking shut softly behind her.

Vi was left sitting on the bed, her mind reeling, the taste of salt still lingering on her lips.

Out of all the surprises this day had thrown at her – meeting Kiramman, getting fucking beaten by Kiramman, talking to Kiramman – seeing a cigarette in Caitlyn’s fingers was the most unexpected.

They had left right after the awards ceremony, both of them not particularly keen on sticking around any longer. They hadn’t bothered to waste time changing out of their running gear. They had stuffed their clothes and trophies – 1^st and 2^nd place - into their duffle bags, the metal clanking like cheap wind chimes as they rushed to get the hell out of the stadium and escape the lingering feeling of being watched.

They hadn’t gotten more than a few steps outside before Caitlyn casually pulled a small package from the inside of her jacket. With a slight fumble, she tugged one cigarette from the pack and held it between her fingers.

Vi’s gaze snapped to it instantly.

“You fucking smoke?”

Caitlyn, who had been about to bring the cigarette to her lips, froze mid-motion. The cigarette hovered just in front of her mouth, and her eyes darted over to Vi’s face. There was an uncertainty in Caitlyn’s gaze, like she was gauging the reaction, unsure if she had done something wrong.

“Oh. Oh, excuse me, does it bother you? I’m so sorry.”

Caitlyn started to lower the cigarette, her fingers beginning to tug it back into the pack in her other hand. But Vi quickly waved her hand in the air, a crooked smile appearing on her face.

"Nah. I do, too. Just didn’t peg you the type."

Relief washed over Caitlyn’s features as she offered Vi the package, the tension melting away as Vi reached for it. She didn’t hesitate to grab one of the cigarettes, squinting at the package. Some sleek, fancy design she didn’t recognize. Embossed lettering. Gold trim. Probably imported.

Definitely some Topside-shit.

Not that it mattered. Cigarette was cigarette, after all. She wasn’t picky.

“Did you steal them?” she asked, her voice low but teasing as she patted her pockets in search of a lighter.

Caitlyn pulled a lighter from her pocket and flicked it open in one smooth motion. The flame was bright for a split second before Caitlyn held it to the end of Vi’s cigarette, the tip catching fire. Vi took a long drag, her face twisting slightly at the surprisingly sweet taste.

What the hell was that? Vanilla? Honey? Fucking lavender?

Leave it to Piltover to turn nicotine into a goddamn dessert.

She exhaled slowly, the smoke curling in the air between them.

“Better than nothing,” Vi muttered, a half-smile tugging at her lips as she handed the lighter back to Caitlyn, who lit her own cigarette. They kept walking in the direction of the bike stands, the quiet of the evening surrounding them, the hum of distant city noise carrying on the breeze.

Vi hadn’t asked Caitlyn to accompany her, but she was glad she did.

“So,” Vi said between exhales, throwing Caitlyn a curious glance, “did you steal them?”

Caitlyn let out a timid, almost nervous laugh. “You could say that. I, uh, took them from my mother’s drawer.”

“Oh, shit!” Vi chuckled. “Didn’t peg you a thief, either. You really are full of surprises, huh?”

Caitlyn just shrugged with a quiet smile, smoke curling from her lips and disappearing in the air. The cigarette in her fingers looked weirdly right and out of place at the same time.

The sun had dipped fully below the horizon now, the temperature dropping with it. The chill nipped at Vi’s exposed skin, but she ignored it, focusing instead on the girl beside her, who was proving to be far less predictable than she’d thought.

By the time they reached Vi’s bike, both were shivering underneath their thin training jackets, their cigarettes burning low between their fingers.

Vi crouched down, fingers working the rusted lock free from the battered frame of her bike.

Well - her bike was a bit of a stretch.

She had borrowed it, permanently and without permission, from Coach Blevins. The thing was a fucking wreck - the brakes were basically decorative at this point, the paint had chipped off so much that it was more bare metal than colour, and the chain skipped if she pedalled too hard. Every ride on it felt like a gamble between getting where she needed to go or eating pavement.

The lock wasn’t any better. Cheap, old, and as stubborn as the rest of the damn bike, it resisted every tug of her frozen fingers, forcing her to work at it longer than she had the patience for. The cigarette in her mouth bobbed slightly as she gritted her teeth around it, puffing out an angry breath of smoke that curled into the cold air.

Finally, with a sharp click, the lock gave in.

She was about to straighten her back again, offering some sort of awkward goodbye to Caitlyn – which would most definitely haunt her till the end of her days - when she noticed it.

The back tire sagged against the pavement, completely, pathetically flat.

Her stomach sank.

“Son of a bitch,” she muttered under her breath, running a hand over the rubber like that might somehow change reality.

Caitlyn, standing just beside her, tilted her head. “What’s wrong?”

Vi let out a sharp exhale, straightening up and gesturing toward the bike like it had personally betrayed her. “Got a flat.” She gave the bike a half-hearted kick, but the damn thing didn’t even have the decency to fall over.

Caitlyn frowned, taking one last drag of her cigarette before flicking it to the ground and snuffing it out with the toe of her shoe. “Well, do you have a pump?”

Vi gave her a look.

Caitlyn hesitated. “…Or a spare?”

Vi scoffed. “Oh yeah, I keep a whole-ass repair shop in my back pocket.”

Caitlyn sighed through her nose, unimpressed. “Alright, no need to be that sarcastic.”

Vi huffed, rubbing a hand down her face. “I do need to be that sarcastic, actually. It’s my coping mechanism.”

Caitlyn rolled her eyes, but the smile tugging at her lips gave her away. Vi wanted it to stay there forever - wanted to trap it somehow, keep it from ever slipping away again.

“Well, what’s your plan, then?” Caitlyn asked, arms folding over her chest like she was ready to poke holes in whatever answer Vi gave.

Vi sighed, stretching her arms over her head like this wasn’t even a problem. Like she hadn’t just been royally screwed over by a shitty bike and an even shittier stroke of luck.

“Guess I’m walking.”

Caitlyn’s brows immediately pulled together. “Walking? How far is that?”

Vi shrugged, hoping that would be enough of an answer. It wasn’t.

Caitlyn’s scepticism deepened. “Where do you live?”

Vi stalled just half a second - long enough for Caitlyn to notice, but not long enough for her to call her out on it - before waving a vague hand. “Eh, near the river.”

Which was technically true. Just broad enough to not be really true.

Caitlyn narrowed her eyes slightly, like she was trying to figure out how much bullshit was in that answer. “And your parents can’t pick you up?”

Vi barked out a short, dry chuckle before she could stop herself. “Yeah, no. They’re dead.”

The words came out flat. Not bitter. Not sad. Just fact.

And there it was - that silence. The kind that stretched just a little too long. The kind that made people shift uncomfortably, trying to piece together an appropriate response. Vi had heard it before.

A lot.

She didn’t even need to look to know Caitlyn had stiffened beside her. And when she did glance up, she caught the exact expression she was expecting - lips parted slightly, hands twitching like she should say something but had no idea what.

“Oh,” Caitlyn muttered, looking away for a second, like she needed to collect herself. “I- uh. I didn’t -”

Vi sighed, already waving a dismissive hand before Caitlyn could start fumbling through whatever apology she was trying to stitch together. “Hey, don’t do that. It’s fine.”

She chuckled lightly, noting the worried furrow of Caitlyn’s brows and the way her lips pressed together like she still wasn’t sure if she should say something else, something better.

“Really. It is.”

Caitlyn didn’t look convinced. Her eyes still had that soft, sad edge, like she was trying to work out whether Vi needed comforting, or if she was just too proud to let anyone close enough to offer it. It made Vi uncomfortable, seeing that look on her face. Caitlyn, all wide-eyed and gentle, worrying over her like some kind of delicate thing that needed protection.

Vi scratched the back of her neck and leaned against the bike, pretending to examine it like maybe, just maybe, it would magically fix itself.

“Look,” she started, “it’s not like it’s a big deal. I’ve got a roof, food, whatever. Could be better but could also be a hell of a lot worse. I’m fine, okay?”

Caitlyn didn’t seem sold, and the silence lingered again - heavy, awkward.

Vi cursed under her breath. Her fingers twitched at the thought of Caitlyn still feeling bad for her. She hated it. She hated the pity. But she had to say something – anything - that would shut it down.

“So, uh,” she started, nudging the bike slightly with her foot, “how are you getting home?”

Caitlyn blinked, snapping out of whatever daze she had fallen into and checked her wristwatch with a casual flick. “Oh, I’ve got a ride. They’re picking me up at six. That’s in… fifteen minutes.”

Vi raised an eyebrow, her fingers still fidgeting with the metal on her bike like she was pretending to care about something. "A ride? Let me guess... Mom? Or some chauffeur, seeing as how you’ve got all that fancy stuff going on.”

Caitlyn chuckled dryly, the sound low and a little bitter. She pulled another cigarette out of her jacket pocket and gave it a little flick before looking over at Vi. “The latter,” she said, pulling a second one from the pack and holding it out to Vi. “My mother’s got better things to do than pick me up.”

Vi accepted the cigarette, almost without thinking. As she took it, she shot Caitlyn a smirk. “That’s a shame. She’s missing out on her daughter turning into a nicotine-addict.” She tugged the cigarette between her lips, the familiar weight of it oddly comforting for a second.

Caitlyn’s lips quirked, amused. She didn’t even try to hide it now, which made Vi feel strangely warm. Caitlyn held the lighter out to Vi, lighting her cigarette first before her tending to her own.

Vi took a long drag, feeling the smoke fill her lungs. This time, she had to fight not to cough, not from the harshness of it, but because the damn thing tasted like shit – it really was too fucking sweet.

 “So, what, your chauffeur just… picks you up and drops you off? How very top tier of you.”

Caitlyn rolled her eyes, but there was no edge in her voice as she responded, only timid amusement. “Not quite. I wouldn’t call it top tier,” she said, letting out a quick exhale. She shot Vi a quick, cheeky glance. “I’ll just say I don’t have to worry about walking home.”

Vi grinned, taking another drag and holding it in her chest for a few beats longer than usual before letting the smoke curl out. She regarded the stick between her fingers for a few moments, eyes travelling over the small golden lettering on the thin paper.

“You know, I think it’s about time I learned to roll my own. I bet I’d be really good at it. I can already tell I’ve got the perfect touch.”

Caitlyn raised an eyebrow, a small chuckle escaping her. “Oh, really? You think you’ve got what it takes?”

Vi looked at her, matching Caitlyn’s raised eyebrow with her own. “Oh yeah. I’m basically a natural. I mean, it’s just, like, some paper and tobacco, right? I’ll have it figured out in no time. You can be my first customer when I start a side hustle.”

Caitlyn’s lips twitched with a laugh, but she didn’t push it. Instead, she took another drag from her own cigarette, keeping her eyes trained on Vi like she was waiting for some other ridiculous claim.

Vi leaned back, stretching a little. The smoke curled up around her, just like the tension that had been hanging over them earlier. It was gone now. At least for the moment. She held her cigarette with an exaggerated flair, glancing sideways at Caitlyn.

The two of them smoked in silence for a while, the rhythmic drag of each cigarette settling into an easy, almost comfortable lull. Vi let the smoke slip from her lips in lazy curls that danced in the cool evening air.

She wasn’t sure what it was about this moment - about Caitlyn - that felt so different from all the other awkward encounters they'd had. The first time they’d met had felt forced, a strange blend of competition and reluctant camaraderie ending with violence and tears. The second time had been a fucking uncomfortable mess, guilt coiling in Vi’s insides whenever she thought about it.

But this? This felt easy. This felt natural. This felt good.

Vi flicked the ash from her cigarette, her eyes flicking to Caitlyn’s profile, the soft glow of the streetlights catching the sharp angles of her face.

“So, uh,” Vi started, Caitlyn immediately turning to look at her again. “How long have you been running for?”

Caitlyn took another drag, the embers at the end of her cigarette glowing bright before she blew the smoke out slowly, letting it float into the night. She seemed to think for a moment before responding.

“A few years,” she said quietly, her voice unexpectedly calm. “But I think I’m done.”

Vi blinked, her brow furrowing as she looked at Caitlyn, the words not quite clicking. "Done?" she repeated, her voice a little more incredulous than she intended. "But you’re like… a natural at it. Seriously, you look like you could live on a track."

Caitlyn gave a small, almost dismissive shrug. She gave Vi a fleeting glance before looking away again, staring out into the street. Her fingers tapped the cigarette in her hand, her eyes lost in thought. "It’s just not my thing anymore," she said simply, glancing at Vi again with an air of indifference. "It used to be. But now... not so much."

Vi stared at her for a moment, still trying to figure out what Caitlyn meant. She had just assumed... well, she had just assumed running was everything to her. Caitlyn had this easy stride, this natural rhythm that made everything look effortless. It was like she was born to run, like she lived to run, so hearing that she didn’t want to anymore didn’t make a lot of sense to Vi.

“Why? You’re really fucking good,” Vi pressed, leaning in slightly, the curiosity lacing her voice. "I mean, you've got the legs for it. You'd probably crush anyone who stepped up to you."

Caitlyn’s eyes softened for a brief second, but she didn’t answer right away. She stared out into the distance, the streetlights throwing shadows across her face. Vi wasn’t sure what she was looking at - maybe just the empty space, or maybe something deeper.

The silence stretched between them for a few beats longer, before Caitlyn spoke again, her voice quieter this time.

“I think I’d rather do something... alone, you know?” she said, turning her gaze back to Vi. “Something where I can just-… be on my own. I don’t know.”

Vi thought about the sky-blue huddle of girls at the side of the track, thought about the hostile glances and hushed whispers, thought about Caitlyn winning the entire fucking thing and not one girl having the decency to congratulate her.

Those fucking Pilties.

“So… what do you want to do, then?” she asked, genuinely curious, her voice soft but probing.

Caitlyn’s eyes flicked back to Vi, then to the ground. She chewed on the inside of her cheek for a second, clearly grappling with the answer. The weight of her words hung heavy in the air, and for a long moment, she didn’t speak. Vi waited, trying to resist the urge to press her, but her patience was wearing thin.

“I don’t know,” Caitlyn murmured at last, almost as though she was trying to convince herself more than Vi. “I’ve been thinking about learning how to shoot.”

Vi stared at her.

She didn't say anything, her mind working through the idea. Vi took a long, slow drag from her cigarette, taking in Caitlyn’s timid little glances at her, her lips pressed together in a tight, nervous line, her thin fingers grabbing her cigarette a bit too tightly.

“So, uh,” Caitlyn chuckled nervously after a few moments, looking anywhere but at Vi. “It’s probably a stupid idea, right? I mean, who the hell wants to learn how to shoot? It’s just… I don’t know. Just something I’ve been thinking about, but… yeah.”

She trailed off, rubbing the back of her neck awkwardly.

Vi remained silent for a beat longer, still watching Caitlyn, her expression calm. Then, she exhaled slowly, shaking her head in a slow, almost thoughtful manner.

“No. It’s not stupid,” she said quietly, her voice carrying a calmness that felt surprisingly genuine. “Actually, I think it’s a great idea.”

Caitlyn paused, her eyes flicking up to meet Vi’s for just a moment, clearly caught off guard by the lack of sarcasm in her tone. Vi went on, her voice still steady but a little softer now. “You’re pretty fucking ambitious, right? You’re good at focus. You could totally excel at something like that.”

Caitlyn’s shoulders, which had been tense from the uncertainty, seemed to relax just a little, like she was finally hearing something she needed. Her lips parted as if she wanted to argue or make some half-hearted, self-deprecating joke about it, but she stopped herself, her gaze lingering on Vi for a moment longer.

“Do you really think so?” Caitlyn asked, the edge of doubt still there, but a flicker of hope creeping into her voice.

Vi nodded with a smile and took another drag.

“Yeah. I do. Honestly, you’d probably be great at it. You’ve got that… drive, and the way you focus when you do something? I could see you being really good with a gun. And I think it could really be, like, your thing. Just you and the gun, y’know? No one else.”

Caitlyn didn’t say anything for a moment, her eyes searching Vi’s face, like she was trying to read her. Vi kept her gaze steady, offering no sign of mockery, only quiet assurance.

The tension around Caitlyn seemed to melt just a little, and something flickered behind her eyes -  something soft, something grateful.

“I... I don’t know,” Caitlyn murmured, shaking her head as if still processing Vi’s words. But the smile on her lips was undeniable. “I didn’t expect you to say that. I thought you’d be all sarcastic or something. Or laugh at me.”

Vi chuckled lightly, shrugging as she took another drag from her cigarette. “I’m not always sarcastic,” she said with a smirk of her own, the slightest edge of playfulness returning. “Sometimes, I’m just, you know, real.”

Caitlyn laughed, the sound light and almost shy, like she hadn’t expected it either. Her shoulders seemed to relax fully now, the unease fading. Vi watched her, a strange warmth settling in her chest as Caitlyn’s expression brightened, the weight of everything that had been dragging her down slowly slipping away.

“Well, thanks,” Caitlyn said, voice softer than usual. “That means a lot, Vi.”

Vi just nodded, flicking her cigarette butt to the ground and snuffing it out with her shoe. “Anytime.” She gave Caitlyn a small, almost uncharacteristically kind smile, feeling something unexpected but comforting swell inside her.

For a moment, there was silence again, but it was a different kind of quiet - comfortable, unburdened. Neither of them rushed to fill it. Vi let her gaze linger on Caitlyn, still processing the shift, the soft glow in her eyes now that Caitlyn had let her guard down just a little. She wasn’t sure if it was the cigarettes, or the odd way the night had unfolded, but something about the moment felt incredibly important.

The peace was interrupted by a sharp honk from the street.

Both girls turned in unison to see a sleek black car idling by the curb. Caitlyn quickly dropped her cigarette bud to the floor, eyes still fixed on the car. The headlights flickered briefly before another honk sounded through the air.

“Looks like I’ve got to go,” Caitlyn said softly and turned back at Vi, her voice carrying a hint of reluctant finality. She shifted, almost apologetically, her hand absently brushing her hair back from her face. “My ride’s here.”

Vi felt something in her chest tighten at the words, an unfamiliar sensation flickering in her gut. She wasn’t sure what it was - maybe the thought of Caitlyn leaving so soon, or maybe the weirdness of how quickly things had shifted between them.

But she didn’t say anything. She just stood there, a little bit lost in the moment, watching Caitlyn gather herself, pulling the straps of her bag back over her shoulder.

“Right,” Vi finally said, pushing her hands into her jacket pockets, trying to ignore the slight sense of sadness that was creeping in. “Have a good ride home, Caitlyn.”

Caitlyn hesitated, then looked at Vi, her smile soft but warm, a little more genuine than before. “Hey, would you like to join? We can drop you off somewhere.”

Vi shook her head with a shrug, trying to make light of the moment. “Nah, I’m good. I’ll get home on my own. If we keep up with this... you know, running into each other at random, we’ll probably meet again in a year or so. I’ll just find my way to wherever you’re at by then. Probably a shooting range.”

Caitlyn smiled at the thought, her expression shifting slightly, but it was the kind of smile that made something in Vi’s chest settle a little.

“I look forward to it,” Caitlyn said, her voice light but warm. "I really do."

Vi smirked, lifting her chin a little. “Me too.”

Without another word, Caitlyn turned and headed for the car. Vi watched her walk away, and just before Caitlyn slipped inside, she turned back for one last look, giving a shy little wave. The door clicked shut, and the tinted windows hid the crown of her midnight hair from view. The car hummed to life, pulling away smoothly, vanishing into the night as if it had never been there at all.

Vi exhaled quietly, her gaze lingering on the spot Caitlyn had just occupied. The night stretched out around her, the cold air still carrying a faint trace of smoke and lavender. She closed her eyes, breathing deeply, just for a moment, before turning toward her bike with a soft sigh.

It was time for the long walk home.

When Caitlyn entered the dining hall the next morning, her beautiful eyes tired and distant, she scanned the room for an empty seat, eyes travelling over the small groups of patients littering the tables. Vi caught her gaze.

This time, she didn’t look away.

She waved her over.

Chapter Text

OFFICIAL VERDICT OF THE COURT OF PILTOVER

CASE NO. 578LI9-ZAUN/PILTOVER

Date: July 9^th, 2020

Present Judge: Waftenbury, K.

Accused: -, Violet (Identification-No.: ZAUN167VL)

Defense Lawyer: - (Accused refused counsel)

SUMMARY OF CHARGES:

The accused, Violet (ZAUN167VL ) has been brought before the Court of Piltover on charges of violent misconduct, inciting public disorder, and aggravated assault. The incident in question occurred on the evening of June 25th, 2020, in the Midtown District of Piltover.

Violet, along with several unidentified individuals from Zaun, engaged in a violent altercation with a group of Piltover youths near the Promenade. Witnesses reported that the confrontation began with verbal exchanges that quickly escalated into physical violence. The accused was identified as the primary aggressor, delivering severe blows to multiple victims. Several of the Piltover youths sustained significant injuries, including broken ribs, facial fractures, and concussions, requiring immediate medical attention.

Beyond her involvement in this violent altercation, Violet has a history of delinquent behaviour. She has repeatedly skipped school without excuse and has ceased attending entirely. She has been in and out of the foster system for several years, failing to adjust to multiple placements due to her persistent aggression and defiance. As a result, she has spent the past six months residing in a group home in Zaun.

However, this arrangement has not led to any improvement in her behaviour, as she continues to engage in violent conduct and openly disregard authority.

The accused has a history of legal infractions, including but not limited to vandalism, truancy, aggressive conduct, and provocation. Despite multiple warnings and interventions, the accused has continued to demonstrate a blatant disregard for Piltover’s legal structure and societal order.

Throughout the course of these proceedings, Violet has displayed a consistently uncooperative and defiant attitude. She has refused to engage with court authorities, declined to provide any justification for her actions, and demonstrated outright disrespect toward the legal process. Additionally, she has refused to identify her accomplices, showing a continued allegiance to delinquent behaviour rather than any willingness to reform. Her dismissive attitude and refusal to acknowledge the gravity of her actions have further cemented the necessity of corrective measures.

Furthermore, Violet was provided the opportunity to be represented by a defence lawyer from Piltover but outright refused legal counsel, instead opting to represent herself. Her unwillingness to cooperate with legal proceedings further emphasizes her disregard for the authority of this court.

VERDICT AND SENTENCE:

It is the ruling of this Court that the accused, Violet (ZAUN167VL), be sentenced to 40 hours of compulsory communal service under the supervision of an assigned overseer. The Court has determined that the accused will be placed under the guidance of Loris (ZAUN027LS) , a registered handyman from Zaun.

• The accused will report to Loris at designated times to carry out tasks deemed necessary for public and community benefit.
• Failure to comply with the assigned service may result in an escalation of legal consequences, including but not limited to increased service hours, additional punitive measures, or incarceration.
• The accused will be subject to periodic evaluations to assess compliance and progress.

The Court recognizes that Violet has demonstrated persistent defiance and hostility toward authority figures and structures. This sentence is intended not only as punishment but also as an opportunity for rehabilitation and reflection. However, should the accused continue to exhibit contempt for the law and disrupt public order, more severe repercussions will be enforced.

This ruling is final and binding.

By Order of the Court of Piltover

Signed and Sealed on this Day

Caitlyn wasn’t showing any kind of visible relief or gratitude when she navigated her way through the tightly cramped tables, careful not to elbow anyone in the face, and she didn’t say more than a timid “Hello” when she slid into the seat next to Vi, back straight, fingers of her unharmed hand curled into her lap.

Vi’s response was half-hearted at best, a grumble more than anything.

She wasn’t eager to make things more awkward by constantly staring at Caitlyn, so she buried herself in her three overflowing plates of food she had gathered for herself.

The silence that descended over their table was brief yet unbearably uncomfortable.

Margot, who had just been in the middle of recounting some obscure story about an oddly intimate session she’d shared with Dr. Shoola, suddenly found herself momentarily at a loss for words - an absolutely astonishing feat.

Her eyes practically bulged out of their sockets, darting between Vi and Caitlyn at breakneck speed, as if trying to confirm this was actually happening.

Leona looked equally stunned at the tall figure suddenly sitting right next to her, despite having made this exact suggestion mere hours earlier.

Her spoon of cereal hovered in midair, frozen halfway to her mouth, and her jaw, which had prepared to swallow the bite, hung open like a malfunctioning hinge.

No one seemed to be sure who to ogle at more: Vi, who had resorted to shovelling her breakfast into her face with a single-minded urgency to avoid the shocked stares, or Caitlyn, who sat stiffly, staring at her untouched plate with the kind of intensity one usually reserved for defusing bombs.

With the silence lingering, Vi could feel Caitlyn started to shift slightly, her eyebrows knit together and lips pressed into a nervous line.

She probably regretted ever accepting Vi’s silent invitation.

It was Diana who broke the silence – of course it was.

With an easy smile, she slid the small teapot across the table toward Caitlyn.

“Want some tea, Caitlyn? Earl Grey.”

And just like that, the conversation picked up again.

Margot and Leona did their best to act normal, although every so often, one of them would sneak a glance at Vi and Caitlyn, as if trying to figure out what exactly was happening.

At some point, Vi felt a sharp kick against her shin. She jerked slightly, shooting a glare across the table. Margot, looking entirely unbothered, continued sipping her tea between her story, while Leona winced and mouthed a silent sorry.

Vi exhaled through her nose.

That kick had definitely been meant for Margot.

“So, yeah,” Margot finished her story, putting her empty cup on the tabletop but continuing fidgeting around with the chipped handle, spinning it absently as she spoke.

“Pretty sure Dr. Shoola just wanted to touch my boobs. But, hey, who can blame her -  I got great tits.”

“You sure do,” Leona confirmed with a nod as she scraped the bottom of her bowl for the remaining mirky milk.

Her eyes flickered over to Caitlyn, who hadn’t touched her breakfast yet, instead opting for quietly sipping on her cup of tea.

“Oh, right,” Leona added. “Caitlyn, you don’t know Dr. Shoola, do you?”

Vi could feel Caitlyn flinch the tiniest bit at the mention of her name. She glanced over her plate to see Caitlyn’s finger curling slightly tighter around her cup as she peered over the rim, eyes wide, like she wasn’t entirely sure if she’d been spoken to or if she just imagined it.

When Leona kept staring at her with unveiled curiosity, she slowly lowered her cup and cleared her throat.

“No, uhm-… No, I don’t,” she said, voice a bit raspy and quiet. ”I’m pretty sure she left a few days before I arrived.”

Margot waved her hand through the air dismissively and shrugged, a grin already tugging at the corners of her mouth.

“You didn’t miss much, don’t worry. I mean, only if you’re really into slow breathing and yoga. And hippie doctors staring at your boobs.”

“Oh,” Caitlyn said, letting out a weird breath that might have counted as a laugh, if it had been a little less awkward. “I’m afraid I’m not that good at yoga, so I guess I can probably count myself lucky.”

Leona leaned forwards, gleaming eyes drilling curiously into Caitlyn.

“So you didn’t have, like, a private yoga instructor or something growing up?”

She huffed, when Diana nudged her with her elbow and shot her a warning look, but that didn’t deter her from continuing to stare at Caitlyn.

Caitlyn’s fingers rubbed absent-mindedly over her cup, her eyes flickering between the table and her tea as she mulled over the question.

“No,” she said finally, with a small, polite smile. “I didn’t have a private yoga instructor.”

Margot scoffed, leaned back and crossed her arms in front of her narrow chest. “Well, there goes my vision of rich kids waking up in the downwards dog position.”

Leona chuckled at that, while Caitlyn’s cheeks flushed, and she quickly hid her face behind the cup again.

If she continued gouging the thin liquid down her throat in that pace they’d soon have to refill the entire pot.

“Stop it, you two,” Diana chipped in with her tender, calm voice. She was nursing her own cup of tea, warming her slender fingers on the beige – of course it was beige – cup.

She brushed some hair behind her ear and offered Caitlyn another warm smile.

“The lessons with Dr. Shoola honestly weren’t that bad,” she said, ignoring the small, disapproving scoffs from Margot’s and Leona’s direction.

“I actually kind of liked them. I’m stuck with Dr. Amara now, and she’s very big on ‘sacred dancing’. Lots of swaying and chanting - really gets the ‘energy’ flowing,” she said, shrugging nonchalantly and taking a delicate sip of her tea.

“It’s weird. But you get used to it. Just kind of have to let go of your pride.”

Vi silently prayed she’d never have to endure one of Dr. Amara’s sessions.

Caitlyn seemed  a bit relieved that the focus of the conversation wasn’t on her anymore, fingers still tapping uneasily against her cup.

Unfortunately, she apparently hadn’t factored in Margot’s unrelenting curiosity.

The smaller girl was still staring at her with wide, excited eyes.

“So, Caitlyn, who’s your therapist?” she chirped in.

The attention immediately shifted back to Caitlyn – only Vi continued gouging down her food like a starved dog. The toast was so fucking dry, she almost choked to death with every bite, yet didn’t slow down in the slightest.

Caitlyn tensed again and sat down her cup.

“Uhm, I’m with Sevika. Dr. Sevika, I mean,” she hurriedly added.

Vi’s brow furrowed slightly at that, as she licked some marmalade from her fingers. She briefly wondered whether Sevika had introduced herself to Caitlyn with the proper honorifics. That wasn’t what caught Vi off guard, though.

What did was the fact that Caitlyn had individual sessions with Sevika.

The others seemed equally surprised.

Leona perked up one eyebrow. “Sevika? You have sessions with Sevika?”

Caitlyn nodded, a flicker of uncertainty travelling over her features.

Margot prepped her chin on her hand, absent-mindedly stirring her half-empty cup of tea – which had long turned long. “Huh. I figured you a Dr. Salo kinda girl. You know, all prim and proper, Piltover’s finest.”

“He’s can’t really be Piltover’s finest if he works here, Margot,” Leona said, but she seemed equally confused.

Margot scratched her cheeks with one of her painted nails, the polish already chipped off. She was still staring at Caitlyn like she was trying to decipher her on the spot.

“Yeah, well, but Dr. Salo’s all about light stuff. Sevika is reserved for the, you know,” she painted quotation marks into the air, “tough cases.”

Caitlyn stiffened even more, and now Vi did finally look up completly from her plate, pale eyes narrow and warning.

“Margot,” she grunted low and raspy. “Shut the fuck up.”

Diana quickly cleared her throat, before Margot could continue, her voice soft but firm.

“Maybe we should focus less on our therapists and more on our day?” she suggested gently, as if sensing the rising tension in the air.

“Fantastic idea, Diana,” Leona said, slamming the palms of her hands down on the tabletop with a ‘pang’ that made all of them flinch and earned them a sharp look from the nurse seated with the pouting starving-crew.

“So, 5PM today, right?”

Margot pulled a face.

Leona narrowed her eyes and pointed a finger like at her, a perfectly manicured weapon prepared to pull every secret from the smaller girl. “What was that, Margot?”

Margot’s eyes widened in a display of sheepish innocence, as all eyes fell on her. “What? Oh, nothing, nothing!”

Leona narrowed her eyes even more, jabbing her finger in the air. “No, no, don’t fuck with us. You pulled a face.”

“No, I didn’t!”

“Yes, you did.”

“No, I did fucking not!”

“Okay, so 5PM behind the shed it is.”

Margot pulled a face.

“Hah!” Leona practically screamed, making the others wince. She completely ignored the sharp “shush!” from the nurse.

“There it was again! What did you do, Margot, spit it out!”

Margot rolled her eyes, sighed and leaned back in her chair, fiddling around with the hem of her bright pink hoodie.

“So, about the weed…,” she started hesitantly, only to be interrupted with an annoyed groan from Vi.

“Please don’t fucking tell me you smoked it all alone yesterday, Margot.”

“I did fucking not!” snapped the smaller girl, blowing a raspberry at Vi, before lowering her voice to a guilty mumble.

“But I don’t have it anymore. Hugo caught a whiff, don’t ask me fucking how. Barged into my room last evening and took it. Like, all of it.”

She threw her hands in the air in a frustrated manner. “Told me I should be glad he wasn’t telling on me and that was it.”

The group went silent for a second, a palpable sense of disappointment settling over them.

Leona leaned back in her chair with a deep sigh, clearly displeased. “Great. So now we’re stuck with nothing. 5PM, behind the shed, and no weed to pass around. Wonderful.”

“Oh, come on, Leona,” Diana said with an even, settling voice and a small shrug, though even she did seem a bit disappointed. “We can just smoke a regular cigarette. And we’ll try to sneak some weed in two weeks, we got a scheduled walk to town.”

Margot was pouting, her eyes set on the hem of her hoodie, her eyebrows knitted together.

“It wasn’t my fault,” she mumbled half-heartedly, “He went through my stuff and everything, fucking pervert. I’m pretty sure that’s not even legal. Was probably looking for some used panties or somethin’.”

Vi simply returned to her half-eaten piece of toast, fingers already sticky with jam and marmalade.

Her eyes flicked over to Caitlyn, who still hadn’t touched her plate and was grasping at her cup with too tight fingers.

“This day already sucks ass,” Leona declared with a dramatic sigh, combing her long nails through her brown curls. “I don’t even remember the last time I smoked pot in here. Hell, can’t even remember when I last smoked pot in general.”

She paused, seemed to think for a second, and then shook her head. “I really fucking don’t. That’s how fucking long it’s been! Good lord, I’m probably going through withdrawal right now.”

“Don’t be so dramatic, Leona, you’re not going through withdrawal and you’ll be fine,” Diana said with a roll of her eyes, as she reached over to stack her empty plate on Margot’s. “As I said, we’ll get some in two weeks. I’m sure we’ll manage ‘til then.”

While Margot and Leona continued to air their grievances, Vi finished her breakfast and immediately regretted it, since she didn’t have anything to distract herself with anymore.

But before she could find something else to keep both her hands and eyes busy, a small voice cut through the air.

“I, uhm-… I might have a little,” Caitlyn said timidly into her cup.

The entire table fell silent, every single person pausing mid-action to stare at Caitlyn.

Vi blinked, unsure if she'd heard right.

Margot leaned in, her eyes gleaming with both hope and disbelief.

“You’ve got some?!” she practically hissed, all previous pouting forgotten in an instant. “Like, right now? Where? How much?”

Caitlyn visibly shrank under the attention, her hands tightening around her cup once more.

“I, uh… it’s in my room,” she admitted, her voice small and nearly drowned out by the buzz of curiosity surrounding her. “But it's, um, really small… just a little, nothing to-”

“You actually got some!” Margot exclaimed, her voice loud enough to earn her a warning kick from Vi and another disapproving glance from the nurse. “Sorry, sorry,” she whispered, voice finally lowered to an appropriate noise level.

“That’s amazing, Kiramman, who would have fucking thought!” Leona said in a low voice, eyes just as wide as Margot’s.

Her fingers were tapping an exited rhythm onto the tabletop and Vi caught another foot in the shin – this time from Leona’s legs swinging with joy, her excitement undeterred by the angry glare Vi shot her way. “5PM is back on!”

Caitlyn smiled a bit and finally let go of her cup, only to brush some loose strands of hair behind her ear.

The faint scent of lavender tingled in Vi’s nose.

“I have movement therapy after morning group, but I could get it to you afterwards?” Caitlyn suggested, the timid smile still plastered on her face, her voice careful, like she was making a business transaction rather than offering up contraband.

Her smile immediately vanished from her face, replaced with the same concern and uncertainty that had painted her features so many times before, when her words were met with three pairs of incredulous eyes.

Margot scoffed, eyebrows twitching, as if Caitlyn had just made some obscure joke.

Leona’s excitement stalled, her fingers freezing mid-tap as she exchanged a baffled glance with Margot.

Even Diana’s brows were slightly furrowed.

Caitlyn’s eyes flickered from face to face, uncertainty creeping in as she shrank slightly in her seat. Her hands found her cup again, fingers curling around it like a lifeline against the weight of their stares.

“Did, uh-…” She glanced over at Vi, who quickly looked away again. “Did I say something wrong?”

Margot scoffed again, shaking her head ever so slightly, as if she couldn’t believe Caitlyn having to even ask such a thing.

“Wow. You really do peg us for fucking dickheads, do you?” she asked, lacing her voice with feigned disappointment.

Unfortunately, Caitlyn didn’t really seem to pick up on the sarcasm.

Her blue eyes widened slightly, alarm flashing across her face.

“No! No, I’m sorry, uh -” She quickly shook her head, hair slipping loose from behind her ear again. Her hand lifted in an oddly appeasing motion, though it seemed she wasn’t entirely sure what she was apologizing for.

Vi could practically see the gears in Caitlyn’s head turning, desperately trying to piece together where she had gone wrong. Hell, there might even be smoke coming out of her ears.

“I-… I never meant to imply that,” Caitlyn tried again, voice tight with sincerity. “I just thought-”

She hesitated, gaze darting between them. “Do you, uh, do you want to pick it up yourself, is that it? Or should I bring it directly to the shed?”

Leona let out a low chuckle, shaking her head. Her fingers picked up the rhythm again.

“Yeah, we’d like you to pre-roll us some and deliver it right to our doorstep. Oh, and you must light them for us, of course!”

Vi felt a smirk tug at her lips, but she bit it back, keeping her eyes on Caitlyn instead. If she hadn’t been so focused on trying to remain nonchalant around Caitlyn, she would have laughed out loud at the expression of genuine and utter confusion on the darkhaired girls’ face.

“Why, thank you, dearie, it is simply dreadfully challenging to manage the lighter in such unforgiving weather,” Margot said, voice slipping into a high-pitched imitation of Caitlyn’s polished accent. She gave an exaggerated sigh, placing a delicate hand on her chest. “We would be delighted if you’d be so kind as to collect our stubs afterward as well.”

Leona snorted, and even Diana shook her head, amused.

Vi finally let herself smile, though she still nudged Margot with her elbow.

“Come on, don’t be an ass,” she muttered, before sneaking another glance at Caitlyn - who, at this point, looked like she’d just been presented with a complex mathematical equation and expected to solve it on the spot.

Her face was turning a rather impressive shade of red.

Diana, apparently deciding she’d let Caitlyn suffer long enough, leaned forward slightly, her eyes warm.

“We’re not just going to take your weed and smoke it without you, Caitlyn,” she said, voice gentler than the others, lips already twisting into a warm smile.

Caitlyn blinked. Her fingers twitched around her cup.

“Oh.”

Something in her expression shifted.

“Oh, uh…” Her voice cracked slightly, and she quickly cleared her throat, the flush on her cheeks deepening. “You, uh… you want me to join?” The words came slowly, hesitantly, as if she was ready to bite them back any second.

Leona frowned. “No, we’ll take all your fucking weed and make you watch us smoke it,” she deadpanned.

Then, with a chuckle, she leaned forward and nudged Caitlyn’s plate a little closer to her – a seemingly absentminded gesture, but an oddly considerate one.

“Of course we want you to join. We’re not fucking assholes. Unlike goddamn Hugo.”

Margot rolled her eyes at the mention of the nurse’s name.

“Ugh, Hugo,” she groaned, but any real annoyance was overshadowed by the excitement lighting up her face as she turned back to Caitlyn. She twirled a strand of her bleached hair between her fingers, practically buzzing.

“So,” she grinned, “does 5PM work for you? Recreational therapy’s still cancelled anyway.”

The table fell into expectant silence. Three pairs of eyes settled on Caitlyn once more.

She didn’t answer right away. Instead, her gaze drifted - almost instinctively - toward Vi.

Vi wasn’t looking at her. She was focused on her tray, pushing a piece of bread crust back and forth with the tip of her finger like it was the most interesting thing in the world.

But Caitlyn kept watching, waiting, and after a moment, Vi let out a quiet exhale, barely noticeable.

Then, without lifting her head, she gave the smallest nod.

It wasn’t much. Just a quick tilt of her chin, a silent yeah, go on, but it seemed to be enough.

“Oh, uh… if that’s the case,” Caitlyn mumbled, voice soft but certain. “I’d love to join. 5Pm works just fine.”

She hesitated, before finally picking up her piece of dry-ass toast, the gooey marmalade already dripping down the lopsided edge and onto the plate.

“Thank you.”

The timid smile crept back onto her face, and this time, it stayed.

“So, what did you do?”

The low voice of the man in the driver’s seat was nearly swallowed by the clatter of his ancient truck. Buckets, bins, and boxes in the back stored in the trunk rattled with every pothole, and the driver seemed hell-bent on hitting every fucking one in town. Between that and the radio blaring along with the air conditioning’s hum, the cabin was a cacophony of ear-wrenching noise.

Vi decided to pretend she didn’t hear the question and continued to stare out of the window.

They had left Zaun about thirty minutes ago, crossed the Bridge of Progress – with almost fifteen minutes of delay because of traffic – and were now on Vi’s personal road to hell.

Mansions lined the side of the road, towering and ornate, their facades draped in ivy and marble, like relics from another time. Some had spires that reached up to the sky, others were surrounded by iron gates and neatly trimmed hedges, as if to keep the ugliness of the world at bay.

The homes of Piltover’s prettiest and finest, built with money they’d never know how to truly earn.

Pretentious assholes.

The man – Lovis? Loris? – wasn’t deterred by her silence.

Instead, he joyfully plowed over another pothole, the truck’s suspension squealing in protest – honestly, didn’t those fucking douchebags from Topside have enough money to fix these damn roads?

He barely seemed to notice, turning halfway to her with a grin on his face.

“I know you can hear me, you’re not deaf. What did you do?”

Vi just rolled her eyes and scoffed.

Her arms were crossed over her chest, fingers tracing the outlines of her bicep absent-mindedly. She shot the mansions glances sharp enough to burn them to the ground, her mind already imagining the flames licking up the pristine stone.

Loris turned his attention back to the road, leaning forward to fumble with the stereo and cut the music.

It didn’t do much to quiet the noise in the front.

“Didn’t read your file, to be honest. It was pretty thick, and the letters were really tiny,” he grunted with a gentle chuckle.

His massive paws gripped the steering wheel.

Vi hadn’t been able to hide her admiration when he’d first shaken her hand, though she had quickly lowered her head to moodily stare at her feet. His calloused fingers, rough from years of manual labor, looked like they could crush the wheel if he squeezed too hard.

“Also,” Loris - she was pretty sure that was his name - continued, taking a dangerously sharp left without so much as a glance in his mirrors, “those Piltie Courts like to talk a lot of bullshit. Wanted to hear it from you.”

Vi couldn’t keep her left leg from bouncing nervously, the scuffing sound of her boots against the car floor only adding to the chaotic noise filling the cabin. Her pale eyes stayed glued to the window, watching as the houses outside grew larger with every mile, each one more pretentious than the last.

“So, what did you do?” Loris repeated for the third time, another pothole almost sending Vi flying out of her seat.

“Did you steal? Rob, like, a grocery store or somethin’?”

Vi didn’t say anything.

“Sell drugs? Lots of young folk out there selling drugs at the moment, huh?”

Vi didn’t say anything.

“Somethin’ with the black market? You sell somethin’ you weren’t supposed to?”

Vi didn’t say anything.

“You break into some rich Piltie’s-“

“I don’t have to tell you shit,” Vi finally cut him off, sharp voiced laced with bitterness and venom.

She shot him an angry glance and furrowed her brows – which she quickly regretted. The cut above her left brow hadn’t healed properly yet, and it left her skin tight and sore.

Loris didn’t seem the least bit fazed.

He simply pressed down on the accelerator, ignoring the glaring speed limit sign as though it was nothing. Another chuckle rumbled in his chest, and Vi noticed the small, laugh lines etched at the corners of his eyes - lines that only deepened her frown.

“Sure, you don’t.”

He only bothered to brake when they reached a red light, his thick fingers drumming a slow rhythm on the steering wheel.

Vi turned her gaze back to the window, lips pressed into a tight, frustrated line.

“Get a couple of kids like you every month,” he continued, his tone casual.

Vi found herself missing the silence she had endured during the drive - broken only by the rattling from the back and the constant hum from the engine and the air conditioning up front.

“Court doesn’t bother with real rehabilitation. They just work you to the bone and call it done.”

“Well, doesn’t that sound like a fucking ton of fun,” Vi grunted through gritted teeth. Her grip around her biceps tightened, sharp halfmoons pressing into her soft skin.

“It’s not,” Loris confirmed. The light turned green, and he immediately launched the truck forward, overtaking two cars on the right without sparing a glance at their honking.

“Most end up on the streets again. But hey, who’s surprised?”

“I’m not from the streets,” Vi muttered.

She wasn’t sure why she even bothered answering.

She had met Loris this morning, after Marika had dropped her off at his dingy little repair shop in the North of Zaun. The court had handed down its verdict a week ago - forty hours of labor under his watch - and Vi had made the decision right then and there: she wasn’t going to speak to him.

Just get through the hours, keep her head down, and be fucking done with it.

Marika had tried to coax her into introducing herself, nudging her shoulder, giving her that expectant look that said, Come on, at least pretend to be civil.

Vi hadn’t budged. She didn’t owe this guy a damn thing.

Loris hadn’t seemed to care, though. If anything, he was the least bothered person in the room. While Marika kept up her desperate attempts at conversation, he had simply handed Vi a list of supplies and gestured toward a pile of equipment in the back. “Load it up,” was all he had said, then walked off to handle something else.

No scolding, no lectures.

That was fine by her.

The job hadn’t been too bad - just hauling a bunch of tools and spare parts into the rusted trunk of his truck, nothing she couldn’t manage. Apparently, he had a commission in the North of Piltover, some maintenance work that needed handling.

The drive had been quiet at first, and Vi had been grateful for it.

Loris wasn’t the chatty type, which suited her just fine.

She had spent the first half hour staring out the window, watching Zaun disappear behind them, until the looming buildings of Piltover’s wealthiest neighborhood took over the landscape.

And now, out of nowhere, Loris had apparently decided he was a goddamn conversationalist.

“I know you ain’t,” he said, shooting her a small glance. Vi made a point of keeping her eyes glued to the dirty window. “You from that group home, aren’t you? The Warren?”

Vi only huffed.

Loris took that as confirmation. He barely slowed down as he swerved past a sluggishly moving carriage, the old truck’s tires screeching against the pavement. A driver in a sleek Piltovan automobile honked furiously as they cut in front of him, but Loris didn’t even flinch.

“That councillor of yours – Marika, wasn’t it? - told me you moved in about half a year ago,” he continued, drumming his fingers against the wheel. “Guess foster didn’t really work out for ya?”

Vi’s grip around her arms tightened even more. “Guess not,” she muttered.

Loris hummed like that was about what he expected. He took another reckless turn, rolling right over another deep pothole.

Vi clenched her teeth as her head nearly smacked against the truck’s roof.

“Damn,” he muttered, though it was hard to tell if it was about her or the road. “Not much luck with the families, huh?”

Vi scoffed. “Yeah, well, not much luck with anything.”

The truck sped up again, weaving through traffic like he had somewhere better to be.

Vi wished she could tune him out, but the rattling metal and screeching tires made sure she was painfully aware of every reckless maneuver.

Loris let out a short, dry chuckle. “Yeah. No fuckin’ surprise there. Foster system’s a goddamn joke.”

He sped up as they hit a straight stretch of road, overtaking another shiny Piltie car that had been going the actual speed limit.

The driver honked.

Loris flipped him off without missing a beat.

“They throw kids like you from one shithole to the next,” he continued, voice gruff, “then act all shocked when you don’t turn into a model citizen. What the hell do they expect? Shit, half the assholes fostering kids only do it for the payout. They don’t give a damn ‘bout you.”

Vi kept her arms crossed in front of her chest, yet she couldn’t hide the look of genuine surprise as she turned her head to Loris.

The man wasn’t looking at her, but his bushy brows had become knitted together and his jaw was a bit clenched.

“Strong opinions about it, huh?” she said and perked one of her eyebrows.

Loris snorted.

“System’s royally fucked. Always has been. Kids like you? You either learn to bite first or you get eaten. And when you do bite back, suddenly you’re the problem. Suddenly it’s all ‘oh no, why’s she so angry, why won’t she behave?’ Like they don’t know damn well why.”

The next pothole made the truck bounce like a goddamn carnival ride. Vi caught herself gripping the door handle before she went flying.

Loris didn’t seem to care whether she responded or not.

He was still speeding down the road like traffic laws were a suggestion, only vaguely acknowledging red lights and completely ignoring the way people honked and shouted at him.

It should’ve made Vi anxious.

Maybe it did, just a little.

But mostly, she found it kind of funny.

The longer she sat there, listening to the rattling metal and the occasional string of creative swearing from the driver’s seat, the less unbearable it felt.

Loris tapped his fingers against the wheel and shot her another glance.

“So,” he said once again, in the same casual, no-pressure kind of way. “What did you do?”

Vi exhaled sharply. “I stopped going to school.”

Loris barked out a laugh. Not just a snort or a chuckle - a laugh. Loud and genuine, like that was the funniest thing he’d heard all day.

“Shit, that’s it?”

Vi scowled. “Topside sure acted like it was the crime of the fucking century.”

Loris shook his head. “Wouldn’t surprise me. Those pricks love overreacting when it comes to kids from the Undercity.”

Vi swallowed, shifting her gaze back to the window.

Loris let the silence stretch for a while, but he wasn’t done.

“C’mon,” he said after some time, tone amused but not unkind. “They don’t hand down verdicts for truancy. Even the Pilties got better things to do.”

Vi hesitated. Then, before she could talk herself out of it, she added, “And I get into fights.”

Loris hummed, like that made more sense. “A lot?”

Vi hesitated again. Then, finally, she gave a small nod.

“Yeah,” Loris said, glancing at her with something that might’ve been approval. “You look like you win ‘em.”

Vi smirked. “I do.”

Loris chuckled. “Figured. You got that kinda face.” He tapped his fingers against the wheel again, considering.

“This your first verdict?”

Vi shook her head. “No.”

For a second, that was all she was going to say.

But - maybe because of the way Loris didn’t press, maybe because of the way he just got things without needing an explanation, or maybe because the constant clash of noise surrounding her had made her brain fucking mushy - she found herself adding, “Had to go to a psych facility a few months ago.”

Loris let out a low whistle. “Damn. What for?”

Vi kept her gaze on the window. The mansions blurred past. “My temper.”

“How long?”

“Two months.”

Loris didn’t say anything for a moment. He just kept driving, weaving through the streets like he had nowhere important to be.

Then, finally, he nodded.

Like that wasn’t surprising.

Like that wasn’t a big deal.

Like that was just something that happened sometimes.

“Was it bad?” he asked.

Vi’s fingers curled into her sleeves. Her shoulders hunched slightly, like she was bracing for something. “Yeah.”

Loris swerved past another car, taking the corner so sharply that Vi’s heart gave a little lurch. The truck groaned under the pressure, but Loris didn’t seem to notice. He was still grinning like he was having the time of his life, dodging cars and potholes like he was in some kind of race.

“You get used to it,” Loris said, as if reading her mind, his voice casual as ever.

He was leaning forward a little, eyes flicking between the road and the rearview mirror.

He didn’t seem to have any problem talking and driving at the same time, even if it meant veering too close to the curb or making other drivers curse him out. “The city’s a mess, but you get used to it.”

Vi snorted, trying to stifle the laugh that bubbled up.

“If by ‘getting used to it,’ you mean, ‘keep your head down and pray you don’t die,’ then sure, I’m getting real fucking used to it.”

“Eh, might as well get comfy. Ain’t gonna change,” he said with a shrug. “Besides, it beats spending the rest of your life in one of those places, right?”

He tilted his head toward her, catching her eye for a moment before quickly returning his focus to the road.

They drove for another minute or so in silence. Vi’s eyes stayed fixed on the blurred landscape outside.

The fancy Piltie homes were starting to thin out now, fewer houses but even more opulent than before. The buildings were spaced farther apart, large properties with even larger gardens.”

Loris wasn’t done though.

“So, two months, huh?” he asked, breaking the quiet with a casual tone. “How’d that psych facility work out for you?”

Vi didn’t immediately respond.

The question felt a little too close to something she didn’t really want to talk about, but Loris just kept driving, no judgment in his eyes, no heavy silence pressing down on her.

“Not great,” Vi finally answered, keeping her voice flat. “Just a lot of sitting in a room with people who wanted to help you by asking all the same stupid questions over and over again and forcing tons of fucking pills down your throat.”

“Did it help?” Loris asked, his tone a little more serious now, though still casual. He didn’t glance at her this time, just kept his focus on the road, making another dangerous turn.

Vi bit her lip, letting the silence hang for a moment before answering.

“No. Made me even angrier.”

“Figures,” Loris muttered. “The system’s got a way of making people feel worse about themselves than they already do. Don’t need to fix the root problem, just slap a Band-Aid on it and move on.”

Vi was silent for a while, staring at the passing buildings as she thought.

Loris wasn’t wrong.

It wasn’t that the people there didn’t try.

They just didn’t know what to do with someone like her.

No one did.

Finally, she spoke again. “It was just a fucking waste. All that time, for what? So they could tell me I was fucking crazy?”

“Crazy?” Loris scoffed. “You’re fine. You’re just trying to survive. It’s a lot of bullshit, that whole mental health thing. As if anyone from the Undercity doesn’t have a damn good reason to be pissed off.”

Vi glanced over at him, seeing the way his face had darkened slightly. There was more to his words than just a throwaway remark.

“Yeah,” she muttered. “Guess so.”

Another silence passed.

After a while, Loris broke it again, voice teasing. “You like the group home? You got friends there?”

Vi blinked, thrown off by the question. For a moment, she almost bristled. “What do you mean? Is this supposed to be some kind of therapist session?”

“No,” he said, laughing under his breath. “Just curious. You got friends, right?”

Vi couldn’t stop herself from giving a small smile at that, the corners of her mouth quirking up.

