The Rebound - Pitfighter! Vi x Fem! Reader - Ch. 5
A/N: WE HAVE REACHED HALF A DOZEN CUPCAKES! I REPEAT: WE HAVE REACHED HALF A DOZEN CUPCAKES! Muah muah <3 I feel so loved rn. So Ima love y’all back with an even longer chapter >:D Would’ve gotten this out much earlier, but I’m currently studying for one of the most important exams of my life!! Sorry about the delay. That exam is coming up, so I'll have a lot more time to get these chapters out sooner. I hope y’all enjoy
TW// Mature themes like violence, drinking, drug use, infidelity, mean/triggering thoughts, toxic codependency
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Vi’s soreness woke her up the following day. Her head was pounding, her neck was stiff, and some of her bruises hurt more than she was used to. She blamed the lack of alcohol in her system for feeling this kind of physical pain, inhaling sharply through her teeth as she sat up. It took her a moment to remember how the fight went, causing her shoulders to slump. She chewed the inside of her lip, feeling anger bubbling in her veins. When she swung her legs out of bed, she knocked the plastic cup of water over.
“Son of a…” she grumbled, seeing the liquid spread on her floor. She left it there, angry at herself for placing a cup of water on the floor in the first place.
The first thing she did after leaving her bed was to beat the hell out of her punching bag. Her body begged her to relax, but she ignored its warnings. The exhaustion won anyways, making her punches sloppy. The smacks of the punching bag didn’t ring in her apartment like they always did. This pissed her off even more. She yelled in frustration, now pacing her apartment like a caged lion.
She sat back down on her bed, cringing a bit for stepping in the water with her socks on. She then stared at the floor as her leg bounced.
Being the crowned champion of The Pit was all that she had. That was one of the biggest things that made her proud of what she does best. She knows that she let a lot of people down for not winning. That’s all she ever does: Let people down. Maybe that’s what she actually does best.
Vi sighs and runs a hand through her oil-colored hair, then holds her head in her hands as she stares at the floor. Looking down made her headache worse, but she felt like she deserved this pain for freezing in the arena.
Her eyes tracked the fallen cup ahead of her. She reached over and picked it up, looking into it. She brought it to her lips and tapped the bottom of it, only getting the one drop that didn’t spill out into her dry mouth. As if it was some sort of potion, the thoughts about losing the fight came to a halt. There was a feeling of anxiety in her chest as she remembered how nasty her attitude was with you.
“Fuck.” She whispered, putting a palm to her face. God, she felt horrible. She gripped a lock of her hair in frustration. She knew that you didn’t deserve all that bullshit from her.
There was a soft knock on her apartment door.
“Fuck off, rent isn’t even due for another few weeks!” She yells out. When there’s another knock, she huffs in annoyance and goes to her door. She opens it, her nose wrinkled, “What the f— oh,” she calms down, “Loris. Didn’t expect you to show up this early.”
She lets him in before going back to sit on her bed. He looks around briefly, noting that there are in fact less empty bottles laying around.
“I just wanted to see how you’ve been holding up,” he puts his hands in his pockets, “It was a pretty rough night, wasn’t it?”
“I’ve reminded myself of that a million times before you showed up,” she sighs, her head drooping, “I still can’t believe I let some doped up cheaters beat me. It’s not like it’s the first time I fought someone under the influence of shimmer.”
Loris takes a few steps towards her, then pauses when he steps in the puddle. He looks down at it, then back at Vi. She was still holding the cup. Vi takes notice of the little scene, and she sighs again with a remorseful look on her face.
“There are so many varieties of shimmer out there nowadays. Who knows what that formula had in it?” He steps back, removing his foot from the puddle of water beneath him.
“I was an asshole to her, wasn’t I?” she mumbles, looking at the empty cup in her hands. Loris stays quiet for a moment, averting his gaze. “Wasn’t I?” Vi repeats, clutching the cup hard enough for it to bend.
“You were,” Loris finally says, his voice even. “But you already know that, don’t you?”
Vi lets out a bitter laugh, her thumb rubbing the edge of the warped plastic cup. “I guess it’s what I do best, huh? Screw things up so bad that people end up leaving me for it.”
Loris leans against the wall, crossing his arms. “You’re good at a lot of things, Vi, but self-pity shouldn’t be one of them.”
She shoots him a sharp glare but says nothing. The silence that stretches between them feels heavier than her sore muscles, and for once, she doesn’t try to fill it with anger. Instead, she stares at the cup in her hands as if it holds all the answers she doesn’t want to face.
“Apologies go a long way, you know. I really think you two can talk it out.” Loris says after a moment.
Vi scoffs, but it lacks her usual fire. “Yeah, because a half-assed ‘sorry’ is going to fix everything.”
“It’s a start,” Loris counters, “She doesn’t deserve to carry the weight of your bad night.”
Vi huffs, shaking her head, but the corner of her mouth twitches upward for just a second. “Do you know where she lives?”
Loris shakes his head, “Sorry, Vi. I wish I knew.”