“Yeah. Yeah, I do.” She glanced at him, her voice a little warmer than before. “They’re the only reason I stay. I wouldn’t put up with it otherwise.”

Loris gave her a thoughtful look, not speaking for a beat, but then he grinned, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Guess that makes ‘em family, huh?”

“Ha,” Vi scoffed. “Some days, yeah. Other days, they’re just as fucked up as me.”

“Yeah, well, that’s what makes it interesting, right?” Loris chuckled, eyes twinkling as he casually ignored another car’s right of way. “You all fuck up a lot?”

Vi couldn’t help it - she let out a small laugh, sharp and a little bitter, but still real.

“Hell, yeah, we do,” she said, shaking her head. “We’re all a pain in the fucking ass. Like, Mylo - he thinks sneaking into bars and getting drunk is his life’s calling.” She rolled her eyes, smirking. “Dude’s about as useful as a broken bottle when he’s wasted.”

She didn’t know why, but all of a sudden the words kept tumbling from her scared lips, blending in with the hum of the air conditioning and the rattle of the truck.

“And Claggor – he’s like this huge, bulky dude – recently opened up, like, a fucking side-hustle, smuggling weed and whatnot up to Piltover. But, hey, don’t tell Marika that!” she quickly added and narrowed her eyes a bit.

Loris laughed and shook his head. “No worries about that, kiddo. So, you the leader of this gang of misfits, then?”

“Guess so,” Vi muttered reluctantly, her tone more curt than she intended.

She quickly looked back out the window, her eyes narrowing at the passing scenery, anything to avoid the conversation turning inward. "The others just kinda... started looking up to me. It’s not like I asked for it."

Loris’ eyes flicked briefly to her, taking in the way her shoulders tensed. He didn’t comment, but his grin softened, his voice taking on a slightly different tone.

“With that comes a lot of responsibility, though. You know that, right?”

Vi’s hands tightened around her arms. The weight of his words hit her with a thud, something deep inside her chest tightening in response.

Yeah, she knew.

She felt it every damn day.

When the foster agency had finally given up on her half a year ago, The Warren had appeared like a small beacon of hope. It was a group home at the outskirts of Zaun, fostering about fifteen kids her age. It definitely wasn’t the worst dump Vi had landed in. It was strict, sure - curfews, room checks, counsellors who thought they ran a tight ship - but Vi had learned quickly that rules were more like suggestions if you knew how to work around them.

Mylo and Claggor were the same way, not really because they were naturally rebellious, but because Vi was, and they followed her lead like they always had.

They’d been together long before The Warren, back when life had been theirs - when they had a home, when Vander was still around, when Powder – no, Vi didn’t want to think about her. Everything had gone to shit. Vander died and Vi had been thrown into foster care while Mylo and Claggor ended up at the group home.

For years, all she’d wanted was to be back with them.

And now she was. I

t just so happened that meant living in a shoebox of a room with squeaky-ass bunk beds and a single window so small it barely let in any light.

So, the rooms were tiny, barely enough space for their beds and a dresser that smelled like mold no matter how many times they tried to air it out. The walls were thin enough that Vi had learned way too much about the kid in the next room’s sleep-talking habit, and the whole place carried that oily, smoky scent that lingered in the streets of Zaun.

The Warren was underfunded like everything else in Zaun that Piltover didn’t give a damn about, and it showed - leaky ceilings, flickering lights, peeling paint.

That fact alone was enough to piss her off even more.

The counsellors weren’t the worst, though.

At least they were from Zaun.

They spoke like her, understood the city, didn’t look at kids like her like they were rats someone dragged in off the street.

That was a nice change.

What wasn’t a nice change was them acting like she was supposed to take orders just because they said so. Vi had never done well with people telling her what to do, and she wasn’t about to start now.

Didn’t stop them from trying, though.

Especially when she, Mylo, and Claggor inevitably found ways to break every rule in the book.

Sneaking out was a routine at this point, slipping through the broken section of the back fence to get into all kinds of shit - rooftop races, back-alley fights, lifting bottles of cheap booze from street vendors too slow to catch them.

They got caught just as often as they got away with it, but Vi always ended up taking the heat.

“You’re the one they look up to,” the counsellors would tell her, arms crossed, voices all serious and disappointed.

Yeah, no shit.

Mylo and Claggor wouldn’t even pick a fight without her say-so.

If Vi was in, they were in.

If Vi wasn’t?

Well, Claggor could be talked out of things, but Mylo? That little shit had a mouth too big for his own good, and Vi was usually the one who had to drag his sorry ass out of whatever mess he started.

And because the counsellors knew she was the ringleader, she was the one stuck doing extra chores, the one losing meal privileges, the one being pulled aside for another lecture about how she “had potential” and needed to “set an example.”

Vi had to hold it together for them, make decisions, be the one they turned to when things got rough. It was like carrying a hundred-pound weight around all the time.

She tried to shake it off, to stay casual, but the tension in her voice was unmistakable when she finally replied, “Yeah. I know.”

The words hung in the air between them like the last breath of a dying conversation. It wasn’t comfortable, and Vi wasn’t good at letting it linger. She could feel the need to shift the subject building, but the next question came out of nowhere, like an unexpected punch in the gut.

 “Got any siblings?”

Vi froze.

Her breath caught in her throat, and for a split second, the world seemed to narrow. The truck’s engine rumbled on, but all Vi could hear was the thudding of her heart in her ears. Her gaze snapped to the side, her eyes flashing with something cold and hard.

“I do,” she said, the words blunt and emotionless, sounding hollow in her ears.

Loris didn’t push immediately, sensing something shift in the air.

“How old?”

Vi’s mouth went dry, and the weight in her chest seemed to multiply. This wasn’t something she was willing to go into.

Not now, not with him.

The walls she’d built around herself slammed down again, and her voice came out sharper, defensive.

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

Her gaze was hard as she shot him a look, her eyes challenging, warning him to drop it. The tension between them thickened, the air in the truck growing heavy with the unspoken.

Loris blinked, recognizing the shift, and the playful glint in his eyes faded. His mouth pressed into a thin line, and he simply nodded. He didn’t say anything else, his eyes focused back on the road ahead.

Vi, on the other hand, whipped her head around and stared out the window, her jaw clenched so tight it almost hurt.

Her thoughts raced, but she kept them locked up. For a moment, it felt like the walls of the truck were closing in on her, the weight of her own emotions pressing down, threatening to break through.

But she wasn’t going to let that happen. Not here. Not now.

The rest of the drive passed in heavy silence, each lost in their own thoughts. The road stretched on, an endless gray ribbon cutting through the world outside, but it might as well have been a thousand miles away.

Vi's mind churned, her fingernails piercing her skin, her leg bouncing at rapid speed.

The tension had settled between them, thick and unspoken, and the last few minutes of the drive were heavy with the weight of unsaid things.

Loris didn’t try to fill the silence again.

Vi had started to dread 10.30 AM.

It wasn’t that she couldn’t endure Sevika’s hard gaze, the way the woman never blinked, never let a hint of emotion slip through.

Or the silence that seemed to stretch longer than it ever should, the way the hour slipped through her fingers like the slowest, most insufferable sand in an hourglass.

She could manage. She had to.

But with each session passing, with each silent battle with the tick of the clock, she could feel herself starting to slip.

The tension had been building gradually over the past few sessions.

It had started small - first her leg bouncing, then her eyes flickering over to clock more and more often, finally her hands drumming a nervous rhythm on her thigh. She had tried to suppress it, but it felt like trying to hold back a flood with a paper wall.

The restless energy grew and grew, gnawing at her from the inside like a starving animal.

Today, it was like she was about to crawl out of her own skin.

Vi had no idea why today was so much worse than usual.

Maybe it was because the taste of Caitlyn’s tears still lingered on her lips, maybe it was because she could still feel the sobs rattling through the girl’s body, maybe it was because she kept thinking about their shared breakfast and Caitlyn’s timid smile.

Whatever it was, she couldn’t stop herself.

It made her worry at her lower lip with such an intensity, she was sure she’d soon draw blood. Her leg jiggled, her fingers drummed a rapid-fire beat on the armrest of the chair. Her palms felt slick with sweat. She shifted uncomfortably, trying to find some semblance of stillness, but it only made it worse.

The more she tried to fight it, the more it took over.

Sevika’s sharp eyes never wavered, even as Vi shifted again, her fucking body betraying her. She didn’t say a word, didn’t even flinch.

And for a split second, Vi almost thought maybe the woman hadn’t noticed.

Maybe she’d let her get away with it today.

Of course she didn’t.

Sevika’s voice sliced through the room, low and steady, the southern Zaunite drawl unmistakable.

“Something the matter, Violet?”

Vi’s mouth twitched into its usual sarcastic smirk, but even she could feel how shallow it was today. Her fingers drummed a faster rhythm on the armrest, her leg still bouncing erratically.

“It’s Vi,” Vi muttered, trying to sound more at ease than she felt. “And no. Just, y’know, enjoying the delightful ambiance of this place.”

She gestured vaguely to the sterile, dull room with a roll of her eyes.

Sevika didn’t respond, just stared at her with that same unwavering, no-nonsense gaze.

It felt like she could see right through Vi’s act, and that alone made the fidgeting worse.

The seconds stretched on like an eternity.

Vi shifted again, her eyes flicked nervously to the clock, and she cursed under her breath. The tension coiled tighter, a physical sensation in her chest, like her heart was trying to escape her ribcage.

She was barely hanging on.

Her body itched for movement, for release, but all she got in return was the weight of Sevika’s stare pressing down on her. The silence stretched between them like a taut wire, snapping at the edges of her composure.

Finally, Vi couldn’t help it.

The question came tumbling out of her mouth before she could even think about it.

“Is Caitlyn Kiramman actually your patient?” Vi blurted, the words feeling clumsy as they escaped her lips.

She immediately regretted it, feeling her stomach twist with the awkwardness of it all.

Of course Sevika wouldn’t just tell her that.

Sevika’s expression didn’t flicker for a moment.

She simply leaned back in her chair, one hand resting casually on her knee, the mechanical one folding across her chest. Her face was as unreadable as ever.

“That’s confidential.”

Vi let out a frustrated snort, crossing her arms tightly over her chest, a defensive gesture.

“Right. Confidential.”

She rolled her eyes dramatically, trying to mask how jittery she felt. "I know she is, anyways. Told me herself."

Sevika's gaze never left her. Those eyes didn’t blink, didn’t waver.

“Why’d you ask, then?”

Vi just shrugged and felt pretty fucking stupid.

The silence stretched again, longer this time, heavy and thick. Vi’s fingers drummed against her biceps now, her irritation building.

This whole thing was so fucking ridiculous.

“Okay, fine,” Vi snapped after a few more moments of silence, her voice sharper now, betraying the frustration bubbling up inside her. “But can you at least tell me why she’s here?”

Sevika's expression remained unchanged.

She wasn’t moved by Vi’s questioning, not in the slightest.

“Confidential.”

Vi’s teeth gritted together, but she forced the words out, even though her patience was wearing thin.

“Right, but can you give me a hint? Just a little something?” Her voice wavered slightly, despite the bravado she tried to put into it.

Sevika’s gaze didn’t falter. Her tone was matter of fact, deadpan as ever.

“Do you have trouble understanding what the word ‘confidential’ means, Violet?”

Vi glared at the woman.

The faintest hint of a smirk tugged at the corner of Sevika's mouth, as if she found Vi’s frustration almost amusing, but it was a restrained, razor-sharp amusement.

Vi counted 87 ticks of the clock, before she finally shifted again, uncrossing her arms and pulling on of her knees up to her chest instead, chin raised in stubborn defiance.

“Well, whatever you’re doing with her in here, you for sure suck at your fucking job,” she said, though even her usual snark lacked some bite today.

The words didn’t come with the usual sharpness, more like a jolt of irritation that fizzled out too soon.

Sevika didn’t immediately respond, her amber eyes still fixed on Vi.

Then, the faintest shift in Sevika’s expression. One eyebrow perked up, just the slightest hint of curiosity creeping in.

“Yeah?” Sevika’s voice was low, but there was no mistaking the edge of amusement that tinged the words. “ And how’s that?”

Vi could feel her pulse in her ears, the tick of the clock too loud now, mocking her. Her fingers drummed once more, though the rhythm was weaker this time, a half-hearted attempt to mask the tension building in her chest.

She'd already said more in this session than in all the others combined, and she hated it.

Hated how the words kept spilling out, even though she didn't want them to.

Hated how they were forming in her mind, clawing their way to her lips, even though she’d been trying so hard to keep it all locked inside.

Finally, she let out a long breath, trying to sound as casual as possible, though her voice still betrayed her, pressed tight and strained through gritted teeth.

“Well, she’s obviously not doing well,” Vi said, but the words felt a little hollow even as they left her mouth, no matter how hard she tried to lace them with nonchalance. “Doesn’t need a fucking genius to figure that out.”

Sevika’s unblinking gaze was steady, unwavering, as she uncrossed her arms and leaned forward, her fingers laced together in front of her like she was preparing to pounce. She looked like a lion stalking its prey - predatory, calculated.

Vi felt a shiver run down her spine, and for a moment, she thought she might actually shrink under the weight of Sevika’s stare. But she forced herself to stay where she was, to hold onto the stubbornness that had gotten her this far.

“Is that so? And how did you figure that out?”

Vi hesitated, her mouth suddenly dry, the words caught in her throat. She was sizing Sevika up now, the woman’s steady gaze never wavering.

But Vi wouldn’t back down now.

She wasn’t about to give Sevika the satisfaction of seeing her squirm again.

So she hugged her knee a bit tighter to her chest, fingers clawing into the fabric of her sweatpants, shrugging with all causality she could muster.

“Guess it’s kinda hard to miss when a girl starts fucking sobbing into your hoodie while you're two knuckles deep inside of her.”

The words hung in the air for a moment, thick with the weight of what had just been said. Sevika's expression didn’t falter, not a muscle twitching in response. Her eyes stayed locked on Vi, the calmness of her demeanour almost unnerving in contrast to the tension rolling off Vi in waves.

Vi could feel the heat of her own face, the awkwardness that followed her blunt statement, but she didn’t let herself break.

Sevika didn’t react for several long beats, the silence stretching out again, only interrupted by the steady ticking of the clock and the quiet ruffling of fabric between Vi’s restless fingers. It was like she was letting Vi stew in the awkwardness, letting the words settle in the room before she made her move.

And just when Vi was starting to wonder if she might’ve overstepped, Sevika shifted, her eyes narrowing slightly, but her expression still unreadable.

“Well, Violet, I’m just going to ignore the fact that you’re apparently indulging in sexual relations with another patient, which we both know goes against the clinics policies, and instead ask you why exactly Caitlyn’s emotional state bothers you so much?”

Vi scoffed, shaking her head as if Sevika had just said the dumbest thing imaginable.

“Bothers me? It doesn’t bother me. I don’t fucking care.”

She threw the words out fast, almost too fast, like she was trying to outrun them.

“I was just pointing out the obvious, since you’re supposed to be the expert here.”

Sevika’s smirk deepened, just the slightest twitch at the corner of her mouth, but Vi caught it anyway.

It made her stomach twist.

“Okay, it doesn’t bother you,” Sevika picked up again. “You haven’t said a single word in five weeks, and now that you finally do, the only thing coming out of your mouth are questions and accusations regarding Caitlyn Kiramman.”

Vi narrowed her eyes, let go of her leg and crossed her arms again, fingers picking the small rhythm up once more.

“Sure seems to be like you care,” Sevika continued with a twinkle in her eyes.

“Well, I don’t, don’t know what else to tell you.”

Sevika didn’t react. She just tilted her head, her sharp, amber eyes studying Vi with that same detached amusement, like she was waiting to see how long it would take before Vi caved in on herself.

Vi clicked her tongue, shaking her head again and let out a dry, humourless laugh.

“I don’t give a flying fuck about her.”

Sevika just hummed.

Silence.

Vi shifted in her chair, looked at the clock with a small sigh. She hated this - the way Sevika could say so little and still make her feel like she was being cracked open like a safe.

It made her wish she’d just kept her damn mouth shut.

She thought that was the end of it, that Sevika was done prying, but after a long moment, the woman spoke again. Her voice was lower this time, calm, steady.

“You feel responsible for her.”

Vi’s head snapped up, a sharp scowl pulling at her face. “The fuck I do.”

Sevika's amusement only grew, the corners of her mouth twitching ever so slightly.

It was infuriating.

Vi’s scowl deepened, her jaw clenching. "Wipe that fucking look off your face."

"Why?" Sevika flipped her hand lazily, as if gesturing at the room around them. "You’re entertaining when you’re in denial."

The little gears clicked and turned, momentarily drowning out the sound of the clock, before she placed her elbow back on the desk.

Vi sneered, her fingers digging into her arms where they were crossed over her chest. The hurt didn’t extinguish the fire growing in her chest.

"Yeah? Well, you’re real fucking funny too, doc. Must be a fucking riot at parties."

Sevika only hummed in response, completely unfazed.

Then, in one slow, deliberate motion, she leaned to the side, rummaging through a drawer, until finally retrieving her hand. It held the beige, thick file Vi knew so fucking well.

Sevika dropped it on the desk with a pang, cracked it open, flipping through a few pages, scanning them with a lazy sort of interest.

Vi’s pulse pounded in her ears.

“Let’s see,” Sevika said, voice casual, like they were just chatting about the weather. “Violet, ZAUN167VL.”

Vi’s nose wrinkled in disgust at the numbers, but she stayed silent, watching as Sevika trailed her fingers down the page.

“Born and raised in Zaun. Entered the foster system at age ten after your legal guardian, Vander, died.” She glanced up briefly, watching Vi’s reaction. Vi forced her face to remain blank, though everything in her coiled.

Sevika’s gaze dropped back onto the page.

“Your little sister, Powder, was placed into the system at the same time. But not with you.”

Something inside Vi flinched.

A sharp, involuntary twitch in the gut, like a reflex she couldn’t control.

She kept her breathing even, forced her hands to stay still, but her body betrayed her anyway. Her shoulders tensed, the muscles in her jaw tightening as she locked her teeth together. Her vision tunnelled for half a second, the paper in Sevika’s hands blurring as an old, familiar ache swelled in her chest.

Something small and cold was curling up inside her ribs, clawing at her from the inside out, an odd contrast to the heat igniting every cell of her body.

“Multiple disciplinary reports. Trouble with nearly every foster home you were placed in. Lots of notes about, and I quote, ‘a strong protective streak, particularly when it comes to peers and found family.’”

Vi’s fingers curled into fists.

Sevika continued reading, her tone light, almost conversational.

“Multiple run-ins with the law, mostly for fights, but also for, hmm-" She tapped the page, peering at Vi like some sort of butch, fucked up detective. "-taking the fall for things your friends did. How very fucking noble, Violet.”

“Go fuck yourself,” Vi bit out.

Sevika barely even acknowledged the insult. She turned another page, the thin paper crinkling in her mechanical fingers.

“And then we get to the part where you turned eighteen and-” she let out a low, amused hum. “Now, this is interesting.”

Vi’s heart was pounding now, her breath tight in her chest. She already knew what was coming, and she wanted to snatch the file right out of Sevika’s hands, tear it to fucking pieces, set in on fire and watch it burn.

Sevika glanced up at her, that damn smirk still playing at the edges of her mouth.

“Says here that as soon as you became a legal adult, you attempted to get custody over Powder.”

Vi’s entire body went rigid.

For a moment, the room felt too small, the air too thick.

Something hot burned behind her ribs, behind her eyes, a deep, terrible pressure like a wound she had spent years trying to ignore suddenly being ripped wide open.

A sick feeling twisted in her gut.

Then, she shot up from her chair so fast that it scraped against the floor with an ear-splitting screech.

“This has nothing to do with anything,” she snapped, her voice sharp with barely restrained anger. “And it sure as hell ain’t any of your fucking business.”

Sevika didn’t even blink at the outburst. She closed the file calmly, resting her elbow on the armrest and her chin in her palm, watching Vi like she was a mildly amusing puzzle.

“Seems to me like you have a history of taking responsibility for people.”

Vi let out another humourless laugh, but it was forced, unsteady, fucking shaky.

“Oh, yeah? And seems to me like you have a history of being a fucking bitch.”

Sevika only smirked at that.

Vi's fists clenched and unclenched at her sides, her body thrumming with the kind of anger that made her want to break something - tear into something just to stop the feeling from tearing into her instead. She felt like a caged animal - cornered, exposed, like Sevika had peeled back her skin just to watch her squirm.

No way out except to bite.

All of a sudden, she her thoughts travelled back to the Beastworks Menagerie.

She hadn’t thought about that place for years, hadn’t thought about since her trip to the Lyceum, since she met Caitlyn for the first time before everything went to fucking shit.

“I don’t care about Caitlyn,” she hissed, each word burning like acid on her tongue. “I don’t care about anyone.”

Sevika tilted her head, watching her with that infuriating, calm and amused look.

“You can deny it all you want,” she said, voice steady and collected, “but you do care. You care about a lot of fucking people.”

Vi let out a sharp, shaky laugh, her lips curling back into a sneer.

“Oh, is that right? What, you got a fucking sixth sense for bullshit?”

She leaned forward slightly, her voice dropping into something taunting.

“Just because you’re sitting in a fucking office in some fucking nuthouse doesn’t mean you know fucking everything, doc.”

Sevika didn’t so much as blink.

She didn’t acknowledge the jab, didn’t take the bait.

She just leaned back, calm as ever, like Vi’s anger didn’t even register.

Like she was just waiting for the inevitable.

“Caring about people doesn’t make you weak,” she said, her tone smooth and easy. Almost kind. Almost. “You act like it’s some kind of burden, but it’s not.”

Vi scoffed, loud and dry, her teeth bared in something almost like a grin but with none of the warmth.

“Oh, fuck off with that sanctimonious shit. You really think you’re gonna sit there, puffing on your moral high ground, and lecture me?” She shook her head, laughing again, but it was nothing but teeth and venom. “Get the fuck over yourself.”

Sevika didn’t react.

Didn’t argue.

Didn’t so much as twitch.

Vi hated her.

She hated her so fucking much.

Her skin prickled with frustration, her pulse hammering. The way Sevika just sat there, calm and steady, made her want to rip the chair out from under her and beat her to the fucking ground with it.

“I don’t care,” she said again, harsher, like saying it louder would make it true. “About Caitlyn. About anyone. I care about me. That’s fucking it.”

Sevika hummed, her eyes traveling over Vi’s face, reading every shift, every tick of her expression. Considering her. Measuring her. Then, in that same low, steady voice, she spoke.

“Do you care about Powder?”

Vi froze.

Her breath stuttered, catching in her throat like she’d taken a punch to the gut. Her pulse hammered, her heartbeat a deafening roar in her ears.

Something inside her recoiled, violent and immediate, like an instinct, like touching a hot stove and yanking her hand back before the burn could set in.

But it was too late.

It was already searing through her, a sharp, unbearable pressure blooming behind her ribs.

The room blurred at the edges, suddenly too small, too fucking close. Her lungs felt tight, her skin too hot. Memories slammed into her like a freight train - small hands gripping hers in the dark, Powder’s voice calling her name, the way it used to tremble when she was scared. The sound of a door slamming shut, cutting through the silence like a gunshot.

Vi’s jaw clenched so tight it ached. She forced her hands to stay at her sides, to stay still, but her fingers twitched, nails pressing into her palms.

Her body wanted to move.

To lash out.

To do anything but sit here, under Sevika’s gaze, being fucking dissected.

Sevika just watched her, unmoving, completely unshaken. Patient. Waiting.

Vi wanted to say something. To snap, to deflect, to throw another insult like a knife aimed straight for Sevika’s throat.

But nothing came.

The words weren’t there.

Vi hated her, Vi hated her, Vi hated her,

She fucking hated her.

Because Sevika was right.

And Vi couldn’t fucking stand it.

A sharp breath rattled out of her, her chest too tight to hold it in. She turned on her heel and stormed toward the door, her movements jerky, frantic.

She needed to get out. Now.

Her hand slammed against the handle. Wrenched it open.

And then she was gone, the door slamming shut behind her with a violent crack that echoed through the room.

Vi had already despised the neighborhood they had driven through on their way to Loris’ client.

But the house they eventually parked in front of? She fucking loathed it.

If you could even call it a house.

Vi jumped out of the truck, the gravel of the driveway crunching beneath her taped-up shoes.

They were hand-me-downs from Mylo, scuffed and way over the point of being merely well-used. The old tape on them had been holding her feet hostage for weeks. She squinted at the sun, taking in the monstrosity in front of her.

It wasn’t just a house. It was a goddamn palace.

The mansion was a towering structure of pristine red bricks, columns reaching up like the arms of some ancient god, trying to touch the sky. A perfect blend of ostentation and impracticality, the kind of place that had no soul. The windows were too big, too clean, like eyes that stared down from their ivory perch, judging everything below. The lawn stretched out impossibly green, bordered with sculpted hedges and flowers that smelled too sweet, like they were pretending to be something they weren’t.

Vi felt a familiar twist in her gut.

Loris got out of the truck with a deep chuckle, shaking his head as he looked over at Vi’s face.

The disgust was practically radiating off her.

He took in the sight of her expression- stone-faced, brows furrowed, lip curled just enough to show she wasn’t impressed.

"What’s the matter, kid?" he asked with a grin, his voice rough and teasing. "Not your kind of place, eh?”

Vi shot him a look that could have melted a lesser man in his tracks.

Loris only laughed harder, the sound echoing off the shiny, too-clean exterior of the mansion.

He slapped her on the back, the force enough to make her stumble forward slightly, but Vi caught her balance with a grunt.

"Get moving, girl. We’re not here to admire the view," he said, his tone playful but insistent. He pointed at the load of supplies in the back of the truck, buckets of paint, toolboxes and a bunch of useless clutter Vi had never seen before.

"Help me unload, will ya?"

Vi rolled her eyes but didn’t argue.

She trudged after him to the trunk of the car, grabbed the first box - awkwardly shaped - and heaved it out of the truck bed, her arms straining slightly as she adjusted her grip. She wouldn’t give Loris the satisfaction of huffing, even though the box was heavier than she’d anticipated at first.

"This better be fucking worth it," she muttered under her breath, dragging the box toward the front door of the mansion.

Loris fell into step behind her, carrying his own load with no apparent effort.

They had barely made it halfway through the unloading, the cases and boxes stacked on top of one another in front of the entry, when the door to the mansion creaked open, revealing a butler standing just inside. He was tall, slicked-back hair, tailored suit.

His face was twisted into an odd mask of lingering judgment.

Kinda impressive.

As soon as he saw the pair of them hauling boxes across his pristine driveway, his nostrils flared just slightly. His gaze flicked from the supplies to the two of them, sizing them up with an undeniable air of superiority.

Loris, unfazed, cocked his head with a lazy smirk.

"Oi, I believe your boss hired us?" he called out, voice casual but sharp. "Loris and Vi, here for the kitchen."

The butler didn’t acknowledge Loris’ words in the slightest.

His nose crinkled and he narrowed his eyes, gaze drifting over the paint-spluttered buckets and the crinkly boxes, before he made a subtle motion with his hand.

"I trust you’ll follow me once you’re ready," he said, his voice as cold and polished as his suit.

He didn’t offer even the faintest gesture to help carry the supplies, just stood there like some immovable, over-groomed statue, while Loris and Vi continued heaving their utensils from the trunk, Loris whistling a low tune, Vi making a point of shooting the butler gnarly glares any chance she got.

When they finally finished unloading, Loris grabbed most of the supplies, leaving Vi with a smaller but still ridiculously heavy pile to carry. She hoisted the boxes up onto her arms, trying not to wince as her muscles screamed in protest.

She wasn’t about to let her pride falter, though - no one in this pristine hellhole needed to see her struggle.

The butler, who’d been eyeing them from the start like they were something he scraped off his shoe, gave them one last, disgusted frown before he turned, without a word, and led them through the door.

Vi followed, boots dragging softly across the polished marble floor as she entered the house, fighting the urge to start kicking things. Once she was inside, she immediately decided to hate the place even more.

The entrance hall stretched out before them, absurdly shiny, impossibly pristine. The walls were covered with statues and vases that looked like they belonged in a museum, not in anyone’s actual home. The floor was so polished that it looked like a mirror.

Vi couldn’t help but glance down as her shoes scuffed the surface, but she didn’t really care if she ruined it.

If anything, a scuff mark would be the only sign of life in here.

The butler didn’t even spare them a glance, maintaining his holier-than-thou posture like he was some kind of rare breed of human who had never had to lift a finger for anything.

Vi felt the sudden urge to remind him that he was fucking staff as well.

He led them down a hallway that seemed to go on for goddamn days.

The walls were lined with portraits of long-dead people dressed in ridiculous outfits that probably cost more than her entire childhood. They all looked the same—cold, judgmental, and disinterested.

No smile.

No warmth.

Just a bunch of rich assholes staring down at her like she was the dirt beneath their shoes.

The worst part?

More vases.

Everywhere.

Who the hell needed this many fucking vases?

Vi was pretty sure the supplies in her arms were starting to cut off her circulation, and she tried to shift them ever so slightly without stopping. Loris, noticing her struggle but not making a fuss, reached over and took another bucket from her without saying a word, only shooting her a quick wink.

Vi looked away.

They continued through the endless hallway, passing more portraits, more tasteless decor, more fucking vases.

The corridor stretched on like it was trying to go on forever, like it had no end. Vi would’ve made a joke about it being a never-ending maze, but she was too tired to keep pretending like this place wasn’t slowly killing her soul.

Finally, they arrived at the kitchen.

Vi looked around and sighed heavily, dropping the boxes onto the counter with a dramatic thud. She made sure to slam them down just hard enough to earn herself another sharp, frowning glance from the butler, who had stiffly stopped at the door.

Loris placed his supplies down quietly next to hers.

Vi hated to admit it, but the kitchen, bathed in an overabundance of natural light streaming in from the large windows, was actually kind of pretty.

It was open, with sleek countertops and sage green cabinets, the walls covered in intricately painted tiles.

She scowled, wiping the faint sense of awe from her mind. She wasn’t about to let herself get soft just because the kitchen was nice.

The butler cleared his throat loudly. He gestured over to one of the countertops, his voice smooth and measured.

“You’re to retile the wall behind that area,” he explained, looking at them with the same cold gaze he had since they’d entered the house. “If you require anything, feel free to call me.”

He didn’t say it like he actually wanted them to call him, more like he was tossing out a formality just to get them out of his hair.

Loris gave a friendly nod, his usual grin playing on his lips.

“Cheers, mate,” he said casually.

The butler, not even bothering to dignify Loris with a response, tilted his chin up in that same lofty way and turned on his heel. The sound of his polished shoes clicked sharply on the floor as he disappeared down the hallway.

Loris turned to Vi, and with a smirk, leaned in slightly. “Someone should help that poor guy get the stick out of his ass, eh.”

Vi couldn’t help it - she laughed, a short burst of amusement escaping her lips.

She hadn’t meant to laugh at all, but it felt good to let go of that tension for a second.

Whatever had happened with the awkward conversation earlier didn’t seem to have affected Loris in the slightest, and somehow that was a relief.

Loris stretched his arms over his head, cracking his back, before looking at her with a twinkle in his eyes. “Alright, let’s get to work. You up for it?”

Vi rolled her shoulders and cracked her knuckles, trying to act like she wasn’t actually a little eager to get started.

“Yeah,” she said quietly, “let’s do this.”

And so they did.

The work started with the gruelling task of tearing down the old tiles.

Vi had the honor of ripping down the old, chipped tiles from the wall, a task she got way too much enjoyment out of Vi, eagerly attacking the wall with the crowbar. The first few tiles came off easily, their sharp, brittle edges breaking apart with satisfying cracks.

It was messy, it was loud, it was right up her alley.

Loris made sure to hand her the tools when she needed them, trusting her with the heavy machinery without a second thought.

“You’ve got the hang of it. You sure you’ve never done this before?”

Vi didn’t answer. She was too focused on the work to think about anything else, though a small, prideful part of her was impressed that he trusted her this much.

Loris handled the more delicate tasks - removing the old adhesive from the wall, scraping the stubborn bits of grout that didn’t want to come off, and mixing up the new mortar for the tiles they’d be putting up.

The more he worked, the more Vi realized how much he knew about this job.

She was kinda surprised at how carefully his meaty paws handled the intricate work.

The work was exhausting, but it wasn’t bad.

There was something oddly satisfying about seeing the progress, even if it was slow.

Vi’s muscles burned from the constant lifting, pulling, and pounding, but it felt good in a strange way.

At some point, Vi stopped paying attention to the dust and grit collecting in her hair. Her arms burned from the constant lifting, the repetitive motions, and her back ached as she bent over the counter to scrape the last of the tiles off.

She took a deep breath and continued, barely noticing when Loris tossed her a bottle of water without asking.

The first stage was done - tear down the old tiles, scrape the grout, clear the area.

Then came the cleaning.

The walls needed to be completely stripped down and prepped for the new tiles.

Vi dragged a bucket of water from the corner, its handle squeaking as she lifted it. She dunked a rag in the water, wrung it out, and started wiping down the surface. It felt like they were barely making a dent in the filth - grime, dust, leftover cement splashes.

Each swipe of the rag took off another layer, but it wasn’t until she reached the corner that she noticed the faint cracks in the drywall beneath.

Loris only grunted at the sight. “No big deal. Just needs some patching up.”

He showed her how to mix up a batch of quick-drying plaster, before they started smoothing it over the cracks with a knife until it was flush with the rest of the wall. It was tedious, and she was starting to feel the sweat dripping down the back of her neck.

Loris kept the rhythm going on his side, preparing the tile spacers and checking the tile measurements, keeping the pace steady.

Next came the actual tiling.

Loris spread a thin layer of adhesive over a section of the wall, and Vi pressed the first tile into place, grinning as it fit perfectly into the grid.

The pattern their employer had chosen was simple but striking – navy blue and intricate golden details, just enough variation in shade to look interesting without clashing with the sage-coloured cabinetry around it.

Vi hated to admit it, but their client seemed to have at least some sort of taste.

The work was definitely exhausting now.

The repetitive motions of smoothing adhesive, setting tiles, and checking the alignment made Vi’s arms feel like lead.

She didn’t want to admit how much her body was screaming, but Loris caught her glancing at her tank top, now sticking to her skin, and his smirk grew.

“Told you we’d be working you to the bone,” he teased, though there was no judgment in his voice.

Vi gave him a look but didn’t reply.

It was way too hot in here to care anymore, and she sure as hell wasn’t going to waste any more energy acting like she wasn’t sweating through her clothes. She moved on to the next tile, pressing it in place with a little more force than necessary, her hands still covered in mortar.

As she worked, she couldn’t help but notice the ease with which Loris continued talking to her, his words floating through the air like the hum of a familiar tune.

“So, did you ever think you’d end up doing this kinda work?”

“Watch the tile on the left, it’s kinda slipping.”

“Drink up, kiddo, you’re sweating like crazy.”

“Hey, don’t stop now, we’re almost done.”

Vi nodded, ignoring the ache in her back, pushing past the exhaustion as she slapped on the next few tiles with precise movements.

By the time they got to the final rows, the wall was a work of art - clean, neat, and perfect.

"Alright, kid," Loris finally said, cracking his knuckles with a satisfied grin. "You did your part. Let me handle the sponging. Go take a breather."

Vi was sore, tired, and frankly, pretty done with the whole damn place.

She watched Loris slide a damp sponge across the tiles, buffing them clean with lazy ease, and decided she’d earned a moment of freedom. Her shoulders ached, and her fingers ached even more from all the lifting and tiling.

So, she stepped back, allowing herself a small stroll through the kitchen.

The large, open space seemed to hum with the promise of freshly baked bread, the sharp scent of herbs, the quiet comfort of a home - though Vi was pretty sure she was just imagining that. The marble countertops gleamed under the bright sunlight spilling through the two grand glass doors that led out into the garden.

Vi hesitated for a moment before taking a step toward the doors. The garden behind them seemed almost surreal compared to the cold, sterile interior of the house. The sprawling lawn was a riot of colour - delicate flowers in neat rows, perfectly trimmed bushes, and a fountain that gurgled softly in the distance.

The image of tiny, intricately painted fishes buzzed through her mind.

The sunlight caught the edge of the glass, creating a soft glow that made the whole scene feel almost dreamlike. Vi's fingers brushed the cool glass and for a brief second, she could almost forget she was in a mansion.

It was just her, the warmth of the sun, and the surface of the glass beneath her fingertips.

“Alright, kiddo, all done,” Loris grunted as he straightened his back, dropping the sponge back into the little bucket.

Vi turned, but then something caught her eye.

A small twinkle on the ground at the base of the door, just outside the line of sight.

Vi’s eyes narrowed as she crouched down, her fingers brushing through the soft carpet of the threshold.

She leaned in, realizing what she’d found: an earring.

A small, delicate thing with a tiny gemstone that caught the light just right.

She picked it up and held it between her thumb and forefinger, the stone catching the sunlight again.

"Oi!" Loris called from behind her, his voice almost drowned out by the noise he made packaging his supplies up again. "Gonna help me out, or what?”

Vi straightened up, the earring still in her hand, her fingers tracing the intricate design. With a sigh, she turned to face Loris, who was already looking at her with a raised eyebrow.

"Found something interesting?" he asked, a smirk pulling at the corner of his lips.

Vi shrugged, closed the distance between them and stretched out her hand, the tiny piece of jewellery already stained a bit from the mortar on her palms.

Loris bent forward and let out an impressed whistle. He shot her a look and let out a short chuckle. "You gonna keep that?"

"What? No," she replied immediately, shaking her head vehemently. "I ain’t a fucking thief."

She hesitated, before shooting him a cheeky glance. “Not on the job, at least.”

He chuckled.

She rubbed her temples, gaze dropping down to the small earring again. "What do you want me to do with it?"

"Give it to the butler," Loris said, his tone casual but laced with a hint of amusement. "He’ll probably be thrilled to know one of his employers’ precious baubles is missing."

Vi groaned, rolling her eyes. "I really don’t wanna deal with that dickhead. Can’t you do it?"

Loris just shook his head, his grin widening.

"You found it. It’s your responsibility, kid. Besides, I have to finish up packing and I’m pretty sure you can’t even lift a fork anymore."

He chuckled at her irritated face.

"Go on, give it to him. I’m sure he’ll love you even more."

Vi crossed her arms, glaring at him for a moment longer. The last thing she wanted to do was walk back into that stuffy house and hand this little treasure over to some arrogant butler.

But Loris already turned from her and continued whistling his little tune, signalling that the conversation was clearly over for him.

With one last exaggerated sigh, she turned, stepping away from the kitchen and into the grand hallway. Her boots echoed off the marble floor, the sound exaggerated by the oppressive silence of the house.

Vi scanned her surroundings, hoping for some sign that she was headed in the right direction.

No such luck. She was lost after five fucking minutes.

She passed by rooms, too curious to ignore them, but too disinterested to stop for long. Each door she peeked into led to an entirely new level of ridiculousness.

Vi pushed open the first door she saw, and her face scrunched up. It was a study, but it looked more like someone had just thrown a bunch of expensive books around, then decorated the space with velvet curtains and an unnecessarily large globe.

The globe was way too big - practically the size of a person.

Ridiculous.

She stepped out, shaking her head and muttering about over-the-top decorations, only to stop in front of another room.

This one was all white - white carpet, white furniture, even a white piano decorated with another fucking white vase. Vi peered inside, and for a moment, she considered pressing one of the keys – just for the fun of it.

She quickly decided against it.

She was already risking her life with every step she took in this absurd mansion, and who knew what kind of polite retribution would come from playing a single note?

Probably execution.

Vi rounded a corner, her shoes tapping quietly against the floor, when something caught her eye: a narrow door, slightly ajar. Without thinking, she closed the distance, pushed the door open, the creak of the hinges barely audible.

Holy shit.

The room was massive, a sprawling library that stretched far beyond what she could see at first glance. Shelves upon shelves of books lined every wall, tall and imposing, their spines a mix of gold and leather. Her fingers itched to run over the shelves, pulling books out to see what they were all about.

But as soon as that thought crossed her mind, her ears caught something.

Low voices, murmuring somewhere nearby.

She froze, instincts kicking in. Her eyes flicked toward the door she had just slipped through, and in a swift, practiced motion, she eased the handle down and shut it without a sound.

She wasn’t keen on getting caught - not by that fucking butler, not by anyone.

Turning back to the hallway, she strained her ears. The voices weren’t coming from far. A few cautious steps forward and - there.

A door, slightly ajar.

Soft light spilled through the gap, pooling onto the polished floor in a long, slivered crack.

No one stood near it, but a voice carried through, clear and sharp.

She couldn’t make out the words, but from the tone alone, she knew the type: clipped, haughty, probably belonging to some stuck-up housekeeper. Definitely not the butler.

Vi hesitated. She could turn around, keep moving, keep up her miserable search for that damn butler. But the earring in her fist felt heavier than it should’ve.

Fuck it.

She squared her shoulders and strode toward the door, jaw tight with determination. She’d knock, hand over the earring to whoever was inside, and get out. Quick, clean, done.

Her hand hovered over the door, and she was about to give it a gentle tap when-

A different voice.

She went rigid.

It was softer than the first, lacking that sharp-edged arrogance. Light, steady. Familiar.

Her breath hitched.

The voice that drifted through the door was unmistakable. It was quiet, with a clipped accent, controlled and composed. And Vi’s heartbeat immediately kicked up, an embarrassing surge of heat rushing to her face.

She took a small, cautious step back, holding her breath. Her fist tightened around the earring, the sharp metal pinching her skin.

She recognized that voice.

Her mind scrambled for an answer, and just as quickly, it clicked. It was the voice of someone who had never failed to make her nervous, someone who was always composed, always in control, always so fucking alone.

Someone who made Vi feel like a fumbling mess every time they met.

Vi hadn’t seen Caitlyn Kiramman in over two years.

And now she was apparently standing right in her fucking house.

“Can you hurry the fuck up? My toes are falling off?”

“You do it then, if you’re so damn good at it!”

“I’m not saying I’m good at it, I’m just saying you could be a bit quicker about it.”

“Well, your nagging doesn’t magically make this any easier.”

Margot crouched on the cold ground, her twiggy fingers trembling as she struggled to roll the joint into shape. The thin paper crinkled under her touch, the mixture of weed and tobacco spilling onto her lap as she tried to keep it together.

Leona hovered next to her, arms crossed, bent forward slightly, watching Margot’s fumbling hands with a sharp, unimpressed gaze. She exhaled impatiently, her breath visible in the crisp air.

“Jesus, Margot,” she groaned, rolling her eyes and straightening her back. “You’re dropping, like, everything! We’ll probably end up just smoking the fucking paper.”

Margot shot her an annoyed glance, her lips pursed as she carefully folded the paper over the filter, rolling it between her fingers with a relieved sigh.

The joint wasn’t perfect - too thick in some places, bulging awkwardly in others - but it held together. The ground in front of her was littered with brown and green flecks, evidence of her struggle.

She stood up, brushing off her pants and holding up the joint between her fingers with a triumphant grin. “There. You happy?”

“Fucking finally,” Leona scoffed and took the joint from Margot, quickly putting it between her lips. Her lipstick left little spots on the filter as she lit it without any hesitation. The flame from her lighter flickered against the breeze as she lit the tip, inhaling deeply.

Smoke curled from her lips in slow, lazy tendrils as she sighed in satisfaction.

The group stood huddled together, hands stuffed into jackets, shoulders hunched against the biting autumn air. The wind rattled the brittle branches of the trees above them, sending dry leaves skittering across the ground.

Vi leaned against the weathered wood of the garden shed, the rough texture pressing into her back as she watched Leona with an amused shake of her head.

“Good lord, Leona,” she muttered and shot Diana a brief, amused glance. “You’re acting like some goddamn junkie.”

“Well.” Leona lifted a shoulder in a half-hearted shrug before taking another hit. She held the smoke in for a moment, then exhaled through her nose, grinning. “Maybe that’s because I am a junkie. A handsome one, at that.”

Diana accepted the stick with a quiet “thanks”. Her thumb briefly ran over the little smudges of lipstick, before she followed Leona’s example and inhaled some of the smoke.

She looked over at Caitlyn, while the smoke escaped from her nostrils in a lazy cloud, a kind smile reappearing on her face.

“So, Caitlyn,” she said, and Caitlyn’s head snapped up at the sound of her name, her eyes wide and slightly startled, her gaze flicking nervously between the group.

She had stared at her feet, a quiet, small shadow in their round, doing her best to appear invisible. “You do this a lot?”

Vi also looked at Caitlyn.

The tall girl was wearing her windbreaker again – and once again, it proved a meagre protection against the chilling, biting autumn wind. Her body was trembling like aspen leaves, the tip of her nose was red from the cold, her arm wrapped around herself, but she managed a small, uncertain smile.

“Oh, uh, from time to time,” she responded, her voice just as quiet and timid as during breakfast. “Not that often, actually. I just had some left and figured I might need it,” she gesticulated vaguely, “in this place.”

“You sure do,” Margot confirmed with a satisfied nod, leaning her back next to Vi.

She took the joint from Diana, puffing out a cloud of smoke before adding, “Really does make everything fucking better. You know, Vi over here had a phase where she smoked, like, two joints a day.”

Vi clicked her tongue and nudged Margot with her elbow. She was pretty glad the collar of her jacket hid the lower part of her face, since she could feel the heat creeping up her neck.

“Shut the fuck up,” she muttered, glaring at the ground and pointedly avoiding Caitlyn’s look.

“Why, it’s true.” Margot blew another ring of smoke into the air, passing the joint back to Vi. “And you’re not the giggly type when high, rather mopey and – if I dare say so – pretty fucking boring.”

“And you’re even more annoying than when you’re sober,” Vi scoffed, taking a deep drag from the cigarette.

The smoke travelled down her throat and into the lungs, leaving that familiar burning sensation behind.

Vi closed her eyes for just a moment and engulfed in it.

She had been a bit worried about her anger management session with Sevika, after she’d left the office in such a frenzy.

Luckily, Sevika hadn’t brought their conversation up.

She’d set up the punching bag without a word and let Vi work it.

And Vi had worked it.

She’d blown off every bit of steam, each punch harder than the last, until her knuckles felt raw and her arms burned with the effort. Sevika had corrected her stance from time to time, but mostly remained quiet, back to the wall and eye set on Vi, who had been pretty set on tiring herself out. It had helped, to some degree.

The thoughts that had been swirling in her mind all morning seemed quieter, even if they weren’t gone entirely.

That’s why she’d been looking forward to smoking. Weed, at least, made everything slow down. It quieted her mind just enough to ignore the mess of emotions and thoughts she wasn’t ready to deal with.

At least not at the moment.

“What type are you?”

Vi opened her eyes again.

Leona was staring at Caitlyn with the same unveiled curiosity she had sported in the morning.

Caitlyn just shrugged, the thin fabric of her windbreaker rustling at the motion.

“I don’t know. I think I’m pretty much the same, just quieter. Maybe. I don’t know.”

Vi scoffed before she could hold the sound back.

Four pairs of eyes shot over to her. Vi flicked the ash off the joint, her gaze narrowing just slightly, before handing it back to Caitlyn.

Caitlyn hesitated for only a second before carefully taking the joint, their hands brushing for the briefest of moments. Vi's skin tingled at the contact, a subtle warmth spreading from where their fingers met.

“What?” Caitlyn asked, uncertainty tinging her voice.

Vi felt a smile curling the corners of her mouth as she shrugged and pushed her hands back into her pockets.

“Nothing,” she said, a little twinkle appearing in her pale eyes. “It’s just… Well, I mean, I’ve seen you high before and you’re definitely not quiet.”

Now the eyes darted over to Caitlyn, whose face was starting to turn red again, the gleaming cigarette still caught between her slender fingers.

She started stammering through some sort of response, but was quickly cut off by Vi’s chuckle, as she exchanged a small glance with Leona.

“You’re... Wait, no. We’ll just wait and see. But you’re not quiet.”

Margot rubbed her hands together, blowing into them for warmth, a wicked grin spreading across her face.

She stared at Caitlyn like she was waiting for her to transform into some wild, unhinged version of herself any second, even though the other girl hadn’t taken a single hit yet.

Caitlyn let out a shaky, unsure chuckle, nervous eyes flicking from person to person, before she finally took a drag. She reached out her arm to hand Leona the joint, but the other girl just shook her head, a similar grin plastered on her face.

“No, no, take some more. I’m kinda exited to see you high.”

“You don’t have to,” Diana quickly added, her brows a bit furrowed. “Only if you want to, of course.”

Vi nodded and brushed some hair out of her face.

“Yeah. Don’t overdo it, it’s fun either way,” she said with a slight shrug, putting every ounce of effort into sounding casual.

Still, she couldn’t help but smile when Caitlyn - still a rather impressive shade of red - brought the joint back to her lips, taking another deep drag. The smoke curled from her lips, swirling into the cool night air before dissolving into nothing.

“So,” Leona picked up again, accepting the cigarette from Caitlyn. “We got the city trip in two weeks and I’m in dire fucking need of some new clothes.”

Vi groaned instantly, tilting her head back against the wall in pure, exaggerated agony.

Just the thought of it - being dragged from store to store, drowning in Leona’s and Margot’s endless, excitable chatter about the best cuts and fabrics - was enough to make her want to disappear into the floor.

And, as always, at some point in the trip, she’d be forced into some stupid dressing room while Margot and Leona gleefully threw outfits at her like she was some kind of personal doll.

“I really want to try this new place, this tiny café that opened on the market square,” Diana mused, tapping her chin thoughtfully. “I heard Jayce talk about it, apparently they serve some pretty good pastries.”

Margot leaned in from the side, clearly already thinking ahead. “Pastries, huh? What kind are we talking? Because if there’s a chocolate croissant involved, you can count me in.”

“Yes,” Vi chimed in, perhaps a little too eagerly, sitting up straighter.

Anything - literally anything - was better than trudging behind Margot and Leona, arms aching from their bags of overpriced, identical-looking clothes. She could choke down some dry-ass pastries if it meant avoiding that particular kind of suffering.

“That sounds good, I’m in.”

Leona turned toward Caitlyn, her eyes sparking with sudden realization. “You’ve never been to town, have you?”

Caitlyn only shook her head.

Leona’s eyes brightened immediately, and she slapped Caitlyn on the back with a grin that could’ve lit up the entire shed.

“Great!” she exclaimed, bouncing on her heels with excitement. “I’ll show you around, don’t you worry about it.”

Vi let out a soft chuckle, watching the exchange with mild amusement, her arms crossed.

“Don’t take her up on that offer,” she warned, her voice light but clearly entertained by the idea. “She’ll make you watch her try on five thousand outfits and only buy one fucking piece in the end. And then she’ll drag you to ten other stores and do it all over again.”

Leona shot Vi a playful glare, her smile never faltering.

“And Vi’ll drag you to some boring-ass bookstore and make you stand there and collect dust while she buries her nose in some book for fucking hours.”

Vi scoffed, shifting her weight against the shed wall.

“First of all, it’s not ‘some boring-ass bookstore,’” she corrected, mimicking Leona’s tone with a smirk. “It’s a quiet, peaceful place where I don’t have to listen to you rant about which shade of black looks best on you.”

Leona snorted, passing the joint back to Diana. “Yeah, ‘peaceful’ my ass. You turn into an actual hermit in there. I swear, last time we had to physically drag you out before you started growing roots.”

She turned her attention back to Caitlyn, giving her shoulder a little shake – Vi was relieved that it wasn’t the injured one.

“So? Which one sounds worse? Watching me try on stunning outfits or watching Vi mope in a bookstore?”

Caitlyn hesitated, glancing between them, her lips curling into a small smile. “I think I’d rather see the bookstore,” she finally said.

Leona let out an exaggerated gasp. “Traitor.”

Vi smirked.

Then, hesitantly, she leaned forwards and nudged Caitlyn’s arm with her elbow ever so slightly, ignoring how the motion made her heart jolt.

“Good choice,” she muttered, and their eyes met for a short moment.

It wasn’t awkward, it wasn’t uncomfortable.

It was familiar.

Caitlyn’s smile deepened just a fraction before she ducked her head slightly, brushing a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

Margot huffed, inspecting the joint between her fingers with a raised brow.

“Wow, that’s pretty good shit,” she muttered, rolling it between her fingers. “Already hits. Where’d you get it?”

Caitlyn hesitated for a second, blinking as if she had to dig through her mind to remember where she even got it. Then she cleared her throat, shifting slightly where she sat.

“Uh, a friend,” she said vaguely, waving a hand as if brushing away any further questions.

Margot let out a low whistle, inspecting the joint between her fingers with narrowed eyes before taking another slow drag. Smoke curled lazily from her lips as she exhaled.

“Well, your friend’s got taste,” she muttered appreciatively, rolling the joint between her fingers, before handing it to Vi.

Leona, still playfully sulking over Caitlyn’s betrayal, perked up immediately. “Wait, hold up. Is this some fancy Piltover-grade shit? Am I about to ascend to a higher plane of existence?”

Vi let out a dry chuckle, shaking her head. “You already act like you’re on another plane of existence.”

Leona ignored her, turning fully to Caitlyn now, curiosity lighting up her features. “No, but for real. You rich kids get the good stuff? You got some underground Piltover connections or what?”

Caitlyn visibly tensed, her fingers tightening around the hem of her sleeve.

“I wouldn’t really say that,” she murmured, her voice quieter now.

Vi, who had been watching her closely, caught the flicker of unease in Caitlyn’s face, the subtle way her shoulders hunched in just the slightest.

Without thinking, she shifted, leaning in a little.

“She got it from a friend,” Vi said, her tone edged with something firm as she looked at Leona. “Leave it at that.”

Leona blinked at her, then held up her hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. No need to get all protective.”

Margot, oblivious to the moment, waved the joint in the air dramatically. “Anyway, cheers to Caitlyn’s mystery dealer. May they continue to supply us with top-tier shit.”

Margot wasn’t lying - Caitlyn’s weed was pretty fucking strong.

Vi could already feel the familiar dizziness creeping in, a slow, sinking warmth settling into her limbs. It softened the edges of everything, like the world had been dipped in something hazy and golden. Her thoughts stretched out, slow and heavy, like they were moving through syrup. The cold biting at her skin didn’t seem as sharp anymore, and even the distant hum of the facility was muffled like a sound traveling through water.

She was suddenly hyper-aware of everything - the way Margot’s back shuffled against the wooden wall beside her, the quiet sniff Leona gave as she exhaled, the way Diana's foot tapped absentmindedly against the dirt.

And then there was Caitlyn, her presence as distinct as the sharp lavender scent drifting through the air, just strong enough to cut through the smoky haze hanging between them.

Though she hated to admit it, Vi had been a bit worried that it might be strange for them to be together like this again.

She had racked her brain over it for way too long, trying to figure out how to act around the girl now. Caitlyn wasn’t just some faceless rich kid taking up space at the facility anymore – not had she ever had been. But since last night, Vi felt like she had truly seen her, had paid attention to her ever since Caitlyn arrived at the clinic.

And Vi wasn’t sure what that meant.

She’d spent so much time avoiding facing Caitlyn that she hadn’t really prepared for what came after she stopped.

Would Caitlyn expect her to go back to being stiff and quiet, acting like nothing had changed?

Maybe that was the easiest option.

Maybe it would keep things simple, keep Vi from feeling like she was standing at the edge of something uncertain.

Not that it had worked before.

Still, the idea of being casual with Caitlyn, acting like they were suddenly friends or whatever, made her stomach twist. Vi wasn’t even sure she knew how to be friendly in the way Caitlyn probably expected. And if she fucked it up - if she made things weird, if she gave too much or too little - then what?

Would Caitlyn just write her off?

Go back to keeping her distance, shut her out, avoid her glances, or worse, meet them with that horribly dim look in her eyes?

It was stupid, really.

She didn’t know Caitlyn anymore.

It shouldn’t matter so much.

But now, as they stood so close together, their shoulders almost touching, all of that nervousness melted away.

Okay, maybe the weed was partially to blame.

Vi passed the joint to Caitlyn, watching as the other girl took it between delicate fingers, her movements precise despite the creeping haze of the high. The cherry at the tip glowed briefly as Caitlyn inhaled, the ember casting a faint orange hue across her face before she exhaled, slow and measured. Smoke curled through the air, mixing with the crisp night chill.

Leona picked the conversation back up, her voice animated as she launched into some ridiculous story about her last dealer - a senior citizen who ran his operation straight from the windows of his retirement home.

Vi tuned out.

She tilted her head back against the wall, staring up at the sky.

The deep purple of night was already starting to creep in, drowning out the depressingly grey clouds. She blinked slowly, feeling her pulse thrum in her ears, steady and rhythmic.

It was nice.

This was nice.

A soft chuckle to her left caught her attention, and Vi turned just enough to see Caitlyn biting back a small, amused smile at something Leona must have said, her breath curling into the air in delicate wisps. Her breath curled into the air in delicate wisps, the joint still burning faintly between her fingers.

She looked relaxed.

More than Vi had ever seen her.

Vi huffed out a small laugh of her own, letting her gaze linger a little longer than she meant to.

Margot was still staring at Caitlyn like she was some rare animal at the zoo, eyes glinting with interest. The joint had barely left Caitlyn’s lips, and already Margot was watching her like a hawk, waiting for something to happen, waiting for Caitlyn to do something funny, something weird.

And to be fair, Margot wasn’t exactly subtle about it. She tilted her head, grin widening.

“So, Caitlyn,” she said, shifting to cross her legs at the ankles, fully facing Caitlyn now. “How you feelin’?”

Caitlyn blinked, still holding the joint between her fingers, like she wasn’t quite sure what to do with it now.

“I-“ She hesitated, then frowned slightly, as if she had to think really hard about it. “Fine?” She gave a small, satisfied nod, like she’d just cracked a particularly difficult puzzle.

Margot’s grin widened even further.

“Yeah, huh? That’s cool,” she drawled, her tone dripping with mock sweetness, before returning to the conversation with the others, her eyes still darting over to Caitlyn ever so often.

She wasn’t the only one.

Vi’s eyes were fixed on Caitlyn, who now seemed to float in her own gentle orbit.

The sight stirred something tender deep inside Vi - a spark of warmth amid the haze.

Every so often, the corners of Caitlyn’s eyes crinkled in that sweet, timid way, and Vi silently savoured the moment.

It was painfully familiar.

The conversation settled into a comfortable lull as the smoke curled lazily in the cold night air.

Caitlyn’s eyes, usually so guarded, now shone with an unusual open warmth - a dreamy smile slowly unfurling on her lips as she took a careful drag from the joint, before passing it on to Leona.

Leona’s gaze wandered absent-mindedly toward the distant, crumbling silhouette of the facility, its bleakness softened only by the glow of the scattered lights.

With a wry laugh, she remarked, “This place really fucking sucks, but I’m damn glad we’re here together. Makes all this misery a little more bearable, doesn’t it?”

Diana nodded, her tone gentle despite the chill in the air. “Yeah, even if it’s a dump, being with you guys makes it feel a bit less hellish.”

Margot snorted, rolling her eyes as she teased, “Oh, come on, you sappy fucks - cut the bullshit already!” Her grin was wide, but her eyes twinkled with affection.

Caitlyn rubbed her hand over her arm to gather some warmth, curiosity mingling with the dreaminess in her eyes.

“When did you all meet?” she asked, her usually clipped accent slightly slurred at the edges.

Vi’s mind, blissfully adrift in a sea of brilliant, super fucking high clarity, let the memories come in a slow, surreal cascade.

“I met Margot… three years ago. Diana… four years ago. And Leona… two years ago,” she replied, her words thick and sluggish, as if each syllable floated out on a lazy cloud of recollection.

Leona chuckled and leaned forward.

“Gosh, Vi was such a fucking bitch back then,” she said, her voice tinged with amusement. “The first time I saw her, she was stomping down the hallway like she was on a one-woman mission against the entire world - her face twisted in that perfectly miserable scowl of hers.”

Her grin widened at Caitlyn’s quiet chuckle.

“Yeah, you know what I’m talking about, don’t you?” She inhaled some smoke and blew it from her nostrils, amused glance drifting from Caitlyn to Vi and back again. She shrugged. “Of course I had to say something to her.”

Caitlyn glanced at Vi, her soft smile stretching just a little wider.

Vi felt warmth creep up her neck.

She was too high for this shit.

She quickly pulled her collar up to hide her burning face.

“I honestly don’t even fucking remember what I said that pissed her off so much,” Leona continued, pausing for only a second to put the joint to her lips once more, before letting Diana plug it from her fingers. “But back then, every fucking little thing set Vi off, anyways.”

Vi scoffed, brushing her hands through her hair – which felt impossibly soft.

Had it always been that way?

Maybe she should use conditioner more often.

Wait, had she used conditioner today?

Did she even own conditioner?

Had she even showered?

Didn’t matter, her hair felt fucking amazing.

“Well, whatever,” Leona said, shrugging and smiling at Vi. “She shoved me up the wall and hissed something – man, I don’t fucking remember – something broody and moody.”

Vi winced as the memory materialized in blurry, absurd detail. Before she had even processed Leona’s insult, a hot surge of adrenaline - and perhaps a dash of leftover anger, for some reason she for sure couldn’t remember- had propelled her forward, pushing Leona up against the wall with a force that felt both comically overblown and entirely inevitable.

“She had me pinned, all mean and menacing and dangerous. I called her a grumpy lemon, and boom - friends.”

They all chuckled, but Caitlyn’s laughter burst out of her like it had been trapped inside for years, high and airy, tumbling over itself in breathless, unrestrained waves.

It was a kind of laugh that caught all of them guard - clear and bright, like glass catching the light just right.

For a moment, the others just stared.

Margot’s eyebrows shot up.

Diana blinked, corners of her mouth curling slightly upwards.

Leona let out a small, surprised scoff. But then, almost instantly, their shock melted into something warm, something indulgent.

It had taken Vi’s friends 30 minutes – give or take - to fall completely and utterly in love with Caitlyn Kiramman.

“Aww, look at her,” Margot cooed, leaning in with a smirk. “She’s gone. We broke her.”

Leona chuckled, nudging Diana with her elbow. “That’s the cutest fucking laugh I’ve ever heard.”

And fuck, Vi agreed.

More than agreed. She wanted to catch it, hold it in her hands, tuck it away somewhere safe.

She couldn’t look away.

Caitlyn, still caught in the throes of laughter, clutched at her own sleeve like it might ground her, but it did nothing to stop the helpless giggles still bubbling from her lips. Her head tipped back slightly, cheeks flushed, her entire body shaking with the force of it. Every time she seemed on the verge of regaining control, another breathless giggle escaped, like she physically couldn’t contain it.

Vi felt something click inside her - some hazy, drugged-up part of her mind locking onto Caitlyn like she was the most important thing in the world.

She wanted to keep this.

This sound, this moment.

The way Caitlyn’s usually guarded face had completely softened, open and free in a way Vi had never seen before.

The way her laughter carried through the cool night air, ringing with a joy so unexpected it almost felt like a gift.

A memory from times long gone.

Vi barely noticed how her own mouth had curled into a soft, dazed smile, her limbs impossibly heavy, her chest warm in a way that had nothing to do with the weed.

Caitlyn finally managed to suck in a shaky breath, one hand still covering her mouth, her eyes wide and shining.

“I-… I’m sorry,” she gasped between the lingering giggles. “I don’t know why that was so funny. Grumpy lemon.”

Leona grinned and reached out, squeezing Caitlyn’s shoulder gently, her manicured fingers drawing small circles on the fabric of her windbreaker.

“No need to apologize,” she reassured, amusement warming her voice.

Margot snickered.

“Yeah, you’re definitely the giddy type. Don’t give us that ‘quiet’ bullshit again.”

She dropped the joint to the ground, crushing the last embers with the heel of her shoe, before crouching down again and digging through the pockets of her jacket.

“Alright, who’s ready for the next round?”

“Fine by me, but please try to hurry up a fucking bit.”

“You know what, Leona, if you don’t shut your fucking mouth, I’ll-“

“Jesus, girls, just let me do it if you can’t manage to be civil for five fucking minutes.”

“Fuck no, Diana. It’s a matter of honor now.”

“There’s no fucking honor in taking almost fifteen minutes to roll a goddamn joint.”

“Leona, I swear to god-“

Their bickering blurred into background noise for Vi, too caught up in the quiet haze wrapping around her thoughts. The warmth of the high spread through her limbs, heavy but pleasant, like floating just beneath the surface of deep water.

Distantly, she knew she should be paying attention - Margot and Leona’s fights had a way of escalating - but she didn’t care.

Not when Caitlyn was still smiling.

Not when that laugh - light and breathless, like something stolen - was still lingering in the air between them. She was watching Caitlyn like she was something rare, precious and knew in the very depths of her soul that she wanted nothing more but hear that laugh again.

And again.

And again.

And maybe if she stayed quiet, if she let the moment stretch just a little longer, she could keep it wrapped around her like a secret, something soft and golden and beautiful and hers.

Vi didn’t want to eavesdrop.

She really didn’t.

But that was the thing about Caitlyn Kiramman – for whatever stupid fucking reason she had the power to make Vi stop in her tracks, become frozen on the spot, unable to move, unable to think clearly, even if it was just the clear sound of her voice drifting through the gap in the door.

And so, she stayed.

Her fingers clenched around the earring, the sharp edge of the metal biting into her palm.

Her shirt clung to her back, still slick with sweat from her work and the pressure of this unexpected moment.

Vi didn’t want to eavesdrop. But she couldn’t stop.

“… - suggesting you leave one of the most prestigious schools in the city?”

Caitlyn’s mother’s – because who else could it be?- voice was as smooth as silk, but the iciness of her tone sent a chill down Vi’s spine.

“Do you understand what that would imply, Caitlyn? You’ve been gifted an education that many could only dream of, at great expense, mind you. And you would forgo that for what?”

There was a soft scoff, just enough to cut through the air like a knife.

“And those other schools you mentioned? I’m quite aware of those… institutions, Darling. One is merely an extension of a boarding house with subpar resources. The second is a second-rate institution where mediocrity is not only tolerated but encouraged. And the third, well,” - another dry, humourless laugh - “you’re not seriously considering it, are you? Haven’t you learned, haven’t I taught you to aim higher?”

Vi could hear the quiet scrape of Caitlyn’s mother’s heels against the floor and she couldn’t keep herself from conjuring up an image in her head: Caitlyn’s mother, tall and flawless, pacing in front of her daughter, hands laced behind her back, cold eyes fixed on her child.

Caitlyn’s mother continued without pause, “You’ve been given the privilege of an education that most could only dream of, Caitlyn. The finest school in the city. You have everything - grades, recognition, and a future that is already secured. You would throw that all away for what? Some passing phase? An unfulfilled whim?”

A slight pause. Vi could hear someone shift slightly, and finally Caitlyn spoke up again, her voice softer now, a hesitant murmur trying to break through the barrage of her mother's words.

“I just… I don’t feel like I belong there,” Caitlyn whispered, barely loud enough to be heard.

The immediate response was sharp, like a whip crack.

“Belong?”

Her mother’s voice rose in disbelief.

“Belong?” She repeated, as though the very concept was beyond comprehension. “That’s a luxury, Caitlyn, a luxury a Kiramman can simply not afford. Belonging is something you don’t get to indulge in when you have bigger things at stake. Life isn’t about comfort or finding where you fit. It’s about results. It’s about achievement. It’s about reputation.”

Her voice turned sharper, and the sound of the heels stopped. “You have responsibilities, dear, and they’re much bigger than your petty discomforts. You’re not some spoiled child to indulge in self-pity.”

Vi could practically see Caitlyn’s mother’s icy gaze, cutting straight through her daughter with every word. Caitlyn was quiet now, perhaps even afraid to speak, the magnitude of her mother's words pressing down on her like a vice.

The silence lingered and Vi found herself sucking in her breath, as if the small sound might alert the two women to her presence.

 “Sometimes, Caitlyn,” her mother finally continued, her tone suddenly calmer, more calculated, as if she had seen the faintest flicker of hesitation in Caitlyn’s resolve, “you have to endure. You don’t escape the things that are difficult, you don’t run away from them. You push through. Only then do you become who you are meant to be. Only then do you stand above the rest, untouchable, untarnished.”

A small, almost imperceptible exhale came from Caitlyn’s side of the door, but it was too faint for Vi to discern if it was an answer, a protest, or just the weight of the moment pressing on her.

“Are you listening, darling? This isn’t a matter of preference. It’s a matter of duty.”

The word rang out, almost like an order.

“Duty to yourself, duty to your family, to your name. This family has a reputation to uphold. You carry the weight of that legacy every day, and you will carry it with grace and composure. If you think for one moment that you can waver now - if you think you can shirk your responsibility because of some fleeting discomfort - you’re gravely mistaken.”

Vi could feel the tension on the other side of the door like a living thing, crawling beneath her skin.

Then Caitlyn’s voice, barely a whisper, drifted through the gap, a soft murmur that Vi couldn’t quite catch. It was a word, or maybe a sentence, but it was too quiet to understand.

“Don’t be silly, Caitlyn,” her mother scoffed, the sound cold and cutting. “No one, no one gets to choose the family they are born into. This is your family, and you have been given everything to ensure you excel, to ensure you uphold the name. You do not get to wish for something else, not when it requires sacrifice - and sacrifice, my dear, is what you must make. That is the price of privilege, the price of being born to this family.”

The weight of her words hung in the air like a suffocating fog.

“This conversation is over,” the woman continued, her voice cold with finality. “I trust we understand one another, Caitlyn.”

The sound of the heels returned, now obviously closing the distance to the door Vi was standing in front of. They grew louder and louder, each step methodical, punctuated by the rhythmic click of polished leather on marble floors.

Vi’s breath caught in her throat.

She was still frozen, unable to move, paralyzed by a mix of dread and indecision.

Her mind raced, weighing the options - run, hide, or stay.

Her eyes darted around, but there was nowhere to go.

The corridor was too long, too bare. Those fucking vases would sure do a very shitty job a shit job at hiding her. The only choice was to remain where she stood, like a trapped animal. But even as her muscles tensed, ready to bolt at a moment’s notice, she didn’t move fast enough.

With an imperious flick of her wrist, the door was flung open, and Caitlyn’s mother stood on the other side, regal and composed, her gaze slicing through the air as it landed on Vi.

The silence between them was deafening.

She was - by all means - a goddamn gorgeous woman.

Standing tall and slender, her posture was flawless, a posture that seemed as though she had been sculpted out of marble, the kind of graceful strength that commanded attention without a single word. Her high cheekbones gave her face a sharpness that was softened only by the faintest wrinkles, those signs of age doing little to dull her beauty.

Instead, they added a layer of maturity, a sense of lived experience, that made her even more imposing.

Her dark hair was styled in a perfectly controlled manner, every strand falling exactly where it was supposed to. Every slight detail about her appearance seemed planned - meticulous. Her clothing, a set of navy silken garments, gleamed under the soft lighting, the fabric flowing over her frame like it had been made just for her.

It probably was.

Nothing about her seemed out of place, not a single thread loose or out of order.

But it were her eyes that caught Vi’s attention. They were narrowed, almond shaped and of the same exact colour as Caitlyn’s, a beautiful mixture of blue and grey.

Still, they were different.

They held no warmth, no softness, no openness.

Those eyes weren’t capable of the warmth Caitlyn had, not even close.

They looked through Vi with surgical precision, as if measuring her worth in mere seconds.

It made Vi’s skin prickle, her heart racing in a way she hadn’t expected. The chill in the air seemed to grow, thickening with every second that passed. There was no hint of kindness, no welcoming smile.

Just a steady, calculating gaze that examined her as if she were an insignificant speck in an otherwise pristine world.

“And what, pray tell,” the woman’s voice was low and steady, like a well-rehearsed command, “are you doing standing outside my door, listening in on a private conversation?”

Vi's eyes darted past Caitlyn’s mother.

Caitlyn was sitting on a sofa behind her, hands folded neatly in her lap, back straight, staring right back at Vi with a mixture of dread and surprise.

Caitlyn's face was pale, her mouth slightly agape, and it was clear from her wide eyes that she was equally unsure of how to navigate this moment.

Before Vi could formulate a response, the voice rang out again, sharp and direct, pulling her back into focus.

"Well?" She said, her eyes still fixed on Vi, unwavering.

Vi swallowed, her mouth dry. “I, uh… I was just, uh, helping with the kitchen. With Loris. Remodelling the kitchen. Uhm, Ma’am,” she stammered, trying to hold onto some semblance of composure.

The woman’s lips twisted into a thin, humourless smile, her eyes never leaving Vi’s face. She gave a small, almost imperceptible tilt of her head, and then her gaze flicked slowly around the hallway, taking in the lack of anything resembling a kitchen.

The look on her face was almost mocking, like she was humouring an absurdity.

“The kitchen?” she repeated, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “The kitchen?” She turned her head slightly as though to survey the hallway once more, then back to Vi, arching a brow. “Do you know what a kitchen looks like? Because I must say, the hallway certainly doesn’t.”

Vi glanced at the hallway and frowned a bit. She could feel the heat crawling up her neck, could feel her cheeks flush under the stern gaze of Caitlyn’s mother.

“Yeah. Yeah, no, it doesn’t, sorry. I, uh, I got lost, I just wanted to-“

“This place is not a playground for strays, child,” the woman interrupted, her tone so controlled, so cold, it felt like being frozen from the inside out. She gave a slight flick of her wrist, dismissing Vi’s words as if they were unworthy of a response.

“I am not entirely sure which part of remodelling a kitchen involves you walking through private property like you own it, but maybe you’d care to enlighten me?”

There it was again.

That familiar spark in Vi’s chest.

The fist clenching her insides, the nausea spreading in her whole body.

Vi could feel her heart pounding in her chest, the rush of rising anger mixing with a sense of indignation.

“Sorry,” she repeated, lowering her head to hide her clenched jaw and gritted teeth, though her voice came out tight and strained. “I’ll get back to it. Sorry. Ma’am.”

Vi turned on her heel, eager to leave before the rage gnawing at her insides made her lose control. Every muscle in her body was taut, ready to snap, but she forced herself to walk calmly down the hallway.

But before she could get far, Caitlyn’s mother’s voice sliced through the air, sharp and unforgiving.

“Hold on.”

Vi froze, a wave of dread washing over her as she turned slowly.

The woman still stood in the doorway, her eyes locked onto Vi’s hand, her gaze unblinking, piercing.

“What's that in your hand?”

Vi’s stomach dropped.

That goddamn fucking earring.

She cursed herself under her breath, barely able to believe she’d forgotten about it.

It didn’t matter that she hadn’t stolen it.

Judging by the way that woman was looking at her - like she was dirt, something disgusting that crawled its way up from the gutter - it was already too late.

“I, uh,” Vi started, hating herself for sounding so shaky, so unsure, so fucking guilty. “I found this earlier. Wanted to get it back to you.”

She stretched out her fist and opened it.

The small earring was lying flat in her palm, slightly gleaming in the light of the hallway.

Vi was relieved that she hadn’t accidentally crushed it.

Not that this helped her in any way.

Caitlyn’s mothers’ gaze never faltered.

She stared at the earring, before her calculating eyes slowly travelled back up to Vi, narrowing just slightly, sizing her up. Her lip curled ever so slightly, the faintest smirk playing at the corners of her mouth.

“I see,” Cassandra said, her voice a smooth, controlled melody of sarcasm. “How convenient that you found it. And how noble of you to return what you surely had no intention of taking in the first place.”

“I didn’t steal it,” Vi muttered, her words tight with frustration.

The woman’s lips parted in a delicate, humourless smile. “Oh, but of course you didn’t,” she said, her tone a sickly-sweet mockery. “A girl from Zaun, so refined, I’m sure. You’d never dream of such a thing, would you? Stealing? It would be far beneath you. Or perhaps ,” she let the words linger, her gaze flicking down to Vi’s hand as if it were filthy, “it’s not beneath you at all.”

Vi felt the heat rush to her face. Her hand clenched into a fist, the words caught in her throat.

“I didn’t- ” Vi started again, but she was interrupted, the woman’s voice growing colder with each passing second.

“It is quite the curious coincidence, isn’t it?” Her voice was smooth as velvet but biting as the sharpest of knives. “You, meant to be working in the kitchen, and yet - here you are. Wandering the halls, lurking where you ought not to be. And by sheer happenstance, you are caught. By accident, of course. And what do we find in your possession? A valuable belonging to this household. My, what an extraordinary stroke of misfortune for you.”

She perked one eyebrow and wrinkled her nose. “One might think you were simply unlucky, but I’ve learned never to put too much faith in coincidence. It is, after all, the favored excuse of the guilty.”

Vi’s fist tightened at her sides, her nails digging into her palms so hard it hurt, while her outstretched hand was starting to tremble, the small earring shaking as if caught in an earthquake. Her breath came in shallow bursts, but she held it together.

She wouldn’t snap.

She wouldn’t give that woman this satisfaction.

“I didn’t steal it. I found it. You can ask Loris, he can prove-“

A sharp, delicate laugh cut through Vi’s words like the crack of a whip.

Caitlyn’s mother tilted her head ever so slightly, her smile thin and glacial, as though the very notion of Vi defending herself was an amusing little spectacle.

“Oh, Loris can prove it, can he?” she mused, her tone dripping with a mockery so refined it barely needed to be raised above a whisper. “And why, pray tell, should I place my trust in yet another Zaunite? Another one of your kind? Do you take me for a fool, girl? Or do you simply believe that loyalty among thieves is a virtue I ought to admire?”

Her eyes flicked to the earring still trembling in Vi’s palm, then back up, meeting Vi’s gaze with an air of detached amusement.

“How terribly convenient that your witness is a man who, no doubt, would swear to the stars themselves if it meant shielding one of his own. But let us not be naive, dear. I was not born yesterday.”

Before Vi could bite back, before she could force herself to swallow the fury burning its way up her throat, movement behind Caitlyn’s mother caught her eye.

Caitlyn had stepped forward, her expression tight with distress, hands half-raised as if reaching out, as if pleading.

“Mother, please, that’s enough-”

But her mother barely acknowledged her daughter’s presence. Instead, she lifted a single hand - graceful, effortless, silencing - before delivering the final, precise incision straight into Vi’s ribs.

 “You see, I have known your kind all my life. The pitiful little children of Zaun, forever scurrying about, hands always reaching, always taking, as if the world owes you something simply for existing.” She took a step closer, her posture as composed as ever, the scent of expensive perfume lingering in the air. Her voice dropped to a near whisper, sharp as shattered glass. “I do not tolerate thieves in my home.”

Vi saw red.

The earring clattered to the floor with a sharp, accusing ping as Vi’s hand snapped open.

“Oh, fuck you,” she hissed, her voice shaking - not with fear, not with guilt, but with a rage so deep, so all-consuming, that it nearly drowned out reason.

The woman’s eyes flickered with something unreadable, but she didn’t step back. She merely tilted her head slightly, like she was studying something unpleasant under a microscope.

“I beg your pardon?” she said, voice cool, a single brow arching.

“Nah, pretty fucking sure you heard me,” Vi snarled, her whole body thrumming with the need to move, to do something, to hit or throw or break. “You think you’re better than me? You think sitting in your fancy fucking house, sneering down at everyone, makes you worth more?”

The other woman exhaled softly, like she had expected this, like it was all so terribly predictable.

“How vulgar,” she mused, shaking her head in quiet disapproval. “One would think, given how much Piltover has invested in education for the underprivileged, that at least some semblance of civility might have taken root, but it seems even the most well-intentioned efforts are wasted on some”

Vi let out a sharp, humourless laugh, but there was no hum or in the way her fists clenched at her sides, her nails digging so deep into her palms that she swore she could feel the skin break.

“Right. Civility. That what you call this?” She gestured vaguely at the woman, then to herself. “Standing there all high and mighty, running your mouth like you know me?” Her voice wavered with something almost bitter. “Like you know anything?”

Caitlyn’s mothers’ gaze remained level, patient, as if indulging a particularly petulant child.

“Oh, I know your kind quite well.”

She said it with such certainty, such finality, that it felt like a door slamming shut.

“You wear your hardship like a badge of honor, mistaking suffering for virtue. You scoff at discipline, resent structure, and despise those who refuse to coddle your failures. And when faced with consequence? You lash out, because it is all you have ever known.”

Vi took a sharp step forward, every inch of her coiled tight with barely restrained fury. “You don’t know shit about me.”

A ghost of a smile touched the woman’s lips - pleased, almost.

“I know enough.”

Vi’s breathing was coming too fast now, her pulse hammering in her ears.

She could feel herself slipping, the edges of her control fraying.

“You wanna talk about failure?” Her voice was low, shaking, teeth bared in something halfway between a snarl and a grin. “Must suck, huh? Having all this money, all this power, this fancy fucking house with those fancy fucking vases, and your own daughter still can’t stand to be around you.”

A flicker of something - shock, fury, maybe even pain - crossed the other woman’s face.

It was fleeting, gone almost before it had fully surfaced, but Vi saw it.

And that was enough.

Caitlyn’s mothers’ spine went ramrod straight, her fingers twitching at her sides, but her expression smoothed back into its usual cold, practiced composure. Only the sharp inhale through her nose betrayed her.

When she finally spoke, her voice was low and precise, every word honed to a razor’s edge.

“You will leave this house. Now.” Her jaw was tight, her lips barely moving, as though forcing the words through gritted teeth was the only way to keep herself from saying something worse.

Vi grinned, all teeth, all venom. “With pleasure, ma’am.”

She turned on her heel, feeling the heat of her anger still pulsing in her veins, but lighter now, freed. As she reached the corner of the hallway, she hesitated. Just for a fraction of a second.

And for some damn reason - some stupid, inexplicable reason - she glanced back.

She told herself she wasn’t looking for anything in particular. That she didn’t care what she left behind. That she didn’t care if Caitlyn was standing there, stiff and mortified, watching her go like a bad mistake.

But Caitlyn wasn’t rigid. Wasn’t recoiling.

She was just looking at Vi.

And then - just for a fraction of a second - she smiled.

Barely there. Almost imperceptible. A tiny, lopsided thing.

Vi’s breath caught.

The familiar warmth hit her, curling low beneath her ribs, sinking into her chest like an ember stubbornly refusing to die. It clashed violently with the fury still thrumming inside her, tangling, twisting, confusing her in ways she didn’t know how to name.

She tore her gaze away, fixing one last, burning glare at Caitlyn’s mother.

Then, with a sharp tilt of her chin, she turned the corner - her steps lighter now, steadier, the earring discarded at the woman’s feet.

Chapter Text

THE PILTOVER CHRONICLE

A Night of Grace and Gratitude: Cassandra Kiramman’s Legacy of Leadership and Compassion

Written by Lauren Peterson

As the city of Piltover prepares for another dazzling evening of philanthropy, Councillor Cassandra Kiramman is set to host an exclusive charity gala dedicated to uplifting the youth of Zaun. With delinquency rates in Zaun rising at an alarming pace, Councillor Kiramman has once again stepped forward to address the crisis, proving that leadership is not merely about governance but about unwavering service to the people.

With a legacy of generosity behind her, Councillor Kiramman has continuously proven herself as a guiding light of progress, ensuring that underprivileged children in Zaun receive the aid and opportunities they desperately need.

"This is more than just a donation," the Councillor stated in a recent press address. "This is about ensuring that the next generation, no matter where they come from, has a chance to succeed."

A beacon of grace and determination, Cassandra Kiramman’s name is synonymous with progress. As the head of one of Piltover’s most distinguished old-money families, her influence extends far beyond wealth. The Kiramman legacy, originally rooted in commerce and trade, has flourished for generations, but it is Councillor Kiramman’s astute political acumen that has truly cemented their place in Piltover’s history.

Cassandra Kiramman pursued her legal education at Piltover University, where she graduated with the highest honors. Her sharp mind and relentless dedication quickly earned her a place among Piltover’s elite policymakers, and before long, she rose to prominence as a key figure on the Piltover Council. It was there that she championed numerous initiatives aimed at fostering economic and social development, many of which remain cornerstones of Piltover’s governance today.

This upcoming event is not merely a display of Piltover’s opulence, but a continuation of Councillor Kiramman’s long-standing commitment to fostering unity and providing meaningful change.

Over the years, she has funded education programs, spearheaded healthcare initiatives, and backed apprenticeship opportunities to help bridge the stark divide between Piltover and Zaun. Her past galas have successfully raised millions in aid, providing essential resources to struggling Zaunite families and institutions.

One of her most lauded efforts was the establishment of the Kiramman Scholarship Fund, which has enabled dozens of promising Zaunite students to attend prestigious academies in Piltover.

“I wouldn’t be here without her support,” said Alric, a law student from Zaun at the Academy of Piltover, when questioned. “This opportunity has changed my life, and I hope she continues to extend these programs to others like me.”

Additionally, Councillor Kiramman played a pivotal role in securing medical relief for Zaun’s most impoverished areas, from funding mobile clinics to championing vaccine accessibility in districts ravaged by industrial pollution.

“I have always believed that healthcare is a right, not a privilege,” she remarked at a prior event, echoing the ideals she continues to uphold.

But her contributions extend beyond education and healthcare.

Councillor Kiramman was instrumental in funding The Bridge Initiative, a program designed to create employment pathways for young Zaunites in Piltover’s technology sector. “These initiatives strengthen both our cities,” remarked Dorian, a Zaunite merchant. “If we can nurture talent in Zaun, we can build a better future together. Mrs. Kiramman understands that.”

This upcoming charity gala, set to be hosted at the illustrious Kiramman estate, is yet another testament to her enduring commitment to justice and prosperity. The evening will gather Piltover’s most influential figures in a night of elegance and purpose, with all proceeds directed toward rehabilitative and educational programs for Zaunite youth.

A particularly momentous highlight of the night will be the presentation of a substantial endowment to a select group home in Zaun, an initiative designed to ensure at-risk youth receive the care and guidance they need.

"Ensuring that every child, regardless of birthplace, has the chance to build a future is not an act of charity - it is our responsibility," according to Councillor Kiramman. "By offering opportunity, guidance, and support, we do not simply address crime; we prevent it from ever taking root."

Public opinion of Councillor Kiramman’s efforts is overwhelmingly positive, though not without criticism. Many Piltover citizens praise her for her philanthropic initiatives and the impact they’ve had on improving Zaunite lives.

“I’ve seen firsthand the changes Mrs. Kiramman’s initiatives have brought to Zaun,” said Ike Larsson, a longtime Piltover merchant who’s partnered with the Kiramman family on several projects. “The Bridge Initiative is a lifeline for the youth there, offering not just a job, but a chance at dignity and purpose. She’s doing the work others simply talk about. She’s a true visionary. It’s not just charity; it’s about creating real, lasting change.”

However, there are voices of dissent, particularly from those who believe that while Lady Kiramman’s work in Zaun is admirable, it does little to address the systemic issues at the root of Zaun’s struggles.

“I appreciate the charity, but it’s not enough,” remarked Gert, an outspoken Zaunite activist, at a local fundraising campaign. “We need structural reform, not just handouts. Piltover has profited from our pain for years. Cassandra Kiramman’s initiatives are a step in the right direction, but they don’t go far enough. We need Piltover to look inward and recognize the role they’ve played in the suffering of our people.”

Some critics argue that these charitable acts, while well-intentioned, serve to polish Kiramman’s public image rather than provide true, lasting solutions. A growing number of Zaunites feel that she is merely offering temporary relief without confronting the deep-rooted inequalities between Piltover and Zaun.

“There’s an undeniable truth,” said Eddard, a Zaunite community leader present at the fundraiser. “Cassandra Kiramman has never set foot in Zaun to see the impact of her so-called solutions. These events are more about her personal legacy than actually empowering Zaunites to take control of their own future. It's about her shining on Piltover’s stage while we struggle in the shadows.”

Additionally, many feel that by positioning herself as a saviour, Kiramman inadvertently strips away the agency of the very people she aims to help. “She’s giving us help, but at what cost?” Gert continued. “It’s the same old story of rich Piltover folks throwing money at the problem and assuming they have the answer. Zaunites need the space to organize, to create their own solutions, not to have someone else tell them what’s best.”

Despite these criticisms, Councillor Kiramman remains steadfast in her belief that true change starts with empowering individuals, especially the youth of Zaun. "The key to overcoming criminality is not punishment; it’s prevention,” she said in response to such criticisms. “That’s why education and opportunity must come first. We must show these children a different path before they ever think of turning to crime."

As the upcoming charity gala approaches, one thing remains clear: Councillor Kiramman is not only a pillar of Piltover’s elite but a beacon of hope for the future.

Whether it’s through the philanthropic work that defines her legacy or the bold steps she takes to bridge the divide between Piltover and Zaun, she continues to inspire both admiration and controversy – two hallmarks of leadership in any era.

Read more on Page 4.

Nothing had changed.

Yet everything had changed.

Vi hadn’t stopped talking to Caitlyn during their shared nights.

The words fluttering from her lips were mundane, sweet reassuring nothings, always probing and testing Caitlyn’s limits, praising her, acknowledging her. It was a gentle rhythm they fell into, one that felt too easy and too dangerous all at once.

Vi never asked about Caitlyn’s sessions with Sevika, never pointed out when Caitlyn's eyes were red-rimmed or when her voice trembled just slightly at the edges. She never mentioned their past, as if speaking it aloud might shatter the fragile balance between them.

But she paid attention.

Vi noticed everything - the way Caitlyn hesitated before reaching for her hand, the way her breath hitched when Vi pressed soft, lingering kisses to the fragile skin of her collarbone. She caught every flicker of tension in Caitlyn’s body, adjusting instinctively. A tilt of her head, the brush of her fingers.

If Caitlyn flinched, Vi changed positions. If her breath grew uneven, Vi slowed down. Every touch, every kiss was an unspoken question, and Vi was patient enough to wait for the answer. She traced the edges of Caitlyn’s comfort carefully, deliberately, never pushing too far.

And when Caitlyn grew quiet, too quiet, Vi would murmur in that low, rough voice that seemed to anchor them both. Nothing too heavy, nothing too raw. Just the sound of her voice weaving its way through the dark, pulling Caitlyn back when her thoughts drifted too far.

She was always watching.

Always listening.

And when Caitlyn, in a rare moment of boldness, tugged Vi closer or sought her mouth without hesitation, Vi met her halfway with a painfully familiar softness. There were no sharp edges between them on those nights, no resentment or anger.

Nothing had changed.

Yet everything had changed.

Vi couldn’t be angry anymore, even though she wanted to, she really fucking did.

Angry.

It was what everyone told her she was.

Her teachers, when she threw a table through the classroom after a classmate made some comment about her smelling bad. Her foster families, after they’d stared at her with wide, shocked eyes while she screamed until her voice was raw. The social workers, who marked her as "volatile" in case files she wasn’t supposed to see. The cops, after dragging her off another kid on the curb outside a convenience store, shaking their heads like they’d seen it all before. Her group home supervisors, who told her she’d never make it out if she didn’t "calm the hell down."

And maybe they weren’t wrong.

Anger had always been there - constant, familiar. It was easier to carry than the rest of it. Fear. Grief. Loneliness. Those things could break you, if you let them. Anger, though - anger kept you moving.

It made everything simple.

It didn’t ask questions.

It didn’t hesitate.

It flared hot in her gut and surged through her veins, making her fists fly faster, harder, until the world blurred and all that was left was the rhythm of impact - knuckles to bone, the sharp sting grounding her when nothing else could.

It was what got her through life - white, blinding rage leading her fists in countless fights, bruising her knuckles until they were numb, protecting her against even the slightest of threats. If you weren’t angry, you didn’t survive.

Not in Zaun.

Not in the system.

And definitely not in the world.

And yet -

Sometimes, late at night, when the fight was over and her bruises throbbed in the dark, when all she could hear were Claggor’s snores and Mylo’s mumbling, when she was left staring into the dark, she’d feel it slipping. The edges of it fraying into something else - something softer, weaker. Something she couldn’t afford to be.

Because once you let the anger go, what was left?

She didn’t want to find out.

So, she stayed angry. Even when it made her fists ache. Even when it landed her in psychiatric facilities over and over and over again. Even when it made people look at her like she was something wild - something broken. Even when it made her feel like maybe they were right.

It did get a little difficult, however, to stay angry, when Caitlyn Kiramman’s laughter had sent jolts of warmth through her body, when the small, timid smile creasing the corners of her mouth had pulled Vi into their orbit. It was hard to stay angry, when Caitlyn Kiramman had finally looked at her, really looked at her, when she didn’t flinch away from the rough edges Vi had spent years sharpening. When she laughed, bright and sudden, like Vi had said something funny instead of something sharp enough to cut.

It was hard to stay angry, when Caitlyn Kiramman made her want to be something else.

And it was especially hard when she was pressed into the sheets beneath Vi, cheeks flushed in that adorable way, one arm covering her eyes, as the sweetest, most wonderful sounds escaped from her chapped lips.

Vi’s lips drifted over Caitlyn’s taut stomach, slow and unhurried, leaving soft, fluttering kisses against the bruises scattered across her skin. She traced each one with quiet focus, her mouth following the faded edges and darker blooms, her tongue leaving small, wet traces on Caitlyn’s skin.

Lifting her head just slightly, Vi hooked her fingers under the hem of Caitlyn’s sweatpants and eased them down - just enough to bare the sharp lines of her hipbones. The bruises there were still deep, still angry, an ugly shade of purple against her pale skin. Vi brushed her thumb over it in slow, careful circles, her touch light but lingering.

Through the strands of hair falling messily across her face, she glanced up at Caitlyn.

Caitlyn still wasn’t looking at her. One arm draped over her eyes, her mouth just slightly open, breath catching in her throat.

Vi could feel the shiver that ran through her at the faintest touch - and God, she wanted to press closer, wanted to pull her apart piece by piece, but she held herself back. Instead, she just kept going, slow and patient, like she had all the time in the world.

What had happened to Caitlyn?

The question burned on the tip of her tongue - hot, heavy - but she didn’t dare let it slip free.

They talked more now, of course they did. No more hostile glances, no more angry fucking, no more relentless panting into each other’s mouths. But the invisible line still held - thin, fragile, and uncrossed. They had come close to breaking it, to falling past the point where there was no turning back. Sometimes, Vi swore she could feel it - how easy it would be to let go. To ask.

But she just couldn’t bring herself to cross that final threshold. It would be a point of no return.

So instead, she leaned down, brushing a featherlight kiss over Caitlyn’s skin. Her voice was softer when it came, rough edges smoothed out by something she wasn’t ready to name.

“You’re so fucking beautiful, Caitlyn," she murmured. "You know that, don’t you?"

Her response was a small breath - something soft and barely there - that might have passed for a laugh if Vi wasn’t paying so much attention.

And Vi was paying attention. She always was.

Her eyes stayed on Caitlyn, watching every flicker of movement, every uneven rise and fall of her chest as her lips trailed from the jut of her hipbone, over her navel, and then a little lower.

“You are,” Vi insisted, voice low, breath warm against Caitlyn’s cool skin. Her fingers pressed lightly into her waist, holding her steady against the soft mattress beneath her. “You’re beautiful.”

“Stop.” The word came out on a breath. Caitlyn’s arm stayed stubbornly over her face, her voice breaking just slightly at the edges. “You’re just saying that. You’re just saying that because-"

Vi stilled.

Because what? Because this was easy? Because this was just a distraction? Because Caitlyn thought she was nothing more than another thing Vi could touch and forget?

A sharp, familiar heat curled in Vi’s chest - something dangerously close to frustration. But she swallowed it back. That wasn’t what Caitlyn needed, and Vi knew it.

So instead, she exhaled slowly against her skin, softening the edges of her voice the best she could.

“Because I mean it.” The words came out rougher than she intended - too honest, too close to the truth she kept trying to bury. “Wouldn’t say it if I didn’t.”

She dropped her head again, pressing another kiss just below Caitlyn’s navel - gentler this time, slower.

Trying to speak without speaking.

To ask without asking.

Caitlyn shuddered beneath her touch, but she didn’t pull away. Didn’t push Vi back. Instead, she finally dropped her arm from her face, lacing her fingers in Vi’s hair with such care, such softness, that it made Vi’s heart ache.

God, she wanted to say more - to break past the stupid, fragile boundary that still stretched between them. She wanted to tell Caitlyn that she noticed everything. The way her breath always hitched when Vi touched her like this. The way her shoulders curled inward when she thought no one was watching. The way the corners of her lips trembled when she tried to swallow down her tears.

And the way her eyes - God, her eyes - always looked so, so tired.

But the line was still there.

So instead, she just kissed her again - this time slower, deeper - hoping Caitlyn would hear everything she still couldn’t bring herself to say. If she ever would. And when Caitlyn tugged her closer, nails scraping lightly against her scalp in that way that always made Vi’s pulse stutter, she let herself fall into it.

Caitlyn didn’t leave immediately after they both dropped spent into Vi’s dishevelled covers, sweaty strands of hair glued to their foreheads, cheeks flushed, and lips chapped.

Another thing that had changed.

Vi wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, the taste of Caitlyn still lingering - sweet and sharp and hers. It clung to her lips, her tongue, like it didn’t want to leave. And hell, maybe Vi didn’t want it to.

She let herself breathe for a second, her body still heavy and warm, still tangled up in the feeling of Caitlyn beneath her. Neither of them seemed in any rush to move. No awkward shuffling or half-muttered excuses. Just the sound of their breathing, slow and uneven, filling the space between them.

She turned her head slightly, watching Caitlyn through the strands of her messy hair, whose arm was now folded beneath her head, eyes fixed onto the ceiling.

She looked softer like this. Tired, yeah - but not the kind of tired that made her voice tremble at the edges. The tightness around her mouth had eased, and her lashes brushed against the shadows beneath her eyes as she stared up at the ceiling. Peaceful, almost.

Or as close to it as Caitlyn ever seemed to get.

After a while, Vi shifted onto her side, propping her head up on her hand. Her voice came out low and husky, deliberately casual.

“So…” She dragged the word out, trying to sound like this was easy. Like her heart wasn’t still hammering against her ribs. “Big day tomorrow.”

Caitlyn didn’t look at her. “Is it?”

Vi huffed a quiet laugh. “Yeah, sure fucking is.” She waited for a response, but Caitlyn kept staring at the ceiling, eyes narrowed just the slightest bit. “You know - the little field trip?” Vi added after a few breathless heartbeats. “We get to stretch our legs, breathe some fresh air. It’s like a damn holiday.”

A pause. Then, quietly: “Right.”

Vi squinted at her. “You excited to get out for once?”

Caitlyn didn’t answer right away. Her fingers were toying with a loose thread on the blanket, twisting and pulling until it frayed even more.

“I guess,” she finally murmured, her voice perfectly even.

Vi raised an eyebrow and huffed a laugh through her nose. “Wow. Try not to contain your excitement.”

That earned her a faint chuckle of amusement, but it wasn’t enough. Vi could feel the weight hanging over her, pulling her back into herself.

She let the silence hang for a beat before pushing again, softer this time. “Doesn’t sound too sure.”

Caitlyn’s fingers twitched against the sheets. “I just-… I don’t know.” Her voice dipped quieter, more careful. “It’s been a while since I’ve been anywhere else. And this place…” She exhaled slowly, like she was choosing her words carefully. “It’s-… It’s safe? I don’t know, in its own way. I don’t know.”

Safe.

Vi could understand that.

For all the shit the facility was - restrictive, frustrating, therapists shaped like tanks - it was still a pretty and comforting bubble. Food. Friends, even. A damn bed to sleep in every night without worrying about where she’d end up. The facility was a cage, sure, but it was the safest one she’d ever been in. It was the one place where she could forget about all the shit outside - the guilt, the pain, the things she couldn’t change.

The outside world?

Too real. Too sharp. Too hard. Here, you could breathe for a second. Just for a second.

“Yeah,” Vi said eventually, her tone a little rougher, like she was shrugging off something heavy. “I get it. It’s weird, being out, not gonna lie. Everything’s too bright, too loud. Kinda. Like you forget how to act normal or some shit.”

Caitlyn’s fingers stilled, and Vi caught the way her brows furrowed, just barely. She was listening. Really listening. And Vi didn’t want her to be scared. Not about this.

“We’ll have plenty of free time, though,” she quickly continued. “We-… I mean, us and the others, we can check out some stores. Pretty sure you’ll be sick of Leona and Margot after ten fucking minutes, though, they’re fucking impossible.“

Both girls had talked of nothing else but the trip to town for days, meticulously planning their visit to apparently every single fucking fashion boutique the town had to offer. Vi had completely tuned out after Leona started going on about some specific, fancy flared jeans that could only be bought during a specific, goddamn particular time slot in one specific, fucking particular store.

“Don’t worry, though, you don’t have to, like, change into anything, if you don’t want to,” Vi added quickly, her words tumbling out in a rush. She didn’t mention the bruises on Caitlyn’s body. It wasn’t necessary. “Diana and me mostly just stay behind, get it over with, you know? They’ll grow tired eventually,” she added with a half-laugh. “After fucking hours. But they always do.”

The girl next to her finally stirred again, the movement subtle, and tilted her head slightly, still not meeting Vi’s gaze. Her slender fingers started fidgeting with the loose thread again, winding it around her index finger.

"What about your bookstore?" Caitlyn asked, her voice soft, almost hesitant.

Vi ignored the heat creeping up her neck at the realisation that Caitlyn had fucking remembered.

“Oh, yeah, that,” she hummed, doing her best to sound uninterested, keeping her voice steady, even though she could feel her heartbeat in her ears. “Nothing fancy, don’t expect too much. It’s pretty small, kinda dingy, not gonna lie. But they’ve got a great selection of books.”

“Yeah? Do you plan on buying a specific one?”

“Oh, no. I never buy anything.” Vi paused, shrugging like it was no big deal.

“Why not?” Caitlyn asked, her voice quiet but curious.

Vi’s grin slipped just a little. “Don’t have the money,” she said, more bluntly than she intended.

Caitlyn didn’t respond to that.

“Plus, it’s also a pretty good spot if you wanna, you know, hook up with girls,” Vi added with a teasing smirk. “Lots of dark corners. Kinda dusty, but works for me.”

Caitlyn rolled her eyes, but the corner of her mouth curled up. “You’re impossible.”

Vi leaned back slightly, watching Caitlyn for a moment. She hesitated, just for a beat, before reaching out slowly. Her fingers hovered near Caitlyn’s bare arm, a soft, almost tentative motion, before they finally trailed down it, brushing lightly against her skin.

“And yet,” Vi murmured, her voice low, “you’re still here.”

The words hung between them - soft and dangerous. Too much.

For a breathless moment, neither of them spoke. Vi felt the warmth of Caitlyn’s skin beneath her fingertips, the delicate hitch of her breath. She shouldn’t want to hold onto this, shouldn’t want Caitlyn to stay.

But she did.

She wanted it too much.

And when Caitlyn finally let her head fall back against the pillow, that soft, tired look returning to her face - but not leaving - Vi stayed quiet.

Because if she opened her mouth again, she might say something she couldn’t take back.

It had been 7 hours since Vi had been picked up from the Solace Psychiatric Centre and she was already missing it.

Sure, the food had been fucking shit. Her physical therapist had been pretty fucking set on making Vi hyperventilate with her fucking breath exercises. Some absolute idiot had tried to fight Vi for her room – a fight which he of course lost – which had earned her three additional sessions with Dr. Bolbok, who practically bored her to death.

But she would rather endure one hundred more pieces of toast that were somehow both soggy and dry at the same time, one hundred more sessions with Dr. Shoola and one hundred more mind-numbing lectures from Dr. Bolbok, than stand where she stood right now: The entrance hall of the Kiramman mansion.

It hadn’t changed much since the last time she’d set foot in it.

Same spotless marble floors - because heaven forbid a goddamn speck of dust ruin the aesthetic - same enormous chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, because apparently, money couldn’t buy taste, and the same random assortment of gigantic vases lining the walls.

Only now, the hall was filled to the brim with people.

Men in stiff suits that probably cost more than most people’s entire lives, all standing around like they were allergic to bending their knees. Women draped in shimmering gowns, their hair twisted into elaborate shapes that looked more like engineering marvels than hairstyles.

Everyone held a glass of something, champagne, probably, or some imported wine aged in a barrel blessed by some fucking monks of ancient times. They sipped it delicately, pinkies raised, like the whole room was a competition to see who could be the most insufferably elegant.

There were enough diamonds hanging off these people to fund an entire Zaun district for a year. One lady wore a necklace so big it was a miracle her neck wasn’t breaking underneath its weight. Vi caught herself wondering how much she could pawn it for before remembering that stealing from Topsiders shouldn’t exactly be on her to-do list at the moment.

Vi swore some of them were only here to practice their best "pity" face. That soft, fake frown people put on when they see a stray cat but have no intention of helping it. And right now, Vi and her group were the stray cats - only scrappier and far less interested in being adopted.

Apparently The Warren had been chosen for the gala at random, their name among many other group homes fostering the countless orphans of Zaun, picked from a bowl by some Piltie with a saviour complex and too much money.

Marika had been a jittery mess all day, flying from room to room, frantically ironing hand-me down blouses, trying to clean pants of stains and smooth out their wild hair.

Her efforts had been in vain.

They still looked like fucking trenchers.

“Fuck me, look at that guy,” Mylo’s voice cut in behind her, low and smug. “If he clenches his ass any harder, he’s gonna snap his own spine.”

Vi turned, already smirking. Mylo hadn’t changed a bit. Same cocky grin. Same shaggy hair sticking out in every direction. Same talent for running his mouth like it was a competitive sport.

“And that one, holy shit,” he snickered, nodding toward a guy in a too-tight suit. “If his pants get any higher, they’re gonna circumcise him.”

“Shut up, Mylo,” Vi muttered, keeping her voice low and shooting her supervisor a quick glance - but Marika was busy profoundly apologizing to one sour-faced waiter, dabbing napkins against his shirt, which was now a tragic shade of orange. Next to her, Claggor’s face was as red as a tomato, mumbling apologies like his life depended on it.

Mylo didn’t shut up. Of course he didn’t.

Instead, he puffed out his meagre chest, eyes gleaming with mischief as he leaned closer. “You see that woman over there? The one in red?” He jutted his chin in the direction. Vi followed it. Stupid decision. “Bet her family tree’s a circle. Explains the face.”

Vi snorted, the sound louder than she meant it to be. A few heads turned and noses wrinkled.

“Vi,” Marika’s voice immediately cut through the air, low and warning. Great.

She shot Mylo an angry glance, but that only made his smile stretch wider - all teeth and zero shame - as he shrugged like he couldn’t help being a fucking asshole. He turned away, already scouting for his next victim, while Vi sighed and braced herself.

Marika, having abandoned Claggor to his hopeless mission of blotting orange juice off the waiter - not that the napkins made any fucking difference - was now cutting a direct path toward Vi, lips pressed into a tight line.

“Walk with me,” she muttered when she reached Vi, already steering her away from Mylo and the prying eyes of the Topsiders.

Behind her, Mylo murmured just loud enough to reach her ears. “Try to get adopted.”