Vi lets out a frustrated sigh, resting her forehead against the kinked plastic cup. “It’s probably too late anyways. There’s no way that someone like her would want to stick around after I’ve been a piece of shit to her not once, but twice.” She curses under her breath, dejected.
Loris, concealing a smile, crosses his arms. “Why do you care so much about this situation anyways? Isn’t she just some random person? Forget about her. People come and go, as you’re very familiar with. After all, you don’t know her and she doesn’t know you.”
Vi is quick to give him a look between being shocked and angry. “What the hell is wrong with you? Why would you kick me while I’m already down?” Then, her expression becomes more confused, as if she doesn’t exactly know why you matter to her either. She stands up slowly, her bed creaking. “...I just feel like she might understand me. Talking with her the other night– the night that you bailed on me, by the way– left me feeling like I had someone to relate to.” She stacks the cup with the other two nearby.
Loris raises one of his eyebrows, the corners of his mouth fighting to turn into a victorious smile.
“Then I had to fuck it all up,” Vi continues, “Please, Loris. Will you help me find her? I don’t– I can’t forgive myself if I never make it up to her. You’re right: she didn’t deserve to be on the receiving end of my stupid tantrum. And she seems like she…” Vi recalls a deep pain within your (e/c) eyes during all the times you two have spoken, “...She seems like she could really use a friend.”
The man nods his head, finally letting himself smile, “Sure, if it means you’ll give yourself some time to recover before getting back to your gigs.” He steps out of her apartment.
Vi grabs her black jacket on her way out, her movements sluggish but purposeful. As she glances back at Loris, he gives her a small nod of encouragement. The two of them split up to look for you.
As usual, you were being a hermit in your bedroom. You didn’t sleep a wink last night because you were too consumed by the disappointment over everything that happened yesterday. Your shoulders ache from how tightly you’ve been holding them, and your stomach twists every time her face flashes in your head and her words echo in your ears. You press your palms against your temples, willing yourself to relax, but it’s no use.
Everything was on loop in your mind, her sharp words replaying like a broken record. “You don’t know a damn thing about me.” Each time, it stung a little more, making your fingers curl tightly into fists around your unkempt hair. You bit your lip to keep yourself from crying, though you weren’t entirely sure who you were angry with—her or yourself.
‘Ugh, why do I even care this much?’ you angrily think.
Here’s the thing: You were hoping to begin a new chapter in your life starting with making a friend out of Vi. The idea of waking up and looking forward to spending every day with a new friend was deliciously desirable. You thought that this journey after being fresh out of a relationship would come much easier since Vi was presumably going through the same thing. You had it right there! A much needed blank slate. A new best friend on a silver platter. At least, that’s what it looked like to you.
You hated that you even spoke to Vi in the first place. It would have been so much better for you if you were just another person in the audience, collecting winnings and living a decent life through the bets. It would have been much easier if Vi was someone whose only meaning to you was a cash cow. You hated yourself for getting your own hopes up. You hated yourself for not seeing that Vi’s friendship was too good to be true.
Vi being the only reason you have something to take you away from the hellfire of your thoughts was something you didn’t realize you needed. Gosh, you needed it. You need her to distract you from it all. Talking to her about your situation, even if it was just for that one moment, was liberating. And here you are, feeling like you were pushed back into a cage.
You wrinkle your nose in anger. ‘Why did she have to play with me like that, then? Why did she get my hopes up about seeing her again?’
Your face then softens, suddenly feeling bad for getting upset at Vi.
It was too easy to blame yourself. It was comfortable to blame yourself. You felt selfish for even being upset about this whole ordeal. You wanted to be mad at Vi, but it felt too self-centered.
‘You only have yourself to blame, so blame yourself. Do you really think that someone showing you an ounce of sympathy is a sign that they are meant to be your friend? Your self respect was already crushed into dust, and somehow you made it become even worse than that.’ You sniffle, but stop your tears immediately. It makes no sense crying over Vi. You already have that spot taken by someone else. Vi, on the other hand, is someone you do not know a damn thing about.
To you, she is a heartbroken fighter who drinks alcohol as a hobby. So what else is there to her?
You sigh, dragging your hands down your face as you try to stop the storm in your head from raging on. The rational part of you knows it’s ridiculous to spiral like this over someone you’ve only spoken to a few times. But the other part—the louder part—is shouting that it all meant something, that Vi was supposed to be the start of something new, something good.
Instead, you’re stuck here, reeling from what felt like rejection. You glance at the clock on your wall. It’s almost noon, and you haven’t even stepped out of your room. Your apartment feels stuffy, like the walls are closing in on you. The bed creaks as you stand up, and for a moment, you just stand there, staring at the floor, wondering if you should bother leaving the house or just let the day waste away.
‘Maybe some air will clear my head,’ you think. Or maybe it’ll just give you more room to stew over everything.
As tempted as you were to take all your cogs and soothe yourself by buying things, you knew that being stingy is going to save you for now. An idea suddenly popped into your head, but you were not too happy about it.