Vi clenched her jaw to keep from laughing. Asshole.

Marika guided Vi to a corner of the room that wasn’t occupied by vases or waiters set on distributing tiny appetizers on toothpicks. She let out a small sigh and reached out, her fingers automatically going for Vi’s mess of curls - curls that couldn’t even be tamed by the enormous amount of gel Vi had slapped into them earlier.

She probably looked like some gigantic dog had licked her head as a last-ditch effort to get things under control.

“You know, a little less gel might’ve helped,” Marika muttered, trying to tame the unmanageable mass on Vi’s head like she was trying to wrangle a wild animal.

“Why?” Vi grunted with a small shrug, shooting one Piltie with slicked-back hair an angry glance. “Fits right into this fucking place.”

“Vi…” she started, her voice soft and deliberately soothing, the kind of tone she always used when she was about to say something that felt like it was supposed to be comforting but made Vi feel like she was being treated like a fucking child. “I know you had a hard year. We both do.”

Vi scoffed, rolling her eyes.

“We do,” Marika repeated, a bit more insistence in her voice.

A hard year. That was a pretty neat description.

“You’ve hit some rough patches, but I can see you trying.” Marika ignored the second scoff deliberately. “You’ve been going to school more, your therapists said you’re rather well-adjusted, the meds are working. Kind of working.”

Marika took a deep breath, clearly bracing herself for what she was about to say. “Vi, I need you to promise me something.” Her voice had lost its usual softness and now carried that serious undertone that Vi knew meant she was getting to the point. “Please, don’t cause any trouble tonight.”

Vi’s eyebrows shot up. “What, you mean like setting something on fire?”

Marika’s face remained impassive. “Exactly.”

“Or starting a fight?” Vi pressed, a small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

“Preferably not.”

“Stealing stuff? C’mon, you can’t expect me to go all night without snagging something shiny.”

“You know what I am talking about, Vi,” Marika said firmly, not the least bit amused. “Do you really want to go back to the facility?”

Vi went still, the playful edge slipping from her features for a moment.

“No.”

The word felt strange on her tongue, and it was kind of a lie.

A half-lie, at least.

On the one hand, Vi had learned to appreciate Solace Psychiatric Centre in ways she never had with the other facilities. The food was still terrible, and the doctors made her want to strangle them with their progress talk, but she had her friends there, she had her own room, warm showers and – thanks to Diana – an endless supply of cigarettes.

Solace, despite its sterile walls and endless group sessions, felt safer than most places she’d been.

But on the other hand, there was the rest of the world. The part where she didn’t have to follow rules or take meds or have people poking at her, trying to find out what made her tick. She could sneak out whenever she damn pleased, punch people when they pissed her off, and, most importantly, have fun with Mylo and Claggor - without someone always reminding her how fucked up she was.

Solace was safer. It was also suffocating.

Marika nodded, satisfied with the answer. “Good. You just need to make it through tonight. No violence, no theft, no setting anything on fire - just one evening. Can you do that?”

Vi shifted uncomfortably, leaning against the wall as she stared into the crowd. “I’ll try not to blow anything up, alright?” she muttered, her tone somewhere between agreement and defiance.

Marika gave her a hard look but softened when Vi didn’t snap back. “Good.”

Before Vi could respond, a familiar, muffled burst of laughter caught her attention. She glanced over and spotted Mylo and Claggor trying to sneakily devour a tray of appetizers. The rest of their group had seemingly already scattered into the crowd, probably trying their best to remain invisible.

Those boys sure as hell weren’t.

Mylo was shovelling what looked like a shrimp canapé into his mouth with the finesse of a ravenous animal, while Claggor’s eyes darted around, ever-watchful for any approaching waiters.

It was such a damn ridiculous scene that, despite herself, Vi cracked a smile. But then Marika’s voice pulled her back to reality.

"Vi, I know you're a great kid," Marika said softly, her tone sincere, the kind that always made Vi squirm a little. "I just wish you could show that to the rest of the world."

Vi snorted, not even trying to hide her scepticism. "The world doesn’t give a shit about me."

Marika paused, her eyes watching Vi closely, searching. She was a young woman, tall and dark-skinned, with a tiredness in her eyes that came from too many sleepless nights and too many failed attempts to make a difference. It was the kind of exhaustion Vi had seen in her own reflection after the worst of her outbursts.

She wasn’t just working for a paycheck: Marika genuinely cared about the kids at the facility, though it didn’t make the job any easier, and Vi appreciated the hell out of that. She just couldn’t really show it.

“You’re wrong about that," Marika said, almost too quietly, almost like she was talking to herself. "The world can be a piece of shit, but I know you’re capable of so much more than you think.”

Vi shifted uncomfortably, the words prickling at the edges of her pride, but she didn’t say anything. It wasn’t the first time someone had told her that she had potential, and it probably wouldn’t be the last, but it didn’t make it any easier to hear.

“I’ll try,” Vi muttered finally, after a long pause, the words coming out more reluctantly than she meant them to.

Marika’s face softened, the tiniest hint of a smile breaking through her usually serious expression. “Thank you.”

Vi gave a small nod, as if that was enough to settle things.

Marika’s tone turned more matter-of-fact again, her voice returning to its usual clipped, no-nonsense rhythm. "Now, keep an eye on Mylo and Claggor. If they get caught stuffing their faces with shrimp, I’m holding you responsible.”

Vi turned her gaze back toward her friends, who were now pretending to be involved in a deep conversation while their faces were still half-buried in appetizers. She couldn’t help but chuckle at the sight of them. “I’ll keep them in line,” she said.

Marika raised an eyebrow but gave a subtle nod, stepping back toward the crowd. “Good. Just remember: One evening, Vi.”

One evening. One fucking evening.

Vi returned to Mylo and Claggor, who had already finished the entire tray of appetizers.

They were wiping shrimp crumbs off their lips and trying to look innocent, like they weren’t just devouring everything in sight. Mylo caught her eye and gave a playful shrug, his mouth still stuffed, a smear of sauce glistening at the corner of his lips. Claggor, as always, lagged a step behind in the art of deception - his broad shoulders were too conspicuous, his sheepish expression too genuine to be anything but guilty.

"You’ve got shrimp on your nose," Vi remarked dryly, raising an eyebrow.

Claggor froze mid-chew, his tongue darting out to swipe at his nose with little success. Panicked, he shoved the empty tray behind his back just as a passing waiter glared their way. The man’s face was pinched, the corners of his mouth curling downward. His silver tray balanced a neat row of fizzy and expensive looking drinks, the lemon wedges floating inside just as sour as his expression.

Mylo, undeterred by any sense of decorum, was already reaching for one of the glasses. Vi caught his wrist mid-swipe, her fingers tightening in a firm, unyielding grip. He gave a long-suffering groan, rolling his eyes at her like she had personally ruined his night.

"Man," he grunted, yanking his arm back with a dramatic flair. "You’re no fun, Vi. Five minutes with Marika, that all it takes for you?"

Her fingers tingled when she let go, the ache creeping into her knuckles. Probably because she hadn’t punched anyone in the face in days. It was a strange sort of itch beneath the skin, an energy winding too tight without an outlet. She flexed her hand absently, willing the sensation away.

"Shut up, assface," she muttered, turning her attention to the glittering crowd. The room was a sea of silk and sequins, the air heavy with perfume that clung to the back of her throat. She let her eyes drift over the mass of revolting glamour and glitter, over wrinkled noses and hostile glances, pursed lips and painted, whispering lips, not granting them a single fucking ounce of attention

She wasn’t here for them.

She wasn’t here for the check.

She wasn’t even here for the goddamn food and booze.

She was here for a head of navy silk, for beautiful blue eyes and that tender, timid smile that made something in her chest twist in ways she didn’t like to think about. And okay, maybe because Marika had threatened her with a month of dishwashing duty if she didn’t show up.

But that was beside the point.

"Just so we’re clear," Mylo said, dragging out the words as he stretched his arms behind his head. The movement lifted his shirt enough to expose a sliver of tanned skin. He faked a yawn that exposed all his missing molasses – and there were a lot. "I’m getting drunk tonight. No matter how hard you cockblock me, Vi."

"Yeah? And here I thought you were working on your impulse control," Vi drawled, only half-paying attention as her gaze swept the far corners of the room.

The socialites nearby were draped over one another, their laughter high and breathless. Their crystal glasses sparkled under the light, the liquid inside barely touched - a fucking waste, really.

"Impulse control’s for people with dignity," Mylo said with a self-satisfied smirk. He clapped her on the back hard enough to make her shoulder blades sting, a show of affection wrapped in roughness. "Besides, if you wanted to babysit, you should’ve brought a stroller."

Vi bit back a snort, too busy craning her neck to get a better look behind the largest man she’d ever seen in her life. The guy was built like a wall, wide enough to block half her view. It was annoying.

"What are you even looking for?" Mylo asked, leaning in with that voice he only used when he knew he was about to be a pain in her ass. "Or should I say who are you looking for?"

"I’m not-" Vi started, but he cut her off with an exaggerated gasp.

"Ooooh, I get it. Dark hair, skinny, super fucking awkward?" He wiggled his eyebrows, glee shining in his eyes. "Don’t worry, Vi. If your girlfriend’s here, I’ll find her for you."

"She’s not-…shut up," Vi snapped, feeling heat creep up her neck. "I’m just checking things out. Shut the fuck up."

"Right, 'checking things out,'" Mylo said, like that was the most suspicious thing he'd ever heard. "Totally normal behavior. Definitely not searching the room like you lost your tits."

Claggor, who had been busy licking a stray crumb off his thumb, tilted his head. "Wait, Vi has a girlfriend?”

"No, I don’t!" Vi hissed, resisting the urge to kick Mylo in the shin. "And I’m not looking for anyone."

"Uh-huh," Mylo drawled, clearly not buying a word of it.

Claggor suddenly released a loud, echoing burp. "Hey," he said, as if he’d just had the most important realization of his life. "You think they got dessert here?"

Mylo turned to him with mock horror. "Dude, you just ate, like, twenty shrimp."

"Yeah, and?" Claggor blinked. "I’ve got a fast metabolism."

"That’s not fast fucking metabolism, you got a fucking parasite," Mylo said, but his tone was more impressed than judgmental. Then his face lit up as he spotted something across the room. "Oh-ho! Jackpot. Buffet table. Let’s go, Big Guy."

Claggor’s eyes widened like he’d just glimpsed heaven. Without another word, he turned on his heel and made a beeline for the buffet, moving faster than anyone his size should be able to. Vi, despite herself, followed after them.

"You’re both gonna get us kicked out," she said, falling into step beside Mylo as they cut across the room, the Pilties parting in front of them like they were barrels of toxic waste steered through the crowd. Mylo, who had taken a brief detour to the drug store before they arrived, had sprayed himself with ten different kinds of perfume, did kinda smell the part.

"Relax," he said, slinging an arm around her shoulders. He’d shot up over the past year - one whole head taller than Vi now - and he never missed a chance to rub it in. "They wouldn’t kick me out. I’m charming."

Vi snorted, which earned her an irritated glance from a gaunt, tall woman who had something that looked like a fucking dead fox wrapped around her neck. Carcasses as a fashion statement. Classy. "Yeah. Real prince of Piltover."

"Damn straight." Mylo grinned. "Besides, isn’t this whole fucking event kinda for us?" He pushed out his lower lip and pouted, eyes so wide they practically fell out of his head, as if he were the picture of a poor, starving orphan. He let go of Vi and clasped his hands together like he was about to beg. "I mean, we’re just poor, oh so poor orphans from Zaun, eating nothing but trash and dirt all day. Is it really too much for us to ask for a piece of fucking cake?"

“No one’s gonna buy the whole poor orphan shtick with Claggor stuffing his face like that,” Vi remarked, though a smirk tugged at her lips as Mylo turned side to side, throwing the most pitiful glances he could muster at anyone who dared meet his eyes.

Claggor half-turned to them, forcing yet another unlucky waiter to practically dive out of the way to save his blouse from a splash of orange juice, too. “I think it makes it more believable,” he said with a shrug. “We’re poor orphans, we’re starving - let us eat some cake.”

“Okay, Marie-Antoinette," Vi mumbled, flicking her gaze back to the crowd. Red curls bobbed, laced with pearls the size of her eyes. A sharp middle part sliced through shortly trimmed hair. Three limp strands clung to a bald head, the shine of it catching the glow from the massive chandeliers.

No navy.

“Jesus, Vi, you look super fucking desperate," Mylo scoffed, finally stopping in front of the buffet.

The table practically groaned under the weight of the spread. Cupcakes teetering in sugary towers, a chocolate fountain bubbling thick and glossy, drowning out the reek of Mylo’s disgusting perfume cocktail. Cream-filled pastries gleamed under the lights, next to strange, lumpy rolls Vi wouldn’t even fucking touch on a dare. Sliced fruit shimmered like jewels, bowls of sauce scattered between the carefully curated chaos.

Her mouth started to water.

Claggor’s mouth was already full, chocolate glistening at the corners of his lips, his fingers busy pawing through the pastries.

"I didn’t know you had a girlfriend, Vi," he mumbled, completely unfazed by the crumbs flying from his mouth and landing across the sliced fruit. Okay, another thing Vi wouldn’t touch.

"That’s because I don’t," she said dryly, grabbing a pastry shaped like a crescent moon. It felt oddly dry between her fingers, flaking apart and leaving buttery crumbs clinging to her skin. She took a tentative bite - and holy shit. Butter, sugar, something else – who fucking cared? It was delicious. Without thinking, she shoved the rest into her mouth.

Mylo blissfully ignored the icy glare from the guy beside him as he dipped his index finger into the chocolate fountain, then shoved it into his mouth, pulling it out with a loud pop. The man next to him audibly gagged.

“Yeah, sure, Vi,” Mylo mumbled, licking his lips before dipping his finger back into the fountain.

He turned from Claggor, who was stuffing his pockets with the weird-looking rolls. “You absolutely don’t have a girlfriend. You just happen to always take the long-ass route past that Piltie school on the way to the library, as if we didn’t have one down in Zaun. You just happen to volunteer every damn time Marika needs someone to accompany her to those boring-ass court dates up Topside.”

Vi picked up another pastry, licking some crumps from her fingers before shoving the whole thing into her mouth again, trying to keep her lips busy before they could bite back at Mylo.

Claggor hummed thoughtfully, his fingers drumming lightly against the edge of the table as he leaned on it with a creak. The wooden surface groaned in protest, but he didn’t seem to care.

“Oh, that girlfriend,” he said with a teasing grin, eyes flicking back to Mylo. Mylo met his gaze with a knowing, sneaky smile, as if they shared some private joke. “The little one, right? From Camp?”

Mylo’s grin deepened, his lips curling into a smirk as he bent down, inspecting the lumps of rolls at eye level like they were the most fascinating thing in the room.

“That’s the one, big guy,” he snarled. “What was her name again, Vi? Camilla? Catherine?”

Vi only grunted, her mouth stilled stuffed with sugary delight threatening to obstruct her airway.

Mylo straightened up with a deliberate slowness, picking up one of the rolls and sniffing it with a raised eyebrow, the gleam still in his eyes. He turned it over in his hands, clearly savoring the moment. Claggor leaned in closer, his broad frame casting a shadow over the table, nudging Mylo with his elbow. His voice dropped to a low murmur, almost conspiratorial. “’M pretty sure her name was Caitlyn.”

Mylo’s eyes lit up, the feigned realization coming to him with a sharp grin. “Ohh, yeah, Caitlyn! That’s the one!”

Vi swallowed the bite, her face scrunching as the sheer size of it sent tears stinging her eyes. She quickly blinked them away, wiping the back of her hand across her face, and shot the boys an annoyed glance. Crossing her arms tightly in front of her broad chest, she tried to look more unbothered than she felt.

“I don’t even know what the hell you’re talking about,” she muttered, her voice tight with irritation. “You sure you’re not drunk yet?”

“Nope, unfortunately still sober, thanks to you” Mylo shot back, his grin practically splitting his face. He clasped his hands together, batting his lashes at Vi in exaggerated mockery, his voice rising a few octaves. “‘I wonder if she thinks about me. I mean, probably not. But it’s nice to imagine-’”

Vi’s hands shot out, clasping around Mylo’s collar before he could finish, yanking him up so that his face was inches from hers. Her own face was practically the colour of the strawberries on the plates beside them.

“You read my fucking diary?!” she hissed, her voice low and seething with fury.

Mylo didn’t seem intimidated in the slightest. In fact, he looked utterly unbothered, still grinning like a cat who’d gotten into the cream.

He raised his index finger, still smeared with chocolate around the cuticles, and wagged it in front of her face.

“No, no,” he trilled, his tone dripping with mock innocence. He exchanged another amused glance with Claggor, who was watching the exchange with barely contained laughter. “You left it open on your desk, and my eyes just happened to fall on it. And then I kinda told Claggor about it.”

Vi scoffed and pushed him from her, though not with a lot of force. She couldn’t be mad at Mylo for long. Also, it had always been a matter of time before he’d gotten his sticky, nosy fingers on it anyways.

“You’re so fucking insufferable,” Vi muttered, pushing past Mylo to get back to her pastries.

She pressed the back of her hand to her cheek, trying to cool the heat radiating from it, but it didn’t quite work. She could feel Mylo edging closer, his presence too damn close, and his eyes practically boring into the side of her face. She chose to ignore it, focusing on the food in front of her.

A few heartbeats of silence passed before Mylo’s voice broke through, the smile practically audible in his tone. “So,” he drawled, “is she your girlfriend?”

Vi grunted, half a laugh escaping her lips as she rolled her eyes.

“Friends with benefits? Fuck-buddies?” Mylo didn’t let it go, his voice still teasing, and the proximity only made it worse. Vi could smell his cologne again and it kind of ruined her appetite. “Married?”

“No, now shut the hell up,” Vi snapped at him, her voice sharp, but even she couldn’t help the small smile tugging at the corner of her lips.

Claggor settled next to her with a grunt, a cupcake in his right hand and a slice of cake in his left, balancing them with the ease of someone who'd done it a thousand times. He leaned back against the table, his broad back to the food, eyes drifting lazily over the chattering crowd in front of them.

“And this is where she lives?” Claggor muttered, eyes wide with a mix of amusement and awe. “Man, she must be fucking filthy rich, even for Piltie standards.”

He nodded, taking a bite out of his cupcake like he was savoring the shock of it all.

Vi turned a bit toward him, the corner of her lips twitching despite herself.

“Claggor, your nose,” she muttered, reaching out instinctively to turn his face toward her.

Claggor had always been taller than her, but it didn’t bother her as much as it did with Mylo. She stood on her tiptoes and wiped the back of her hand across the smear of icing on his nose.

He smiled at her, soft and genuine. “Thanks, Vi,” he said, his voice low and warm, before turning back to the crowd, seemingly content.

Mylo also turned his back to the group, casually sucking on one of his fingers. He hadn’t even bothered to tame his wild, dark curls, which stuck out from his head like he’d just touched an outlet. With his finger in his mouth and his eyes darting left and right, he looked more like a maniac than Vi ever did.

“I mean, that’s kinda cool,” he mumbled past his finger, giving a lazy shrug. “If you ever do marry, you’ll be insanely rich. Could probably buy houses for all of us.”

Vi just scoffed, bundling some of the linen covering the table between her fingers and rubbing it absent-mindedly. The fabric was softer than anything Vi owned, and for some reason that annoyed her more than all those posh, stuck-up assholes crowding the room.

“Stop running your mouth, Mylo, there’s nothing but shit coming out of there,” she mumbled, keeping her head low and her fingers busy.

Mylo shifted slightly, but didn’t turn back to her, both boys now scanning the crowd with the same vigour Vi had earlier.

“She’s probably not even here. Maybe she’s on some sort of, I don’t know, fucking vacation or something,” Vi muttered, more to herself than to the boys.

She stopped rubbing the fabric, her gaze drifting down to her hands. She stared at them, the knuckles calloused and the skin cracked, ashy from years of neglect. Sure, she hadn’t punched anyone in days, but the marks had been carved into her over the years.

“And even if she were, her mother fucking hates me. I don’t think she’s allowed to talk to me. Fuck, I don’t think she wants to,” Vi muttered, letting out a dry, humorless laugh. She shoved her hands into her pockets, straightening her back and tilting her head slightly as she took a deep breath of the heavy, perfumed air.

A sudden wave of nausea rolled over her.

“And besides, she probably doesn’t even remember me.”

Mylo shifted again, his elbow brushing against Vi’s. He didn’t seem to mind the slight contact.

“Oh, I wouldn’t be too sure about that,” he said lightly, his usual teasing mockery fading, replaced by the casual ease he always wore like a second skin.

Vi scoffed, her lips quirking up in amusement. She shot him a quick glance, expecting some sort of smirk or scowl. “Yeah? You some kind of fortune teller?”

Mylo didn’t answer immediately, his gaze still fixed on the crowd, but his lips twitched in a small smile. He crossed his lanky arms in front of his narrow chest.

“Nope,” he said with a slow, exaggerated popping “p,” his voice easy and unbothered.

Vi arched an eyebrow, her gaze hardening with a mix of curiosity and slight irritation. “Then why’s that?”

But when Mylo finally turned to face her, there was something different in his expression - no mockery, no humour, just a warmth that Vi wasn’t expecting.  His broad smile softened, a look so genuine it was almost unsettling. He bent down, just a little - goddamn that boy and his height - and his voice dropped to a near-whisper, like a secret just for her.

“’Cause she’s looking right at you, Vi.”

Even though Margot and Leona did drag them to twelve fashion boutiques, the trip to town soon turned into one of the best Vi’d ever had.

It wasn’t just because Margot and Leona had found a new victim to play dress-up with in Caitlyn, spending almost twenty minutes trying to talk the girl into buying a red down jacket that would definitely keep her warmer than her windbreaker.

It wasn’t just because Leona managed to talk some poor teenage boy - whose milky face was covered in tons of zits - working at the local cinema into sneaking them into an afternoon screening, somehow even organizing buckets of buttery popcorn for all of them.

It wasn’t just because the girl behind the counter at the hotdog stand seemed so smitten with Diana, her mouth slightly agape and cheeks flushed as she handed her the bun, that she forgot to charge them for their steaming food.

It was because Caitlyn let out a tiny chuckle when Leona pressed an obscenely large sunhat onto her navy hair, carefully pulling strands from behind Caitlyn’s ears and into her face, fussing over her like some manager of a top model.

It was because a huff escaped Caitlyn’s nostrils, a laugh almost drowned out by the blaring sound of the movie Vi didn’t pay a single second of attention to, her heartbeat thrumming in her ears.

It was because a warm smile tugged at the corners of Caitlyn’s mouth as Margot relentlessly teased Diana, wiggling her eyebrows and making kiss sounds with her mouth, while the other girl blushed almost as hard as the hotdog vendor.

It was because Caitlyn accompanied her into the small bookstore, while the other girls waited outside, following Vi through the cramped little hallways, listening to her stutter about her favourite books, her eyes wide and curious.

And now, as they made their way over the pavement darkened by the steady stream of rain, that smile was still on Caitlyn’s face as she listened to Margot dive into a pretty detailed story about the time she “accidentally” got hired at a strip club. Vi wasn’t really listening. She had heard the story a hundred times – strangely enough, each time with new details - and besides, the look on Caitlyn’s face was enough for her.

She was so engulfed by the faint crinkles at the corners of Caitlyn’s mouth that she didn’t notice Diana had fallen back to walk beside her until a soft, gentle nudge grazed her side. Vi flinched a bit but quickly gathered herself, shooting Diana a crooked smile.

“Oh, hey,” she said, pushing her hands into her pockets and hoping her cheeks weren’t as flushed as they felt. Diana smiled and wiggled her arm under Vi’s, linking them together. She was warm, her body radiating a comfortable heat that made Vi’s own skin feel alive, and she smelled faintly of smoke, a scent that clung to her even in the rain.

“You know,” Diana said after a few silent steps, her voice low and soft. “I really like this.” Her heels clacked on the pavement, each step a steady rhythm that seemed to sync with Vi’s heartbeat. Vi buried her chin in her collar, shooting Diana a small, unusually timid smile.

“Don’t know what you mean,” she mumbled into the fabric of her jacket, the heat of her breath warming her chin.

Diana nudged her again, this time a little more deliberately, the contact light but warm. A soft chuckle bubbled up from her, and Vi could feel the vibrations of it in her side.

“I think you do, Vi,” she muttered, her tone teasing but affectionate. Her gaze shifted ahead, and Vi followed the direction of her eyes. They settled on Caitlyn, her narrow shoulders hunched slightly against the rain, her navy strands of hair clinging to her back.

Vi just huffed, unsure what to say, and lowered her eyes again.

“Sorry, I really don’t, Di,” she finally mumbled, her voice quieter than she intended. The words felt awfully clumsy in her mouth.

Diana didn’t respond right away. Her fingers, warm even through the damp fabric of Vi’s jacket, traced slow, familiar circles against her arm. Vi could feel the weight of Diana’s amused gaze on her, patient and knowing. But Diana didn’t push. Instead, she raised her voice, calling out to the rest of the group with an easy confidence.

“It’s right there, the small green door on the left.”

Up ahead, Margot finally paused her relentless chatter, her expression shifting into something comically serious as she squinted through the rain.

“You sure? Last time you said that, it was a public restroom.”

It wasn’t a public restroom.

The café was smaller than Vi had expected, tucked between two worn-out buildings. The girls spilled into the room, a tangle of wet clothes and noisy laughter, dragging the smell of rain in with them. The warmth inside wrapped around Vi like a heavy blanket, thick with the scent of coffee beans and something sweet baking in the back. The windows were fogged up, beads of condensation trailing slowly down the glass, blurring the view of the rainy street beyond.

Some faint jazz music hummed in the background, its soft, meandering notes weaving through the low murmur of conversation. It wasn’t crowded, but the people inside seemed settled - heads bent close together, laughter spilling quietly between them.

Vi lingered near the entrance, shaking the rain from her sleeves as the door swung shut behind them. She glanced toward Caitlyn, who was already scanning the room with that same careful curiosity she always had, her fingers brushing a few damp strands of hair behind her ear.

For a moment, Vi found herself watching too closely - at the slight crease in Caitlyn’s brow, the faint pink lingering on her cheeks from the cold outside.

Diana, still hooked to her arm, gave her a soft nudge. “Better than a public restroom, huh?” she murmured, a teasing lilt in her voice.

Vi snorted softly, shaking her head. “Yeah. You’re lucky.”

Margot, already peeling off her rain jacket, flopped into the nearest armchair with a dramatic sigh, legs sprawled wide like she owned the place.

“Alright, fuckers. Someone better get us some hot chocolate, or I’m gonna freeze solid.”

Leona barely stopped moving as she shucked off her coat.

"I’ll go," she hastily volunteered, already eyeing the barista behind the counter - a girl with a pierced eyebrow and the kind of sharp jawline that Leona loved to swoon over. "Try not to miss me too much."

She wiggled her fingers at the girls and pranced over, brown curls bouncing on her shoulders.

“Stop manspreading, Margot.” Diana pushed a twiggy knee out of the way and dropped into another chair, combing her fingers through her wet, tangled hair. Her dark roots were growing back out, she’d have to dye it again soon.

Vi shook her head with a soft snort and shrugged out of her jacket. The fabric clung to her arms, heavy with rain, and she gave it a hard shake before tossing it over the back of the sofa. By the time she glanced down, Caitlyn had already settled beside her, fingers fussing at the zipper of her windbreaker. The thing looked soaked through, droplets clinging to the sleeves, and Vi didn’t miss the way the fabric of Caitlyn’s shirt clung damply to her skin as she peeled it off.

"Damn," Margot said, raising a brow. "Told you that jacket was useless."

Caitlyn huffed out a breath, tugging her sleeves down as if that would help. "I should’ve listened," she admitted, the faintest pout edging her voice. "That red one probably would've kept me dry."

Margot's eyes lit up with the kind of unholy glee that suggested she was already imagining another shopping spree. "We could always go back," she said, stretching the words out, her grin widening. "I mean, what’s a few more stores?"

"Absolutely not," Caitlyn said, too quickly, and the girls erupted into laughter.

Vi just shook her head, biting back a smirk as she dug her scarf – formerly Diana’s - out from the tangled mess of her jacket. It was still warm, the wool scratchy against her fingers. She hesitated for a beat too long - long enough to wonder if this was a weird thing to do, if this was crossing the line - but Caitlyn was still sitting there, damp and shivering lightly, her hair clinging to her neck in dark strands.

Without a word, Vi handed the scarf over.

Caitlyn blinked at her, clearly surprised, but took it anyway, wrapping it around her neck and shoulders with a soft, breathy, "Thanks."

Vi just shrugged like it was nothing, like her pulse wasn’t hammering a little too hard in her ears. "Wouldn’t want you getting sick, right?"

Across the table, Diana was watching, her chin propped in her hand. She didn’t mention the original possession circumstances of the scarf, just smiled softly before turning back to fiddle with the sugar packets.

"Look at you," Margot drawled, leaning forward with a wicked little grin. "All cozy and mysterious. How awfully charming, Vi.”

Vi rolled her eyes and kicked lightly at Margot's shin under the table. "Don't get used to it."

Margot gasped, clutching her chest like she was scandalized. "Wow. And here I thought we were having a moment."

"You’re impossible," Vi muttered, but the warmth curling low in her stomach didn’t fade.

She couldn’t help sneaking another glance at Caitlyn, who was still fiddling with the edge of the scarf like it was something precious.

"Hot chocolates incoming.”

Leona slid back into her seat, a tray in her hands, her grin a little too pleased with itself. The rich scent of cocoa curled through the air, thick and sweet, chasing away the last chill of the rain. The mugs were mismatched, steam rising in gentle curls from the hot chocolate, marshmallows melting lazily on top. "And don’t fucking say I never do anything nice for you lot."

"Did you get her number?" Margot asked immediately.

"Obviously," Leona drawled, flicking her hair over her shoulder with dramatic flair. "What do you take me for, a fucking amateur? Oh, cute scarf, Caitlyn!"

Caitlyn’s fingers stilled on the edge of the scarf, her shoulders drawing up slightly as a flush crept over her cheeks. She looked almost bashful, which only seemed to sharpen Leona’s curiosity. The girl narrowed her eyes, leaning in with that familiar, curious glint in her eyes.

"Wait a sec…" she started, eyes flicking between the scarf and Diana. "Isn’t that-"

"So anyway," Diana cut in smoothly, her voice just a little louder than necessary, "I’ll have to pick up some hair dye later. Roots are showing again."

She sighed, twisting a lock of white hair between her fingers and holding it up like it personally offended her.

Leona let the scarf question slide, her focus shifting to more familiar territory.

"I can do it for you," she offered, her smile turning playful. She pulled one of her legs up to her chest, completely ignoring the dark, wet smudged her boot left on the seat of the armchair. "I’m a woman of many talents."

Vi snorted, loud and unfiltered.

"Yeah, sure. Like last time? When you almost fried her whole head off?"

The sharp, chemical stink of bleach still lingered in Vi’s memory - along with the uneven patches of platinum clinging to Diana’s natural dark hair. It had been the first and only time anyone let Leona near their head. To this day, Vi couldn’t understand how Diana had stayed so calm, hadn’t ripped Leona’s head off or punched that half-ashamed, half-amused grin from her face.

She sure would’ve.

Diana only laughed softly now, as if her near-scalping had been nothing more than a mild inconvenience. She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, revealing the faintest trace of those ill-fated bleach streaks still clinging to the ends.

"I’ll do it myself, thank you," she said, her tone as polite as ever, like Leona hadn’t nearly burned her scalp clean off.

Leona, naturally, didn’t look the least bit remorseful. She just stretched her arms behind her head, shooting Diana a wide, toothy grin.

"Your loss," she quipped, though she didn’t seem all that offended. She leaned forwards to snatch her mug and blew on her cocoa, the steam curling around her face like smoke.

"What about you, Caitlyn? Ever dyed your hair?" Margot asked, crossing her skinny legs and twirling a lock of her own bleached hair around her finger.

Since Vi had first met her, Margot had gone through nearly every hair colour imaginable, from electric lime green to dull mouse brown, and somehow, she pulled off each look effortlessly.

Caitlyn just shook her head, fingers curling a little tighter around the mug she’d just claimed. "No," she just said, lips twitching into a faint and slightly apologetic smile.

“Why?” Leona asked, her acrylic nails tapping rhythmically against her own mug. “Didn’t know what to get?”

“Oh, no, that wasn’t it.” Caitlyn shook her head, setting the mug back on the table with a soft clink. She absently brushed a hand through her hair, the motion almost absent as her fingers traced the dark strand. She looked down at it for a moment, her expression distant, before speaking again.

“My mother didn’t want me to.”

That got a collective groan from the group.

"Boring," Leona declared, drawing the word out dramatically.

Vi didn’t point out that Leona had always refused to dye her hair, stubbornly insisting that “those magnificent strands can’t be imitated by fucking chemicals,” as she put it.

"Fucking boring, typical mom-move," Margot agreed, nodding sagely, her eyes filled with over-exaggerated pity as her eyes drifted over Caitlyn’s hair, as she studied Caitlyn’s hair, clearly already mapping out her next colouring project.

"But if you could dye it, what would you pick?"

Caitlyn hesitated, glancing down at the swirling cocoa in her mug as though the answer might rise from the froth. "Uhm-… I don’t know, I guess-…”

A short, embarrassed laugh escaped her lips, the sound quick and almost apologetic, as she shyly glanced up at Margot. Vi couldn’t tell if Caitlyn’s cheeks were flushed from the cold outside or from the weight of the embarrassment colouring her expression.

"When I was younger, I always wanted purple tips," Caitlyn confessed, her voice soft, tinged with that same awkward laughter. "Like, I don’t know, one of those pop stars. Thought it would look cool, I guess. I don’t know. Probably wouldn’t."

"Damn right it would," Margot said, practically vibrating with excitement, her eyes wide and bright like she’d just heard the best idea ever. She leaned over the table, her hands moving with purpose as she reached out and carefully took one strand of Caitlyn’s navy silk hair between her fingers.

"Well, we have to do it now. You’d rock it."

“Oh,” Caitlyn chuckled nervously and shook her head, the motion pulling the strand from Margot’s prying fingers. She raised her own hand and combed it through her hair again, eyes flicking from Margot to her mug. “Oh, I don’t know, I don’t think-“

"Absolutely," Leona chimed in, nodding so wildly it was a miracle her head stayed on her shoulders. "It would fit you perfectly, you’d look super hot. I mean, you already are, but like super hot."

Vi rolled her eyes but found herself biting back a smile, her arms crossed loosely as she watched the exchange, half-amused, half-exasperated.

Caitlyn would most definitely look very fucking hot with purple tips.

"Come on, Caitlyn," Margot pressed, her grin widening as she leaned in a little closer, her eyes practically sparkling with excitement. "It’ll be fun. Also, you’re a maniac, so you got an excuse!"

Now Caitlyn had to laugh, the sound escaping as a light, surprised chuckle. Her hand was still tangled in her hair, fingers brushing absently at the dark strands as she glanced between the group, the awkwardness melting away.

"That’s a ridiculous excuse."

"That’s not a no," Diana pointed out with a smile.

Caitlyn hesitated, but then she just exhaled a soft sigh and dropped her hand into her lap, her shoulders relaxing just a little.

"Fine," she muttered, though the faintest trace of a smile still tugged at the corner of her lips. "But you’ll have to help me."

Margot’s face lit up like a Christmas tree. She jumped up from her seat with a sudden burst of energy, her hands flying to her cheeks as her excitement bubbled over.

"Yes! Oh my gods, yes!" She let out a squeal of triumph, practically vibrating with joy. "Can I do it? Please, Caitlyn, please, please, please, I fucking swear I’m good at this!"

Caitlyn couldn’t help but laugh again at Margot’s enthusiasm, her fingers curling around the mug again as she took a tiny sip, her smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

"Sure," she chuckled with a small shrug, looking up at Margot’s hopeful expression. "Why not?"

Margot’s grin grew even wider, her eyes practically glowing. She plopped back into her chair, cheeks flushed with excitement.

“Oh, oh, can I also cut it?” She leaned forward, practically bouncing in her seat and immediately pointed at her own hair, as though that would somehow seal the deal. “I did this myself. And without a mirror, may I add!”

Her chest swelled with pride, and she ran a hand through the messy, ever-changing colours of her hair, as if that was her ultimate proof of expertise

“She actually is quite skilled,” Diana agreed and crossed her legs, warming her hands on her mug. “She cut my hair a few days ago, looks pretty good.”

She casually flicked a strand of her own hair behind her ear, as if demonstrating just how well Margot's work had held up.

Caitlyn glanced between them and just shrugged again.

“Of course, go ahead.”

It earned her an excited wheeze from Margot and Vi wondered briefly if Caitlyn had just been to polite to decline the offer. But when she shot her a short glance, the smile was still on her face, warm, timid and soft, a jolt of warmth in Vi’s body.  

Leona turned her attention back to Vi, her eyes glinting with fresh mischief, her lips curling into an almost wicked grin.

"What about you, tough girl?" She leaned forward slightly, her voice dripping with playful challenge. "Oh, oh, how about black! Real baddy vibes. You’d pull it off, no problem."

Vi snorted into her mug, barely managing to stifle a laugh.

"Not a chance," she shot back, the words thick with amusement.

"Aww, come on," Leona wheedled, her voice stretching out like a drawn-out whine. She leaned in closer, her expression all exaggerated pleading. "Think of the aesthetic, the vibe. You could be this, like, broody and mysterious lesbian."

Vi raised an eyebrow, the deadpan expression never leaving her face as she set her mug down with a clink. "I’m already broody," she deadpanned. “And a lesbian.”

Diana laughed softly against the rim of her mug.

"Fine, killjoy,” Leona grumbled, flopping back against her seat with a theatrical sigh, her arms crossing over her chest as if she’d just been wronged. "But you’re missing out on a glow-up for the ages. You could be rocking it, looking like you walked off the cover of some noir magazine."

The conversation drifted into playful bickering, warmth filling the cozy café as the rain continued to patter against the fogged-up windows. The heat from the mugs seeped into Vi’s fingers, loosening some of the tension from her shoulders. Caitlyn had stopped shivering, her warm thigh pressed tightly against Vi’s.

After a while, Margot pushed herself up from the armchair with a dramatic groan, stretching her arms overhead like someone who had just woken from a long nap.

"Alright," she announced. "I’m gonna grab us something to eat. Nobody move - I’m trusting you not to steal my seat."

Vi shot her a sideways glance, kicking her feet up onto the coffee table in an exaggerated motion. "No promises," she muttered, sinking further into her own seat.

"Rude," Margot huffed, dramatically shoving her hands into her pockets as she turned toward the counter.

"You’re not getting any whipped cream, asshole."

She said it with a wink and Vi couldn’t help but roll her eyes as Margot disappeared into the café’s small line.

Vi felt Caitlyn’s thigh brush against hers as the girl shifted forward, reaching to place her empty mug on the table. The painted cup wobbled as it slipped from her fingers, her non-dominant hand too weak and shaky to guide it down properly.

Caitlyn gasped, her eyes widening - but before the mug could tip over and crash to the floor, Vi’s hand shot out, catching it with ease. She barely had to think about it, her reflexes sharp, practiced. With a crooked grin, she set the cup upright, her fingers lingering on the rim for a second before pulling away.

Caitlyn exhaled, her shoulders sinking in relief. She met Vi’s gaze and gave her a small, timid smile, mouthing a silent “thank you.”

“That sling sure sucks, huh?” Leona said, her voice gentle as she scooted in a bit closer, her movements smooth and unhurried. She too placed her empty mug on the table, her gaze shifting to Caitlyn. “Do you know when it’s coming off?”

Leona’s eyes briefly flickered to Caitlyn’s injured arm, where the sling still rested snugly around it.

“Oh, uh…” Caitlyn glanced down at her arm for a moment, the corner of her lips twitching in a small, self-conscious smile.

"Not sure," she replied quietly, the answer almost hesitant as her fingers unconsciously brushed against the fabric of the sling. “I have a checkup soon, so... maybe after that?”

Her voice trailed off slightly and Vi had to fight the urge to place her hand on Caitlyn’s thigh.

"I’ve had one of those before," Leona quickly continued, before the uncomfortable silence had the chance of settling, snapping her fingers for emphasis. "Broke my arm in, like, sixth grade, I think? When the sling got off, my arm was like, I don’t even know, super weird and wiggly. I was all shaky and shit."

Caitlyn let out a soft laugh at Leona's dramatic expression, the sound light and almost surprised.

"That sounds horrible," she said, shaking her head with a soft chuckle. Her fingers were still tracing the seams of the sling, brushing up and down the fabric.

Leona shrugged nonchalantly, as if the memory didn’t bother her at all. "I threw up on the nurses shoes and got a lollipop afterwards, so it was pretty much worth it."

She leaned back in her seat, clearly satisfied with  her addition to the conversation, picking at one of her nails.

Caitlyn’s fingers stilled on the sling, her gaze momentarily drifting downward as if she were trying to find the right words.

There was a brief silence, before she cleared her throat and spoke, her voice quieter than before, almost hesitant.

“It’s not my arm…” she started, her fingers fidgeting with the fabric of the sling again. “It’s my collarbone. That’s the part that, uhm, broke.”

She glanced up and caught Vi’s eye again. For a moment, the world around them seemed to slow, the conversations and the hum of the jazz music around them fading into the background.

Vi’s gaze locked with Caitlyn’s blue, beautiful eyes, her focus sharpening as she processed the words.

Collarbone?

Without missing a beat, Diana leaned forward, her hands raised in a gesture of calm reassurance.

"You don’t have to talk about it, Caitlyn," she said quietly, her voice kind but firm. "We won’t ask what happened. We have this… unspoken rule in the facility. No one’s gonna pry unless you want to share."

Leona nodded firmly, her tone supportive despite her usual brashness. "Yeah, we all got our shit, so no pressure, you know?"

Vi didn’t say anything out loud, but her mind was racing.

She wanted to ask what happened.

The world around them came rushing back, but Vi stayed focused on Caitlyn, her eyes searching for any hint, another crack in her calm exterior, but the girl had already dropped her gaze again. Caitlyn gave a small, almost imperceptible smile, her lips curving slightly, and she nodded.

"Thank you," she murmured, her voice soft and timid.

Leona only hummed in response, then clapped her hands against her thighs and hoisted herself up from her seat.

“Alright, I gotta take a piss.”

Vi barely looked up, but she didn’t miss the way Leona’s eyes flicked toward the barista - just for a second. Didn’t miss the sly grin creeping onto her face, the casual way she smoothed her shirt as if she were about to go do something entirely normal.

She sighed and rolled her eyes. “Dude, you’re not seriously gonna fuck that girl in the bathroom, are you?”

Leona only shrugged, entirely unbothered. “Who, me?”

She wiggled her fingers in a little wave, then turned on her heel, practically skipping past the line at the counter.

Vi watched as the barista’s gaze followed her, the girl leaning just slightly toward her coworker to whisper something. And then, just like that, she was gone too, slipping into the back hallway only moments after Leona.

Vi wrinkled her nose.

Gross.

There was no way those bathrooms were clean enough for whatever was about to happen in there.

Diana let out a soft chuckle, shaking her head as she pushed back her chair.

“And on that note, I’m gonna see if Margot needs any help,” she said, stretching out her long limbs with a groan. “She’s probably buying everything on display again.” She turned to Caitlyn, offering her a warm, sweet smile, before heading off toward the counter.

And just like that, they were alone.

It hit Vi all at once – they hadn’t been alone together in weeks.

Not like this.

Not without the convenient excuse of being three knuckles deep inside one another, mouths busy panting hot curses and breaths into the other.

And now here they were, sitting way too close, Caitlyn’s thigh practically radiating heat like a tiny human furnace. Vi could hear her breathing.

Why could she hear her breathing?

Had it always been this loud? Or was Vi just suddenly developing superhuman hearing at the worst possible moment?

Caitlyn, for her part, looked equally lost. Her hand twitched in her lap, fingers fidgeting like they were desperately searching for a purpose in life.

Vi cleared her throat, grasping for literally anything to say. “So…”

That was it. That was all she had.

Caitlyn turned to her, eyebrows slightly raised, waiting.

Vi turned to her own brain, shaking it like a broken vending machine. Come on, say something. Anything.

Nothing.

Damn it. She was going to die here.

“So,” Vi tried again, hastily clearing her throat to shake out the raspy, weirdly shaky undertone. “Purple tips, huh?”

She attempted a laugh - just a casual, easy chuckle - but the second it left her mouth, she realized it sounded breathy and blatantly awkward. She quickly cut it short by pressing her lips together as if that could undo the damage.

Caitlyn, to Vi’s immense relief, didn’t seem to mind.

If anything, she looked almost grateful for the lifeline, letting out a small huff before absentmindedly twisting a strand of purple between her fingers.

“Do you think it’s a bad idea?” she asked, eyes flicking to Vi as if bracing for an honest answer.

“Oh, no,” Vi said easily, leaning back in her seat with a small grin.

“Margot actually knows what she’s doing. Probably. Most of the time.” She shrugged. “But be careful, or else you’ll wake up with one side of your head shaved, looking like some kind of pit fighter.”

Caitlyn chuckled, shaking her head before turning to look at her properly. There was a slight gleam in those annoyingly beautiful blue eyes.

“What, like you?” she asked, her voice light, laced with careful tease.

Vi blinked. That was new.

She liked it.

Vi scoffed, running a hand through her messily chopped pink curls with all the confidence of someone who absolutely refused to acknowledge bad hair decisions.

“What, you don’t think I look incredibly hot?” she asked, voice dripping with mock offense. “I’m hurt, Caitlyn.”

Caitlyn let out a small hum, the corners of her lips twitching. She leaned back - her shoulder brushing Vi’s in the process, goddamn it - and turned her head toward the counter, squinting like she was suddenly very interested in Margot and Diana’s slow-moving place in line.

“Yeah, sure,” she said, her voice completely even. “I mean, if having three hairstyles in one is considered hot.”

“Well, I consider it hot. And efficient,” Vi shot back, and it earned her a small trickle of laughter from Caitlyn.

And damn if that didn’t send warmth spreading through Vi’s chest, settling deep like she’d just taken another sip of hot cocoa.

And then, the laughter stopped.

It was sharp, sudden, and unnatural, like someone had flipped a switch.

Vi blinked.

Her mind scrambled, wondering if she’d crossed some line she hadn’t even noticed. Her brow furrowed in confusion as her eyes flickered to Caitlyn, instinctively searching her face.

The sight made her stomach drop.

Caitlyn wasn’t there anymore. Not really.

Her face had lost all its colour. She was pale, shockingly so, her skin a sickly white, like someone who had been drained of every ounce of life. The smile  had been wiped from her face, her chapped lips trembling slightly. The look in her eyes was even more unsettling. Wide and unblinking, her gaze was fixed on something with an intensity that sent a weird, sharp feeling through Vi.

It wasn’t the kind of focus someone has when they’re deep in thought or concentrating.

No, it was the kind of look someone gives when they’ve seen something they can’t escape from, when every instinct in their body is screaming to run - but they can’t.

Vi's heart skipped, and instinctively, she opened her mouth. "Caitlyn, are you okay?"

But before the words fully left her lips, her gaze followed Caitlyn’s.

And then Vi saw them.

At the counter, just a few feet away, two women stood, their backs turned as they waited to pick up their coffee. They were beautiful, dressed in expensive coats, their pristine heels clicking loudly on the floor as they impatiently tapped their feet - everything about them screamed wealth.

And arrogance.

Vi could feel it radiating off them, an invisible force that seemed to make the room tighter, colder, like they had the power to squeeze the air out of anyone who dared step into their space.

She looked back at the Caitlyn. The girl’s eyes were locked on the women, her trembling gaze darting between them, her expression filled with a look Vi knew all too well.

It wasn’t mere discomfort, it wasn’t even fear.

It was sheer, unfiltered panic.

“Is everything alright? Cait?”

Her voice cracked slightly, betraying the urgency and uncertainty that were creeping in. She didn’t mean to sound so panicked, but she couldn’t help it.

Her eyes flickered from Caitlyn’s frozen form to the line in front of the counter, the normal buzz of chatter suddenly feeling so far away, like she was trapped in a room with only Caitlyn and herself.

All at once, she wished Diana had never left. Wished for her warm smiles, her calm, knowing words.

Diana always knew what to do, how to smooth things over, how to keep everyone on track.

But she wasn’t here.

And that left Caitlyn with Vi.

Vi, who was completely fucking unprepared for this, whatever this was, and who was starting to get afraid the tall girl might collapse any second.

It was as if Caitlyn wasn’t breathing right.

Her small, shallow inhales sounded laboured, like she was fighting for air. Her body was frozen, like she was trying to hold herself together, but it was slipping through her fingers. Every ounce of Vi’s body screamed to move, to do something to help, but her body felt like lead.

The panic that radiated off Caitlyn wasn’t just her own - it felt as though it had seeped into Vi’s chest, making her own heart race in tandem.

Vi’s hand itched to grab Caitlyn’s arm, to shake her out of whatever fog she was lost in, to reach out and pull Caitlyn away from whatever this was, but another part of her just didn’t know what to do.

She racked her brain, trying to come up with something, anything-

Make some highly offensive and inappropriate joke. Nope. That’s what Margot would do.

Suggest buying a shit-ton of weed to blow off some steam. Nope. That’s what Leona would do.

Awkwardly stare and make the whole fucking thing even more uncomfortable. Nope. That’s what she was already doing.

Okay. What would Diana do?

Soft fingers drawing soothing circles on her skin. Warm eyes lingering on her, taking in every slight shift in her expression. Careful hands urging her outside, holding her while cool air hit her face and eased her breathing. A perfectly rolled cigarette pressed into her trembling fingers.

Touch.

Warmth.

Fresh air.

She blinked, eyes refocusing on Caitlyn, and a deep breath escaped her lips as she realized she had been holding it without even realizing. She nodded to herself, her movements jerky with urgency, as if suddenly aware that Caitlyn was slipping further into some dark space, one Vi couldn’t follow.

Her fingers brushed lightly against the edge of Caitlyn’s sleeve before she finally placed her hand gently on Caitlyn’s stiff shoulder.

Caitlyn didn’t flinch.

Didn’t even blink.

Her body remained rigid, her mouth slightly agape, her lips trembling in a way that made Vi’s stomach churn.

Vi’s throat tightened. Her hand remained on Caitlyn’s shoulder, but the more she looked at Caitlyn - frozen, unblinking - the more her own heart began to race. She could feel the tremor in her voice before she even spoke.

“Hey,” Vi said softly, the word feeling like a fragile thing in the air.

She tried again, her voice cracking slightly, betraying the urgency. “Hey, Caitlyn, hey… Uhm, do you… I mean, maybe we should go outside and-"

“Caitlyn Kiramman?”

The voice sliced through the heavy silence like a blade, sharp and filled with a cruel amusement that made Vi’s blood run cold. She ripped her eyes from Caitlyn, turning her head and quickly finding the source of that aggravating voice.

The two women from the counter now stood right behind their table, their cups of coffee clasped tightly in their manicured hands.

They were obviously related, probably mother and daughter, both sporting the same long nose and heavy-lidded eyes. The younger woman was stunning, while the beauty of the older one had clearly been enhanced by countless procedures.

Both were staring at Caitlyn.

The disbelief in their wide eyes was palpable, but it was the undercurrent of something darker - something cruel - that made Vi’s chest tighten.

Amusement.

The younger woman’s lips parted, a laugh bubbling up that was far too cold to be genuine.

"Caitlyn Kiramman," she repeated, her voice like silk dipped in venom. "How… utterly unexpected."

Caitlyn’s fingers twitched, but her hand stayed clutched in her lap. It took a moment, but she somehow managed to draw in a shaky breath.

Slowly, she turned her head toward the two women. Her eyes were wide, pupils dilated with something between panic and despair, but she forced her lips into a smile, though it looked like it might crumble at any second.

“Good-… good afternoon, Mrs Allard… Manon…”

Her voice trembled so faintly that it was barely audible, barely recognizable even to Vi, but the words were there, strained and shaky as they slipped past her lips.

The younger woman, likely Manon, exchanged a quick, knowing glance with her mother. A cold, unforgiving smile curled at the corners of her lips as she turned back to Caitlyn.

"I didn’t know you were out of the hospital yet, Caitlyn," she said, her voice dripping with false sweetness. "How have you been?"

Vi could feel Caitlyn struggling to draw in another breath, her chest rising and falling in uneven, shallow gasps. When she spoke, the small "good" that escaped her lips sounded tight - breathless, suffocated.

And in that moment, something inside of Vi began to coil, a knot of protectiveness and anger that twisted deep in her gut.

Mrs. Allard pursed her lips, her sharp gaze sweeping over Caitlyn as if she were something to be examined under a microscope. Slowly, her eyes drifted to Vi, who still had her hand on Caitlyn’s shoulder, and a slight, almost imperceptible frown tugged at the corners of her mouth.

Her gaze flicked down to the sling that encased Caitlyn’s arm, her eyes lingering on it for a beat longer than necessary, before she continued her scrutiny. They moved over the scattered shopping bags, Margot and Leona’s careless mess spread across the floor as if the room had been hit by a whirlwind. Then, her eyes settled on the wet spot Leona had left, a soggy stain on the armchair seat where her boot had been.

A low, disgusted scoff escaped Mrs. Allard’s lips. She narrowed her eyes as she took it all in, clearly unimpressed by the disarray.

Manon’s voice was dripping with insincerity as she kept her eyes locked on Caitlyn’s trembling, fragile figure.

“Well, I heard about your little accident, Catie. I felt so bad for you,” she said, a cruel smile on her lips. “But, I mean, it’s great to see you finally found some friends, right? Right, Mother?”

Mrs. Allard turned her gaze back to Caitlyn, her lip curling in a sneer as she scoffed again, her posture straightening in condescending pride.

“You know, Caitlyn,” she began, her voice laced with venom, “what you did is truly unacceptable, I hope you know that.”

The words sliced through the air, filled with such palpable disdain that Caitlyn flinched, her body tensing as though the words physically struck her.

Vi could feel the anger coiling in her chest, a hot, choking ball that squeezed her throat and held her voice hostage. Every instinct screamed at her to act, to lash out, but her body was frozen.

She could only watch - fuming and helpless - as these two women, these vultures, circled Caitlyn, picking her apart like prey.

Mrs. Allard completely ignored her, her attention still fixed on Caitlyn. She leaned in closer, her cold eyes drilling into Caitlyn’s trembling form.

“Do you even know how much pain you’re causing your mother, Caitlyn? Your father?” she hissed through gritted teeth.

She glanced at her daughter, who nodded slightly, her expression one of distant approval. Mrs. Allard then turned her gaze back to the group, the air around them thick with malice.

“That little stunt you pulled,” she spit out, wrinkling her nose with disdain, “it had a lot of consequences, child, serious consequences.”

“Do you have any idea how much paperwork, press releases, and media scrutiny your mother had to endure because of you?” Mrs. Allard continued, her voice growing colder with each word. “All the backpedalling, all the damage control, the endless calls from the press, trying to save face after the scandal you caused.” Her eyes flicked to Caitlyn, piercing and unforgiving. “I’m sure you don’t care. You probably don’t even know the half of it, do you?”

The heat surged from Vi’s throat to her cheeks, a flush creeping up her neck as her body stiffened with sudden tension. In a jerky motion, she stood up, almost losing her balance and coming dangerously close to crashing into the small table. Her heartbeat pounded in her ears, a frantic thrumming that made her dizzy, disoriented, like the world around her was spinning faster than she could keep up.

“That’s enough.”

The words tumbled out, but they sounded distant - like someone else was speaking them, not her. Vi barely recognized the sound of her own voice, cold and firm, trembling ever so slightly.

She wasn’t sure if it was directed at Mrs. Allard or Manon, who was still staring at Caitlyn like something she wanted to devour.

Now, Manon’s eyes were moving up slowly, deliberately, as if she were assessing every inch of Vi, starting from her washed-out jeans, the wet fabric still clinging to her skin like it was holding her in place, making her feel small and exposed. Manon’s gaze shifted upward, lingering for a fraction of a second on Vi’s choppy haircut - the same one she and Caitlyn had just laughed about a few minutes ago.

How had everything turned to shit so quickly?

And then, finally, Manon’s eyes landed on the small plastic bracelet wrapped around Vi’s bare wrist, the one from the facility, coloured in the world’s most obnoxious bright lime green.

Manon’s eyes lit up with a sharp glint, her smirk deepening, twisting further into something malicious.

The moment her gaze flicked back to Caitlyn, it was like a predator honing in on its prey. She looked down, as if searching for something, and there it was - the same small plastic bracelet wrapped around Caitlyn’s wrist.

Her eyes lingered on it for a beat too long, and the smirk on her lips grew even more smug, almost as if she had just discovered some hidden treasure. With a slow, deliberate motion, she turned her attention back to her mother, carefully interlinking her arm with the older woman’s.

“Oh, mother,” Manon purred, her voice dripping with mock sweetness, “I don’t think we should disturb Catie anymore. I believe she is here with...” She tilted her head slightly, nodding in Vi’s direction with an exaggerated air of subtle triumph, her painted lips spreading into a grin. “...You know, with her facility.”

Vi clenched and unclenched her trembling fingers, the movement frantic, trying to keep herself together. Her breathing was suddenly deafening in her own ears, a harsh, ragged sound that only made everything feel more suffocating.

She stole a glance over at the counter, where Margot and Diana were handing over cash, their voices blending together in easy conversation, oblivious to the storm brewing at the table.

Fuck, come back, come back, come back.

“Yeah, why don’t you two piss the fuck off,” Vi spat out, but her voice came out breathy and raspy. Her fists clenched again, and she could feel the heat of her anger rising and rising, desperately trying to keep it at bay.

Mrs. Allard raised an eyebrow, her posture stiffening as she exchanged a sharp glance with her daughter.

“Excuse me?” she said, her voice cold and sharp, a disapproving “tsk” slipping from her tongue. Her hostile gaze locked onto Vi, icy and unyielding. “I hardly think that kind of language is appropriate, do you?”

Vi’s jaw tightened, her temper sparking. She opened her mouth to fire back, her fingers twitching at her sides. She had a million responses ready, each one more cutting than the last.

But before she could speak, she felt a small tug on the hem of her shirt - a subtle, trembling pull, almost like a plea.

Vi turned, her irritation faltering as she met Caitlyn’s wide blue eyes.

For a moment, it felt like time slowed.

Caitlyn’s gaze was clouded with a mixture of panic and desperation that dimmed that bright light-heartedness she had carried throughout the day. Her lips parted, but no words came, just the unmistakable look of someone on the edge of breaking down.

She was terrified.

Genuinely terrified.

The weight of that realization hit Vi like a sucker punch to the gut. Caitlyn’s vulnerability was out in the open, raw like an angry, open wound.

Her anger didn’t vanish, but it shifted, darkening into something else.

She turned back to Mrs. Allard, who was still glaring at Caitlyn’s hand tangled in the hem of Vi’s shirt, her expression disapproving and harsh.

“It’s not fucking appropriate to assault her like that,” Vi bit out and stepped sidewards slightly, positioning herself between Caitlyn and the woman who seemed so intent on making the tall girl break down right in front of her.

“Assault?” Manon let out a sharp snicker, the sound dripping with condescension. “Oh, come on now. We’re just making conversation.”

Vi felt her body tense, the words striking something deep within her. Every inch of her wanted to respond with force, to unleash the rage that simmered just beneath the surface. It was getting harder and harder not to punch Manon square in the face. She clenched her fists, nails biting into her palms, fighting to maintain any shred of composure.

“It’s not fucking smart to provoke crazy people,” she growled, her voice low but laced with barely contained anger. “Now fuck off.”

Mrs. Allard scoffed, as if Vi’s words were nothing more than a mild irritation. Her judgmental gaze drilled into Caitlyn, who shrank behind Vi, her hand dropping back into her lap. Vi didn’t turn to look at her.

She couldn’t.

If she saw that look in Caitlyn’s eyes again, she’d lose that last bit of composure she so desperately clung to.

Manon leaned toward Vi, a faint chuckle escaping her as she shot a glance at her mother.

“We should get going, don’t you think, mother?” she said, slightly tugging Mrs. Allard’s sleeve. But then her eyes flicked to Caitlyn one last time, her lips curling into a sneer.

“Deranged lesbians, huh?” she muttered, the words deliberately laced with open cruelty. “Guess you fit right in with them.”

Vi’s teeth gritted, her hands trembling with the urge to make that comment her last one. But before she could act on her fury, Mrs. Allard shot her one last, disgusted look and let herself be guided to the door by her daughter, manicured fingers still tightly clutching her coffee cup.

Vi remained standing for a beat, still fuming, her knees a bit shaky, before dropping back down next to Caitlyn’s trembling frame. Her breath was coming out in heavy huffs, shaking with barely controlled anger. But then, Caitlyn’s hand found hers. Her slender fingers were cold and shaking, curling around Vi’s calloused knuckles with a firm, urgent squeeze.

Vi still couldn’t bring herself to look at her, the anger still roiling in her gut. Instead, she lifted her head and squinted toward the back of the room.

She saw Leona weaving through the tables, a winning smile on her face, her dark curls slightly dishevelled. Margot turned from the counter, balancing two trays filled with pastries, her grin just as wide as Leona’s. Diana, walking just behind, caught sight of Vi and Caitlyn, her expression shifting to one of concern as she seemed to sense something was off.

She hadn’t lost her temper.

It was okay.

They were okay.

But just as Vi let herself exhale, she heard the soft click of the door to the café opening, a cold gush of wind breaching the warmth of the café. Vi’s eyes involuntarily flicked to the two women near the door.

Mrs. Allard had stopped just before stepping outside, her back still turned to Vi and Caitlyn. Slowly, she turned, her gaze locking onto Caitlyn’s. For a moment, everything seemed to freeze.

“I hope you’re aware you’ve tarnished your family’s reputation,” Mrs. Allard’s voice was cold, each word slicing through the room. “I hope you’re very aware of that, Caitlyn, and I truly hope you’re ashamed of yourself.”

Vi couldn’t feel her hand ripping itself free from Caitlyn’s grip.

She couldn’t feel the cold porcelain of Caitlyn’s empty mug as she grabbed it, the ceramic edges pressing into her palm.

She didn’t hear the quiet gasp that escaped from Caitlyn’s lips as she hurled it at the two women, the soft whoosh of air as it sailed through the room, nor the sickening thud of it hitting its target.

She couldn’t see the mug's impact or the sharp scream that tore from Mrs. Allard’s lips as she crumpled to the floor, hands clutching at her forehead, manicured nails stained with blood.

Leona’s and Diana’s hands were on her then, firm and insistent, clawing into her fabric to hold her back, to keep her from lashing out, but Vi couldn’t feel their hands. She couldn’t hear the murmurs of shock from the other guests, their wide eyes fixed on her, on Caitlyn.

They were nothing but blurred shapes at the edges of her vision, as if the whole world had slipped away into a dull, muffled haze.

All Vi could hear was the quiet, quiet sobbing from Caitlyn, the soft, broken sounds of someone so, so hurt. All she could see was the helpless panic in Caitlyn’s blue eyes, a look that twisted her insides with the weight of unspoken fear.

And then, all she could feel was the overwhelming urge to rip everything apart that created that hurt, to shatter it, to tear it down.

Apparently, Vi was the only sixteen-year-old that hadn’t hit her damn growth spurt yet, and no one made that more obvious than Caitlyn fucking Kiramman.

She was still on the lanky side, all arms and impossibly long legs – definitely taller than Vi by now - but somehow, on her, it looked effortless.

Graceful.

Her dark navy hair was pulled up into some intricate style, not a strand out of place, exposing the long, pale curve of her neck. There were some beads woven into it, but it didn’t look tacky in the slightest.

She just looked beautiful.

“Oh, wow,” Claggor mumbled through another mouth full of something, licking some crumbs from his finger. “She grew up alright.”

That really was the understatement of the century.

Vi swallowed.

She hadn’t seen Caitlyn in over a year, and somehow, she looked even more put together than Vi remembered.

More grown up.

Her dress, deep blue and sleek, moved around her like water, catching the light in all the right ways. It was the kind of thing Vi would’ve definitely made some sarcastic comment about, had it been anyone else wearing it.

But it wasn’t anyone else.

It was Caitlyn.

And for some reason, Vi couldn’t even think of a single dumb joke to make.

Her slender fingers curled around the neck of a delicate glass, filled with something bright and fizzy - probably not booze though. Caitlyn didn’t seem like the type to get absolutely hammered at her own mother’s party, although Vi wouldn’t have blamed her if she did.

She sure as hell was longing for a fucking drink.

Caitlyn was standing in front of some old guy, shorter than her, dressed in a stiff suit, gesturing animatedly as he spoke. But she obviously wasn’t listening to whatever dull story he was telling her about. Her head was tilted just slightly, her gaze unfocused - no, not unfocused.

Focused. On Vi.

Those beautiful, beautiful cerulean eyes were staring right at her.

Vi, in her ill-fitting hand-me-down suit, her cheap, greasy-slicked-back hair, her mouth probably still covered in the flaky remnants of that goddamn delicious pastry she’d inhaled two minutes ago. She could hear Mylo snicker next to her and bit back the urge to elbow him in the ribs.

Apparently Caitlyn had managed to freeze her right to the spot - leaned against the table stacked with food, mouth hanging open.

And suddenly, Vi didn’t know if she wanted to bolt or walk right up to Caitlyn and say something impossibly stupid.

She opted for neither. Instead, she quickly turned her back to Caitlyn, reaching for another pastry with trembling fingers – why the fuck were they trembling?

“Now, Vi, that isn’t very polite,” Mylo sneered and shot her a quick glance, before turning his attention back to Caitlyn. He brought one hand up to his mouth – still twisted into a small grin – and started nibbling on the nail of his thumb. “Don’t you want to say hello to your friend?”

“She’s still looking at you,” Claggor added unhelpfully.

Vi stuffed her face with pastries, hoping that if she chewed fast enough, Mylo and Claggor might take the hint and drop it.

They didn’t.

“Oh, now she’s looking away,” Mylo mused, voice dripping with amusement. “No, wait - she’s looking back at you. Fuck, Vi, maybe she’s mesmerized by that shit ton of gel on your head.”

Vi nearly choked and started violently coughing. She could feel the heat creeping up her neck and onto her cheeks as Claggor thumped her on the back with a force that almost sent Vi toppling over into the chocolate fountain, barely holding back a low laugh.

She glared at them and grabbed another slice of something, shoving it into her mouth just to avoid responding.

“Still looking. Damn, she’s really committed to this,” Mylo snickered. “Should we wave or something?”

Vi could feel the lanky boy shift next to her and quickly reached over to catch his arm, grabbing his wrist a bit too tight for comfort.

“Don’t you fucking dare,” she hissed through a mouthful of buttery deliciousness dissolving on her tongue. If she was lucky, she’d choke and pass out before this conversation could continue.

Mylo remained undeterred. “Well, then maybe you should get your head out of your fucking ass and get over there.”

He completely ignored Vi’s hand probably bruising his wrist and brushed through his messy head of curls with the other, the sneer never leaving his smug face. “I bet she’ll be positively charmed by your-… well, everything.”

Vi swallowed her bite and shot him a warning look. “I’m not going over there. Leave me the fuck alone.”

Her stomach was kind of starting to ache from all the sugary delights she’d inhaled in the past ten minutes, but that didn’t stop her from stuffing another biscuit into her face, gaze glued to the linen cloth covering the table.

Claggor hummed, his eyes absent-mindedly drifting from Vi over to Caitlyn, who had probably observed Vi’s fucking embarrassing coughing fit. Her face was growing even hotter.

“Well… we could go over for you.”

Oh my god.

The only thing worse than Vi stumbling across the room like a goddamn elephant in a glasshouse - her greasy fingers smearing all over her shabby suit, practically tripping over her own feet while spitting out some horrible pick-up line - would be those two absolute idiots trying to take over.

“No fucking way, you couldn’t.”

Of course, Mylo immediately picked up on that. His eyes went wide, and his lips formed an exaggerated “Oh” shape, as if he were genuinely stoked about the very idea. He nodded along hastily, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “But we definitely could, Vi.”

He leaned in, smirking like he had the perfect plan.

“Really, it’s absolutely no bother. Walk right up, introduce ourselves - maybe even throw in a little charm. Ask if she’s been enjoying the view.”

Vi wanted to peel off her skin.

She’d rather embarrass herself in front of Caitlyn than be embarrassed by someone.

Reluctantly, she turned around, fingers still gripping the edge of the table like it was the only thing holding her upright. Slowly, she lifted her head, her face burning hotter than ever, half-expecting Caitlyn to have moved on by now. But no. Caitlyn was still standing there, her attention locked on the man in front of her, nodding politely at whatever nonsense he was spouting.

Well. She wasn’t looking at Vi anymore.

Case closed.

Except Caitlyn’s gaze flicked over to her, slow and deliberate.

Case fucking opened.

Before Vi realized it, her hand had already lifted, halfway between her side and the air. The second she noticed it, her mind screamed to stop. So she did, the hand hovering in an awkward half-wave that looked more like she was trying to wave off a fly than actually greeting someone.

Oh god.

Mylo, who’d been watching her closely, couldn’t hold back a snort.

Vi could feel the heat traveling up her neck, creeping into her cheeks until they burned with the sting of embarrassment. She dropped her hand back to her side to pretend it had never moved, and then she jabbed Mylo in the ribs with her elbow, hard enough to make him grunt.

The laughter next to her died immediately, replaced with a breathless huff, and now Vi was the one smirking.

She wasn’t the only one.

Caitlyn stood on the other side of the room, but Vi saw it - just a faint, barely-there exhale. A huff of air that could almost be called a laugh, if anyone were brave enough to say it aloud (Vi definitely fucking wasn’t).

The confused look on the man standing in front of Caitlyn confirmed it.

And just like that, Vi’s chest tightened, and her heart slammed into her ribs like a goddamn sledgehammer.

Okay.

Okay.

Maybe she could do this.

When Gerry had called her to the phone a week earlier - interrupting a very intense game of Go Fish! at the facility, which left Margot five seconds away from scratching Jayce’s eyes out – and Marika had told her about the gala, she’d vehemently tried to get out of the whole fucking situation.

She could imagine nothing worse than having to spend her first day out of Solace at some goddamn Piltie gathering, enduring wrinkled noses and narrowed eyes while they’d have to accept some pity-check for having no parents and a whole bunch of issues.

Of course, she’d changed her mind pretty fast after Marika mentioned the whole thing taking place at the Kiramman’s. Vi hadn’t even bothered pretending she wasn’t interested after that.

She’d spent hours in front of the mirror, smoothing out her hair.

Brushing it.

Combing it.

Tying it up in a small bun.

Trying, and failing, to make it not look like she'd spent the majority of her year in a psychiatric facility, all the while practicing her smiles. She tried to find the perfect mix of charming and cocky, something that would make Caitlyn look at her and think, yeah, that's the one.

What she had ended up with, though, was something that resembled a cross between a forced grin and the kind of expression someone would make after getting punched in the guts.

Not exactly the suave confidence she was going for.

She’d tried to adjust, maybe squint a little, like it was supposed to look more mysterious, but it only made her look like she was struggling to remember what she had for breakfast.

When the others had questioned her about her sudden mood swings, restless pacing, and moody snapping, she’d blamed it on her new meds - which was kind of true. That Vyvanese-shit did actually make her a bit snappy.

And the prospect of seeing Caitlyn Kiramman again hadn’t exactly helped.

And now she was actually here, actually in the same room as Caitlyn, separated only by a crowd of overpolished and stuck-up Pilties.

Okay.

She’d do it. She’d walk over there. She’d smile at Caitlyn. She’d say something casual and cool.

“Hey, remember me? I’m the girl your mother accused of stealing.”

“Oh, hey! Didn’t even see you there, Caitlyn, wasn’t it?”

“I have spent the past year thinking about you every single day, what’s up with that?”

Oh my god.

She’d totally blow this whole thing.

Caitlyn was still looking at her, the corners of her lips twitching slightly, clearly not listening to the man in front of her, who was obviously trying his best to get her attention again. She was twisting the neck of the glass between her fingers absent-mindedly, the liquid sloshing around in it.

Alright.

Alright.

Vi took a deep inhale as a sudden wave of nausea hit her stomach. Suddenly, she really regretted stuffing her face with all those sweet pastries.

She’d probably throw up on Caitlyn’s shoes the second she opened her mouth.

No. No, she wouldn’t.

She’d walk over there. She’d do it. She’d ignore Mylo’s snickering and Claggor’s expectant stare, she’d casually interrupt the man rambling in front of Caitlyn, she’d say something relaxed and cool.

It was no biggie.

It was just Caitlyn, after all.

But it wasn’t just Caitlyn. It was Caitlyn.

Vi had never been so happy for Marika to appear in front of them, saving her from making an absolute fucking fool out of herself. Her steely gaze immediately darted over Mylo’s chocolate-covered mouth and Claggor’s bulging pockets, the edge of a half-eaten roll peeking out like it was trying to escape.

Vi could practically hear Marika’s mental sigh.

“Alright, guys, dinner’s about to get started,” Marika announced, her voice firm but calm as she crossed her arms in front of her chest. She surveyed the room with sharp eyes for the rest of their group, before locking them back onto them.

“Please try to behave. No noisy eating. No puking noises. No setting things on fire,” she added, her gaze shifting to Mylo, who was halfway through stuffing his face with another pastry, eyes wide and innocent. “Looking at you, Mylo.”

Mylo didn’t set anything on fire.

Instead, he quickly decided that the oysters they were served as starters weren’t to his liking and resorted to snipping one in Claggor’s direction like a projectile, sending the shell bouncing off his friend’s shoulder. Claggor retaliated with a swift kick to Mylo’s shin beneath the table. Mylo, indignant, kicked back - but his foot missed Claggor and landed squarely on Karson’s leg.

The entire table was soon shaking with the force of moving and kicking legs beneath it, each group home resident trying to assert dominance over the next.

Mylo started tossing the rest of his oyster across the table, narrowly missing Marika, who was hissing at them to get their shit together, casting weary glances at the Pilties sitting around them. The oyster skittered across the table like a slippery missile, bouncing off dishes and people in its wake.

By the time Mylo threw a handful of mashed potatoes in Vi’s direction, the whole room was staring at them, and it was only after Marika finally snapped (“If you don’t stop this bullshit right-fucking-now, I’ll have you clean the fucking bathroom for the rest of the year!”) that they finally settled again, cheeks flushed, breathless giggles escaping from their lips.

As Vi fished some mashed potatoes out of her hair, her eyes travelled through the room, to a table on the other side of it. She was met with four hostile pairs of eyes – oh, hey, it was Caitlyn’s mum! Well, now she for sure had a great impression of Vi.

But she didn’t pay them any mind.

Instead, her eyes locked with Caitlyn’s.

A faint tinge of amusement flickered in those cerulean eyes.

Vi’s heart skipped a beat, and before she could stop it, a small, sheepish smile crept onto her face. She shrugged, potatoes still dripping from her hair.

Caitlyn’s smile widened. But just as quickly as it appeared, Caitlyn’s smile faltered when her mother shot her a sharp, disapproving glance.

In an instant, Caitlyn’s amusement vanished, replaced by a more controlled expression. She turned her attention back to her plate, eyes lowered.

Vi also returned to her plate but couldn’t ignore the way her heartbeat had picked up once more.

It happened a few more times throughout dinner.

A waiter placed a bowl of steaming soup in front of Vi, and when she reached for her spoon, she was flabbergasted to find four fucking spoons sitting next to her plate. She picked one up, squinting at it like she was trying to crack some kind of code.

What exactly determined a spoon for soup? Was it the size? The shape? She had no fucking idea.

When she looked up, Caitlyn’s eyes were already on her, still filled with quiet amusement.

Vi’s hand froze mid-motion, spoon still in the air. She raised an eyebrow, slightly lifting the spoon and shrugging.

Caitlyn shot her mother a quick glance, but the older woman seemed busy, engaged in some conversation with another man at their table.

Caitlyn’s eyes returned to Vi, and after a beat, she shook her head ever so slightly, then picked up another spoon, holding it up for Vi to see.

Vi quickly followed her example, raising a different spoon questioningly.

Caitlyn nodded enthusiastically, a small, sneaky thumbs-up accompanying the gesture before she returned to her conversation.

Later, when the main course - lobster, of course - was brought out, Mylo and Vi wasted no time.

With Marika excusing herself to the bathroom, they dove into a full-on lobster fight. The whole table erupted into hollers as Mylo and Vi engaged in a ridiculously dramatic, almost cinematic battle, complete with exaggerated sound effects and intense duels, lobster claws clashing like swords.

The jazz band at the very end of the room desperately tried drowning out their noise by playing louder, but it didn’t really help. In the end, it just made everything noisier.

The Pilties on the other tables shot them irritated glances, but Vi was laughing so hard she could barely breathe.

Amid the chaos, she caught Caitlyn’s eye. The girl was stifling her laughter behind her slender hands, trying to keep it together while her mother’s icy stare darted from her daughter to Vi and back again.

Vi couldn’t keep the winning grin from appearing on her face.

And it stayed on her face when she and the rest of the group home were finally called to the front of the room to accept their check from Cassandra Kiramman. By this time, the Pilties weren’t even hiding their resentment anymore, narrowed eyes staring them down with open hostility and disgust.

Didn’t matter.

Vi kept her eyes locked onto Caitlyn, who was smiling at her.

And that smile was the most important thing in the room right now.

Cassandra Kiramman stepped up to the podium, gracefully brushing past the whispering and shifting group, deliberately ignoring Mylo licking his greasy fingers and Claggor trying to sneak another roll into his mouth.

She took her place at the small podium, smoothing down her impeccably pressed blazer with an almost absurd amount of care, the silk scarf around her neck fluttering slightly as she adjusted her stance.

Cassandra cleared her throat, tapping the microphone with one sharp, well-manicured nail. The sound rang out through the room with a sharpness that made even the group home kids straighten up.

"Lady and gentlemen, esteemed colleagues, and friends," she began, her voice smooth and calculated. "Thank you all so much for gracing us with your presence this evening. It is, truly, an honor to be here in the company of such distinguished individuals, those of you who understand the importance of nurturing the future of those who have been, for far too long, overlooked and undervalued."

Vi couldn’t help but glance sideways at the Pilties, noting the way they hung on every word, nodding in approval. To them, this was everything. A moment to bask in their perceived greatness.

Dickheads.

"I am, of course, speaking of the youth of Zaun. The children whose lives have been ravaged by poverty, by misfortune, and by the appalling lack of opportunity. These are the children who have known nothing but hardship, and yet-" she raised her hand with one extended index, "they are the very same children who, with a little help, a little guidance, can reach heights previously thought unreachable."

She looked over her shoulder, as if to emphasize the grandeur of the moment, and smiled thinly at the group home residents. Her gaze flicked over them, deliberately ignoring the growing chaos behind her - a roll being surreptitiously passed from hand to hand.

She turned back to the front.

"Tonight," she continued, "we offer them - no, we regift them - a chance at a better life. A life they truly deserve, far from the squalor and neglect they’ve been subjected to for too long."

She turned slightly, facing Marika now, the group's supervisor, who stood dutifully waiting at the front.

"And with this," Cassandra announced, producing a check from her pristine folder and presenting it to Marika with a sweeping gesture, "we aim to create a future, a future previously unattainable and now made entirely possible thanks to your generous donations. From the bottom of my heart, I do thank you all.”

The room erupted into polite applause, the Pilties clapping enthusiastically as Marika took the check from Cassandra’s fingers with a composed “Thank you.”

Cassandra turned toward the group home residents, the moment a well-rehearsed script. Her fingers brushed along each of their hands, shaking with practiced grace, a picture of politeness. She didn’t flinch when Mylo’s spit-covered fingers reached for hers, or when Claggor tried to sneak another roll into his mouth in the background.

Her smile didn’t falter once.

But when it came time for Vi, the practiced smoothness faltered just the tiniest bit. Cassandra extended her hand, the same chilly formality, but there was something that twisted her features in a way that even her well-practiced mask of composure couldn’t entirely conceal.

Wow.

It was like Vi had broken through the armor with nothing more than the sheer force of her presence.

Apparently, Cassandra hated her so much that even the tightest smile in the world couldn’t hide it. The woman’s eyes betrayed her disdain, if only for a brief moment.

Vi made damn sure to make her hand a little firmer when they shook. Her calloused fingers squeezed down as hard as she could, trying to crush the delicate hand in hers.

Cassandra didn’t twitch.

Not a single reaction.

Not a flicker of discomfort.

Her fingers stayed as stiff and cold as marble, not even attempting to return the pressure. She just smiled politely, that same perfect mask she wore for everyone else.

But Vi didn’t care.

Because when she let go and turned to the side, her grin grew even wider. Caitlyn’s eyes were on her, her face a perfect reflection of the joy Vi felt in that moment. Caitlyn’s smile had turned into a full-on beam, one that didn’t even try to hide how proud she was.

She was clapping the loudest, her hands almost giving her away before she caught herself.

Her smile matched Vi’s, wide and genuine.

Vi’s heart did a little flip at the sight of Caitlyn’s unabashed grin. The room might have been full of people pretending to care, but Caitlyn’s smile was real.

And that made all the difference.

The office was fucking freezing.

It was beyond Vi why anyone ever would be stupid enough to put the window on tilt in the middle of December, a December that seemed intent on outdoing November as the coldest month of the year.

Then again, the room would probably be freezing from the stares directed at her from Dr. Hoskel alone.

"I don’t think you’re really grasping the seriousness of what happened, Vi," Dr. Hoskel said, his voice steady, clinical, like he was reading off a sheet.

The doctor was sitting behind his desk, Vi’s file spread out in front of him. She’d granted it a quick glance when she’d been escorted in – lots of colour, especially dark red.

Vi let out a small huff, almost expecting to see her own breath in the cold air in front of her. Her foot began tapping a rapid rhythm on the floorboards, the sound sharp and unsettling, like a countdown ticking away in her head.

It was a discomforting mismatch with the quiet ticking of the clock on the wall, the two noises echoing in the small, sterile room.

What an odd déja-vu.

Dr. Hoskel rubbed a hand over his balding head, squinting at her through his thick-rimmed glasses. His eyes were watery, tired.

“What happened today is unacceptable. Unacceptable, Vi.” He shot her a short look, but Vi didn’t meet his eyes. She kept hers glued to the floor, her lips pressed together into a thin line.

The sun had long set, leaving the room bathed in the harsh glow of the ceiling's neon lamp. The facility had never felt more like one than in this very moment.

Mrs. Allard had insisted on calling the police. Of course, she had. The woman’s voice had been tight with self-righteousness, her eyes narrowed with judgment, a stained tissue pressed to her forehead.

One of the officers, a man with a thick mustache and a grim expression, had slapped the handcuffs around Vi’s wrists with a clink that echoed in the still air. It wasn’t gentle. The moment she had felt the cuffs tighten, a sense of helplessness flooded her veins, and she knew there was no way out. She had glanced up, feeling the eyes of everyone in the café on her, burning with judgment.

But it had been the faces of her friends - Leona, Margot, and especially Diana - that had made her stomach coil.

Leona had been practically livid, her face flushed with anger, her fists clenched as she yelled at the officer.

“This really isn’t fucking necessary!” she had spat, her words full of frustration and disbelief. Her voice had cracked in the heat of the moment, but it was clear that the officer wasn’t paying attention to her, his mind set on the task at hand.

Margot had been beside herself, her usual unfiltered chatter replaced with furious words that bounced off the walls of the café. Her face had been scrunched in exasperation, trying to reason with the officer in a way that felt entirely futile.

Diana had stayed close to Caitlyn. Her arm was wrapped around Caitlyn’s trembling shoulders, her wide, shocked eyes fixed on Vi, her expression a mixture of disbelief and sorrow.

Vi had barely registered the commotion around her, her mind too clouded with the overwhelming realization of what had just happened.

She hadn’t fought back when the officer pulled her out of the café.

She hadn’t said a word, just numbly following their instructions.

The cuffs rubbed her wrists sore.

The last thing Vi had seen before they hurled her out of the café and shoved her into the back of the police car, was Caitlyn’s face.

Her eyes were red-rimmed and swollen, her cheeks streaked with fresh tears.

The sound of the car door slamming shut had drowned out the rest of the world, leaving Vi in a strange kind of silence. The officer beside her hadn’t spoken. The road was long, dark, and endless.

All Vi could think about was Caitlyn’s face, twisted in pain, as the distance between them grew.

It was the last image she had before they whisked her back to the facility.

Hoskel picked up a sheet from the table, adjusting his glasses slightly.

“Mrs. Charlotte Allard – the woman you assaulted – has decided to press charges against you. Violent assault.” He placed the sheet back on the table and leaned back, taking off his glasses with a sigh.

“This is exactly what I warned you  about, Vi.”

Her arms tightened around herself, nails biting into her skin. She bit furiously at the inside of her cheek, trying to loosen her clenched jaw.

The sharp tinge of metal coated her tongue.

“And I really…”

He leaned forward with a slight creak, placing his elbows on the table. Tilting his head, he tried to catch her attention - attention she sure as hell wouldn’t grant him. She pointedly continued staring at the floor.  

“I really don’t know where this is coming from.”

Expectant silence.

Vi kept her mouth shut.

“It’s the same situation all over again. I have your records right here,” he tapped the papers in front of him, “and you’ve been making lots of progress. No altercations, no incidents. You’re showing up to all courses and according to Dr. Sevika you’ve started to open up in individual therapy as well.”

That caught Vi’s attention.

She lifted her head slightly, eyes darting over to the mass of a woman standing behind Hoskel.

Sevika’s gaze was locked onto her - sharp, unwavering - a stark contrast to Hoskel’s weary stare. She hadn’t spoken a word since Vi had slumped into the chair, arms crossed tight in a stance that had become second nature by now.

She only watched, no pity, no anger, no judgment.

For a few seconds, Vi held her gaze before lowering her head again with a shrug.

“Vi, I’m just trying to understand.” Hoskel sighed, gesturing vaguely into the air.

“You’re absolutely capable of restraint - you prove it to us every single day in this facility. But the moment you’re faced with the outside world, the moment something-” his hand cut through the air in frustration, “something doesn’t go your way, you blow up. We've talked about this before.”

Vi didn’t answer.

The silence settled thick and suffocating in the freezing office, wrapping around them like a heavy fog. She shifted in her seat, her fingers itching to reach for the Newton’s Cradle on the desk again, to set the polished metal spheres in motion - anything to break the stagnant air, to fill the void with something other than the sterile hum of the overhead light.

But she didn’t move.

Hoskel let out a long, weary sigh, rubbing a hand over his face before casting a glance at Sevika. The look he gave her teetered between frustration and helplessness, like he was searching for some kind of reinforcement, a way to push Vi into speaking.

But Sevika didn’t move to comfort or assist him.

Instead, she shifted her stance, leaning forward with deliberate ease, pressing her broad palms flat against the tabletop. The motion was slow, steady - measured. One eyebrow lifted, her expression unreadable but focused.

“Violet, we all know there’s more to this story.”

Her voice cut through the silence, calm but pointed. Hoskel muttered something under his breath, still rifling through the files in front of him, but Sevika barely spared him a glance. Her words weren’t for him.

She was speaking only to Vi.

“We do,” she added, quieter this time, her gaze unwavering.

A statement, not a question.

Vi swallowed but didn’t lift her head.

“So why don’t you tell us what happened?”

Vi didn’t.

She never did.

There was no point.

She had tried before.

After she’d beaten up that boy at Caitlyn’s school, she had tried to explain. Tried to tell them what he’d said, the vile, cutting words that had made her skin crawl. How he had kicked someone already lying on the ground like it was sport, like it meant nothing.

But no one had listened.

No one had even cared.

Instead, they’d grabbed her by the arms, hauled her away like she was some wild animal, and shipped her off to a clinic on the outskirts of Zaun.

The kind of place where they locked the doors behind you and strapped you down at night, left you screaming into the dark until your voice cracked and bled, until you learned that screaming wouldn’t change a damn thing.

When three Pilties had cornered her at school, laughing as they emptied a can over her head, she had stood there frozen, sticky liquid dripping down her face, burning her eyes. They had cackled at her, nudged each other, waiting for a reaction. And when she had finally snapped - when her fists had connected, when she had dared to fight back - the principal hadn’t even asked what happened.

No one had asked why.

They had only looked at her.

A problem to be handled.

A mess to be thrown out.

She had been expelled before she’d even dried off. Kicked from her foster home without so much as a glance back. Sent to yet another facility, one where the world blurred at the edges, where they drugged her up so much that her own name became a distant, foggy thing she could barely hold onto.

When a group of Pilties had pushed her off the skating ramp, broken her board in half, and stood over her sneering, daring her to do something about it, she had picked up the shattered pieces and beaten them bloody. They had screamed then, big crocodile tears brimming in their eyes, clutching at their bruises like they were the victims.

And the cops?

The cops had come running, sirens wailing, hands already reaching for the cuffs before they even asked what had happened.

She could still hear the laughter of the Pilties behind her, smug and victorious, as they shoved her into the backseat of the patrol car.

It was always the same.

The Pilties could do whatever they wanted.

They could spit in her face, shove her, humiliate her, break her things, break her.

And no one would stop them. No one would pull them aside and tell them they were in the wrong. No one would tell them to sit down and reflect on their actions, to apologize, to change.

But the second she fought back? The second she dared to not just take it?

She was the problem.

She was the violent one.

She was the one who needed to be controlled, punished, drugged up and locked away.

The Pilties talked. They were listened to.

Vi defended herself.

She was punished.

There was no point.

So she remained silent, her heart hammering against her ribs, each beat sharp and unforgiving. Her fingers trembled ever so slightly, a barely-there shake she fought to suppress. She curled them tighter against her arms, digging her nails into her skin, willing herself still.

She really hoped Sevika didn’t see it.

The silence stretched on, thick and oppressive, clinging to the cold room like a second skin. Vi’s jaw tightened, the muscles in her face working in slow, careful movements.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Hoskel broke the silence, his voice clipped and formal.

"Vi," he began, the word strangely heavy on his  tongue, "if Mrs. Allard proceeds with the charges, and you fail to provide a counterstatement..." He paused, his gaze sharpening, as though weighing her every breath. "You will be deemed far too extreme for Solace. In that case, we will have no choice but to transfer you to a facility for convicts."

Vi didn’t react.

She didn’t look up, didn’t flinch. Her fingers, still curled around her arms, dug into her skin with the same slow, deliberate pressure.

The last thing she wanted was to be sent to one of those places.

She knew what they were like - dark, suffocating. Convicts didn't get to stay in clean, well-kept places. They were locked in with the worst of the worst, chained to their own rage, barely seen or heard by anyone who cared.

That was where they broke you.

Truly broke you.

But Vi didn't speak.

Sevika’s voice cut through the silence again, this time more insistent, almost commanding. "You have to tell us what happened, Violet. I know you wouldn’t do such a thing unprovoked."

Vi didn’t look up. Didn’t acknowledge her. Sevika didn’t know fucking shit.

Sevika’s gaze was unrelenting, her broad arms still pressed flat against the desk, leaning forward slightly as if trying to close the distance between them.

"Violet," she said again. "If you don’t speak now, it’ll be too late. The choice is yours."

Vi’s pulse was ringing in her ears, but she didn't move.

She didn't owe them anything.

Her eyes stayed fixed on the floor, her breathing shallow, as if somehow that might help keep the weight of the room from crushing her entirely. She could feel the burn of Sevika’s gaze, sharp and unwavering, drilling into her like it was trying to peel her open. But she kept herself closed off, tight, a cage of her own making.

In the back of her mind, she could almost see it: the dark facility for convicts, the cold, endless corridors, the sounds of metal doors clanging shut behind you. The screams in the distance. The air thick with despair. She’d been there before, in places like that, where the only thing that kept you going was the fight to hold onto yourself.

The fight to survive.

But what did any of that matter now?

The words were right there on the tip of her tongue.

I don’t care.

I won’t tell you anything.

You don’t listen.

You never do.

But they wouldn’t make a difference. They’d throw her in one of those places anyway.

The Pilties always fucking won.

They always had.

So she stayed silent.

Sevika’s voice softened, but there was no warmth in it. Only the sharp edge of someone who had seen enough.

"Violet," she said again, but this time, there was something new in her tone. Something like a challenge. "I’m not going to let you slip through the cracks. I don’t care how hard you fucking try, but I won’t just let that happen."

Vi’s fingers trembled against her skin, but she didn’t move.

She didn’t answer.

She couldn’t.

And just like that, it was over.

Hoskel closed her file with a small sigh, the soft rustle of paper in the otherwise still room punctuating the finality of his words. Sevika stood still, her posture stiff, brows slightly furrowed as she watched him. He pushed his chair back with a scrape, the sound grating against the silence.

“We’ll get in contact with the police,” he said, his voice strained, as if he had just accepted a bitter truth. “The necessary transportation will be arranged.”

His gaze lingered on Vi for a moment, watery eyes tainted with pity.

Then, after a hesitant pause, he reached out one hand toward her, an almost reluctant gesture.

“It was a pleasure, Violet. It truly was.” He seemed caught in a moment of uncertainty, his words trailing off as if searching for some sort of closure that wasn’t coming. “I know you’ve had a tough life, and I am sorry about that. I really am. I wish we could have helped.”

Vi slowly stood, her muscles stiff and reluctant, like she was dragging herself through wet concrete. She glanced over at Hoskel’s extended hand, his palm open and waiting.

She didn’t like him - not really.

Never did.

He was too weary, too cautious, too awkward. His eyes always darted around like some nervous animal, like he was waiting for something to pounce. His voice, always a bit too soft, seemed to match the rest of him - drenched in sweat, too careful. And he always smelled faintly of bananas.

He had tried. And Vi couldn’t ignore that. He had given her chance after chance, even when she’d messed up again and again.

But just as her hand moved, the door swung open with a sudden crash against the wall. Vi’s heart jolted, her whole body freezing as she whipped her head toward the interruption.

Caitlyn.

She stood there, panting like she'd been running for miles, her face still awfully pale, her hair dripping onto her shoulders. She was still wearing that goddamn windbreaker, no wonder she was shaking like that. Her quivering chapped lips were slightly parted. Her eyes were wide, but this time they weren’t filled with panic.

Vi couldn’t quite place the look on her face. Desperation? Determination?

Her breath caught in her throat.

"Caitlyn?" she murmured, almost too softly.

“It-” Caitlyn gasped, her chest heaving as she pressed her unharmed hand into her side, her breath ragged, almost too shallow. Her words came out in disjointed gasps, as if she were struggling to find the right way to say what was tumbling around in her mind.

“It wasn’t her fault.”

Vi’s stomach twisted. She barely knew how to react, but she opened her mouth, wanting to stop Caitlyn, to warn her to keep quiet.

It was no use, anyways.

“Caitlyn, don’t,” she tried to say, but the words got stuck in her throat.

She didn’t know why she felt like this - like the world was spinning and nothing made sense anymore.

Caitlyn didn’t look at her.

Instead, she pressed on, her voice trembling but strong, a strange fire behind her pale, wide eyes.

“It wasn’t her fault, Dr. Hoskel, Dr. Sevika,” she repeated, her tone now more insistent, desperate. “Vi didn’t do anything wrong.” She straightened her back ever so slightly, a tall, wet, beautiful angel panting at the door.

Vi could feel the tension in her chest tighten as the words sank in. She wanted to reach out and stop Caitlyn, to keep her from saying any more, but she couldn’t make herself move. It was like the room had become suffocating, and Caitlyn’s words were the only thing she could focus on.

“They were-” Caitlyn continued, voice quivering, her chest still heaving with exertion, “- they were taunting me. They were verbally assaulting me, making cruel comments about my-…”

Now she did shoot Vi a glance. Her eyes were drifting over Vi’s face, searching for something Vi couldn’t quite point out. “Comments about my-… my accident. My family.”

Caitlyn’s breath caught in her throat, her voice wavering as she tried to steady herself.

“And they knew-… knew exactly where we were from. They knew we were from the psychiatric facility. They knew. They were provoking us, provoking Vi.”

Vi almost wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it all - at the ridiculousness of the posh, clipped way Caitlyn was speaking, like she was laying out some grand formal speech. But the truth of what she was saying hit Vi so hard that she could barely keep herself from blinking at her, stunned.

Hoskel blinked, his face going blank with disbelief as he stared at Caitlyn. He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, as if the simple act of adjusting them would clear the haze in his mind. His hand trembled slightly as he lowered it.

“I-… I’m not sure what you’re suggesting here, Ms. Kiramman,” he stuttered, the confusion evident in his voice. “Are you saying that the situation was... provoked?”

Caitlyn nodded, her chest still rising and falling erratically as she tried to steady herself.

“Yes,” she said with conviction, the words spilling out faster now. “Yes, that’s exactly what happened. They knew exactly what they were doing. They knew we were from here, from the facility, and they were mocking us. They were mocking me. And Vi kept her temper in check. She was ready to let it go.”

Hoskel’s face went from disbelief to something else - something harder. He straightened up, clearly struggling to maintain some semblance of professionalism. “Ms. Kiramman, I understand that you’re upset, but this does not excuse the behaviour that has been described here.”

His voice was firm, almost stern, though it seemed more like an attempt to regain control of the situation rather than a statement of fact. “No matter what provoked the altercation, the response-”

“The response was justified,” Caitlyn interrupted, her voice louder now, cutting through his words like a sharp edge. “Vi kept control. She could have reacted, but she didn’t. She was ready to walk away, but they kept deliberately went out of their way to belittle me once more. They were harassing us. And she was trying to walk away from it.”

The room fell into an almost suffocating silence.

Vi’s head was spinning as she watched Caitlyn.

Caitlyn, who had never looked at her like she was something to be fixed, who had always regarded her with kindness and curiosity.

Caitlyn, whose laughter send a jolt of warmth through Vi’s body, chasing away all the rage and the sorrow and the hate.

Caitlyn, who she’d been so fucking angry at, who’d managed to break Vi’s heart with the same ease she made it flutter.

Caitlyn, who was standing up for her.

Hoskel’s eyes widened in a way that almost made it seem like the whole situation was slipping out of his control. He opened his mouth to respond, to argue, but the words didn’t seem to come.

Sevika, who had been standing silently at the back, stepped forward with a quiet but unmistakable authority.

She didn’t look at Hoskel as she spoke, her voice calm but cutting through the tension with precision. “That will be enough, Dr. Hoskel.” Her gaze never left Caitlyn’s face as she added, “That will be enough for a counterstatement.”

Hoskel opened his mouth, clearly not pleased with being interrupted, but Sevika’s unblinking stare seemed to make him pause. He closed his mouth again with a small sigh, clearly unsure of how to proceed.

Vi stood frozen, watching the entire exchange with her mouth slightly agape.

She couldn’t understand what was happening.

Caitlyn had just stepped into the middle of everything, throwing herself into a fight Vi couldn’t fight herself.

Her heart pounded as she looked between them - Hoskel, still in disbelief, and Sevika, who was as calm and unreadable as ever.

And Caitlyn, standing there with such conviction in her voice, her pale skin flushed with determination.

Vi didn’t know whether to feel grateful, terrified, or like she was watching her whole world spin out of control.

All she could do was stare.

The silence was broken by the slight creak of his chair, as Hoskel slumped down on it with a sigh, pinching his nose bridge and furrowing his impressive brows before returning to the file still spread out on the table.

The clock on the wall ticked away, its rhythm the only sound that filled the heavy silence as Dr. Hoskel shuffled through the pages. He flipped through them with a kind of careful deliberation, his brow furrowing as he skimmed each page. There was something oddly meticulous about the way he handled the papers, like he didn’t quite know what to do with them.

After a few moments, he sighed softly again and closed the file with a quiet snap.

“Well,” he began, his voice a little more uncertain than before, “this will… this will suffice as a counterstatement for now. I’ll get in touch with the authorities.”

He trailed off, awkwardly adjusting his glasses, and then added, “I… uh, I’ll do that right away. Once you two-“ He gestured vaguely in their direction, “-get settled. I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

Vi felt an odd disconnect, like she was listening to a conversation happening in someone else’s world. She couldn’t bring herself to be relieved. Everything was too blurry, too unreal. Her eyes flicked over to Caitlyn, still standing stiffly in the doorframe.

Did she run all the way from town?

She sure looked like it, completely drenched and trembling, her cheeks flushed and breath still uneven and staggering. Her eyes weren’t meeting Vi’s.

Sevika shifted behind Hoskel, and Vi’s eyes flicked back to the woman, now glancing at the clock. Her lips pressed into a thin line before she nodded, the motion sharp and deliberate.

“It’s almost dinner time,” she said, her gaze finding Vi’s again. “Why don’t you two go up to your rooms and change beforehand? Especially you, Caitlyn. Wouldn’t want you to get sick.”

Caitlyn mumbled something under her breath that sounded vaguely like a “thank you,” her voice quiet, almost fragile. Vi only nodded, her tongue heavy and thick in her mouth, the words stuck somewhere between her teeth and her mind.

She couldn’t manage more than that, too disoriented, too distant from everything.

She turned stiffly, her body moving as though someone else were controlling it, like she was some kind of overgrown doll made of mismatched parts.

She could hear the shuffle of Caitlyn’s wet shoes her as the girl stepped aside, but her thoughts seemed too far away to connect.

Did Caitlyn really run all the way from town?

Did she really?

Vi kept trying to picture it, but her brain just couldn’t grab hold of anything concrete. Her limbs felt like lead, slow and uncooperative.

The sharp, familiar sound of Sevika’s voice cut through her foggy thoughts, forcing Vi to turn back toward her.

“Oh, and Violet?”

Vi blinked, struggling to focus on the shape of Sevika, who was now framed by the doorway, her posture a mix of casual and commanding. The world around Vi kept spinning too quickly, twisting like a carousel she couldn’t stop. Faces were distorted, edges fuzzy, sounds echoing and overlapping until nothing made sense.

But Sevika’s words were clear, slicing through the haze like a knife.

“Welcome back to Solace.”

Vi blinked.

Was Sevika smiling at her?

Nothing made sense anymore.

She turned without a word, her limbs feeling like they belonged to someone else - someone who wasn’t her. She moved, mechanically, her body obeying some unspoken command that definitely wasn’t coming from her brain.

It was only when the warmth of the hallway hit her, when the headache-inducing sterile light of Hoskel’s office was replaced with the dimly lit hallway, when the door shut behind her, that the world stopped spinning.

 Vi stood in the corridor, feeling the pulse in her temples throb with each beat of her heart, but still – still - she couldn’t shake the heavy fog in her mind.

Her feet shuffled forward, her movements sluggish, but no longer on autopilot. She could hear Caitlyn’s steps close behind her, could hear how the girl tried to get her breathing under control, but she didn’t turn.

Did she run all the way from town?

Their way up the stairs felt like a fever dream, ever step draining Vi of the little bit of energy she had left as she absent-mindedly rubbed her sore wrists. Caitlyn didn’t speak, only followed close behind her like a wet and tall and leggy shadow.

They passed Gerry lounging on his chair.

He perked up one eyebrow at the sight of them. And what a sight they must’ve made. Vi would’ve laughed out loud if she had the energy, but even the thought felt too exhausting.

They both probably looked like pale ghosts, one drenched and the other moving like some kind of malfunctioning robot - awkward, stiff, and stumbling.

It felt like an eternity before she reached the door to her room, her hand hovering over the handle, reluctant to turn it. Only ten minutes ago, it would’ve been the last time she ever entered this room.

And then Caitlyn had appeared.

Caitlyn.

Vi’s breath caught in her throat, the world stalling for a heartbeat.

She turned, her body stiff, but her gaze softened, drawn to Caitlyn like a magnet.

The sound of her pulse was deafening in her ears as she finally allowed her focus to return, truly seeing the girl now - standing there, damp and quiet, a faint tremor in her hands, worry knitting her brows together.

The water was dripping from the hem of her jacket, a rhythmic drip-drip-drip that reminded Vi of the clock in Hoskel’s office. Each drop echoed in the silence between them, like the ticking of some unseen clock counting down to something, though Vi wasn’t sure what.

Caitlyn stood there, unmoving, her hair a tangled mess, wet strands clinging to her forehead, navy ink on white paper.

She looked exhausted.

She looked beautiful.

Vi’s heart was beating too fast. She wanted to reach out, to take Caitlyn in her arms, to press her close and wrap her in warmth. She wanted to breathe in the lavender scent that clung to her, to get lost in the depths of those wide, beautiful eyes.

She wanted to do so much, and yet, all she could manage was a soft, shaky question, her voice small and tight.

“Did you run here all the way from town?”

Caitlyn slowly exhaled, the sound barely a whisper, as though the act of breathing out was a release in itself. Her shoulders dropped a little, some of the tension easing off her, but her movements were stiff, shaky.

She raised her hand to brush a wet strand of hair from her face, but her hand trembled as if the very act of touching felt difficult.

"Yes."

Caitlyn’s voice was small, not fragile, but uncertain, like she wasn’t sure how she was supposed to feel about the answer, or maybe even the question.

Vi didn’t, either.

She just stared at Caitlyn, stared at this girl, this complete fucking trembling mystery standing in front of her.

A girl who had run all the way from town, who was soaked to the bone, who had looked Hoskel and Sevika in the eye and fought for Vi like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Why?

The question burned at the edges of Vi’s exhausted mind, but she couldn’t bring herself to ask it. Instead, she just stood there, her fingers still curled around the door handle, grounding herself in the feeling of the cool metal beneath her palm.

Caitlyn was shivering, her breath uneven, and Vi thought again about how badly she wanted to reach out. She clenched her jaw, flexed her fingers against the handle, forcing herself to keep still.

“You, uhm…” Vi finally managed, clearing her throat and forcing herself to stand up a bit straighter. “You should probably change. You’re, uh. You’re shaking.”

Caitlyn blinked like she hadn’t even noticed, like Vi had just pointed out something entirely new to her. She looked down at herself, taking in the soaked fabric clinging to her skin, the way her fingers trembled slightly when she brushed them along the seams of her jacket, trying to smooth out wrinkles that weren’t really there.

“Oh, yeah,” she said, nodding, almost to herself. “Yeah. I probably should.”

Vi swallowed, nodding back - too fast, too stiffly.

Caitlyn shifted on her feet.

A small step back.

Her fingers still fidgeting at the hem of her jacket.

And for a second - just a second - it seemed like she was going to say something else. Her lips parted, brows twitching like she was working through a thought, some quiet hesitation flickering behind her eyes.

Vi held her breath.

But instead, Caitlyn just exhaled - short, shaky.

Let the moment slip between them like water through her fingers.

“I’ll, um… see you at dinner, then?” she asked, her voice softer now, almost careful.

Vi’s fingers curled around the door handle. She gave another stiff nod, because words weren’t coming, because she wasn’t sure what she wanted to say even if they did.

Caitlyn hesitated. Then she just nodded again, brushing some more hair out of her face before turning.

She only managed two steps when Vi’s hand - calloused, warm, and hesitant - closed around her wrist and turned her back around.

For a second, neither of them spoke.

Caitlyn’s lips parted slightly, her breath still uneven from the cold, from the run, from something else entirely.

Vi swallowed, her thumb twitching against Caitlyn’s wrist before she let go, fingers curling back into a fist at her side like she was trying to erase the action.

“Just-” Vi started, then stopped, exhaled sharply through her nose. She shifted her weight, like standing still had suddenly become unbearable. “Don’t do that again.”

Caitlyn blinked. “Do what?”

“Run all the way from town,” Vi said, jaw tightening. “Or-… I don’t know. Show up like that. Soaked, freezing.”

She hesitated, eyes flicking over Caitlyn’s face. “Looking like you just went through hell.”

Caitlyn let out a small breath of something that could’ve been a laugh, but wasn’t. “I wasn’t exactly planning on it.”

Vi didn’t respond. She just stared at her. Then, finally, she dropped her gaze, taking a small step back.

“Just… don’t,” Vi muttered, quieter now.

Caitlyn hesitated again, then nodded.

Another small step back.

She wasn’t leaving.

Not yet.

Vi licked her lips, shifted her weight, tried to ignore the way her heart had picked up the tiniest bit of speed. Vi wanted to say something.

She really did.

But the words sat heavy in her throat, tangled and stubborn, refusing to come out.

She clenched her jaw, forced herself to push past the weight, and finally, in a voice rougher than she intended, she muttered, “Thanks.”

Caitlyn blinked, like she hadn’t expected that.

Vi cleared her throat, straightened her shoulders. “For, uh-… showing up.”

She glanced away for a second, then back, her lips twitching before she added, quieter, “It means something.”

Caitlyn’s face softened, and for the first time that evening, the corners of her mouth lifted. Just a little.

Vi felt the warmth bloom in her chest before she could stop it. That same, familiar warmth she’d felt before, creeping in when she wasn’t looking, when she wasn’t careful.

And all of a sudden, she got scared.

Not of Caitlyn. Not of the way her smile made Vi’s stupid, broken heart stutter.

But of the warmth itself.

Because it wasn’t just warmth, not really.

It was something bigger, something heavier, something that made her chest feel too tight and her breath catch at the back of her throat. It made her feel open. Like a door she’d shut a year ago had been nudged ajar without her realizing, just enough for something – someone - to slip through.

She didn’t know what to do with that.

Didn’t know what to do with the way her heart stammered against her ribs, with the way her fingers still itched to reach out and pull Caitlyn back, just for a second longer.

And she was too exhausted to figure it out. Too drained to untangle what it meant, to separate the warmth from the fear, the comfort from the panic curling low in her stomach like a coiled spring.

Vi swallowed hard, tried to ignore the feeling tightening inside her, tried to push it down before it could get any bigger, before it could make her reckless. She forced herself to keep still, to keep her expression neutral, to act like none of this had rattled her.

Caitlyn nodded at her once more, her eyes lingering just a moment longer, then finally turned, walking away down the dimly lit hall.

Vi watched her go.

Then, she exhaled sharply, ran a hand over her face, and with a deep breath, pushed open her door and stepped inside.

“No way, you actually learned how to roll?”

Caitlyn’s eyes were widening with genuine curiosity as she leaned in closer. Vi could feel the warmth of Caitlyn’s shoulder brushing against hers, and it sent a ripple of warmth and nausea through her.

Vi tried to focus. Really tried. She adjusted her grip on the paper, fingers trembling as she awkwardly tried to roll it. She had told herself this was a good idea, that she could impress Caitlyn.

Yeah.

Bad fucking idea.

“Oh, yeah,” she replied, a little too quickly, her voice coming out a tad too casual. “Yeah, it ain’t that hard.”

She fumbled around in her pocket for the tobacco, desperately trying to act like she had any clue what she was doing.

“A friend of mine taught me.”

Well, had tried to teach her.

According to Diana, she was a pretty hopeless case.

Caitlyn just nodded, resting her chin on her arms, elbows propped up on the balcony railing. Her head tilted slightly to the side, eyes following Vi’s shaky movements.

Vi felt a bead of sweat trickle down the back of her neck.

“Yeah?” Caitlyn asked, a small smile tugging at her lips. “So you’re practically a pro, huh?”

Vi cleared her throat and placed the small package of tobacco on the railing, looking at it like it might somehow magically turn into a perfect cigarette.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m pretty good at it. No biggie.” She gave a quick, tight smile and mentally cursed herself.

She fucking sucked at rolling.

Vi took a deep breath and carefully laid out the paper, fingers shaking like she was defusing a bomb. She glanced at Caitlyn, who was still watching her with those wide eyes and her small smile, and all of a sudden her mouth was drier than the fucking desert.

The paper slipped out of her fingers, and it floated to the ground. She grabbed for it too quickly, knocking the tobacco bag over, sending a little cloud of tobacco flying.

"Goddammit." Vi muttered under her breath, quickly picking up the paper before Caitlyn could.

Caitlyn’s grin was barely contained now. "You sure you got this?"

Vi turned to her, trying her best to mask the embarrassment behind a scowl.

"Yeah, yeah. I got this. It's just... this stupid paper, okay? It’s, uhm-… It’s defective." She stuck her tongue out slightly in frustration, as if that was some professional rolling technique. "You wouldn’t understand."

Caitlyn raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “Right. Sure. Defective.”

Vi sighed as the paper kept slipping through her fingers like it had a vendetta against her.

Finally, she managed to get the tobacco inside, but it looked more like a pile of mush than an actual cigarette. She scowled at it, then glanced up at Caitlyn, who was still watching her with that damn smile.

She could feel the heat returning to her cheeks.

Caitlyn tilted her head, observing the mess in Vi’s hands.

“You know,” she started, her tone far too calm for the situation, “I think you might’ve used a little too much tobacco there.”

Vi narrowed her eyes at her.

“What are you talking about?” she scoffed, jerking her chin out a bit and shrugging casually. “It’s fine. It’s fine.”

She fluffed the tobacco like she was some kind of cigarette expert, though it was clearly on the verge of falling apart.

Caitlyn raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, sure,” she said, the tiniest hint of a smirk tugging at her lips. “If by ‘fine,’ you mean ‘an absolute disaster,’ then yeah. It’s great.”

Vi gave the paper a quick roll and then tried to seal it with the slightest bit of pressure, praying the whole thing didn’t fall apart. She was about to make a comment when the cigarette, in all its glory, collapsed into a sad little heap of loose tobacco.

"Dammit," Vi muttered, her face heating up. "I fucking suck at this."

Caitlyn didn’t laugh, but Vi could see the amusement in her eyes. She leaned forward just a bit, her gaze focused on the mangled attempt in Vi’s hands.

“Let me,” she said simply.

Vi didn’t want to hand it over. No. But Caitlyn’s eyes were soft, and Vi didn’t have it in her to argue.

She held out the pathetic excuse for a cigarette, feeling like a total fucking idiot.

Caitlyn carefully pulled the mangled thing from Vi’s fingers, her touch light but precise. She didn’t even hesitate, just deftly pulling out the excess tobacco with practiced fingers, almost as though she’d done this a hundred times before.

Vi couldn’t help but watch, mesmerized.

The paper shifted and folded under Caitlyn’s fingers like it was a natural extension of her hands.

It was impressive.

And kinda hot.

And then, just like that, Caitlyn had a perfectly rolled cigarette between her fingers.

Vi blinked at it.

“Holy shit,” she muttered, staring in awe. “How-… how did you do that?”

Caitlyn smiled, looking smug but not in a mean way.

“As I said, you used way too much tobacco,” she said, her voice light. “And, well, you’ve gotta pay attention to the paper. You can’t just stuff it in and hope for the best.” She held the cigarette up between them, her fingers brushing Vi’s lightly as she passed it back.

Vi’s heart skipped a beat.

“When you try again, just use a little less tobacco.”

“Fuck, Kiramman, didn’t know you had it in you,” Vi mumbled, trapping the cigarette between her lips and patting her pants for a lighter.

Caitlyn just shrugged, brushing a few loose strands of hair out of her face, looking every bit like this was nothing to her. Like she hadn’t just casually outclassed Vi at something she had shamelessly bragged about being a fucking pro at.

Finding her lighter stuffed into her jacket pocket, Vi pulled it out, flicking it to life with practiced ease. The small flame flared for a second before she brought it to the end of the cigarette, taking a deep drag. The warmth of the smoke filled her lungs, blending with the cold bite of the night air.

She exhaled slowly, watching the smoke curl up and disappear into the dark.

Without thinking too much about it, Vi held the cigarette out toward Caitlyn, two fingers pinched around the paper, who accepted it with a quiet “thank you”.

Behind them, muffled jazz music drifted through the closed glass door, blending with the low murmur of conversation from inside.

After the group had returned to their table, Marika had given Mylo and Claggor a single, scolding look - no words needed. The boys had exchanged sheepish, guilty grins before trailing after her without protest.

Vi, who had been eyeing the balcony door for a while now, finally let her gaze drift back to Caitlyn. And, in an act of rare and surprising boldness, she gave the smallest nod toward it.

Caitlyn met her eyes, understanding instantly. Without hesitation, she rose from her seat with some – probably very polite - excuse and followed her outside.

They both ignored the weight of Cassandra’s icy stare as the door shut behind them.

And now they were hear.

And Vi’s mind was completely fucking blank.

She stole a quick, shy glance at Caitlyn. The other girl exhaled smoke from her nose, absentmindedly staring up at the clear night sky, quietly humming along to the muffled jazz drifting from inside. The sound was soft, almost thoughtful, like she wasn’t even aware she was doing it.

Vi’s gaze dropped.

Caitlyn was shivering. Her thin dress was no match for the cold, the night breeze tugging at her hair, raising goosebumps along her bare arms.

Vi swallowed.

This was her moment.

And she fucking took it.

She cleared her throat - casual, so fucking casual - then scratched her nose. Then, before she could second-guess herself, she shrugged off her jacket and held it out.

Caitlyn blinked at her, eyes flicking between Vi’s face and the offered jacket, the slightest bit confused.

But then, that smile - soft, warm, unfairly pretty - spread across her lips as she took it, fingers brushing Vi’s in the exchange. She handed the cigarette back at the same time, and Vi accepted it with a small nod, trying not to dwell on the fact that her jacket was now wrapped around Caitlyn’s shoulders.

“Oh, thank you,” Caitlyn murmured, tucking herself into the borrowed warmth. She shrugged apologetically. “It is quite chilly, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Vi agreed, her voice coming out rougher than she expected. She cleared her throat. “Yeah, uh-” She scratched the back of her neck. “You wanna go back inside?”

She really hoped Caitlyn would say no.

Caitlyn said no.

“Oh, no, I’m quite glad to finally get some fresh air,” she said lightly, pulling Vi’s jacket a little tighter around herself. It was too small for Vi and definitely too small for Caitlyn, but it still fit snugly over her narrow shoulders, offering at least a little warmth.

Vi watched as Caitlyn adjusted the sleeves, her fingers brushing the worn fabric.

Her jacket.

On Caitlyn.

She took another slow drag from the cigarette, hoping it would distract her from the ridiculous warmth pooling in her chest.

“So, uhm-” Vi started, running her fingers along the rough stone of the balcony railing like it was the most interesting thing in the world. “How’s your shooting coming along?”

Caitlyn let out a quiet chuckle. “Oh, you remembered?”

Vi felt the heat on her face climb up to her ears.

“No. I mean-… yeah. Yeah. Just, uh-” She exhaled sharply through her nose, trying to salvage whatever dignity she had left. “I dunno. Just thought of it.”

Caitlyn hummed in acknowledgment, a small, knowing smile playing on her lips. “It’s good. I mean, it’s great, actually. I’m pretty good at it.”

“Yeah? Like me at rolling cigarettes?”

That earned her another chuckle. Vi mentally pumped her fist in the air. Fuck yeah.

“Oh, no,” Caitlyn smirked. “Not that good.”

Vi handed the cigarette back, letting her eyes linger on Caitlyn this time.

Gods, she really was beautiful.

The way she took a slow drag, eyes fluttering shut for just a moment before exhaling. The way the beads in her hair caught the dim glow from inside, twinkling softly. The way she stood - straight-backed, poised, definitely taller than Vi.

Vi swallowed, dragging her gaze away.

“And what about you?”

She flinched slightly, Caitlyn’s voice snapping her out of her own head.

“What about me?”

“Well,” Caitlyn exhaled another thin stream of smoke, her tone casual, “do you still run?”

At that, Vi let out a dry laugh. “Oh, gods, no. Stopped, like, three weeks after the competition.”

“Why?” Caitlyn turned her head to look at her.

Vi shifted, suddenly very interested in the floor. “Oh, uhm-…” She scratched at the railing. “Well, uh-… I, uh, had to go to a hospital.”

Caitlyn frowned slightly. “Oh? Why? Did you have an accident?”

Vi could feel the heat creeping up her neck.

“No, uh. I mean-… kinda. Not really, uh.” She took in a slow breath, then exhaled. “It was, uh, a mental hospital.”

Silence.

Fucking great.

A psycho orphan with bad table manners and even worse rolling skills. Way to have nothing going for you, Vi.

Caitlyn shifted slightly next to her. Vi could already picture it - her straightening up, fumbling for an excuse, something polite but firm. Oh, well, we should probably head back inside, or Oh, I think my mother is looking for me.

Something to put as much distance between herself and Vi as possible.

Vi clenched her jaw, scuffing her boot against the ground.

But Caitlyn didn’t leave.

Instead, a warm, slender hand settled on Vi’s shoulder, light but steady, knocking whatever little air was left in her lungs straight out of her chest.

Vi looked up, strands of gel-loosened hair falling into her face.

Caitlyn was looking at her.

Not with pity. Not with disgust.

Just genuine warmth.

“I’m sorry about that,” Caitlyn said, and Vi knew she meant it.

She handed Vi the cigarette with a soft smile, her hand still resting on Vi’s shoulder, warm and steady, burning through the fabric.

“Yeah, uh…” Vi’s voice tightened, and she was grateful for the cigarette as a distraction, taking a couple of quick drags to steady her breathing.

“Yeah, it sucked. But hey!”

She gave a small, awkward smile, scratching at the back of her neck.

“At least the agency finally gave up on trying to find me a foster family, so I got back into the group home with Mylo and Claggor. So… I guess that’s something.”

“The lanky one, right? And the one with the rolls in his pockets?”

Vi snorted, shaking her head as she rubbed the back of her neck. “Yeah. Fucking assholes. But, y’know, family. So... yeah.”

Caitlyn nodded, leaning forward, elbows resting on the railing as her gaze drifted out into the gardens, bathed in the soft shadows of the night. “I’m happy for you, Vi. They seem really fun.”

“Oh, they are! A pain in the ass, sure, but fun. Yeah. Fun. Definitely. Yeah.”

Vi mentally cringed. She was a goddamn awful conversationalist.

“And you’re a handyman now?” Caitlyn asked, curiosity flickering in her voice.

Vi blinked, caught off guard. “What? Uhm, no?”

Caitlyn’s expression shifted to one of realization. “Oh! Oh, I’m sorry, I just assumed - well, because you retiled the kitchen last year and everything -”

Vi froze, her face heating up even more. “Oh, no, no. That was... uh... community service. Like, court-ordered stuff.”

Good lord.

A psycho orphan with bad table manners and even worse rolling skills AND a criminal record.

“I’m not like, dangerous or anything, I swear,” Vi hurriedly added, her voice laced with that familiar defensiveness, even though, deep down, she knew that was exactly what a dangerous person would say.

She dragged on her cigarette, fingers trembling, deliberately avoiding Caitlyn’s eyes.

But Caitlyn just laughed, a soft sound that eased some of the tension. She pulled her hand back. Vi immediately missed the contact.

“I know you’re not, don’t worry,” Caitlyn replied with a shrug.

The jacket slipped slightly off her shoulder, and she yanked it back into place with a quick motion. “And, uhm-… While we’re at it, uh…”

Maybe Caitlyn wasn’t so perfect at this whole conversation thing either.

Vi turned to look at her again, only to be met with a faint flush creeping up Caitlyn’s pale cheeks, her gaze darting around awkwardly.

Caitlyn opened her mouth, hesitating for a moment, like she was trying to figure out the right words.

“Uhm, I just wanted to, uh... apologize. For, uhm... for my mother. Her behaviour.”

Her eyes flicked up to meet Vi’s, and in that instant, Caitlyn’s words burst out, tumbling from her beautiful lips like a flood breaking through a dam.

“It was just-… God, it was so derogatory and mean and unfair and, believe me, after you left, I-… well, I told her how despicable the whole thing was and-... and I really wanted to defend you, I really did, it’s just, I don’t know, my mother is so-”

“Hey, hey, take a breath,” Vi interrupted with a chuckle, now the one instinctively placing her hand on Caitlyn’s shoulder, giving it a small squeeze.

“It’s no big deal, Caitlyn. Really.”

“But it is a big deal,” Caitlyn said, shaking her head, her words laced with a sense of frustration and guilt.

Vi watched as a few more strands of Caitlyn’s neatly done-up hair fell loose, tumbling around her face. The impulse to reach out and brush them behind Caitlyn’s ear flared up in Vi’s chest, but she quickly suppressed it.

“It really isn’t,” Vi insisted, her tone soft but firm as she tilted her head, offering Caitlyn the cigarette with a small smile.

Caitlyn hesitated for a moment longer before plucking the cigarette from Vi’s fingers, her hand a little unsteady. She took a shaky drag, the smoke curling into the cool night air as she exhaled.

“It’s not like that never happened before,” Vi added. “Don’t worry about it, okay?”

Caitlyn didn’t seem convinced, so Vi quickly decided to change the topic.

“Did you manage to change schools?”

It was only after the words left her lips that she realized she shouldn’t even know about that.

Caitlyn whipped her head around, narrowing her eyes a bit. “How do you know that?”

A psycho orphan with bad table manners and even worse rolling skills and a criminal record AND a tendency to eavesdrop.

No use in lying now.

“I, uhm, I  might have overheard it that day. Accidentally. Of course.”

God, that sounded like a lie.

But Caitlyn didn’t seem to mind, a faint smile tugging at the corners of her mouth as she lifted the cigarette back up to her lips. At their rate, they’d have to roll another one in a few moments.

Well.

Caitlyn would have to.

“No. No, I’m still at my old school,” Caitlyn said, handing the cigarette back to Vi before questioningly pointing at the pocket of tobacco.

She probably just had the same realization as Vi- Vi didn’t know why, but the thought made her heart flutter.

She quickly nodded, pushing the package closer to Caitlyn. Caitlyn took it, her fingers brushing against Vi’s for just a moment, and then got to work, rolling the next one with a practiced ease.

Vi couldn’t help but watch.

It was weirdly mesmerizing, how Caitlyn seemed so effortlessly confident, even in this small act. She worried at her lower lip, unsure of what to say next, before she carefully picked up the conversation again.

“And, uhm… Did it get, uh… Did it get better?”

Caitlyn didn’t answer immediately, just furrowing her brows slightly in thought. Vi’s eyes narrowed in on her hands, watching as Caitlyn’s fingers trembled - was it from the cold, or something else? It took her longer than before to get the filter into place, and Vi fought the urge to ask if she was okay.

“Uh, yeah,” Caitlyn finally said, her voice quiet and a little strained, her gaze squinting as she worked in the dark. “I mean, no. No, not really. But that’s okay. I only got one more year left in that place, anyways.”

She finished the cigarette and Vi handed her the lighter, her fingers lingering a little longer than necessary.

Vi desperately wanted to ask more - she wanted to know what exactly was eating at Caitlyn, why her beautiful, kind Caitlyn was hurting. But the last thing she wanted was to push Caitlyn into something she wasn’t ready to talk about.

Instead, she decided to change the subject.

“Do you have plans? Like, for after school?”

Caitlyn exhaled a cloud of smoke, her lips curling into a timid smile.

“Yeah. But it’s stupid,” she replied, her gaze flicking to the ground, avoiding Vi’s eyes.

Vi perked up one eyebrow, nudging her gently with her elbow. Caitlyn glanced at her, her eyes traveling over Vi’s face, before meeting her gaze. Vi smiled softly, warmth flooding her chest at the look.

“I bet it’s not,” Vi said, tilting her head with a small grin. “Come on, out with it!”

Caitlyn chuckled, the flush returning to her cheeks.

Fuck, she was so beautiful.

“Well, uhm… I really want to-” Caitlyn hesitated, brushing some hair out of her face, tapping her nails nervously against the stone railing. “It’s stupid, I know, but I really want to be a teacher.”

Vi blinked, caught off guard for a moment.

It didn’t seem stupid at all - if anything, it made perfect sense. Caitlyn’s kindness, her intelligence, her patience… Of course, she’d want to teach.

Vi leaned in slightly, her voice soft, a little teasing but with genuine warmth. “That’s not stupid at all, Cait. I think you’d be great at it.”

Caitlyn’s eyes widened for a split second, her cheeks deepening in colour as she glanced away, a bashful smile tugging at her lips. “You think so?”

Vi nodded, a playful smirk tugging at her own lips. “Definitely. You’ve got that whole ‘smart and caring’ thing down. Sounds like a pretty damn good teacher to me.”

Caitlyn looked up at her, cheeks still flushed, stubborn strands of hair falling into her face, her lips slightly parted as she exhaled. Vi felt a jolt in her chest, a heartbeat that seemed to fill every inch of her body, a thundering drum she was sure Caitlyn could hear pounding against her ribs.

For a moment, she had to fight the overwhelming urge to look away.

She was so beautiful.

Caitlyn was so, so beautiful.

Vi couldn’t help but stare, captivated by the light in her eyes—eyes that were warm, kind, like they could chase away every ounce of anger Vi had left inside her.

And Caitlyn was staring back.

There was something about the way her gaze softened, the intensity in it that made Vi’s stomach twist and flutter.

It felt like the air around them was charged, pulling them closer, though neither of them moved.

And then - just for the slightest moment - Caitlyn’s gaze flickered downward.

Her eyes briefly landed on Vi’s lips before snapping back up to her eyes.

Vi’s breath caught, her heart stuttering in her chest. A million thoughts ran through her head, but none of them made sense.

Her hands were suddenly too warm, too fidgety, and she clasped them tightly in front of her to stop them from shaking. Vi could feel the way her breath hitched with every second that passed. Her mind was racing, all the words she couldn’t say piling up in her head.

She didn’t know what to do, what to say.

She just knew that Caitlyn was so close - so impossibly close – and so, so fucking beautiful.

Caitlyn was still staring at Vi, her face inches away, her breath mingling with hers. Vi swallowed, trying to steady herself, but it only made her throat dry and tight.

She felt like she was about to crack in two.

She didn’t know how to explain this, what was happening between them. She didn’t know how to talk about the way her chest tightened every time Caitlyn laughed, the way her stomach fluttered when Caitlyn smiled, the way her heart pounded when she was this close to her, when she had this look on her face.

How was she supposed to explain that she was terrified, but more terrified of doing something right than of doing something wrong?

Her heart pounded harder.

Vi’s fingers twitched, aching to reach out, but she didn’t know what to do.

What if she messed it up?

What if Caitlyn didn’t want this?

She wasn’t good at things like this - she wasn’t good at any of this. She was good at fighting, at running, at pushing people away, at breaking stuff.

She was good at being awful.

Every second that passed felt like an eternity.

She looked at Caitlyn again, and this time, her eyes flicked down to her lips and up again.

Caitlyn’s gaze softened in response, and Vi saw the faintest of smiles tug at the corners of her mouth. Her stomach did a flip.

Before she could think, before she could stop herself, Vi leaned in just a little and she could feel Caitlyn turn the slightest bit in her direction, she could feel Caitlyn shifting to meet her, could feel her leaning in and -  

The door slammed open with a loud bang.

Vi jerked back, her pulse racing, her heart crashing in her chest. She almost stumbled, her hands instinctively reaching for something to steady herself. Caitlyn sported an equal expression, her face pale, her eyes wide. Vi’s eyes snapped to the door, her breath ragged and uneven.

“Vi, we’re leaving,” Marika said, brushing furiously through her dark curls. “Mylo set a curtain on fire.”

Mylo.

Fucking Mylo.

She’d strangle that little bastard.

Vi’s eyes flicked over to Caitlyn, still standing there, her face pale and her lips parted. Caitlyn quickly straightened her back and pulled off Vi’s jacket, the fabric slipping from her shoulders with a soft rustle and handed it back to her.

She didn’t look at Vi.

“Thank you, uhm… Thank you for your jacket,” Caitlyn muttered, her voice quieter than usual, her gaze fixed on the ground, as though the words were weighing heavy on her.

Vi quickly took the jacket, the fabric cold in her hands.

She barely registered Marika’s foot tapping an impatient rhythm on the ground.

“Oh, uh, no, uh-… no worries. Thank you. I mean, you’re welcome,” Vi stammered, fumbling over her words. She pressed the jacket to her chest – a faint scent of lavender hitting her nostrils – and could feel her racing heart beneath her ribs.

“Uhm, see you soon. I guess.”

“Yeah,” Caitlyn nodded, a shaky smile on her lips, and now she finally did look up, did look at Vi, and those beautiful eyes were so shy, so uncertain.

And the more Vi looked, the more it twisted something inside her, something delicate and raw.

Marika cleared her throat, and the sound pulled Vi out of the haze she was in. She blinked, suddenly aware of the way her heart was hammering against her ribs, and without really thinking, she nodded once more, her movements stiff as she gathered her tobacco and turned to walk over to Marika.

But then, she couldn’t help it.

She paused.

Vi turned back again, her breath catching in her throat as she found Caitlyn’s gaze.

Pale grey met cerulean, and for a moment, it was as though the world around them had faded entirely.

They just stood there, staring at each other - two sixteen-year-old girls caught in some strange, suspended moment. Both of them a little breathless, both of their cheeks flushed in that odd, undeniable way.

And all off a sudden, Vi had to smile.

“Next time I’ll be a fucking pro at rolling cigarettes,” she said, and all the uncertainty, all the fear vanished from Caitlyn’s face, replaced by a small, relieved and timid smile.

Caitlyn chuckled, pulled her shoulders up a bit and tilted her head.

“Yeah, you think so?” she asked, her voice teasing, but there was a little twinkle of amusement in her eyes.

Vi puffed out her chest.

“Yeah,” she said, nodding like she was about to change the world with her rolling skills. “Yeah, Caitlyn. You’ll see.”

Caitlyn laughed, brushing some hair out of her face and wrapping her arms around her body like she was trying to keep herself warm.

She didn’t say anything for a moment, just looked at Vi with that beautiful smile and her kind eyes.

Then Caitlyn spoke, her voice soft and earnest, not a hint of sarcasm or teasing in it.

“I’m looking forward to it.”

And when Vi turned to follow a very angry Marika, who was in the middle of a rant about all the ways she was going to punish Mylo for the curtain fire, she couldn’t wipe the dreamy smile from her face.

Chapter Text

hey caitlyn :)

I’m sorry, I just got a new number – who’s this?

ohh sorry sorry

haha

its claggor

dunno if u remember me, vis friend?

Oh! Of course I remember you :) You were the one who pocketed all those rolls at the gala last year, weren’t you?

yeah haha

sorry about that

Please, don’t worry about it. They tasted awful, so if anything, I should be the one apologizing

they really did suck ass

don’t remember much about the gala but i do remember that haha

I also recall your friend throwing oysters at you

ouuf

yeah

haha

sorry about that too

mylo’s such a fucking asshole

I thought it was a little bit funny :)

How have you guys been?

oh pretty good, thanks for asking!

not much has changed, we’ve all finished up school a few months ago and are kinda figuring shit out

That’s great - congratulations! Have you moved out?

yeah

but funny enough we’re still sharing a flat haha

You and Mylo?

yeah

and vi

its kinda crammed but we’re used to that anyways so it’s no bother

and actually kinda fun

hbu? done with school?

Yes, I graduated this year as well. I’ve been occupied with university applications - there’s an overwhelming amount of paperwork to complete

sounds like a pain in the ass

It really is, haha

what courses r u trying to get in?

Law. The application process is incredibly long and difficult - there are various tests, assessments, and other requirements. It’s quite a lot.

Kinda boring, sorry haha

that also sounds like a pain in the ass smh

why u trying to get into law if u think its boring tho?

Oh, well

Sometimes, you simply have to do what’s expected of you, haha

Are you all considering further studies?

fuck no haha

we barely passed school

no way in hell we’ll go to university

we’re all trying to get a job tho

That’s also nice! How is the job hunt going?

mhmm its ok

i’ve started working at a snack stand down in zaun

the pay is super fucking shit but the boss is nice

lets me cook and shit

so its fine

Well, I hope the food tastes better than those rolls did

hahahaha

it does!

its actually super fucking good

What’s it called?

jerichos

u probably don’t know it tho haha

I don’t, unfortunately. Never been to Zaun… :(

oh don’t worry

figured

u should come by some time

I’d love to! I’ve never had Zaunite cusine, I heard it’s quite spicy?

sure is haha

you’ll get used to it over time

Well, I suppose I’ll just have to visit regularly, then

sounds like a plan

i’ll give u a discount

That’s very kind of you! I’ll make sure to leave a tip for the excellent chef.

ohh now i feel kinda pressured haha

Is Mylo working there, too?

fuck no

he’d set everything on fire

I do remember something about a curtain at the gala…

hahaha

yeah

fucking pyromaniac

he started an apprenticeship at a car repair shop

Can’t he set things on fire there, too?

lol yeah

but he’s actually getting his shit together, don’t ask me why

its super exhausting work

according to him

haha

I imagine with all that effort, he must be talking a whole lot less?

haha

you’ve got it

yeah most evenings he just crashes out on the couch

drooling

Haha :) Is he enjoying the work, though?

he says he doesn’t but i’m pretty sure he does

he’s always smiling when talking about his work

so yeah

i think he’s fine

That’s really wonderful to hear! I’ll definitely have to visit you all sometime

we’d love to have you over :)

especially vi

lol

Oh, haha

Has Vi started a job as well?

not yet, she’s still kinda figuring shit out

it’s complicated

but while we’re on that topic

that’s actually why i texted you

about vi

“Fuck. Fuck, Caitlyn, fuck-”

Vi’s breath hitched in her throat, sharp and uneven, as she slapped a trembling hand over her mouth. Her hot breath dampened the palm of her hand, the heat sticking to her skin as if trying to force the sounds back inside.

But it was too late - they were already spilling out, raw and desperate, before she could catch them.

“You make me so fucking crazy, fuck, look at you, fuck-“

The head of the bed pressed uncomfortably against her shoulder blades. The pillow she had shoved up earlier, trying to make herself comfortable, had nearly slipped off the mattress entirely, hanging on by just a corner.

She could have easily reached for it, tug it back into place, fix it.

Make herself comfortable.

But there was no way in hell she’d move right now.

Not with Caitlyn’s head bobbing between her thighs, not with her hot tongue pressing into her, sloppily lapping up her slick and arousal.

“Yeah. Yeah, fuck, Caitlyn, you’re so fucking good, right fucking there, fuck.”

Caitlyn softly hummed against her wet folds, the small sound making Vi’s entire body vibrate, buzzing with electricity, yearning, longing for more, more, just a little bit more. Vi watched her through half-lidded, dazed eyes, her vision blurring slightly at the edges.

Her other hand was shaking, tangled in Caitlyn’s navy strands.

Only now, there was some purple in them.

Damn it, Leona had been completely right.

Caitlyn did look super fucking hot with purple tips.

The colour wasn’t too loud, not some neon mess like Margot’s hair experiments. It was subtle, just a muted, rich shade that only showed itself when the light hit it at the right angle.

Vi swallowed hard.

Right now, it was hitting perfectly.

Even with the overhead lamp in her room casting everything in a gnarly, washed-out glow, Caitlyn’s hair still looked so goddamn beautiful.

The strands slipped like silk between Vi’s fingers, the new colour shifting between deep blue and violet as she moved her hand just slightly.

It suited Caitlyn more than it had any right to, like it had always been there, like it had been waiting for her to wear it.

Her hair was shorter now, too, barely brushing past her chin.

To Vi’s surprise, Caitlyn hadn’t seemed the least bit nervous about having her hair hacked at with a pair of dull safety scissors from the arts and crafts room - handled, no less, by a jittery girl whose hands trembled with excitement, eyes gleaming like she’d been waiting for this moment her whole life.

Caitlyn had just sat there, perfectly still, her back straight against the tiny plastic chair, not even a flicker of doubt crossing her face as small snippets of dark hair tumbled to the floor.

Vi had watched, half-expecting Caitlyn to regret it the second Margot stepped back, but instead, when Margot finally leaned away, grinning like she’d just completed a masterpiece, and handed Caitlyn a mirror, she had just smiled and thanked her.

Caitlyn’s lips closed over Vi’s bud, and heat licked up her spine like a struck match.

A sharp gasp tore from her throat, her fingers tightening instinctively in Caitlyn’s hair, tangling in the soft strands and yanking before she could stop herself.

Vi’s breath hitched.

“Ah, fuck, sorry! Sorry, sorry, fuck, I didn’t mean to do that -“

She shifted slightly, cursing her stiff fingers, trying to get them to unclench, to let go - but before she could, Caitlyn’s hand slid over hers, warm and sure, pressing it right back into place.

Vi’s gaze dropped from her hand, meeting Caitlyn’s blue eyes looking up at her, hazy and soft.

Her hot lips pulled back, exposing Vi’s glistening folds to the cold air. A sharp breath sucked through Vi’s teeth, her chest heaving as she tried - fuck, tried - to get even a sliver of oxygen back into her brain.

She couldn’t think straight anymore.

“It’s alright,” Caitlyn muttered, her breath hitting Vi’s core and making her clench involuntarily. Her voice was rough, her chin and lips glistening.

She looked so fucking hot, so fucking filthy.

Vi was pretty sure she’d be able to get off just looking at that face.

“Keep pulling. I like it.”

Vi’s heart thudded painfully in her chest, her mind clouded, caught between the heat of Caitlyn’s voice and the heat cursing through her body.

She just stared at Caitlyn, mouth still hanging open, ragged pants escaping from her chapped lips.

Then, slowly, carefully, she tightened her grip again.

Caitlyn’s hand and head dropped again as she went back to her task, her movements slow, deliberate.

She slid her hand down to gently spread Vi’s legs a little wider, her fingers brushing against the sensitive skin of Vi’s inner thighs and nuzzled her nose back into the slick that had gathered between them, the warmth of her breath sending a shiver through Vi’s body.

Vi dropped her head back, ignoring the sharp, sudden pain as the head of the bed collided with the back of her skull.

Caitlyn’s hair was softly tickling the sensitive skin of the insides of her thigh.

She arched her back slightly, her body craving more - desperately searching for that friction, that sweet release. But before she could find it, Caitlyn’s hand pressed firmly on her hip, holding her down against the mattress.

Caitlyn’s lips were back on her clit, licking it, wetting it, making Vi  go absolutely fucking feral.

Her eyes fluttered shut.

And when her tongue started flicking it again and again and again – cause Caityln Kiramman fucking knew how to eat Vi out, knew out to coax those small sounds out of her, how to make her feel like floating - she couldn’t help tugging on Caitlyn’s hair again, trying to get her closer, closer, inside -

Another hum, soft but amused, vibrated from Caitlyn’s throat, hitting Vi’s core, making her insides flutter.

And then her mouth disappeared again.

Vi cursed loudly and ripped her eyes back open.

Her right hand grasped the crumbled sheets underneath her with jagged movements, grabbed them, yanked at them, as she tried to take her frustration out on the thin linen rather than Caitlyn’s hair still laced through her calloused fingers.

“No,” Vi gasped breathily, a shudder raking through her as she fought for control, forcing her eyes back down to Caitlyn, whose gaze was locked onto hers. The teasing gleam in her eyes made Vi’s stomach twist.

“No, Cait, please.”

The words came out in a strangled whisper, an almost helpless plea, but Vi didn’t care anymore.

“Fuck. Please.”

Caitlyn hummed softly. Her hand trailed down Vi’s sharp hip bone, fingers lightly brushing over the coarse curls below, barely grazing, just enough to make Vi’s breath catch.

Then, Caitlyn shifted, propping herself up on one elbow, her chin resting delicately in the palm of her hand, watching Vi with those eyes - undeniably amused.

“Please what?” she asked, her voice low, her smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

Goddamn it.

Vi’s chest heaved as she stared down at Caitlyn, caught between wanting to push Caitlyn’s head back onto her throbbing clit or burying her own mouth between Caitlyn’s legs.

It didn’t make sense.

None of it made sense.

Fuck, she was so fucking horny.

Her nails scraped lightly over Caitlyn’s scalp, the soft tremor in her fingers betraying just how badly she was coming undone.

Vi could feel her lips trembling, could feel her mind scrambling, trying to form some sort of fucking coherent sentence - anything that would make Caitlyn take pity on her, that would make her bury two – or, to fucking hell with it, three – fingers inside of her and fuck her brains out.

Her throat was dry, her pulse thumping louder than any words she could manage.

Those blue eyes were gluing her to the spot, frozen with one hand on Caitlyn’s hand and the other clasping the sheets like some sort of fucking lifeline she was certain would slip from her grasp if she let go for even a second.

All she could manage was a slow, helpless shake of her head.

Caitlyn chuckled lowly. She leaned in slightly, her breath teasingly warm on Vi’s yearning folds, and that stupid, amused smile plastered on her stupid, beautiful face.

“Vi,” Caitlyn said, her voice a little sharper, a little more demanding, “If you want be to continue, you’ll have to talk to me.”

Why the fuck did everyone want her to talk so bad?

It wasn’t like anyone fucking cared what she had to say.

No one ever had.

The day after the incident, two cops had slid onto the other side of a table in a dimly lit, small room of the facility, their faces grim, their hands clutching two paper cups filled with the stale liquid the facility liked to title “coffee.”

Vi had known it, then.

She’d known they wouldn’t care about a single word she had to say.

So, instead of offering them her voice - something she knew they'd either ignore or twist into something ugly – Vi had resorted to what she could to best.

Stubborn silence.

She had leaned back in her chair, balancing on the back legs, her arms crossed tight over her chest. Her eyes had stayed fixed on the floor, because it didn’t fucking matter anyways.

No one was interested in her version of the story, no matter how hard they tried to make her believe they were.

No one fucking cared about her.

No one really wanted to hear her speak.

Except, she didn’t have to.

Because Caitlyn had been there, too, sitting right next to her, her back straight, her hand in her lap and her lips pressed into a tight line, as if she too wasn’t about to utter a single word and join Vi in her silent protest.

But she hadn’t.

When the cops had started questioning Vi’s motive for hurling that cup at Mrs. Allard, Caitlyn had cut in. Her voice had shifted - cool, collected, and precise in a way that was afar cry from the soft-spoken, timid little girl Vi had first met nine years ago.

“According to Mrs. Allard, the assault happened out of the blue and entirely unprovoked. She was, as she claimed, simply about to leave the café when Violet-”

“Unprovoked?”

Caitlyn’s lips had curled slightly, a dry, humourless chuckle slipping from her.

It was a sound that caught Vi completely off guard, something she’d never heard from Caitlyn before, something that ripped her gaze from the floorboards and drew it to the dark-haired girl next to her.

“My sincerest apologies, but if you do not consider verbally assaulting two young women in a public setting, continuously harassing them after they’ve made their objections quite clear, a provocation, then I must question your understanding of the term."

One of the cops had opened his mouth to interrupt, but Caitlyn had raised her hand, cutting him off with a kind of poise that faintly reminded Vi of Cassandra Kiramman.

“If you cannot recognize that as provocation, then I must say, I find it deeply troubling to have any faith left in the integrity of our justice system.”

“Mrs. Kiramman,” the other cop had started, placing his coffee on the table in front of them with a small sigh.

There had been some froth on his moustache.

“While we do understand your frustration, you must understand that Mrs-… I mean, Violet does have a history of violent misconduct and-“

Caitlyn’s expression hadn’t faltered.

Her eyes had locked onto his, cold but measured, as if she were assessing every word that left his mouth before deciding whether it was worth her time.

“Violent misconduct?” she had asked, her voice smooth but cutting.

“Are you referring to her past, or are we discussing the present matter? Is this really what this system has come to, reducing individuals to their past endeavours and blindly jumping to conclusions based solely on the word of another?”

Vi hadn’t been able to do anything but stare at Caitlyn.

“I must admit, Officer,” Caitlyn had continued, her blue eyes narrowing just slightly, “the fact that your only concern is Vi’s ‘history’ rather than the events that transpired yesterday, speaks volumes about the biases at play here. You’ve allowed her past to colour your judgment, all while dismissing the very real circumstances she’s found herself.”

There had been a brief silence as the cops exchanged uncomfortable glances.

The one with the frothy moustache had cleared his throat, trying to regain control.

“We’re not saying her past is a decisive factor,” he had mumbled, clearly trying to keep his cool. “But it’s hard to ignore someone’s track record when they’ve been involved in violent incidents before. You’re asking us to overlook her previous behaviour -”

Caitlyn’s eyes had flicked to him.

It was a miracle the cop hadn’t caught on fire right then and there.

“But you are willing to overlook Mrs. Allard’s actions, aren’t you” she had cut in, her brows furrowed. “Because that’s exactly what you’re doing. You’re pretending like the things she said and did don’t matter. But no, let’s just focus on Vi’s past, right? Because it fits a nice, convenient narrative for you.”

The other cop had shifted uncomfortably, nervously glancing at his colleague

“Mrs. Kiramman,” he had interjected, shaking his head. “We simply cannot ignore the fact that Violet has a history of aggressive behaviour. This isn’t her first incident. She’s already proven herself to be-”

“Please,” Caitlyn had interrupted smoothly again, her voice not raising an inch, but dripping with venom.

“If we’re going to discuss the past, let’s do it properly. Yes, Vi has a history, but it’s a history marred by systemic failure, by a society that didn’t listen when she needed help. And now we’re supposed to throw her under the bus for a moment of justified reaction?”

There had been another moment of silence that stretched, thick with tension, before Caitlyn had added, almost as an afterthought: “But then, I suppose, it’s easier to judge a young woman from Zaun with a criminal history for defending herself than it is to confront the real issue here. Isn’t it?”

The cops had fumbled after that.

Vi had almost taken pity on them for a second - watching them desperately try to keep up with Caitlyn's cutting precision, but it was like watching someone try to outrun a moving train. The blatantness of her words, the effortless elegance with which she tore their arguments apart, it was almost funny.

But mostly, it had made them look like complete and utter fucking idiots.

Which they had been, of course.

“Vi?”

The soft brush of Caitlyn’s lips against her thigh snapped Vi out of her head. The warmth of it spread through her like fire, and for a split second, she felt disoriented, her thoughts scrambling to catch up with her surroundings.

Caitlyn was still there, eyes trained on her with an intensity that made Vi’s heart race, searching her face as if trying to read every flicker of emotion that crossed it.

“Yeah?”

Vi’s voice came out hoarse, scratchy, as though she hadn’t used it in days. Her throat felt dry, like her words had been stuck somewhere between her chest and her tongue.

“You kinda went away for a second, there,” Caitlyn whispered against her thigh. She pressed another gentle kiss to Vi’s skin, a soft, lingering touch that sent a shiver up Vi’s spine.

Vi cleared her throat, letting out an awkward little chuckle, the sound almost too sharp.

“Yeah. I mean, no, sorry. Fuck.”

Her voice came out rough. She felt like she was scrambling to put words together, but they kept slipping through her fingers, just out of reach.

She wasn’t good at talking.

She had never learned how to.

Vi finally loosened her grip around the sheets, her hands trembling slightly, and rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand.

“Fuck, I’m ruining this,” she muttered, her voice cracking at the end, another uncertain and hollow chuckle escaping from her lips.

Because that, she was good at.

Ruining things.

She could feel Caitlyn shifting between her legs, the soft dip of the mattress as the girl straightened up and sat back, pulling away just enough to make Vi’s stomach tighten with dread.

“Vi.”

Vi didn’t remove the hand from her eyes.

She couldn’t bear to see the disappointment in Caitlyn’s face, couldn’t stand the thought of her quietly standing up, gathering her things, and slipping out of the room - out of Vi’s life.

“Vi…”

Slender, cool fingers curled around Vi’s wrist, gently pulling her hand from her face. Caitlyn was leaning over her now, still smiling, but the tease had faded, replaced by something infinitely more comforting - warmth, softness.

The coil returned to Vi’s stomach.

“Vi, you’re not ruining anything,” Caitlyn murmured, tilting her head, searching Vi’s face. “We can stop, if you want to. Group therapy must be almost over by now. We could go and play some card games with the others or something.”

“No,” Vi quickly said, shaking her head. Caitlyn’s hand was still around her wrist, and she didn’t want to make any sudden movements, didn’t want the girl to let go.

“No, no, I don’t want to stop. It’s just…”

Vi’s words hung in the air for a moment.

The rawness in her voice almost surprised her.

She closed her eyes again, swallowing the lump in her throat. “It’s just, uhm... I don’t, uhm… I don’t really know how to,” she cleared her throat, “I don’t know how to do this, Cait.”

Her voice dropped to almost a whisper as she finished, unable to look Caitlyn in the eyes.

Caitlyn let go of her wrist, but before Vi could even think about missing the contact, her hand was back. It was still gentle, cupping Vi’s face, lifting it up so she had no choice but to meet those piercing blue eyes.

Eyes that felt impossibly warm.

Impossibly dangerous.

“How to do what?” Caitlyn asked softly.

Vi’s tongue flicked over her dry lips, her eyes darting rapidly across Caitlyn’s face, unable to hold her gaze for more than a heartbeat. She cleared her throat again, but the words felt jagged as they tumbled out, each one more awkward than the last.

“Like, uhm,” she stammered, her voice rough and uncertain, “talking to you. Uhm. Telling you what to do. With me. Like, uhm. Sexually.”

Vi could feel her pulse pounding in her ears, the heat creeping up her neck.

She regretted saying it the moment it was out, but there was no taking it back.

Caitlyn didn’t pull away.

Instead, she stayed close, her hand still cradling Vi’s face, her eyes soft, patient, her thumb brushing over Vi’s cheek again, reassuring. The purple tops of her hair were almost the same shade of the dark bruise covering her collarbone.

“That’s okay,” Caitlyn said, her voice soft, with a small chuckle that wasn’t mean or mocking.

She let go of Vi’s face, and the absence of her touch made Vi ache for a moment, but before she could fully process the loss, Caitlyn shuffled back into the space between her thighs.

“I’ll help you.”

Vi swallowed, her throat still dry, her heart hammering against her ribcage.

Caitlyn bent down and pressed a soft kiss on Vi’s navel, her hand drawing small, soothing circles on Vi’s hip bone. She slowly travelled lower, leaving a line of small, wet kisses on Vi’s skin, before her warm breath hit her core once more and Caitlyn glanced back up at her.

“Just relax,” she muttered, rubbing her hand up and down along Vi’s thigh, placing another featherlight kiss on the inside of Vi’s thigh. “Tell me what would make you feel good.”

Vi slowly leant back onto the head of the bed, shifting ever so slightly to make some more space for Caitlyn.

“Uhm,” she cleared her throat, “getting, uhm, getting me off? I guess.”

Wow.

She was terrible at this.

Caitlyn seemed to realise the same thing, chuckling lowly against Vi’s skin. Her hands travelled from Vi’s thigh, tracing her skin until one of her fingers brushed over her soaking folds again, earning her a trembling huff from Vi.

“Yeah, I can do that,” she whispered, hair falling into her face again. She didn’t tug it back into place. Instead, her fingers remained hovering over Vi’s yearning core, painfully close, but not yet touching.

Vi didn’t really know how to answer that.

She didn’t really know anything at the moment.

Except that both the warmth in her chest and the warning sensation in her stomach were having a fucking competition in coiling her guts.

And that she was insanely wet.

Caitlyn was still looking at her, expectantly, warmly. After Vi did nothing but stare back – like a complete fucking idiot – she finally took some pity on her, tilting her head.

“Do you want my mouth again?” she offered with a tiny smile. “Or would you like my fingers?”

“Fuck,” Vi choked out, swallowing, wetting her lips, her mouth both painfully dry and filled with saliva at the same time. “Fuck, uhm-… Both?”

Caitlyn’s eyes lingered on her a little bit longer than necessary, before she nodded with a little hum.

And just like that, her hot, wet mouth was back on Vi’s fluttering core, her tongue dipping between Vi’s folds, curling upwards, circling, flicking, lapping, and Vi could feel her soul leave her body.

She pushed her head against the metal behind her and shut her eyes, breathy moans escaping from her lips as her hand found Caitlyn’s hair again, bundling it, tugging at it, trying to coax her into the right positions, to find just the right ankle.

And Caitlyn paid attention.

She shifted in just the right moments, sped up and slowed down when Vi needed it, her tongue always right where Vi needed it to be.

“God-… God, Cait, how are you so fucking good at that?”

Caitlyn didn’t answer – her mouth full of Vi’s cunt.

Instead, a warm, slender finger nudged against Vi’s entrance, and when Vi gasped a breathless “Yes”, it slipped inside, Vi’s wet folds not putting up a fight whatsoever.

Vi groaned and threw her head back, once again ignoring the sharp pain in her shoulder blades, pushing Caitlyn’s head closer to her. Caitlyn obliged quietly, pumping into her, licking her, making her whole body tingle and buzz and tense up.

“Oh my-… Fuck, god, that feels good. Yeah. Yeah, Cait. Fuck-“

And it did feel good.

It felt fucking amazing.

Caitlyn was fucking into Vi in a quick rhythm, coaxing low and raspy moans from her, her lips closing around her bud once again and sucking.

“Fuck-“

There was no oxygen left in Vi’s lungs.

She couldn't breathe anymore, could barely think.

Every sound that left her was raw and unfiltered: moans, grunts, desperate little whimpers that made her feel like nothing more than a pathetic, needy thing.

Her thighs trembled, aching with the exhaustion of keeping them spread for so long. She wanted - no, needed - to close them, to lock Caitlyn in place, to feel the unbearable pressure of her against her.

But Caitlyn was already bruised, already worn down, and the last thing Vi wanted was to hurt her.

Her fingers curled into the sheets again, knuckles going white as another wave of pleasure tore through her, pulling another ragged cry from her lips. Caitlyn's mouth was fucking relentless, her tongue sending sharp pulses of heat through Vi’s already-overstimulated body.

“Cait, fuck-” Vi gasped, her back arching, every muscle tightening. She could feel the sweat slick between them, the heat of Caitlyn’s breath against her skin.

It was too much. It wasn’t enough.

She didn’t know if she was holding on or falling apart. Maybe both.

And then Caitlyn groaned against her, low and satisfied, and Vi’s vision blurred with pleasure so sharp it almost hurt.

She was gone. Completely undone.

She could feel Caitlyn’s second finger slipping in with no trouble, her nails scratching over Vi’s skin for a short second, making her wince. But the burn disappeared as quickly as it had appeared, replaced by the tell-tale buzzing in Vi’s spine.

Fuck, she was so fucking close.

She nudged Caitlyn’s head closer, her fingers tangling in the soft strands of Caitlyn’s hair, urging her to go deeper.

Vi's hips moved instinctively, grinding forward, desperate for more, more, more. Each movement was a frantic plea for release, her body trembling, straining against the desire building like a pressure cooker ready to explode.

Caitlyn didn’t resist.

She met her with a gentle, but unwavering pressure, letting Vi dictate the rhythm, the pace. It was like she could feel every inch of Vi’s need, hear the frantic hitch in her breath, the way she gasped as if she was drowning in the waves of sensation.

Caitlyn didn’t pull away. She didn’t slow down.

She let Vi have it. All of it.

She hummed into her folds, she swallowed thickly, she kissed and licked and circled and pumped.

And when she added her third finger and  those blue eyes peered up at her again, Vi lost herself - lost in Caitlyn, lost in the heat, the pressure, the pull of everything coming together.

Her body tensed as a wave of pleasure surged through her, and Caitlyn let her, let her crash against her mouth, pulling out every tremor, every quiver of release, like she knew exactly how to push her to the brink - and over it.

Vi came with a low, guttural groan, Caitlyn’s hair tangled in her fingers, those slender fingers and hot tongue inside of her.

Caitlyn didn’t pull back immediately, her movements slowing, as if she was savouring the aftermath, her warm tongue lazily trailing along Vi’s folds, coaxing out the last lingering tremors.

Vi’s body quivered under her, the tension in her muscles slowly ebbing away, leaving a strange, bittersweet emptiness in its wake.

When it became too much, she gently pushed Caitlyn back.

Vi blinked, slowly forcing her eyes open again.

Her whole body was trembling, straining to recover from what had just happened. She could feel Caitlyn’s hands still warm against her skin, sending a sharp, electric feeling down her spine.

“Fuck,” Vi breathed out, the word scraping out of her hoarse throat.

She could hear Caitlyn shuffle, and instinctively, Vi let her arm drop beside her, barely a second passing before the other girl curled into it. She pressed herself against Vi’s side, her body warm and pliant, her breath still uneven, ragged as it ghosted over the sensitive skin of Vi’s neck.

For a moment, Vi just lay there, her heartbeat pounding in her ears, unsure of what to do.

Then, hesitantly, she let her arm curve around Caitlyn’s back, fingers skimming lightly over the fabric of her shirt, tracing idle, thoughtless patterns. She felt Caitlyn melt into her touch, felt the slow rise and fall of her breathing as it began to steady.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

Vi stared up at the ceiling, the harsh overhead lights burning into her eyes, but that was easier than turning her head - easier than looking Caitlyn in the eye.

The heat in her core was fading now, leaving behind only the coil in her chest.

She swallowed against the dryness in her throat, her fingers still resting against Caitlyn’s back. Beneath her fingertips, she could feel the sharp edges of her shoulder blades, the faint ridges of her spine.

“You really should eat more,” Vi muttered, her voice rough as she cleared her throat, trying to dislodge the rasp from her words. Caitlyn only shuffled closer, pressing her warm body further into Vi’s side. A small shrug lifted her shoulders, but she didn’t say anything.

Vi took a deep breath, eyes flicking to the ceiling as her fingers traced absentminded circles on Caitlyn’s back.

After a long, silent moment, Vi glanced down at Caitlyn.

“Seriously,” she repeated, this time with more insistence, her grip tightening ever so slightly on Caitlyn’s side. “Wouldn’t want to lose you to the starving crew, would we?”

Caitlyn’s breath hitched for just a moment, and then the softest laugh escaped her lips. She lifted her head just enough to meet Vi’s eyes, a playful glint in her blue gaze.

“No, we wouldn’t,” she hummed in response, her fingers sliding down to brush over Vi’s navel, sending an unexpected shiver through her body. The delicate touch made Vi’s breath hitch slightly, a tingling warmth spreading in her stomach despite herself.

“I’ll try,” Caitlyn added, her tone light and teasing.

“You better will,” Vi huffed, a half-smile tugging at the corners of her lips, though she couldn’t quite ignore the way the tightening in her stomach deepened the longer Caitlyn stayed pressed so close.

Too close.

She could feel every breath Caitlyn took, the soft flutter of her lashes against her cheek.

“If you don’t, I’ll tell the cooks to drown your burger in a pot of oil next time,” Vi added, her tone casual, trying to force her voice to sound unaffected as she gave Caitlyn a lazy shrug.

Caitlyn scoffed, her lips curving into that smile Vi had been trying to avoid looking at for the past few moments. She raised a hand and playfully swatted at Vi’s shoulder, the light touch making Vi’s heart beat just a little faster.

“You wouldn’t dare!” Caitlyn said, her voice light, her eyes sparkling with amusement.

Vi chuckled again, the sound low and warm as she shrugged. She shifted slightly, sliding her free arm under her head, using it as a makeshift pillow. Caitlyn’s hand returned to drawing circles onto Vi’s skin, a burning, lingering trace.

Vi briefly wondered if she could feel the coil in her guts through her skin.

In hindsight, Vi should have known.

She should have known when Mylo - those innocent eyes as wide as saucer platters – had asked her for the number of some guy she’d met a few years ago, a boy named Winston who prided himself on being the best DJ northside of Zaun. Winston’s claim to fame wasn’t his talent (that was debatable), but the fact that his music could literally shake windows and attract the cops faster than you could blink.

She should have known when Claggor had robbed their shared piggy bank, coins and bills spilling out of the shattered porcelain like a crime scene. He had promised her not to buy any "useless stuff" – with ears almost as pink as the murdered porcelain pig, clearly lying through his teeth.

But the real red flag - no, the fucking flashing neon sign - was the second Mylo had ushered her out of their shared apartment with strict instructions to not return until fucking eight hours later. His wicked grin had almost split his face in half.

But how bad could it be? It was just a birthday, right?

She should have known, she really should have.

When she returned to the apartment complex eight hours later – after having spend and exceptionally boring day strolling through the lanes, shovelling food inside herself at Jericho’s and trying not to get into fights – she could already hear the bass from two blocks away.

The vibrating thrumming had grown with every one of her steps, a pulsating sensation making her teeth chatter and heart slam against her ribs. By the time she had reached their door, she knew that she had made a major mistake leaving the boys in charge.

She should have known. But it was too late now.

She stopped in front of the door, the ground beneath her feet shaking with noise, took a deep breath and braced herself for what was to come.

Vi swung the door open, and a mix of neon lights, glitter, and chaos hit her like a freight train.

The dingy apartment was unrecognizable.

All the lights were off, the rooms illuminated only by fairy lights and blinking neon projectors, their weak, strobing glow barely enough to mask the absolute fucking chaos.

The usual clutter was buried beneath an avalanche of half-inflated balloons, paper streamers half-heartedly draped over they cupboards and door frames, and bottles - so many bottles - of questionable liquor scattered around like confetti.

She pointedly ignored the actual confetti, knowing they’d probably never manage to clean it out of every crevice in the apartment.

Paper plates, napkins, and ripped-open snack boxes littered the floor, the tables, every surface imaginable. It was like a tornado had torn through a party store and then picked up the entire contents of a garbage dump for good measure.

A tornado named Claggor, who was now pretty busy emptying two bottles of something into a huge bowl, while animatedly talking to some blonde chick draped next to him to the table, a stupid grin plastered on her face. She was smiling at him, looking slightly dazed, with a goofy grin that probably meant she was either wasted or just enjoying Claggor’s uniquely unfiltered conversation.

Vi didn’t know the girl.

In fact, she didn’t recognize half of the people crammed into the three-bedroom apartment, all shouting at one another over the deafening music blasting from the two speakers in the corners of the room. Winston stood just behind them, brows furrowed in concentration as he worked his scruffy DJ setup, determined to produce the most ear-shattering noise possible.

He definitely succeeded.

It wasn’t music - it was just pure bass. The kind that made Vi’s skull feel like it was vibrating off her spine.

Someone bumped into her from behind, and she whirled around, but it was just a guy in a washed out shirt - someone she had definitely never met - grinning at her like he was about to propose.

“Hey! You’re Vi, right? You know, the one who-”

Vi was already walking away, dodging a random group of people doing a strange, coordinated version of a dance.

By the time she managed to pry her way through the throngs of dancing bodies, she’d spotted Mylo standing by the kitchenette, swaying on his feet. His eyes were completely bloodshot, and his grin was about three sizes too wide, a sure sign that he was so deep in his cups that it was amazing he was still standing.

“Vi!” he called out, raising a hand like he was trying to flag her down, as if she wasn’t making her way straight towards him already. He stumbled slightly as if gravity had just gotten the better of him. “Happy fucking birthday, dickface!”

Vi opened her mouth, ready to hiss some half-hearted insult, but before a word left her lips, the lanky boy was in her arms, squeezing her so tightly she could barely breathe. His smell hit her - booze, weed, and something else that probably wasn’t legal.

Vi's eyes bulged for a second as he crushed her, but she couldn't help it - she let out a reluctant chuckle, shaking her head in disbelief.

“Jesus, Mylo,” she wheezed, her hands slapping his back in mock annoyance. “You’re absolutely fucking shitfaced.”

He pulled back just enough to look her in the eye, grinning like he’d won some kind of victory. “That, I am,” he slurred, swaying on his feet.

Vi rolled her eyes, pushing him off her chest with a good-natured shove. “Yeah, yeah, just don’t puke on me, okay?”

Mylo gave her a lazy salute, the gesture so half-hearted it barely qualified as a wave. He immediately ruined any semblance of dignity by reaching for his cup on the kitchen counter and taking a deep swig.

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, grinning at her with bloodshot eyes. “No promises,” he muttered with a small shrug, then passed the cup to Vi.

Vi sniffed at the liquid inside, her nose scrunching at the sharp tang of whatever the hell this was. It smelled like a mix of motor oil and rotten fruit. She winced but didn't hesitate for long.

There was no fucking way she’d endure this whole ordeal sober.

With a determined breath, she threw caution into the wind and downed the whole damn thing in one go.

The burn shot down her throat like molten lava, and for a moment, Vi’s eyes watered, her face twisting into a grimace. “Holy shit,” she muttered between coughs, her mouth still burning. “The fuck did you put in there, Mylo?”

“Just a bit of everything,” Mylo slurred, clearly amused, clapping her on the back a little too hard. “You’re good, don’t be a pussy.”

Vi put the cup back down on the counter – which was sticky with something she really didn’t want to think about – and turned to scan the crowd. People were packed in every corner of the tiny apartment, bodies swaying and laughing with abandon, their movements only slightly coordinated with the thumping bass that blasted through the room.

Mylo was already refilling the cup, not caring - or realizing - that half of the contents completely missed it and landed on the counter instead. He paused for a moment, staring at the cup, then gave it a half-hearted swirl before nodding to himself as if that somehow made up for the mess.

Well, that explained the stickiness.

He shoved the cup into Vi’s hands - the momentum sending half the liquid sloshing over her shirt - and planted himself right next to her, leaning against the counter with a proud slouch, his arms crossed over his narrow chest. His grin was now filled with pride.

“It’s amazing, right?” he screamed over the bass, his voice nearly lost in the thumping, his eyes gleaming in the neon strobe lights. “Took me and Claggor fucking hours to prepare.”

Eight, to be exact.

Vi glanced down at her shirt, now slightly damp, and raised an eyebrow at him. “Yeah, it’s, uh… It’s something for sure.”

She took a sip from her now almost empty cup, then couldn’t help herself and nudged Mylo slightly with her elbow and smiled at him. “Appreciate it, Miles. But you’re the one cleaning up tomorrow!”

Mylo’s eyes widened, a mix of realization and slight panic flashing across his face as he looked around at the state of the apartment. The party raged on around them - people dancing, shouting, knocking into each other, and spilling even more drinks everywhere.

He let out a nervous chuckle, scratching the back of his neck.

“Yeah, yeah, will do,” he slurred, plucking Vi’s drink from her hands and taking a sip of his own. “But I’m not responsible for any fucking puke! That’s Claggor’s job.”

“Oh,” Vi chuckled, craning her neck to sneak another glance at Claggor – who was now violently making out with the blonde chick in an empty corner of the room, both their drinks discarded on the floor. “I’m sure he’ll be thrilled.”

Mylo followed her gaze and wrinkled his nose when he spotted the two of them. “Man, that’s a lot of tongue.”

Vi nodded, furrowing her brows sceptically. “It does look pretty wet.” She squinted for a second longer, trying to analyse the situation. “Maybe there’s a snack hidden in the back of her mouth.”

Mylo’s face twisted in disgust, his hand still holding his cup like it was his most prized possession. “You’re fucking gross,” he said with a chuckle, his lips curling into an exaggerated grimace as he turned away from the scene. He shuffled around in his pockets, looking determined, and his eyes lit up when he found what he was searching for.

“Hey, Vi,” he said, his voice dripping with mock-seriousness as he shifted his weight to one side. “I know this party’s the best fucking birthday present ever,” he added, pointing dramatically toward the chaos of the apartment with a smug grin that made her roll her eyes. “But I got something else for you.”

Vi scoffed and turned to face the kitchen counter as well, trying to mask the grin that tugged at the corners of her lips.

“Yeah?” she asked with one raised eyebrow, though she could already feel the booze taking effect, her vision blurring slightly whenever she moved too quickly. “Should I be scared?”

Mylo looked at her with as much mock indignation as he could muster in his current state.

“You should be exhilarated,” he replied, pulling a small plastic bag from his pocket with a flourish. Inside were tiny green flecks, each one looking suspiciously like a botanical crime scene.

He handed it to her like it was a priceless jewel, his eyes gleaming with mischievous pride.

Vi accepted the bag, her grin only growing as she lifted it up to her eyes, inspecting the tiny green flecks inside with a knowing look.

Mylo puffed out his meagre chest like he'd just handed her the crown jewels, raising his index finger dramatically. “The finest stuff you’ll find this side of Zaun,” he announced proudly. “You only turn eighteen once, so I figured…” He trailed off, shrugging.

She couldn’t help but roll her eyes slightly, though the smile remained on her face.

“Thanks, Miles,” Vi said, light-heartedly swatting his shoulder, her grin wide.

Which, as it turned out, was a huge mistake.

The swat sent the intoxicated boy off balance, his eyes widening in surprise as his body flailed like a ragdoll. He crashed into one of the cupboards with a loud thud, the door swinging open and a jar of something sticky and unidentifiable spilling out, narrowly missing his head.

Vi froze for a moment, her hands held up in a mock surrender, eyes wide with exaggerated disbelief.

“Well, that was graceful.”

Mylo, now tangled up in the mess of knocked-over dishes, tried to push himself upright, only succeeding in knocking over another cup of something that splashed across the counter.

“I’m... I’m fine!” he called out, his voice a bit too high-pitched as he gave her a thumbs up, still half-hanging out of the cupboard like a drunk acrobat. “Just hanging, all good, all good!”

Vi only laughed, grabbing two unopened bottles from the counter, the glass cool against her palm.

She slumped down next to Mylo, her back leaning against the kitchen counter, where half the plates and cups were still scattered in disarray. Mylo gave up on trying to stand, his legs giving way as he collapsed next to her, his scrawny knees pulled up to his chest, a stupid, drunk grin plastered across his face.

Vi grinned, the bottle clenched between her teeth, before popping the cap off with a satisfying snap – something she’d just learned recently and was pretty proud of - and sending it flying into the swaying crowd. It landed somewhere in the chaos, likely never to be seen again.

She handed the bottle to Mylo, who took it eagerly with a drunken cheer. Without missing a beat, she grabbed the second one, opened it with her teeth, and took a deep swing. The burn of the alcohol was already starting to smooth out, her buzz kicking in full force.

Vi exhaled sharply, the corners of her lips curling up into a grin as she leaned back and relaxed into the mess of it all. The bass pounded in the air, vibrating through her chest, and the glow of the neon lights reflected off the bottles scattered across the counter.

It was fucking chaos.

It was fucking perfect.

Mylo dropped his head against the cupboard, arms sprawled out with an exaggerated stretch. “This is it, Vi. This is the life.”

“Is it?” she asked, raising an eyebrow as she gave him a sideways glance, holding the bottle in her lap.

“Absolutely,” he declared with a drunken certainty, his finger pointed straight up like he’d just discovered the meaning of life. “I’m the fucking king of this place. You see that?” He waved vaguely at the rest of the apartment, the carnival of half-empty bottles, thepeople swaying to the thumping music, and the occasional shriek of laughter.

“It’s my fucking empire. I made this happen.”

Vi chuckled, taking another sip, the little plastic bag still clutched in the palm of her rother hand. “Sure thing, Miles. You’re a fucking king.”

Mylo nodded sagely, then looked at her with wide, almost too serious eyes. “You know, I think we’re really gonna remember this night, Vi.” His voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “Like really remember.”

“Uh-huh,” she replied flatly, her grin threatening to split her face as she looked over at him. “You’re definitely gonna remember it when someone pukes all over the fucking bathroom.”

“Oh, you and your weird obsession with puke!” Mylo waved his hand through the air dismissively, like she was just being dramatic again. “Those things are a problem for future-me. Present-me has exactly two goals.”

He half-turned to face her, though his eyes were hazy and unfocused, unable to quite meet hers.

“One,” he raised one finger and pointed it at the ceiling, “get fucking wasted. Already on track with that.” He gave a lazy nod to himself as if he’d just made the most profound observation of the night. “And two,” he lifted another finger, nearly poking Vi in the eye, “get you fucking wasted.”

Vi chuckled and lifted the bottle to her lips again, the bitter taste of cheap beer sliding over her tongue. Mylo nodded contently, his eyes almost sparkling with pride as he watched her drink.

The beer was pretty cheap and pretty gross, but Vi didn’t mind it in the slightest. She could feel the familiar warmth spreading in her chest, could feel her grin growing, mimicking Mylo’s stupid, carefree expression.

She fucking relished in it

Mylo reached upwards blindly, his hand drifting over the surface of the cupboards they were sitting in front of, until it found one of the many ripped-open bags of crisps. With a triumphant grunt, he yanked it down into his lap, his eyes half-lidded from the booze.

He plunged his hand into the greasy bag, shovelling a handful of chips into his mouth and chewing with the kind of enthusiasm only an intoxicated Mylo could muster. Crumbs flew out in every direction, landing on his shirt, his lap, and – of course – Vi’s pants.

He glanced at her, a huge grin plastered on his face, his cheeks stuffed like a squirrel storing its winter stash. After swallowing loudly, he looked back at the bag, eyes gleaming with intent.

“So,” he mumbled, still half-chewing the crispy remnants, “when are we lighting this baby?” He gave a nod toward the bag in Vi’s hand.

Vi leaned over, snagging a few crisps from the bag, and crinkled her nose as she bit into them. They were surprisingly soggy, their limp texture doing nothing to satisfy the craving for something crunchy.

She chewed slowly, a smirk tugging at her lips as she glanced at Mylo, who was watching her with eager anticipation.

“What’s the rush?” she asked, her voice laced with playful mischief. She slipped the small bag of green flecks into her pocket, her smile widening at the disappointed look that crossed Mylo’s face. “We got the whole night, right?”

Mylo rolled his eyes and slumped back against the counter, fumbling with his bottle with a pout. “Fucking buzzkill, Vi,” he mumbled, drowning his frustration in another swing of beer. “Bet you’ll smoke it all alone later in your room, anyways.”

Vi laughed.

By now, she had gotten strangely used to the floors and cupboards vibrating, the music, though still loud, had just become background noise in her head. She nudged Mylo again with her elbow, and as he looked up, she pulled the little bag from her pocket, giving it a little wiggle in front of his face.

“I’m kidding,” she said, her tone teasing and light, watching his face light up like a fucking Christmas tree. She shifted into a cross-legged position, rolling her eyes at him. “Jeez, you really don’t have any patience, do you? Do you have any long papes?”

About two minutes later, Vi was hunched over, her brow furrowed in concentration as she tried her best to roll the flaky green bits into something resembling a decent joint.

Her hands weren’t exactly steady, the flickering light from the neon projectors making the whole process feel like it was happening in slow motion. The alcohol was already doing its job, buzzing in her veins, and the thrum of the music reverberating through the floor didn't help her already shaky focus.

Neither did fucking Mylo, leaning over her shoulder and offering unsolicited commentary on her rolling technique.

“Oh my god,” Mylo groaned, his reeking, hot breath hitting the shell of her ear like an unwanted gust of wind. “You’re doing it all wrong, Vi! You’re dropping, like, half of it!”

He flailed his hands around, gesturing to the flecks of weed now scattered across her lap, before dramatically burying his face in his hands in frustration, the sound of his voice muffled by his palms.

Vi shot him a sideways glance, before squinting at the wrinkled mess in her hands, desperately trying to curl the paper around the filter without making it worse.

“That stuff cost me, like, forty bucks,” Mylo grumbled into his hands, lifting his head just enough to peer at her failure through a gap between his fingers, his eyes widening in disbelief as she continued her feeble attempts.

 “I’m pretty sure you’re not supposed to blabber out the price of presents,” Vi muttered, hissing as the filter slipped out of place again, making her curse softly under her breath.

“And I’m pretty sure you’re not supposed to do it like that!”

“Well, I’m pretty sure I wasn’t the one refusing to learn how to roll because it would ‘rob me of a great pick-up line’!”

“’Can I borrow a cigarette’ is a great pick-up line!”

“No, it’s fucking not.”

“Yes, it fucking is, how about you ask the thousands of girls it worked on?”

“Thousands? Try, like, two.”

“I didn’t fuck only two girls, Vi, you-“

“Oh, there you guys are!”

Both Vi and Mylo froze and looked up, their eyes wide, their mouths hanging open mid-bickering.

Claggor stood in front of them, a beaming grin plastered across his face, his lips and chin absolutely smeared with lipstick. He looked like he’d just escaped a wrestling match with a tube of bright red gloss.

With his hands planted firmly on his hips, he stared down at them, his gaze sweeping slowly from the mess of weed and rolling papers between Vi’s fingers to the half-empty bottle of beer in Mylo’s hands, and then finally, the bag of greasy crisps, which Mylo was still absentmindedly nibbling on.

“Already at it, I see?” Claggor chuckled, his voice dripping with teasing amusement.

“That’s rich coming from you,” Vi shot back, raising an eyebrow as she exchanged a brief, knowing glance with Mylo, who snickered under his breath.

Claggor, however, didn’t seem to notice or care about her jab. His attention was already elsewhere, his grin stretching even wider as he stuffed his hands into his pockets and leaned in closer.

“I see you already got your present from Mylo,” he remarked with a sly nod towards the half-finished joint in Vi’s hands.

Vi glanced down at the mess of weed, rolling paper, and the filter that was hanging on for dear life. The thing looked more like a disaster than a joint, and she could already feel her cheeks warming in embarrassment.

She forced herself to meet Claggor’s gaze again, the heat in her face only intensifying. “Yeah, well,” she said, voice tight but trying to play it off, “I wasn’t exactly aiming for a work of art here, Claggor.”

“Oh, no judgment,” Claggor chuckled with a casual shrug. “I just figured I could give you my present as well.”

Vi blinked.

“Oh!” Her fingers loosened around the joint, and she lowered her hands into her lap. She hadn’t been expecting that. Her lips curled into a small, lopsided smile, and she tilted her head, feeling suddenly a little sheepish. “Come on, guys, you really didn’t have to both get me something.”

The last thing she needed was to be all soft and sentimental in front of these assholes.

“God, I really hope it’s a pre-rolled joint,” Mylo muttered under his breath, the sarcasm dripping from his words as he half-turned to face Claggor.

Claggor’s smirk deepened as he shook his head, his eyes never leaving Vi’s face. She shifted under the weight of their attention, her fingers twitching slightly, her posture stiffening.

“No,” he said, his voice softer now, carrying something warm. He tilted his head slightly, drawing out the moment just long enough for Vi to feel it settling in her chest. “It’s something way better.”

And with that, he took a step to the side, revealing the tall, slender person he had hidden behind his back.

Vi’s breath caught.

Shimmering, navy silk was cascading over narrow shoulders, slender, long fingers were clutching a small, perfectly wrapped package. And kind, gentle, warm, beautiful blue eyes were fixed right onto Vi.

“Happy Birthday, Vi,” Caitlyn Kiramman said, and her smile made Vi’s heart feel like it might stop altogether.

“I’m getting out in a week.”

Vi stopped and looked up, the lighter in her fingers hovering mid-air, the cigarette between her lips still unlit. The words sat between them for a second, hanging in the cold air like the breath curling from Diana’s lips.

Diana stood in front of Vi, exhaling smoke toward the dimming sky, her slippers scuffing against the snow. Her freshly dyed hair caught in the wind, strands sticking to the side of her face until she tucked them behind her ear - red from the biting cold.

“Oh.”

The word slipped out before Vi could think of anything else to say.

Diana nodded, her fingers twitching around her cigarette.

“Yeah,” she murmured, still not meeting Vi’s eyes. “Hoskel gave me the go yesterday.”

Vi turned her gaze back down, flicking the lighter with her thumb. The flame flared to life, casting a brief glow against her fingers. She lit the cigarette, inhaled, and held it in her lungs for a beat too long before exhaling.

The burn felt different this time - sharper, like it was clawing at something buried deep in her chest.

“Congrats,” she said, voice even, like the word didn’t taste strange in her mouth. She shifted, crossing her legs, letting the silence settle back between them.

Diana took another slow drag, finally glancing at Vi, just for a second.

“Yeah.”

A pause.

Then, softer, “Thanks.”

Vi hesitated, studying the tall girl in front of her.

Diana had somehow managed to dig up another scarf - thicker than the one she used to wear, but a dull, washed-out color that looked like it had been through too many hands before hers.

Vi was secretly grateful she hadn’t asked Caitlyn for hers back.

Even with the extra layer, Diana was still shivering, her breath coming out in faint clouds, the tip of her nose just as red as her ears.

“How do you feel about that?” Vi finally asked carefully.

Diana sighed, her gaze drifting past Vi, over the snow-covered lawns and the skeletal trees lining the facility’s fences.

Winter had come quickly, swallowing the grounds in white, pressing a quiet stillness over everything. The thick blanket of snow softened the edges of the world, making even the dull grey buildings look almost peaceful. The bare trees stood stark against it, their branches thin and reaching.

Diana didn’t answer right away.

Just took a slow drag of her cigarette, exhaled, and watched the smoke mix with the cold.

“I don’t know,” she finally said, sighing as her shoulders slumped. Her eyes dropped to the ground, like the answer might be buried somewhere in the frost-covered pavement.

A cigarette stub lay just in front of her slipper, half-sunken into the snow, its edges damp and curling. She nudged it with the tip of her foot, rolling it back and forth before pressing down, crushing it into the slush. The snow darkened beneath it, stained with brown, mushy flecks that spread like ink in water.

Vi watched but said nothing.

“I don’t know,” Diana repeated, nuzzling her nose into her scarf, her voice muffled by the fabric.

The scarf barely seemed to help - her breath still came out in thin, white puffs, her fingers twitching slightly at her sides. She shifted her weight from foot to foot, rubbing her slipper against the wet concrete, eyes never lifting from the ground.

“It’s always the same, really,” she continued, lifting her chin slightly to take a drag before exhaling. Smoke curled into the cold air before she burrowed back into the warmth of her scarf.

“I get out, and everything’s fine. I feel like I finally got my shit together, get, like, super motivated - ready to do things, to finally move on. To live.”

She let out a slow breath, shaking her head. “And then… everything just goes to shit. And I end up here.”

A shrug. A beat. Then, quieter: “Again.”

Vi took another slow drag from her cigarette, exhaling as she studied her. “Isn’t that fine, though?” she asked with a tilt of her head. “I mean, you like the facility, don’t you?”

Diana let out a short, humourless laugh. “Yeah. I guess.”

But she didn’t sound convinced.

For a moment, she just stood there, fidgeting, rolling the cigarette stub back and forth with the tip of her slipper again, like she was weighing something in her mind. Then she sighed, tilting her head back to look at the overcast sky.

“It’s just-…” she hesitated, her voice quieter now, almost unsure of herself. “I feel like life is kinda moving on without me.”

Vi didn’t immediately respond, just flicked the ash from her cigarette and let the silence stretch, letting Diana continue when she was ready.

Diana took in a slow breath, the exhale heavier than before, like she was trying to push out the weight of her thoughts. “Other people are out there doing things, you know? Going to university, working, getting married. Figuring shit out.” She scoffed, shaking her head, but it didn’t feel like humour. More like frustration, or maybe a little self-directed bitterness.

“And I’m still here. Still stuck. It’s like I keep missing the turn, and at some point, I just-”

She faltered, the tension in her shoulders tightening. Her fingers gripped the edges of her sleeves so hard, Vi thought they might tear.

“What if I never catch up?”

The words sat between them, swallowed by the cold.

Vi tugged her sleeves lower, pressing her fingertips into her palms, the cigarette pinched between them.

It was weird.

She had known Diana for four years now.

Diana had been here long before Vi first stepped foot through the facility’s polished doors, before Vi knew what it was like to be stuck in a place like this, surrounded by people who were just as fucked-up, just as tired.

They had shared dozens of visits to the clinic, spent countless hours shivering against the wind or sweating under the scolding sun, smoking up whole packages of cigarettes that left their throats raw and their voices raspy.

And yet, they had never talked before.

Not about Diana.

Vi hesitated.

It wasn’t something you did. You didn’t ask. You didn’t pry. You let people keep their silences because you had your own. But the words had already been spoken, and Vi didn’t know how to leave them hanging in the air.

Diana cleared her throat, glancing at Vi with a half-hearted smirk, like she was trying to play it off.

“It’s stupid. Forget it.”

Vi exhaled smoke through her nose, watching it curl into the air.

“It’s not stupid,” she said finally.

Diana huffed but didn’t argue. Her eyes flicked back to the ground, and for the first time since they started talking, she stopped fidgeting.

The snow stretched out, untouched and pristine around them, the only sign of movement their footprints trailing behind them in the white expanse.

Vi scratched her forehead, a small sigh escaping her lips.

Talking, again.

She absolutely fucking sucked at this.

She sucked at talking about feelings, at finding the right words, and at trying to make someone feel better when she didn’t know what the hell she was doing herself.

That had always been Diana’s thing - being able to talk, to get people to listen.

But in that moment, she would do hell and let Diana keep spinning in circles inside her own head.

She exhaled slowly, a steady stream of smoke drifting upwards as she considered her words carefully.

"Look," she started, her voice low and rough, "you’re not the only one who feels like that. Hell, I don’t think anyone really knows what they’re doing half the time. We just... keep going. It’s all you can do.”

Diana didn’t look up at her, instead shifting her weight, the snow crunching beneath her feet.

She rubbed the edges of her sleeves, biting her lip.

“And what if I won’t be able to keep going anymore?” Diana’s voice cracked slightly, betraying the calm façade she tried to maintain. “What if I just keep ending up back here, year after year? What’s the point in trying if it always goes wrong? I feel like I’m chasing something that keeps slipping further out of reach.”

Her fingers tightened around the cigarette, and for a moment, it looked like she might snap it in half. Her face scrunched with frustration, and she exhaled sharply through her nose, as if angry at herself for saying anything at all.

Vi felt her chest tighten.

She suddenly realised that she’d never seen Diana cry, not once.

She had known Diana long enough to notice the times she sometimes drifted, staring blankly into nothingness until Vi practically barked her name at her. Long enough to remember the times when she’d grown scarily thin, her already sharp cheekbones jutting out in a way that made Vi’s stomach twist.

But she had never cried.

Not when she was at her lowest. Not when she was barely eating. Not when she sat outside with Vi for hours, smoking one cigarette after another, staring at something only she could see.

She’d never cried.

And she wasn’t, now. Not yet, anyways.

Vi inhaled deeply, the smoke burning her lungs, the sensation sharp against the rising knot in her chest. She shifted slightly, glancing out at the snow-covered grounds, the cold creeping into her bones.

"Look," she said slowly, the words coming out a bit softer than she intended, "you’re not the only one who feels lost. Hell, do you honestly think I got everything figured out?" She chuckled dryly and leaned in a little, voice steady but quieter now. "I don’t have anyone outside of this place. I don’t have a plan, either. Hell, most days I don’t even know what I’m doing. And as for ‘missing the turn’?"

Vi looked at Diana, who was still staring at the ground, the way her shoulders were hunched, her face half-hidden by her scarf. "You haven’t missed anything. You’re still moving, even if it’s slow. You’re here, talking about it, you’re not stuck. You’re just… figuring it out."

Diana shook her head, her lips pulling into a bitter smile.

"Figuring it out? If I was figuring it out, I wouldn’t keep falling back into the same shit. I go out, try to live my life, and then everything falls apart. It always falls apart, Vi. I don’t know how to stop it. How do I change that?"

Vi took a deep breath, her fingers tapping the side of her boot as she thought for a moment. She glanced at the empty space around them, the way the snow seemed to swallow the world, making it feel smaller, more contained.

"It’s not gonna be easy," Vi finally said, her voice more serious now. "But you can’t just stop trying because it gets hard.”

She leaned in closer, meeting Diana’s gaze for the first time. "You’re still standing. You’re still here. You didn’t let the world swallow you up. That counts for something."

Diana looked at her, her eyes a little softer now, but the doubt still lingered. "And what if I don’t ever get it? What if I just keep failing?"

Vi let the silence hang for a beat. She flicked the ash from her cigarette and thought about how much she'd rather lie to Diana, tell her everything would be fine.

But they both knew better than that.

The world didn’t work like that.

"You will get it. You just gotta keep moving forward. It’s not gonna happen all at once. Hell, it might take fucking years. But you’re not stuck, Diana. Not unless you let yourself be."

Diana’s shoulders slumped again, her fingers pulling at the edges of her scarf.

"I’m just so-… so tired. Tired of the same cycle, tired of trying to keep up. And maybe I’m just not built for it. Maybe this is just where I’m supposed to be."

Vi’s expression softened, but her voice stayed firm.

"Nah, don’t you even dare start with that. You’re not built for failure, Diana. You’re built for getting back up." She exhaled, the smoke swirling around them both, and gave Diana a quick, almost amused glance. "And trust me, I’ve seen what happens when people give up. You’re not like them. Don’t let your head tell you otherwise."

Diana let out a breath, her shoulders sagging as she shifted her weight from one foot to the other.

Vi dropped her stub into the snow and crushed it under her slipper, glancing back at Diana with a half-smile. "You’re not gonna do this perfectly. Neither am I. But the key is... you don’t stop trying. No matter how many times you fall. You gotta get back up."

Diana only hummed in response, already pulling out the tobacco to roll them another cigarette.

The quiet returned, but the tension had faded into a rather comfortable silence.

Maybe Vi had managed to say the right things for once.

“So,” Diana started again after a while, her warm smile creeping back onto her face. “How are things between you and Caitlyn?”

Vi groaned, tipping her head back against the couch with a dramatic sigh. “Way to change the topic, Di.” Still, she couldn’t quite bite back the small smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth.

Diana chuckled, the sound light but knowing. She shrugged and hooked a finger into her scarf, tugging it just low enough to reveal her lips, curled in amusement. “Well, you don’t seem totally out of touch with your emotions at the moment.”

She tilted her head, her newly bleached hair falling into her face, strands catching the dim light.

Vi huffed, shaking her head. “Great. Now you sound like Shoola.”

Diana snorted. “That’s the worst thing you’ve ever said to me.”

Vi let out a short laugh and ran a hand through her hair, exhaling sharply.

The cold nipped at her fingertips, sharp and insistent, but she ignored it as she dug into her pocket, pulling out her pouch of tobacco. She didn’t even bother rolling a cigarette herself - just handed it over to Diana without a word, her fingers brushing against the other girl’s as she passed it.

She kept her eyes fixed on Diana’s hands as they worked, deft and practiced, smoothing the paper, tucking the edges, moving with easy precision.

Only now did she realise how much they reminded her of Caitlyn.

Caitlyn.

Vi sniffled, tilting her head back slightly as if the night sky could swallow up the thoughts creeping in. She shrugged, trying to shake it off.

“It’s complicated,” she muttered, watching as her breath curled in the icy air, vanishing before she could hold onto it.

Diana didn’t raise her head, but Vi knew she was listening. Really listening.

Vi pulled her jacket tighter around herself, narrowing her eyes against the cold as she ran a hand through her hair again. The strands were stiff from the chill, slipping through her cold fingers.

Diana was already finishing up the second cigarette by the time Vi finally managed to force words out.

“It’s just-…” She exhaled, shaking her head. “I don’t know.”

Diana handed her the cigarette without a word, and Vi took it, lighting it quickly and dragging in a deep breath, letting the smoke fill her lungs. She held it there for a moment, relishing in the burning sensation.

“I just-…” She exhaled, watching the smoke dissolve into the night. “I feel like-…” Her voice faltered.

Fuck.

Her fingers tensed around the cigarette, and she shook her head again, more frustrated this time.

“I really don’t know how to say this.”

Diana exhaled a slow stream of smoke, watching as it curled and disappeared into the night air.

Now her gaze shifted to Vi - steady, patient, warm. She watched as Vi wrestled with whatever the hell she was trying to say.

Vi was barely moving, only her fingers twitching against the cigarette, the only sign of her frustration. The words sat in her throat like a weight she couldn’t cough up. Her shoulders were tense, her jaw tight, like she was fighting herself as much as the cold.

Diana let it sit for a while.

Let Vi try. Let her fail.

And then, after another slow drag of her cigarette, she tilted her head slightly, the corner of her mouth curling just a little.

“Are you in love with her?”

The words landed soft, almost offhand. But they cut through Vi like a goddamn bullet.

“What? No, no - of course fucking  not! Oh my god, why would you-… No! No, no. No.”

The words tumbled out of Vi’s mouth, frantic and unfiltered, each “no” coming harder than the last. Her eyes were wide and she shook her head so hard it felt like it might snap right off.

Diana just chuckled, watching with an infuriating calmness.

Vi could feel the heat rising in her cheeks, burning its way up to her ears. She could feel the way her skin prickled, the way her throat went tight, the way her body betrayed her in every possible way.

Fucking traitor.

She made a point of shaking her head even more, as if sheer force alone could undo the accusation.

“I’m really not, Di. Fuck, no. With Kiramman? No.”

Diana, still maddeningly composed, just exhaled another slow stream of smoke. Then, with an easy grace, she took a few unhurried steps over, and dropped onto the bench beside Vi.

She didn’t even flinch when the wet snow instantly started soaking through her sweatpants.

Vi turned her head just enough to glare at her, but Diana didn’t look the slightest bit concerned. If anything, she looked amused.

“You know, Vi,” she said, her voice light, teasing. “Just because you call her ‘Kiramman’ doesn’t make it any less obvious.”

She smiled as she said it, like she wasn’t blowing Vi’s entire world apart with a single sentence.

“Obvi-…” Vi’s voice cracked, and she had to force it steady again. “Make what fucking obvious, Di?”

She was still shaking her head, sharp and jerky, like some malfunctioning animatronic in a rundown amusement park - glitching, looping, stuck. Her eyes were blown wide, fixed on Diana with sheer disbelief.

Diana just shrugged, as casual as ever, like she hadn’t just set every fucking alarm in Vi’s brain.

“I swear to God,” Vi burst out, every word tumbling over the next, “I am not in love with her!”

She’d meant for it to sound firm, certain, final.

Instead, she just sounded fucking panicked and pathetic.

Diana didn’t say anything, but that stupid knowing smile didn’t leave her face.

Vi took a shaky drag from her cigarette, shaking her head once more for good measurements, before starting up again. “I’m not. I’m really not.” Her words were almost slurring together, and she had to bite her lip to keep from sounding even more ridiculous. "It’s just-… I don’t know. It’s confusing.”

Diana raised an eyebrow, still not losing that damn grin. "Confusing how?"

Vi sighed.

Apparently, she’d reached her saying-smart-and-meaningful-things peak earlier.

The words had disappeared from her mind once more. Her mind was a tangled mess of half-thoughts, and her mouth felt like it was full of nothing but smoke and frustration, leaving her stranded in the snow next to a girl who whole-heartedly believed her in love with Caitlyn Kiramman and no way to change that opinion.

Still, she tried.

“Okay, so-... I don’t know, when we’re together, there’s, like-... fuck.”

Vi coughed awkwardly and ran a hand through her hair for the hundredth time that evening. “It sounds super fucking cheesy, but I swear, I am not in love with her!”

Diana just hummed, clearly enjoying this, and Vi shot her a glare before carefully continuing.

“When we’re together, when she, like, looks at me with those eyes, there’s just-… fuck, there’s this warmth in my chest and my stomach, and it’s like-… shit, I don’t even know how to explain it. I just want more of it. But at the same time-...”

She trailed off, trying to make sense of what was going on in her head.

What was she even saying?

Her words were starting to fall apart again, and she hated it. She hated feeling so fucking tangled up.

“But at the same time,” Vi tried again, her voice a little quieter now, “there’s, like, this-… this coil in my stomach. I don’t know. I feel the warmth and all of a sudden, I-…” She swallowed, her mouth feeling unnervingly dry. Her gaze dropped to the snowy ground in front of her, unwilling to meet Diana’s eyes.

“I-…”

She couldn’t say it. Couldn’t make the words come out right. So she stopped, returned to silently glaring at the ground.

“You feel scared?”

How was it that Diana always knew what Vi felt, even when she herself didn’t?

She could reach into the mess of Vi’s head and pull out the truth, quiet and steady, like it wasn’t the most terrifying thing in the world.

Vi let out a shaky breath, staring at the cigarette between her fingers. The ember flared when she took another drag, but the warmth never reached her chest.

“I do,” she muttered, twirling the cigarette between trembling, stiff fingers. “I just-… I just feel how much I yearn for all that fucking warmth, y’know? Whenever Caitlyn smiles, whenever she looks at me like-…”

Her throat closed up. She swallowed hard and shook her head. “I don’t know.”

She shrugged again, helpless. She didn’t have the words.

Diana did.

“Like it means something to her?” she suggested, placing one careful hand on Vi’s knee and tracing tiny circles on the fabric of her sweatpants.

Vi exhaled slowly. Nodded.

“Yeah. Yeah. I just want her to keep looking at me like that, but then again I-…”

She bit the inside of her cheek. Her hands curled into fists, cigarette nearly crushed between her fingers. “Yeah. I’m scared of letting her too close. Again. Of letting her in and her letting me in and getting caught up in something and-…” She exhaled, unsteady. “And yeah. Losing everything again.”

Diana only hummed softly. Her leg was pressed up against Vi’s, warm and steady, and her fingers kept tracing quiet, absentminded patterns onto her thigh.

Vi’s words were all used up.

She stayed silent, shifting only to lift her cigarette to her lips, the ember flaring briefly before dimming again. Smoke curled around her in lazy swirls, dissolving into the air.

After a while, Diana hummed again, this time more certain, like she’d just finished piecing something together in her head.

“You know, Vi,” she murmured, tilting her head as she tried to catch Vi’s gaze.

A pause, measured and gentle. Then-

“I’m pretty sure that’s what it means to be in love.”

The smoke Vi had just inhaled caught in her throat, and she started coughing like a fucking fifteen-year-old sneaking her first cigarette - small, choked huffs pushing out clouds of smoke as she doubled over, shaking her head vehemently, eyes watering.

“No,” she rasped between coughs, voice hoarse. “No, fuck, Diana, I don’t know how many times I have to tell you, but-”

“Yeah, yeah,” Diana interrupted, rolling her eyes, though the smile never left her face. “You’re totally, absolutely not in love with fucking Caitlyn Kiramman.”

She tucked a few strands of hair behind her ear, then shrugged, her fingers resuming their slow, absentminded tracing over Vi’s knee. “You only want to see her happy. And make her happy. And make her laugh. And be with her all the time. You only want to protect her, keep her safe, make sure no one ever touches a single fucking hair on her head or else you hurl mugs at them.”

Diana tilted her head, her voice quieter now, softer, like she was handling something delicate. “You only want her to trust you. To look at you like you matter. To stay close. And you’re only - ” she gave a little huff of amusement, shaking her head “ - super fucking terrified of losing her again. Of her hurting you. Or you hurting her.”

She pressed her knee a little more firmly against Vi’s.

“But sure. You’re not in love with her at all.”

The burning in Vi’s throat was starting to rival the burning heat in her cheeks. She dropped her stub into the snow beneath her feet, tainting the white blanket an ugly brown, and cleared her throat.

“Yeah. I’m not,” she muttered, but this time she couldn’t even convince herself.

Diana chuckled, pulled back her hand pulled her scarf a bit higher again, effectively hiding her small grin behind the fabric. She finally stopped looking at Vi and let her gaze drift over the snow-covered grounds.

When she broke the silence moments later, her voice was gentle and warm. It wouldn’t have surprised vi, if the snow in front of them would have melted only from the sound of it.

“For what it’s worth, I’m pretty sure Caitlyn is in love with you, too.”

Vi was starting to feel very grateful for whatever mixture Mylo had handed her earlier.

She blinked, slow and deliberate, as the room did a lazy tilt to the left. Or maybe she tilted to the right. Hard to say. Either way, gravity had definitely decided to get creative tonight.

She flexed her fingers experimentally, then frowned. Her hands felt oddly dry. Like she’d been handling paper for too long, or maybe sawdust. Weird. She rubbed them on her pants, but the sensation didn’t go away.

But she’d take weirdly dry hands over being a nervous wreck any day.

Not that she wasn’t still a nervous wreck.

Caitlyn was sitting right next to her, cross-legged, her knee brushing against Vi’s leg.

It was barely anything.

A whisper of warmth.

But every time Caitlyn shifted - every tiny adjustment, every casual stretch - it sent something electric through Vi’s body, something sharp and unbearably present beneath the haze of whatever was dulling her edges.

Caitlyn had taken over rolling the joint, her fingers deft and confident. She wasn’t even looking at what she was doing, like it was muscle memory, something she could do in her sleep. Instead, she was fully engaged in a lively debate with Mylo, her voice animated, her accent curling around words in a way that made Vi’s head feel even lighter.

“Ionia has the best cultivation methods,” Caitlyn insisted, her tone stubborn but teasing. She was leaning over Vi’s lap to get a better angle toward Mylo, her dark hair falling over her shoulder, nearly brushing Vi’s arm.

Vi swallowed hard and tried to look anywhere else, but there was nowhere else.

“They have a humid climate that allows for slow-growing, high-potency strains-”

“That’s just fancy talk for ‘weak as shit,’” Mylo scoffed, waving a dismissive hand. “Zaun’s got the good stuff. You ever had Shimmer-infused strains? Knocks your ass out in two hits.”

“I’d rather not end up hallucinating sewer mutants, thank you very much.”

Caitlyn laughed, a soft, warm sound that curled into Vi’s chest and lodged itself there. She rolled the joint with practiced ease, her fingers moving without thought, her lips pulled into a loose, amused smile.

Vi, on the other hand, couldn’t breathe.

The way Caitlyn talked, the way she moved, it was all too much. She smelled clean, a faint trace of lavender weaving through the mist of smoke and sweat and stale beer, and Vi tried, really tried, not to notice. Not to notice every shift, every glance, every brief touch.

She dragged a hand down her face, exhaling slow, forcing herself to focus on something – anything - else.

But all she could think about was Caitlyn’s knee against hers, the warmth bleeding through fabric, and how even through the fog in her head, it was still the only thing that felt real.

“Fuck, Caitlyn, I must say, you surprise me,” Claggor said with an impressed nod in the direction of Caitlyn’s fingers, which were now absent-mindedly twirling the joint. The broad boy was leaning across from them, his back against the kitchen island, the bag of crisps he had swiped from Mylo on his lap.

Caitlyn only chuckled and shrugged, leaning over Vi’s lap to pass the joint to Mylo. He snatched it up with all the grace of a fucking junkie. Within seconds, he had it lit, inhaling deeply before sinking back against the kitchen counter with a dreamy sigh.

If Caitlyn had any reservations about them smoking inside, she sure as hell didn’t show it.

Instead, she also leaned back against the wooden wall, folding her hands neatly in her lap over a small package. One finger idly traced patterns over the wrapping paper, her movements slow and absentminded.

Her shoulder brushed against Vi’s.

Vi, in turn, forgot how to function as a normal human being.

She stiffened, then immediately forced herself to relax so aggressively that she practically melted into the floorboards. Fortunately, Caitlyn didn’t seem to notice this groundbreaking display of self-sabotage, which was a fucking relief.

Vi was about three seconds away from passing out when Mylo, mercifully, spoke up again.

“So,” he drawled, exhaling smoke into the already suffocating room, grinning like he had all the time in the world. “What you got in there, Topside?” He nodded toward the package, tilting his head with blatant curiosity.

“Oh!” Caitlyn blinked, startled, as if she had just remembered she was holding something at all. Then, almost instinctively, she flicked a glance at Vi - who, for the record, was currently attempting to fuse herself with the floor.

Vi refused to meet her eyes, glaring instead at a particularly innocent floorboard like it had personally wronged her. The heat in her face was unbearable. Maybe if she focused hard enough, she could just will herself out of existence.

Caitlyn looked back at the package, carefully lifting it from her lap. “It’s a present. Uhm, for Vi. For you, I mean,” Caitlyn quickly corrected herself with a breathy laugh. She leaned over, carefully placing the gift in Vi’s lap like she was handling something fragile - probably because Vi herself looked about one wrong move away from combusting.

Vi stared at the present.

The boys stared at Caitlyn.

Caitlyn stared at Vi.

For a solid five seconds, nobody moved.

“Well, what’s the fucking hold-up? Open it!” Mylo finally barked, shattering the silence. He shoved the joint into Claggor’s hand and leaned forward expectantly, using Vi’s thigh as an armrest to support his weight.

Vi finally remembered that it was, in fact, not normal behaviour to just stare at a present like it might explode. Not even when the person who gave it to you was the most beautiful girl you’d ever met. Not even when she smelled like lavender and honey. Not even when her shoulder was still pressed against hers, warm and solid and-

Fuck.

She cleared her throat. Then cleared it again, because the first attempt didn’t quite get the job done.

Mumbled something that might have been a thank you.

Then, finally, she started opening the present.

It had been wrapped beautifully, every fold precise, every corner neatly tucked. Unfortunately, the delicate paper was no match for Vi’s calloused hands and complete lack of patience. She tried to be careful at first, but within seconds, she abandoned any pretense of gentleness, tearing it open instead.

“It’s, uhm, it’s just something small,” Caitlyn chimed in, voice light but just a little unsure. She leaned in slightly, peeking at the gift with obvious curiosity, her dark hair cascading over her shoulders like the most beautiful goddamn waterfall Vi had ever seen.

Then Caitlyn tucked it behind her ear - an ear that, Vi couldn’t help but notice, had turned the faintest shade of pink.

Vi immediately decided to ignore that realization for the sake of her own sanity.

Instead, she focused on the - now thoroughly crinkled and shredded - wrapping paper in her lap, brushing it aside before attacking the glue-striped tape sealing the small cardboard box.

Why the hell was this so secure?

“Oh my god,” Mylo groaned, exasperated, pressing even more of his weight onto Vi’s thigh. “How are you this bad at opening a box? Just fucking rip it open!”

“Shut up, Miles,” Claggor grunted, exhaling smoke through his nose. He lazily reached the joint over to Caitlyn, tilting his head in silent question. “You smoke, Caitlyn?”

“What?”

Caitlyn tore her eyes away from the box - though, to be fair, Vi probably wouldn’t be struggling so much if Caitlyn wasn’t staring that vehemently at it. Her gaze flicked to the joint in Claggor’s fingers, lingering for a few heartbeats before she seemed to actually process his question.

“Oh! Oh, yeah, thanks,” she said, blinking as if snapping out of a daze. She accepted it with a small, polite smile, like he’d just offered her a cup of tea instead of a blunt.

Vi decided to also ignore that shocking revelation - because, honestly, she was reaching her limit for surprising Caitlyn-related discoveries tonight. Instead, she used Caitlyn’s momentary distraction to finally rip open the damn package, subtlety be damned.

“What is it, what is it?” Mylo asked eagerly, practically vibrating with excitement. He leaned forward even more - so much so that he nearly toppled straight into Vi’s lap, his messy curls completely blocking her view of the box as he tried to sneak a look inside.

“Get the fuck off me,” Vi grunted, shoving him from her lap. Mylo cursed under his breath but retreated, leaving Vi free to finally look at the damn thing herself.

Inside the box was… paper.

A bunch of it. Silk-smooth, dark red, carefully arranged.

Caitlyn had gifted her fancy paper.

Slowly, she lifted her head, meeting Caitlyn’s gaze at last. Wide, expectant eyes. That tiny, shy smile. The joint held effortlessly between her long fingers.

Vi’s brain short-circuited.

“Uhm,” she started, clearing her throat for what had to be the hundredth time that night. “Uhm. Thanks?”

Caitlyn laughed - that laugh. The one that showed the little gap in her teeth. The one that filled Vi’s chest with warmth so overwhelming she could feel it creep up her neck.

Fuck.

“There’s something inside, Vi,” Caitlyn said, her voice light and patient, not patronizing in the slightest. She nodded toward the box in Vi’s hands. “The paper’s just for protection. I was scared it might break on my way here.”

If Vi’s cheeks had been burning before, they were now a full-blown wildfire.

She gracefully ignored Mylo’s smug chuckle - meaning she clenched her jaw and elbowed him in the side - and carefully started pushing the silk paper aside. Layer by layer, until finally, something shimmered at the very bottom of the box.

She reached inside, fingers brushing against cool metal, and pulled it out.

Caitlyn let out a nervous little laugh, the kind that came with darting eyes her teeth worrying at her lower lip.

“It’s-…yeah, as I said, it’s just something small.” Her fingers curled slightly against her lap, fidgeting, as her gaze flickered from Vi’s hand to her face and back again. “You, uhm… You probably don’t even remember it, uhm-…”

“What is it?” Mylo repeated, craning his neck, probably popping a vein in an attempt to catch a glance at the thing Vi was holding.

Vi didn’t say anything.

She just stared at the small present in the palm of her hand.

It was a key chain.

The two tiny fish were sculpted with intricate detail, their scales so fine that, under the right light, they shimmered with a soft iridescence. The fish were positioned nose-to-tail, like they were swimming in an eternal loop. Every time the strobing lights shifted, the scales seemed to catch and reflect the colours.

Just like the fish grazing the inside of the fountain in the courtyard of a school all those years ago.

Vi felt a strange lump in her throat as she ran her thumb over the smooth, cold surface of the keychain. The weight of it in her palm felt heavier than it should have.

Caitlyn’s voice broke through the fog of Vi’s thoughts, soft and almost self-conscious, but warm. “It’s-… It’s probably stupid, I just thought you might like it.”

Vi swallowed hard.

She wasn’t sure if it was the keychain, Caitlyn’s words, or something deeper that made her chest ache.

“Okay, now I’m starting to go crazy over here, what is it?!” Mylo asked again, his voice high with frustration as he leaned forward, trying to push Vi’s arm lower to finally get a glimpse of the gift she was holding.

Caitlyn, still watching Vi, quickly tore her eyes away to glance at Mylo, a nervous smile tugging at her lips. “It’s, uh-… It’s nothing, really. Vi probably doesn’t remember-“

“It’s not nothing.”

Vi had finally found her voice again.

Sure, it was rough and hoarse, faltering on a few syllables, but it was back. She cleared her throat, as if that might help smooth things over, but it didn’t really work. Still, she looked up at Caitlyn.

Looked at the most beautiful girl in the entire world, a girl that was looking at her with so much warmth, so much care and genuine worry it made her stomach coil. Caitlyn’s eyes were wide, uncertain, but now a slow, shy smile was creeping back on her face.

Vi closed her fingers around the cold keychain – ignoring Mylo’s annoyed huff – and slowly shook her head.

“It’s not nothing,” she repeated, her voice quieter this time. “And I do remember.”

A small breath huffed from Caitlyn’s nose, her smile widening just enough to reveal the tiny gap between her teeth. Her hair had come untucked again, loose strands of navy falling softly into her face, but this time, Caitlyn didn’t bother pushing them back.

She only looked at Vi.

And right in the midst of  the party, sandwiched between a sea of drunk people stumbling and laughing to music that could only be described as a crime, and two high boys snickering at Vi’s flushed cheeks, right there, on the sticky kitchen floor, Vi realized that she was completely and utterly, maddingly and undeniably in love with Caitlyn Kiramman.

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

Sevika raised an eyebrow.

It was the same as always.

They sat across from one another in the dim, dingy office. Sevika behind her desk, elbows resting on the table, fingers laced together. Vi slumped in the chair across from her, arms crossed tightly over her chest, lips pressed into a thin line. Her eyes stayed down, avoiding Sevika’s gaze.

Sevika tilted her head slightly, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth.

“Talk about what?”

Vi scoffed, shrugging in a way that was more defensive than dismissive.

“You know what,” she muttered, her voice edged with irritation, but her eyes flickered elsewhere, anywhere but at Sevika.

Sevika simply stared at Vi, the blank expression on her face betraying nothing. After a long pause, she sighed heavily, leaning back in her chair with a creak, clearly unbothered by the lack of cooperation.

With a swift motion, she opened the drawer of her desk. The faint rattle of metal and wood echoed in the quiet room, and she produced one of her thick cigars. She plopped it between her lips and with a flick of her wrist, the lighter caught, igniting the tip of the cigar. Sevika inhaled deeply, the smoke swirling around her in a lazy cloud. She dropped the lighter back in the drawer and shut it with a quick nudge of her knee.

Vi's eyes followed the cloud of smoke, and for a split second, they flicked up to the smoke detector screwed into the ceiling, waiting for the telltale beep. The thick scent of tobacco filled the air, stinging at the back of her throat.

Nothing. No alarm.

Sevika had probably disabled it.

Impressive.

The older woman exhaled again, a thick plume of smoke curling into the air, the fumes sour and biting. She leaned back in her chair, giving a small creak under her weight as she stretched her legs out in front of her.

“If you mean the incident in the café,” Sevika said, her tone casually dismissive, as if the whole thing was no more than a passing inconvenience, “then don’t worry your pretty little head about that.”

Vi’s jaw tightened at the remark, but she didn’t react otherwise.

“I don’t think there’s anything left to say about that,” Sevika added with a finality that hung in the air.

Vi scoffed again, shaking her head in disbelief, her pale eyes narrowing at the woman across from her. “Okay, then. Can I go?”

Sevika didn’t even look up. “What do you think, Violet?”

Vi’s teeth ground together at the use of her full name. “It’s Vi.”

“It’s not.” Sevika’s tone was matter-of-fact as she flipped open the file on her desk, her eyes scanning the paper lazily, almost bored. “There’s no use in talking about why you did what you did. Because we both know why, don’t we?”

At this, her eyes flicked up, locking onto Vi’s with an intensity that felt like it could burn. Vi forced herself not to squirm, not to look away, her gaze steady and stubborn, her jaw tight with a silent defiance.

“Is that so?” she growled, her teeth still clenched, her nails digging into her bicep as she tried to hold herself together.

“I believe so,” Sevika replied, the faintest curl of a grim smile tugging at her lips. “So, coming back to Powder-”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

Vi’s head jerked as if struck, and she shook her head violently, her nails sinking into the flesh of her arm, the pressure almost enough to rip through her skin. Her entire body went stiff at the mention of her sister’s name, her heartbeat suddenly louder in her ears, her breath coming in quick, shallow bursts. “I won’t talk about that.”

Sevika didn’t react.

She merely shrugged, tapping the ash from her cigar with a practiced flick of her fingers before glancing back down at the file in front of her. “Okay. I will. So, you tried to get custody over Powder a year ago-”

“I’ll leave,” Vi snapped, uncrossing her arms and leaning forward in her chair, her eyes narrowing into a dangerous glare, her body tense. “I don’t give a shit about the consequences. I’ll get up and walk out of here right now. You can’t make me talk about it.”

Sevika’s gaze didn’t falter.

She met Vi’s fiery stare with one of her own, infuriatingly calm. The silence stretched for a moment, thick and suffocating, before Sevika finally broke it with a lazy sigh.

“Wow,” Sevika drawled, rolling her eyes in an exaggerated, almost bored fashion. “What an original and creative threat, Violet.” She took another drag from her cigar, the smoke swirling around her like an indomitable cloud. “Honestly, your little game of sitting in silence until something sets you off, then storming out like some pathetic little bitch... it’s getting a bit old, don’t you think?”

“I don’t give a fuck,” Vi growled, her fingers clenching the fabric of her sweatpants, knuckles white with the effort. The words came out low, guttural, like a threat. “I’ll walk.”

Sevika didn’t seem impressed.

She simply hummed, leaning back in her chair, crossing her arms in front of her broad chest. The cigar dangled between her lips. “How disappointing,” she muttered, her tone light and indifferent, a small shrug punctuating her words. “Don’t you think Powder deserves a bit more from you than that?”

Vi gritted her teeth so tightly that her jaw started to ache, each word a struggle to force past the clenched barrier in her throat. Her breath came out tight and raspy, like it was too difficult to even speak. “You don’t know shit about what she deserves and what-”

“So she should have deserved you as her legal guardian?”

Vi froze.

The words stopped her cold, the air suddenly thick, suffocating. She stared at Sevika, eyes narrowed into a hateful glare, taking in every detail: that scarred face, the imposing biceps that crossed her arms in such a casual display of strength.

She hated it all.

Sevika’s smile grew, sharp and self-assured. It wasn’t kind. It was winning.

Vi’s heart pounded harder in her chest, and for a moment, she felt a wave of dizziness.

“So,” Sevika continued, tapping the file on the desk with a lazy flick of her index finger. “You tried to get custody but were considered unfit because of your criminal and violent history. Bet that stung, huh?”

Vi hated her.

Sevika didn’t give her time to respond, flipping through the file like she had all the time in the world, as if the words didn’t matter to her at all. She stopped, tapping a section of the page with the same deliberate calmness. “You sent a total of...” She paused for dramatic effect. “Fifty-seven letters to the Court of Piltover trying to plead your case. Impressive. But obviously useless.”

Vi fucking hated her.

“So, you obviously have a close relationship with your sister, right?” Sevika asked. Vi didn’t answer, and Sevika didn’t expect her to. She continued, the words cutting into the silence like a dull knife. “Still, there have been no registered calls from her to you during your stay at Solace the past year. Also, no calls from you to her.”

Another drag. Another cloud of smoke rolled out from between Sevika’s lips, filling the space with the heavy, bitter scent. It clung to the air, thick and suffocating, making it harder to focus, harder to breathe.

Vi tried to steady her breathing, but the room felt like it was closing in. The walls felt too tight, too thick.

"So?" she spat out, her voice trembling with barely controlled anger. Every word felt like it was being wrenched from her, and it stung, sharp and raw.

Sevika didn’t flinch.

She just stared at her, her expression a mix of patience and quiet amusement, like she already knew what was coming. “So,” Sevika continued, closing the file with a sharp pang, leaning back in her chair with lazy confidence, “what’s up with that?”

Vi didn’t answer.

Her eyes locked onto Sevika’s, the raw fury burning in her chest, a fire that flared with each shallow breath. Her nostrils flared in time with the quick tapping of her foot against the floor, the only sound in the otherwise suffocating silence.

She could feel the urge to leave, to follow through with the threat she had made. Her body was tense, every muscle coiled like a spring ready to snap, the escape right there within reach. All she had to do was stand up, walk out, and let Sevika have the last word.

But she couldn’t.

Sevika’s eyes were like a vice, unblinking, drilling into her soul. Vi was stuck - glued to that fucking chair, to the room, to the suffocating weight of Sevika’s unrelenting gaze. And so, she stayed.

Her silence was all she had left. She glared.

A few moments passed - unbearable moments of thick, oppressive silence. Sevika just let it sit there, heavy between them. Finally, she spoke, her voice smooth and low.

“I’ll tell you what’s up with that,” she began, propping her elbows on the table once more, leaning forward just enough to make the space between them feel even smaller. “You’re a deeply caring person, we both know you are, no matter how hard you try to deny it.”

Vi’s lip curled into a sneer, a scoff bubbling up in her chest. Sevika ignored it, continuing without a hint of hesitation.

“And you give a lot for the people you care about. Sometimes too much. Sometimes everything. And when it all blows up in your face, you blow.”

Vi’s eyes narrowed, the heat rising in her chest. “Wow, great deduction,” she growled, her voice rough and tight, “I could’ve figured that out on my own.”

Sevika’s smile was small, knowing, and unfazed. She leaned even further forward, the edge of her cigar between her fingers now almost forgotten. “Caring makes you vulnerable, Violet. And you’re scared fucking shitless of being vulnerable.”

Vi’s breath hitched. Sevika wasn’t done.

“So instead, you get angry.”

Angry.

That was all she was in the end, wasn’t it?

Angry, dangerous, violent Violet.

Too angry to find a new family. Too angry to get a job. Too angry to be trusted with her own sister.

Too angry to love.

Sevika’s eyes softened just slightly, but her voice remained steady, unrelenting.

“You care about Kiramman, too. And now you’re starting to get scared.”

Vi to swallow the knot in her throat, but it stuck there, refusing to move.

Sevika put the cigar out, the ember dying with a final, soft hiss. She pushed some of her chestnut hair behind her ear, her fingers brushing the jagged scar on her cheek. Her gaze never wavered from Vi, her words slicing through the air with surgical precision.

"You think you can keep it all locked up. But sooner or later, you’ll have to admit it, Violet. You care. You always have. And you’ve always been scared of it. And that’s what’s fucking you up inside."

Vi opened her mouth, but nothing came out. She wanted to argue. She wanted to shout that it wasn’t true, that none of it mattered. But the silence stretched between them like a chasm, one she couldn’t cross.

“I don’t need you to tell me I’m right.” Sevika’s voice was almost a whisper now. There was no malice, no sharpness in her tone. Only truth. She tilted her head slightly, her gaze sharp as ever. "I can see it in your eyes, Violet. I can see how fucking terrified you are."

Vi didn’t have a response. She didn’t have a thought. There was no argument she could throw back at Sevika. Instead, all she could feel was the growing rage inside of her chest, a pressure building up so fast it made it hard to breathe. Her heartbeat was loud in her ears, the rapid thumping a constant reminder of just how out of control she was becoming.

Her vision blurred, darkening at the edges, and for a split second, everything seemed distant.

She was so close. So close to breaking. To lashing out and throwing something, anything.

Sevika let the silence linger for a moment, staring at Vi with a quiet intensity that almost seemed to be waiting for something - maybe for Vi to crack, to fall apart, to do something other than just sit there, silent and trembling. But when she didn’t get a reaction, Sevika sighed, the sound carrying the weight of resignation.

With a casual movement, Sevika picked up the file, her fingers flipping it shut with a faint rustle. She placed it on top of a small stack of papers at the side of her table. Her gaze never left the pile as she spoke again, her voice softer but no less firm.

“You can go. I’ll see you tomorrow, same time.”

Vi stood up woodenly, the anger still burning in her chest but no outlet for it. The room felt even smaller now, oppressive. Vi wanted to scream, to throw a punch, to fight back in some way. But she just turned, her movements stiff, as she made her way to the door.

Before she stepped out, she glanced back at Sevika. But the woman was already looking at something else. Vi slammed the door behind her, the sound echoing in the empty hall as she walked away.

Her footsteps pounded down the hallway. Her chest tightened with every breath, like there was no air left to fill her lungs. Vi’s fingers curled into fists, the skin across her knuckles pulling tight as her body seemed to vibrate with tension. The anger was crawling up her throat now, making it hard to breathe.

Angry, dangerous, violent Violet.

Her vision blurred at the edges, a dull ringing beginning to settle in her ears. She felt dizzy, like the floor beneath her might give out at any second. Her head throbbed, a sharp pulse behind her eyes, and she staggered for a moment, but kept moving.

Vi clenched her jaw, the grinding of her teeth making her head ache, but still, it wasn’t enough to dull the rage. It just kept building, growing in her gut, spreading to every inch of her body. It was suffocating.

Angry, dangerous, violent Violet.

And she was alone with it.

Fucking alone.

Except she wasn’t.

Vi stopped dead in her tracks, staring at the girl a few feet away from her.

Caitlyn had just exited her room, closing the door behind her while awkwardly clutching her bag of tobacco with the same hand, fumbling with the door handle like she was juggling too many things at once.

When Caitlyn turned and their eyes met, something shifted. Caitlyn’s eyes lit up, instantly warming as she recognized Vi.

But Vi knew it wasn’t just recognition.

Caitlyn’s lips curled upwards into a small, hesitant smile. But it faltered, wavering, when she saw the look on Vi’s face.

A tiny crease appeared on her forehead.

Worry.

Vi didn’t know why she did what she did next.

She really didn’t.

But before her thoughts could catch up, before her senses could scream at her, beg her to stop, to think, to stop fucking ruining things, her feet were already moving. She could feel her heart pounding, could hear her breath coming faster, unevenly.

And then her hands were gripping Caitlyn’s collar, pulling her up against the wall with a force that felt foreign, even to her. Caitlyn’s breath hitched in surprise when the back of her head hit the wall, a soft gasp that cut through the air like a knife, but Vi didn’t care.

Didn’t know how to care.

“Vi-”

“Shut the fuck up!” Vi hissed, the words tearing out of her throat before she could stop them. It wasn’t her voice - not the one she recognized, not the one she had under control. No, this was something else. A growl.

A beast in the back of her head that she couldn’t cage.

Vi’s hands shook with rage. She didn’t know why it was happening, why the anger flooded her system, why all of a sudden, it was so damn hard to breathe without wanting to scream at the world. To tear it apart, starting with Caitlyn.

Why?

Why was she fucking like this?

Why, why, why?

Her pulse throbbed in her neck, and she slammed Caitlyn against the wall again, harder than she intended. Caitlyn’s breath quickened, her back arching in protest, but Vi couldn’t hear her. The ringing in her ears was too loud. All she could hear was the frantic thrum of her own heartbeat.

“You-…” Vi’s voice broke. She didn’t even know what she was trying to say anymore. Her words tangled, twisted together into a mess of frustration and confusion, raw and unfiltered. “You-… All of you, fuck, you’re so fucking-“

Caitlyn just stood there, her blue eyes wide, lips slightly parted, cheeks flushed. She didn’t look scared - not at all - and somehow, that made Vi only angrier.

“You-…” Vi began again, but the words didn’t come out right, just stuttered sounds laced with venom. “You slither into my life like some fucking-… You prance in here, all fucking shiny, and you make me-…”

The rage in her surged. It burned hotter than ever before - hotter than in Sevika’s office, hotter than in the café, hotter than anything she had ever felt, and Vi was fucking done holding it back. She was done with everything.

It wasn’t a slow burn anymore.

It was an inferno.

A fire that roared to life, devouring everything in its path with no mercy, no sense of control. She could feel it spreading through her chest, her limbs, making her heart throb with every beat, like it was trying to break free. The heat was suffocating, choking her from the inside out. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. All she could feel was the fire, the rage, scorching everything.

Her hands shook with the force of it, her fists clenched so tight around Caitlyn’s collar, she thought her nails might break the skin. She wasn’t even thinking anymore. She couldn’t. The fire was in control now. She was just the vessel, the one who had to let it burn through her.

Vi didn’t care. Not anymore.

“It’s what you do best, right?” Vi’s laugh was dry, hollow. She tightened her grip on Caitlyn’s windbreaker so hard, the fabric nearly gave way beneath her fingers. “You come into people’s lives and make yourself fucking comfortable. Pretend they’re safe with you-… pretend to care, pretend to-… to-”

Vi gasped, but the air in the hallway felt thick, like it wasn’t working anymore. The more she tried to suck it in, the more it evaporated.

“You-… You don’t get to pretend,” she spat, her voice strained, still raw, shaking. “You don’t get to come in here and make me think-… Fuck!”

She shoved Caitlyn harder against the wall. The coldness of Caitlyn’s hand pressed against her chest, trying to create some kind of distance between them, but Vi ignored it, didn’t even acknowledge it.

Her eyes scanned over Caitlyn, desperate, unwilling, yet drawn to her. Over the curve of her jaw, her long lashes, the soft dip of her collarbone, her slightly uneven lips. Her beautiful, infuriatingly beautiful eyes that seemed to see right through Vi. And in that moment, it felt like everything in her - every small ounce of control left - was slipping away.

And she wanted to tear the world apart.

“You don’t get to make me think we’re something, we’re anything, because we’re not, do you get that?!” Vi hissed, her voice coming out sharp, high-pitched, like a scream caught in her throat.

Spit flew from her lips, through her clenched teeth, but she didn’t care. The heat in her chest was suffocating, a wildfire igniting in her ribs, threatening to consume her from the inside out, a wildfire demanding a release.

And Caitlyn was standing in its way.

So it aimed to burn her down.

“You almost fucking had me.” Her voice was now thick with disgust, the words spilling out like poison. “You almost did, with your-… your-… Fuck, with your collarbone and your weed and your fucking sad eyes, but I’m not falling for that. I’m not falling for you, Caitlyn, fuck, not again.”

The words came out like a knife to the gut, slicing through her own chest, but there was no way to stop them. She couldn’t stop herself anymore. This wasn’t her talking.

Or maybe it was.

Maybe this was just who she fucking was.

The fire inside her wasn’t something she could control anymore. It was alive now, consuming everything in its path, its claws digging into her ribs, gnawing at her heart until it was a burning, aching mess. She wasn’t trying to hold back, she was letting it burn.

Letting it destroy everything.

It didn’t matter if she was destroying herself, if she was burning Caitlyn to the ground. Nothing mattered anymore but the fire that filled her lungs.

She leaned in closer, so close she could feel Caitlyn’s breath, feel the tremble in her lips. Smell lavender.

“Just stay the fuck away from me, Kiramman,” she spat, her voice low, venomous. “Stay out of my fucking life.”

Her breath hit Caitlyn’s lower lip, sending a tremor through the taller girl, but Caitlyn still didn’t say anything. She still didn’t look scared.

She looked fucking hurt.

And that hurt didn’t make Vi slow down. It didn’t make her feel anything but more fire in her chest, more rage that surged higher, hotter. It burned so fucking hot, she couldn’t see straight, couldn’t think straight.

Vi slowly released her grip on Caitlyn’s windbreaker, loosening her stiff fingers one by one, but she didn’t feel any relief. There was no satisfaction in it.

There was nothing left but the heat in her chest, the fire licking at her throat.

She stepped back, her chest rising and falling in ragged, shallow breaths, her pulse pounding in her ears. Her heart slammed against her ribs like it was trying to break free, but the fire kept it locked down, burned it to a crisp.

They stared at each other, the silence stretching between them. Caitlyn, pressed against the wall, her expression frozen - shocked, hurt, and yet still standing there, not backing down. And Vi stood there, at the centre of it all, surrounded by a world gone up in flames, watching as the smoke swirled around them both.

And then, because Vi was done fighting it, done pretending it wasn’t happening, she spoke again. Her voice was flat, hollow, dead.

“Just-…” She wet her lips, brushing her hair back, her fingers shaking as she did it. “Just stay on your own. It’s what you do fucking best.”

Vi turned away.

Her knees wobbled, but she didn’t stop walking. She didn’t stop because she knew she had to. She couldn’t stay there, looking at Caitlyn anymore. The fire inside her was still raging, burning out of control. And so she walked away through the ashes, through the ruins of everything she had just destroyed, through the pieces of her own soul that had been left in the wreckage.

Because that was just who Vi was.

Fucking angry.

Vi was really starting to regret smoking that weed.

Usually, she only got a little woozy and quiet. While the boys engaged in the dumbest conversations mankind had ever witnessed, Vi would sink into the couch cushions, close her eyes, and relish the feeling of everything and nothing at once.

But tonight was different.

Maybe it had been the weed Mylo had gifted her.

Maybe it had been the booze she’d downed beforehand.

Or maybe – probably - it had been Caitlyn’s hand suddenly resting on  of her thigh.

She should have brushed it off. Smirked. Made a joke. But instead, something had jolted through her - a reckless, unfamiliar courage. Before she could stop herself, she’d grabbed Caitlyn’s hand, laced their fingers together, and mumbled something about showing her around.

A tour.

As if there was anything remotely interesting to see in this crammed, stuffy apartment filled with hammered strangers swaying to the thrumming bass.

Caitlyn had followed.

And now they were in Vi’s tiny room, and all that false bravado had melted into something unsteady, something restless.

Vi lingered near the doorway, fingers twitching at her sides, while Caitlyn moved through the space with careful curiosity. Her sharp blue eyes swept over everything: the unmade bed, sheets tangled and draped half across the floor, the mouldy wallpaper Vi’d tried - and failed - to cover with a mess of old posters, the desk buried under loose papers, empty cans, and whatever else she hadn’t bothered to throw away.

Vi swallowed hard, shifting her weight from one foot to the other.

Thank God past Vi had at least had the sense not to leave her vibrator out in the open.

Because if she had, she was pretty sure she would’ve thrown herself out the window right then and there.

Unfortunately, past Vi had not had the sense to take down the poster of the half-naked chick draped across a motorcycle.

Caitlyn stopped in front of it, leaning in slightly, her sharp blue eyes narrowing in focus.

Vi wanted to die.

The usual comfort of the weed - the thick, syrupy haze that drowned out nerves and made everything feel distant – was definitely not working. Instead, Vi was painfully, horribly aware of just how dingy and gross her room looked.

The mold creeping along the wallpaper.

The mess.

The faint smell of weed and whatever the hell had died in the walls last week.

And now Caitlyn was standing there, staring at that poster.

Vi’s newly found realisation about being in love with Caitlyn didn’t help in the slightest.

She cleared her throat, rubbed the back of her neck, and forced out a chuckle - one that was supposed to sound casual but came out weird and wonky as hell.

“Oh, yeah, that, uh-… That doesn’t even belong to me.”

Caitlyn’s eyes flicked over to her, one brow arching, the corners of her mouth twitching.

“It doesn’t?”

“Yeah. Yeah, no, uh-… It’s Mylo’s.” Vi nodded, like that would somehow make it more believable. “I’m just, y’know. Preserving it.”

“Preserving it?”

Caitlyn’s lips pressed together, her expression teetering on the edge of laughter. The amusement in her eyes was clear now, and Vi wanted the ground to swallow her whole.

She forced herself to hold Caitlyn’s gaze, arms crossed, doing her best to look totally, absolutely not embarrassed at all.

“Yeah. It’s, uh… a sentimental thing.”

Caitlyn exhaled a laugh, shaking her head as she turned back to the poster.

“How very noble of you.”

Vi’s fingers drummed out a restless rhythm against her biceps as Caitlyn straightened up and moved on, continuing her slow, scrutinizing survey of the room. This time, she stopped in front of the lone shelf Vi owned, eyes scanning the spines of the well-worn books crammed haphazardly together.

“You like reading?” Caitlyn asked.

It wasn’t condescending. It wasn’t a wow, I’m surprised you can even read kind of question. It was genuine. Like she actually wanted to know. Like she was trying to learn something real about Vi.

Somehow, that didn’t ease Vi’s nerves in the slightest.

She shifted against the doorframe, suddenly hyper-aware of the way her heart pounded against her ribs. Shrugging, she forced out a casual, “It’s cool, I guess.”

Caitlyn only hummed, her gaze drifting from the books on the shelf over to Vi’s table littered in notes and papers and sheets. She narrowed her eyes, curious, and stepped closer to get a better look.

And somehow, that did it for Vi.

There was no way in hell she was letting Caitlyn see her squiggly notes, her half-assed attempts at writing up a CV, her lists of potential hires.

Not while hammered.

Not while high.

Not while being in love.

Vi shut that thought down so fast it nearly gave her whiplash.

She unfroze, clearing her throat way too loudly to snap Caitlyn’s attention back to her. It worked. Caitlyn blinked, glancing over, and Vi took the opening - stepping fully into the room, a too-tight, too-nervous smile stretching across her face.

“It’s, uh-… It’s nothing special.” She gestured vaguely around, then realized how that sounded and quickly added, “The room, I mean.”

She chuckled - awkward, again - and ran a hand through her hair like that would somehow fix the messy curls.

“There is one upside, though.” Vi latched onto the thought like a lifeline, already moving toward the window. She shot Caitlyn a lopsided grin, hoping it looked a lot smoother than she felt.

“You wanna see?”

Lucky for her, Caitlyn did want to see.

Getting out of the window, though? That was a whole different battle.

Caitlyn was all legs and higher than she’d first let on, which made the process slow and unnecessarily complicated. Vi ended up having to physically guide those long limbs through the window - one by one - hands awkwardly hovering between wanting to help and not wanting to overstep.

And then Caitlyn’s shirt rode up.

Just a bit. Just enough for Vi to catch a sliver of pale skin, the faint definition of toned abs.

Vi could have sworn her face caught on fire right then and there.

But somehow, somehow, they made it.

Now, they sat side by side on the edge of the rusted fire escape, their legs dangling over the drop, fingers curling instinctively around the chilled metal railing. It groaned slightly beneath their weight, weathered by time and neglect, but Vi knew it would hold.

Probably.

The cold night air bit at her exposed skin, crisp and sharp, the kind that settled deep in your bones. It smelled like smoke, oil, and the faint tang of metal - the scent of Zaun.

Of home.

Below them, the city sprawled out in an endless stretch of flickering neon and shifting shadows, a maze of alleys and towering pipes, of industrial ruins patched together with desperate ingenuity.

They could still hear the thrum of the music inside - honestly, who couldn’t? - but out here, it had faded into the background, just another layer of sound woven into the fabric of the night.

The city was alive with a cacophony of noise: the distant roar of an engine, the muffled chatter of voices floating up from the streets below, the occasional hiss of steam escaping from a rusted pipe. Neon signs buzzed weakly, some flickering, others casting steady pools of electric blue and sickly yellow onto the damp pavement. A warm glow spilled from an open window across the street, silhouetting someone smoking on a balcony.

Vi exhaled, watching her breath curl in the cold air before it disappeared.

She risked a glance at Caitlyn.

The blue of her eyes almost glowed under the city lights, her features soft, curious, calm.

She looked beautiful.

Vi was about to tell her as much, to say it smoothly, casually, but all that actually came out was a short, breathy “Beautiful.”

Caitlyn turned her head, hair slipping over her shoulder as she moved. She tucked it back behind her ear, brows raising slightly.

“What?” she asked, tilting her head, because apparently Vi had decided to croak random adjectives at her.

Vi cleared her throat, scrambling for a save. “I-… I meant the view,” she said, waving vaguely toward the city like she hadn’t just been staring directly at Caitlyn’s face. “You know. The, uh… lights. Real nice.”

“Oh!” Caitlyn nodded, looking back at the city beneath them, her breath puffing out in little clouds that disappeared into the cold air. “It really is.”

Vi wanted to throw herself off the fire escape.

Caitlyn folded her hands over the railing and rested her chin on top, her face glowing in the multi-colored haze of neon lights. The city stretched beneath them, a shimmering sea of movement, but Vi couldn’t bring herself to look at anything else. The glow caught in Caitlyn’s dark hair, turning it into silk woven with hints of violet and blue. A strand slipped loose from behind her ear again, and Vi's fingers twitched with the ridiculous urge to reach out, to tuck it back, to feel just how soft it really was.

Everything in her screamed to touch. To run calloused fingers through those dark strands, to brush against warm skin, to pull Caitlyn in and bury herself in that warmth and never let go.

She cleared her throat sharply, physically shaking off the thought before her buzzed brain could betray her. "So, uhm," she blurted out, desperate for literally anything to say.

Caitlyn tilted her head ever so slightly, blue eyes flicking to her with quiet interest. Vi felt that look somewhere deep in her chest, a warm, twisting thing that made her pulse trip over itself.

"So, uh, Claggor, huh?" she said, trying her best not to slur her words together.

Caitlyn blinked before chuckling, a soft, amused sound. "Yeah? What about him?"

"How did he even manage to invite you?" Vi asked.

Caitlyn shrugged, eyebrows crinkling in thought. Even that tiny movement sent something fluttering in Vi’s stomach. "He texted me a few weeks ago."

Vi frowned. "How the hell did he even get your number?"

"Good question," Caitlyn admitted with a small laugh. "I’m still not sure." She laughed again, the sound slipping under Vi’s skin like a second buzz, warm and light. "Maybe I should be concerned," Caitlyn mused. "I feel like some part in a grand scheme.”

Vi smirked, leaning her arms on the railing beside her. "You probably are. But, hey, it could be worse!"

Caitlyn hummed, shooting her a sidelong look. "Oh? And what’s worse?"

Falling for you, Vi’s brain supplied unhelpfully.

She cleared her throat again. "Uh. Dunno. Being stuck at some shitty party with even shittier music?"

Caitlyn snorted. "Wouldn’t that just be awful."

Vi chuckled, shrugging. "Or, y'know, being forced to sit outside on a fire escape in the freezing cold?"

Caitlyn’s smile didn’t waver. If anything, it softened, and Vi felt the shift like a slow drop in altitude, her stomach turning weightless. Caitlyn let her gaze wander - lingering on the small scar in Vi’s eyebrow, the slightly crooked nose that hadn’t set right after her last run-in with some two-bit street gang, the faint mark on her lip.

For a few moments, neither of them spoke.

The bass from inside pulsed through the walls, blending with the distant honking of horns and laughter drifting up from the streets below. But Caitlyn kept looking at her, those blue eyes peeling away every layer Vi had carefully built until she felt bare beneath them, her hammering heart laid out for the whole damn city to see.

Then, finally, Caitlyn spoke, her smile softening just a little.

“Oh,” she murmured, “as long as you’re sitting right next to me, it’s honestly not too bad.”

Well. That didn’t help in the slightest.

Vi was pretty sure she was about to go into cardiac arrest.

Her laughter came out breathy, shaky, and she quickly looked away before Caitlyn’s eyes could burn her up entirely.

Unfortunately, the slender, pale hand that suddenly rested carefully on her thigh made all that effort completely useless. Vi went rigid, her brain short-circuiting as every nerve in her body zeroed in on that single point of contact.

She kept her eyes glued to a neon sign across the street - a flickering thing advertising THE HOTTE T CH CKS IN ZA N.

“You know,” she croaked, her throat suddenly as dry as parchment, “Mylo stole the ‘U’.”

She pointed at the sign - her fingers trembling - and tried very hard to ignore the way Caitlyn’s fingers started tracing slow, absentminded circles on her thigh, effectively redoubling her heart’s attempts to punch straight through her ribcage and splatter onto the streets below.

“Oh?”

Caitlyn’s voice was faint, a whisper, but Vi latched onto it like a damn lifeline, desperate for anything to say, anything to focus on - never mind that every word coming out of her mouth was complete and utter nonsense.

“Yeah. A few months ago, I think. He had a crush on this girl and wanted to impress her with some big gesture.” Vi chuckled – that awful, shaky, uncertain chuckle that made her toes curl with embarrassment. “Her, uhm-… her name started with a ‘U’, so, uh…” Her words tripped over themselves. “So, uh. Yeah. He gave it to her.”

Caitlyn laughed.

Vi tried to remember if that sound had always sent all her blood rushing to her ears and face, if her whole body had always tingled like this. But she couldn’t.

“Yeah?” Caitlyn asked, and Vi could hear her shifting, could feel her sliding up a bit closer. Their thighs were almost touching, and Vi was pretty fucking grateful for that ‘almost.’ Any closer and her chest would’ve exploded on the spot.

“Yeah. Gave it to her and told her he loved her.” She snorted. “They only knew each other for, like, two weeks. What an idiot.”

Caitlyn laughed quietly, pulling her shoulders up in that small, delicate way. Vi’s breath hitched in her throat when Caitlyn’s hand remained on her thigh, tracing the seam of her jeans in slow, absent-minded circles.

Or deliberate. Hell, if Vi knew.

“I actually think it’s quite endearing,” Caitlyn said thoughtfully, her voice quiet but certain. Vi caught the faintest movement in her peripheral vision - the way Caitlyn’s head turned toward the flickering neon sign, the reflection of it dancing in her eyes. It was a small shift, but it felt like the world around them shifted just a little too.

"Kind of romantic, don’t you think?"

“God, if that’s what’s considered romantic, then I guess I’m not really the type for romance,” Vi grunted, scrubbing her nail against a small rusty spot on the railing.

Her fingers kept moving, almost mechanically, like she could trick her mind into not thinking about the way Caitlyn’s hand still rested on her thigh - soft and warm, like an animal that had made its home there.

Vi wasn’t about to make any sudden movements and scare it off.

Her chest felt tight, but she carefully sneaked a glance at Caitlyn.

“Oh, I’m a hopeless romantic!” Caitlyn sighed and tilted her head back, squinting up at the dark sky. The stars were hidden behind the always present thick clouds of Zaun, dimming their light, suffocating the night with their looming presence.

Vi watched her as Caitlyn’s eyes scanned the sky, that small, almost wistful smile playing at the corners of her lips. Caitlyn looked up at those distant stars as if the night itself was a treasure, as if she saw the stars as the most beautiful thing in the world.

Vi wanted Caitlyn to look at her like that.

She swallowed, wetting her lips with the tip of her tongue. “Yeah?” she croaked, and Caitlyn nodded, her eyes still focused on the sky, a faraway look on her face.

“Oh, yeah.” Caitlyn chuckled, one hand coming up to cover her mouth, a little embarrassed. Vi was secretly relieved it wasn’t the hand still resting on her thigh. “It’s-… Gods, it’s a bit embarrassing, but I used to love reading those awfully written romance novels.” She dropped her hand back into her lap, her legs dangling slightly from the fire escape.

“Like, ones with knights and princesses and stuff?”

“Yes,” Caitlyn said, the smile in her voice clear even though her face remained turned up to the sky. “Although, I always imagined the knights as women, of course.” She let out a soft laugh, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. “I just-… I don’t know, I loved everything about them. The way the characters had to go through all these ridiculous obstacles, these crazy challenges, just to end up with each other.”

Now she did drop her gaze, and her eyes met Vi’s, locking with an intensity that made Vi freeze in place. Vi felt her breath hitch, her heart beating faster – if that was even possible -  but she couldn’t look away.

Caitlyn tilted her head, her smile soft. The lights from the city flickered off her skin, casting her in a warm, ever-changing glow that made her look almost ethereal, like she was part of the night itself.

“You know which part I always liked most, though?” Caitlyn asked, her voice low, almost a whisper.

Vi couldn’t answer.

It was like Caitlyn’s eyes had reached into her chest and stolen her breath, like her gaze had tangled itself into Vi’s mind, pulling everything away and leaving her speechless. It felt as though Caitlyn’s words were threads weaving through her, tying her up in a way she couldn’t escape.

Vi was hers.

Completely and utterly at Caitlyn’s mercy.

Her heart raced, her thoughts scattered like leaves in the wind, and her voice was nowhere to be found. She was frozen in place, caught in the gravitational pull of Caitlyn’s gaze, unable to move or speak.

So, she did the only thing she could do.

She shook her head, her lips slightly parted, eyes wide, and pupils blown.

The smile on Caitlyn’s face slowly faded, replaced by something questioning, something more serious - something that made Vi’s stomach flip.

My god, was she about to throw up?

That would truly be god-awful timing, especially since Caitlyn’s face was suddenly moving closer - much closer.

Vi’s pulse pounded in her ears, the beat of it reverberating through her chest as everything seemed to slow down.

Caitlyn’s features sharpened in her vision, and Vi could see the dark mascara on her lashes, making her eyes look impossibly blue, the small mole half-hidden in her eyebrow that Vi had never noticed before. Her gaze moved over the soft curve of Caitlyn’s face, tracing the way a few stray baby hairs curled from her forehead, the edges catching the dim glow of the lights around them.

The world outside seemed to fade, the hum of the city, the pulsing bass from the party - they all became distant, muffled. All Vi could focus on now was the way Caitlyn was slowly moving closer to her, and the warmth that radiated off of her like a tangible thing.

As Caitlyn’s face inched closer, Vi inhaled deeply.

Lavender.

It was like Caitlyn was wearing the air itself, and it wrapped around Vi like a warm blanket. It mixed with the faint traces of mint and the sharp, lingering scent of booze on Caitlyn’s breath, making Vi’s head spin a little.

Okay, maybe the weed did take some part in that.

Now Caitlyn’s thigh was firm, warm against hers, and Vi couldn’t stop the way her heart seemed to skip a beat. Caitlyn was close enough that she could feel the rise and fall of her chest, the soft shift of her body as she moved in closer, as if everything in the universe was narrowing down to just this moment, this single point in space and time.

Vi gulped, her throat tight.

She could feel the pressure of Caitlyn’s hand resting of her thigh lifting, only for her to slip her fingers between Vi’s, curling gently around her hand. Vi’s fingers twitched, but she didn’t pull away. Instead, she just held on, her skin tingling where Caitlyn’s touch lingered.

Her hands were embarrassingly sweaty and Vi had to suppress the urge to pull back and wipe them on her pants.

Her gaze flicked to Caitlyn’s face, to those eyes that had moved away from hers to focus on her lips, then back to her eyes. It felt like the whole world was hanging in the balance, like everything depended on this one small, fragile instant.

This was it. This was the moment. There was no escape.

Vi swallowed hard, her lips parting just slightly as she took a breath, her chest rising and falling in the quiet space between them. Her body was still trembling with the rush of nerves and the booze, her hand shaking slightly in Caitlyn’s.

But she knew what she had to do.

For once in her life, she actually knew what was right.

She leaned in - just a little, just enough to narrow the gap between them, just enough to give Caitlyn the smallest permission, the gentlest gesture that said it was okay.

Caitlyn’s breath caught, her eyes flickering with a mixture of surprise and something else, something soft and relieved. And then, as if everything had shifted in that single, small movement, she moved in.

Vi had kissed girls before, of course she had.

There had been Margaret, the daughter of her eighth-grade math teacher. Margaret had the annoying habit of chewing gum every second of the day, even when they had been pressed up against each other in the girl’s restroom, Vi’s hands shamelessly roaming. She’d tasted like artificial strawberries, like chemicals and sugar and something too sticky.

Vi had brushed her teeth three times that day, scraped at her tongue until it hurt, but the taste had still lingered.

In tenth grade, she’d snuck into a bar with Mylo and Claggor, leading to a sloppy makeout session with a woman twice her age in the dingy alley behind the bar. The woman had short curls, so short Vi kept losing her grip on them as her hands slid off. Her lips had been rough, chapped - basically sandpaper. She'd tasted like liquor and cigarettes, a heavy, burning thing that sat on Vi’s tongue long after.

Pretty gross, if she was being honest.

A few months ago, Claggor had set her up with some friend of his - a small, twiggy girl who only reached up to Vi’s chin. Vi had tried, had leaned down, let the girl’s lips press to hers, but after a few minutes of awkward, slightly uncomfortable kissing, her back started aching from bending down so much.

She’d stopped it before it could go any further.

Kissing Caitlyn was nothing like this.

Caitlyn was soft.

Soft everywhere.

Soft hands that reached for her carefully, hesitantly, like she wasn’t sure she was allowed to touch her at all.

Soft fingers that brushed along Vi’s jaw, a light, feathering touch that made her breath hitch.

Soft lips that pressed to hers - tentative, warm and gentle, like she was afraid she’d do it wrong.

Vi felt her exhale against her, a slow, nervous breath that ghosted over her skin. Caitlyn's fingers, shaky and unsure, squeezed around Vi’s, brushing over the little cuts and callouses that lined her skin. She wasn’t pulling, wasn’t grasping - just holding, like she was learning the shape of her, memorizing the rough edges.

Then, slowly, like she was gathering courage, her other hand slid into Vi’s choppy pink hair, tentative at first, then curling just slightly, fingertips threading through strands, not once tugging or yanking.

Caitlyn kissed her carefully, like she was thinking about every tiny movement, like she wanted to get it right. She wasn’t greedy, wasn’t hurried. Just patient, just gentle, lips brushing, lingering, retreating just slightly before pressing back in, like she was savouring it.

Like she wanted to savour it.

Vi didn’t know what to do with it.

She was used to rushed, messy things. To being taken and taking back, to hands pulling, to tongues pushing, to kisses that left behind bruises and flavours she didn’t want in her mouth.

But Caitlyn?

Caitlyn kissed her like she meant it. Like she wanted her - not the thrill, not the rush, not the escape.

Just Vi.

And Vi couldn’t do anything but let herself sink into it.

Let Caitlyn’s warmth press into her, let her fingers squeeze back, let the softness unravel her in a way that made her chest feel too tight and her breath too shallow. She didn’t think. Didn’t pull away. Didn’t fight it. She just let herself have this.

Let herself have Caitlyn.

And let Caitlyn have her.

Chapter Text

January

Vi wiped her hands on her jeans for what felt like the hundredth time that afternoon, the dampness of her palm sticking to the cheap fabric. Lint clung stubbornly to the creases of her fingers, gathering in the sticky warmth of her skin, but she barely noticed.

Her stomach was in fucking knots.

The air was crisp with cold, biting at her exposed knuckles, her breath curling from her lips in faint, silvery clouds. The tip of her nose was already red and sniffling, but despite the chill, she was burning up.

Maybe it was the three layers of clothing she’d piled on before heading out, trying to trap in the warmth. Maybe it was the shitty, watery coffee she’d downed in three desperate gulps before slamming the door behind her.

Or maybe it was the fact that Caitlyn would be here in less than five minutes.

If she was punctual.

Which she probably was.

Vi’s jaw clenched.

She would never, ever admit out loud just how nervous she was.

Not to herself, not to Caitlyn, and definitely not to the boys, who had spent all damn day watching her like a pack of vultures. They’d been relentless, their eyes gleaming with amusement, their lips pulling into gross little smirks every time she so much as glanced at the clock.

The second Vi had gotten the chance, she’d bolted from the apartment - so fast she’d nearly tripped over her half-laced boots.

Now, thanks to those assholes, she was early.

Waiting. Hands clammy. Heart pounding. Clothes too tight, air too thin, five minutes somehow stretching into eternity.

An eternity that shattered the second Caitlyn Kiramman stepped around the corner.

There she was.

Wrapped up in a thick coat, dark strands peeking out from beneath a beanie, eyes flicking between the wet pavement beneath her feet and the unfamiliar streets around her. She walked with her brows furrowed in concentration, her breath misting in the cold, trying to navigate the location Vi had sent her.

Her eyes lifted again. And instead of finding her destination, she found Vi.

Something passed across Caitlyn’s face - hesitation, maybe - but then her expression softened, and her lips curled into a smile so warm it felt like it didn’t belong in the biting cold. Caitlyn lifted a hand, mitten and all, and gave a small, shy wave.

Vi swallowed, her throat suddenly dry, before realizing that a normal human being didn’t just stare at someone who had waved at them.

She jerked her hand up in a stiff, awkward motion, forcing herself to return the wave before her brain could make it even weirder.

Then, with a sharp inhale, she willed her legs to move, closing the distance between them.

Caitlyn’s smile didn’t falter as Vi approached. If anything, it softened, the corners of her eyes crinkling slightly.

“Hi,” Caitlyn said, a little breathless, like she had hurried the last few steps just to meet her. Her cheeks were flushed red from the cold, her scarf slightly askew where it had bunched up against her chin.

She looked fucking beautiful. She always did.

Vi opened her mouth, but her voice came out hoarse. “Hey.”

Shit.

Should she have hugged Caitlyn? Would that have been normal? Were they at that point?

Vi wasn’t sure. But now, standing here, hands shoved deep into her pockets, it definitely felt too late.

Right?

Or wasn’t it?

Caitlyn moved first.

She stepped forward, closing the space between them like it was the easiest thing in the world. Her fingers curled around Vi’s shoulders, light but certain, grasping the fabric of her jacket before Vi could even think of pulling away.

And then, before Vi could process what was happening, Caitlyn kissed her.

Soft. Warm.

It wasn’t rushed, but it wasn’t lingering either - just a fleeting moment, like the brush of a whisper, there and gone before Vi could even respond.

Vi barely had time to exhale before Caitlyn pulled back, her face unreadable.

But Vi could still feel it, could still taste the ghost of it, her skin buzzing, her pulse hammering in her throat.

Her heart might as well have imploded inside her chest.

When Caitlyn pulled back, she hesitated, her gloved fingers tapping a soft rhythm onn Vi’s shoulders like she wasn’t sure what to do with them.

“It’s, uhm-…” she started, her voice softer now, eyes darting over Vi’s face.

Oh.

She was nervous too, wasn’t she?

Not that Vi was nervous, obviously. Of course not.

Caitlyn cleared her throat, straightening a little. “It’s nice to see you again.”

Vi nodded, maybe a little too fast.

“Yeah.”

The word left her in a breathless huff, followed by a shaky chuckle that made her wince internally. In a knee-jerk motion, she patted Caitlyn’s arm awkwardly, before quickly dropping her hand as if she hadn’t just pet her like some fucking idiot.

“Yeah, you too. You, uhm… you find everything okay?”

Caitlyn blinked, then let her gaze drift around them.

They were standing on one of Zaun’s main roads, though calling it a "main road" felt generous. The only thing that distinguished it from the maze of alleys was the narrow, half-cracked pedestrian walkway slithering alongside it. The pavement was uneven, worn smooth by years of neglect, and the air hummed with the flickering neon signs overhead, buzzing like a swarm of flies in the cold.

Despite the chill, the street was alive - vendors crowded the edges, shouting over each other to hawk their wares, their stalls spilling out into the road. People moved in a hurried shuffle, faces hidden beneath hoods and scarves, the wear of the city etched into every patched-up coat and calloused step

Caitlyn looked back at Vi, the tiny smile returning, and shrugged.

“I’m here, aren’t I?” she simply said, pushing her hands into the pockets of her coat and tilting her head curiously. “So, where did you want to take me?”

“Oh, it’s not far!”

Vi turned, pointing down the road before setting off, her steps confident despite the way her pulse picked up. Caitlyn quickly fell into step beside her.

“Claggor said he already told you about it. It’s this place called-”

“Jericho’s?”

Vi shot her a grin. “Yeah.”

Before she could overthink it, she hooked her arm through Caitlyn’s, pulling her in just enough to feel the warmth of her side against hers. The contact sent a jolt straight to Vi’s chest, but she kept her expression neutral, hoping she didn’t look as faint as she felt.

“Claggor doesn’t work today, though,” she added, forcing an easy tone, “so don’t expect any discounts.”

Caitlyn chuckled, the sound soft and familiar, and to Vi’s quiet delight, her fingers curled around the fabric of Vi’s sleeve, holding on just a little tighter.

“Oh, and be warned,” Vi said, squinting at the flickering neon sign coming into view. The red letters buzzed faintly, half of them struggling to stay lit. “The dishes are crazy spicy.”

Vi had been ready for Caitlyn to suffer. To cough, to turn red, maybe even to admit defeat. Instead, to both her and Jericho’s surprise, Caitlyn took a careful spoonful of the steaming stew the man had placed in front of the girls, swallowed, and barely flinched.

Sure, her eyes were definitely watering, but Vi liked to think that had more to do with the absolutely terrible joke she’d just blurted out in a nerve-wracked attempt to fill the silence.

Vi crossed her arms, trying - and failing - not to look just a little impressed. “Yeah, well. He probably watered it down for you.”

Caitlyn, with remarkable poise, wiped at the corner of her eye and gave Vi a teasing look. “You’re just mad I’m not crying.”

Vi scoffed, but her grin lingered. “Give it a few more bites, fancy.”

By the time Jericho brought them their fourth meal - because Vi had insisted Caitlyn try almost every dish on the menu - both of their cheeks were flushed, their noses running from the lingering heat of the spices. Still, Caitlyn’s smile remained, wide, tooth-gapped, and absolutely beautiful.

Vi couldn't stop staring.

Another thing she'd never admit.

“You didn’t exaggerate,” Caitlyn finally admitted, lowering her spoon with a satisfied sigh, one hand pressed lightly against her stomach. “The food is absolutely amazing. But I’m afraid I can’t go on. I’m simply too stuffed.”

Vi glanced up from her plate - already nearly finished with the meal, her spoon still halfway to her mouth - and grinned. Caitlyn wrinkled her nose at the sight of Vi’s food-stained teeth but said nothing, only shaking her head in quiet amusement.

“Told ya’,” Vi smacked, utterly unbothered.

Caitlyn huffed a laugh and reached for her napkin, tossing it onto the table with finality. “You’re absolutely vile.”

“Yeah, but you love it,” Vi shot back, too quick, too natural, the words slipping out before she could catch them.

Caitlyn blinked, her lips parting just slightly, as if surprised. Then, instead of arguing, she simply smiled - soft, knowing, a little shy – and shrugged.

And Vi suddenly found herself way too focused on her nearly empty bowl, her heart hammering a little too fast for comfort.

“So,” Caitlyn started up again, lacing her fingers together atop the table. Her head tilted slightly, curiosity flickering across her face. “Your apartment - it’s close to here, isn’t it?”

Vi hummed in confirmation, scooping up another spoonful of food.

“Yeah. Like, five minutes away. Thank fuck for Claggor - he sleeps like a rock, but somehow, he always manages to roll out of bed just in time.” She shook her head with a small smirk, then glanced up at Caitlyn, pink strands falling into her eyes. “Bet it took you forever to get here, though?”

Caitlyn let out a quiet breath, tilting her head back slightly as if recalling the trek. “I must admit, it was quite the journey.” She waved a hand through the air, brushing off any real complaint. “But I didn’t mind. I’ve never actually been to Zaun before - well, apart from your party. And even then, I didn’t really see much. It was nice getting to take it all in properly, in the daylight.”

Vi raised a brow, pausing mid-bite. “Yeah?”

Caitlyn nodded, her expression unreadable for a moment. Then, her lips quirked into the ghost of a smile. “It was interesting.”

Vi huffed a quiet laugh. “That’s one way to put it. You know, I did offer to meet you in Piltover instead.”

She had.

The thought alone had made her skin itch - the idea of spending an entire day wandering the polished streets of Topside, dodging wrinkled noses and sour looks, feeling like an intruder in Caitlyn’s bright, perfect world.

A dirty trencher trailing behind a golden girl.

And yet, she’d offered.

Multiple times.

And every time, Caitlyn had refused. Had insisted on coming here instead - on Vi showing her around, taking her to her favourite places, letting her see Zaun through her eyes.

And every time, that warmth had curled itself up in Vi’s chest, a satisfied beast slumbering between her ribs.

“I do recall.”

Caitlyn smiled, fingers of her left hand absentmindedly twisting a thin gold ring on her right.

“But I actually did enjoy the trip here, Vi, I am not just saying that! I took the bathysphere for the first part, and there was this really nice elderly Yordle sitting next to me – oh, she was lovely! She told me all about her Zaun - her childhood, the old market streets, and a rather ambitious architect who is currently repurposing abandoned chemical factories into youth centers. Isn’t that just brilliant?”

Vi barely had time to nod before Caitlyn barrelled on, hands now in motion, the gold ring forgotten as she gestured animatedly.

“And then, when I got off, I briefly got lost - just for a second! - but this man, oh, you should’ve seen him. He looked a little scary, I won’t lie, covered in tattoos, scars all across his face. But he escorted me all the way to the main road, pointing out landmarks along the way, explaining which shortcuts to avoid after dark. Quite helpful, really. And then - ”

She exhaled sharply, eyes bright, cheeks flushed as she searched for the right words.

“And then, of course, the city itself.”

She let out a breathy laugh, shaking her head.

“You know, I almost ran late earlier because there was just so much happening on the main road. I mean, you probably know all this already,” she added with a small, uncertain chuckle, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear, “but there were vendors everywhere, shouting over each other, bars with music pouring right onto the street, tiny shops crammed between buildings. It was so loud and so busy, but - ” she hesitated, her fingers twisting at the ring on her hand again.

“I don’t know. I kept wanting to stop every few meters just to look at everything. It was just so - oh, I don’t know - so different from Piltover, yet completely fascinating. And just-… just very inviting.”

Vi had stopped listening somewhere around the mention of the man’s tattoos.

Not because she wasn’t interested - because she was.

But because Caitlyn was practically glowing, lit up from the inside, eyes wide and gleaming as she spoke. Because Caitlyn, so careful, measured, and quiet, was just talking. Hands moving, voice rising and falling in excitement, words tripping over each other in her eagerness to share.

Talking about Zaun.

Talking about the dirt under Piltover’s fingernails.

And loving it.

Like it was something worth loving.

Like it wasn’t just a place Vi had fought through, clawed through, barely survived - but something fascinating. Something inviting.

And Vi could only sit there, spoon frozen halfway to her mouth, and stare.

Damn.

Caitlyn’s jaw snapped shut, her brows knitting together ever so slightly as she began to fiddle with the ring on her slender finger again. Her eyes darted nervously over Vi’s face.

“I’m-…" she faltered, biting her lip. "I’m sorry, I was rambling, wasn’t I?” The enthusiasm in her voice deflated, replaced by a sudden wave of self-consciousness. “Did I say something wrong?”

Vi blinked, then quickly shook her head. “What? Oh, no, no, don’t worry!” She shook her head again, setting her spoon down with a soft clink. Then, in a rare moment of uncharacteristic bravery, she reached out and gently placed her hand on top of Caitlyn’s, stilling the nervous fidgeting of her fingers.

“Not at all.”

Caitlyn looked up at her, eyes wide, then let out a soft breath. Vi could see the tension leave her shoulders, the smile creeping back onto her face. Vi felt the heat of her own face rise, but she forced herself to keep her tone steady, even though her heart was beating a little faster.

“I actually really like listening to you talk.”

The warmth spreading through her cheeks was definitely just because of the stew sitting in front of her.

Before the silence could stretch on awkwardly, Vi cleared her throat.