You step into your little closet, shifting through articles of clothing you have. A large chunk of your belongings were gifts from your ex. You sigh, grabbing a beautiful (f/c) shirt.
You had been here in your apartment, and your partner was absent for nearly the whole day. When they finally came home, they brought you that blouse and claimed that they bought it from a vendor in Piltover. You happily accepted it despite the smell of perfume lingering on the skin that you kissed in appreciation.
Everyone in Zaun knows how hard it is to come across nice things like this shirt, especially items from Piltover. You were too scared to wear that blouse in public because you were worried about getting it dirty or having it torn off your back. The only times you were able to appreciate it on your body was when you were out and about with your partner and their friends. After all, nobody would dare touch the girl of a shimmer lord on the rise.
You bring a finger to your mouth, tempted to bite your nail. You really did not want to get rid of some of your stuff. You owned a lot of nice things! You groan in frustration, lightly tapping yourself on your cheek to remind yourself that this is a desperate time.
So then you start clearing out your closet. You left yourself with clothes that would not make you that big of a target to rob in the streets. You stuffed the clothes into a bag that luckily wasn’t heavy enough to make you carry it like some giant snail. For protection, you grabbed a switchblade that you kept hidden under your mattress.
When you left your apartment complex, your anxiousness was heightened. You stayed as vigilant as you could, taking only routes that you knew were less populated than others. Each step felt heavier than the last, your grip tightening on the strap of the bag as if it were your lifeline. The streets of Zaun were quieter in these parts, but even the occasional glance from a passerby sent your heart racing. Every shadow seemed to stretch longer, every corner held the potential for trouble.
Your other hand brushed against your concealed switchblade, fingers brushing against its cool, reassuring surface. This wasn’t your first time walking these streets alone, but somehow, it felt different now. More vulnerable. You didn’t have a pack of people with you, nor do you think you look intimidating enough for people to leave you alone.
Most people in Zaun knew how to fight defensively, including yourself. But you would feel a lot more secure if you had Vi’s fists and her courage. You almost felt envious at the thought that she can walk wherever she wants to in Zaun and come out of every conflict without a bruise. You wished that you didn’t have to flinch at every sudden noise.
‘Good for her, I guess.’ You think.
You walked past an alleyway, spotting the silhouettes of two Zaunites in a heated embrace. You roll your eyes and keep walking.
As you walked, the weight of the bag on your shoulder felt less like a collection of clothes and more like a physical burden to carry. There were memories stitched into every seam, moments you wished you could hold onto and ones you wanted to forget, all bundled together and ready to be discarded.
‘Fucking hell! It’s just useless stuff!’ you tell yourself.
That nice shirt you almost kept wasn’t just a shirt—it was a promise you’d let yourself believe in. A promise that someone cared enough to bring you a piece of a better life, even if it reeked of a lie.
The irony of it all hit you as you passed an old, crumbling building with boarded-up windows. Here you were, clinging to fragments of a life that was never as stable as you wanted it to be, walking through a city that never stopped reminding you of how quickly things fall apart. Maybe this was just the way of Zaun—everything temporary, everything borrowed. As temporary as romantic relationships. As borrowed as precious time invested into a friendship that would never bloom.
You glance around at the passersby, wondering who might be willing to cough up a few cogs for some quality clothing. Selling these clothes felt like ripping off a layer of yourself, but desperation made the decision for you.
You drop the bag to your feet, grabbing the first shirt on the top. You contemplate putting it back in your bag since it was a favorite of yours, but you fight your urge.
“Any takers?” you announce, feigning confidence despite the pit in your stomach.
With each passing minute, your chest tightened. Would anyone even stop to look? Or worse: would someone take one look at you and try to snatch it all away? You sigh gently and wonder if you just made yourself a target. Paranoia about being tagged and robbed some other time might haunt you for a little while after this.
A wiry woman approached, her eyes darting to the shirt in your hands. "Nice fabrics you got," she muttered, fingers twitching at her side, "I’ll give you five cogs for it."
You clenched the fabric a little tighter, your lips pressing into a line, "Five? This is worth at least forty."
The lady sneered. "Forty?" she laughed, “You think anybody just has forty cogs on them, girl?” She stepped closer, her voice low and threatening. "Take the five, or you’ll end up with nothing.” Her eyes dart to the bag at your feet. You fight the urge to scoff at her bluff– you’ve seen much better intimidation tactics.
"Look, I know how this works. But this isn’t just some scrap—I know the quality, and so do you. Ten cogs, and it’s yours.” You keep a steady voice, kicking the bag behind you so it’s against the wall. Just a precaution.
The woman snorted, crossing her arms, "You think I’m some kind of idiot? I can get something like that off a pile for six at best."
"Then go find it," you shot back, refusing to back down, "You won’t get this kind of stitching in Zaun unless it’s straight from Piltover. Ten’s a steal, and you know it."
"Eight," she countered, her voice sharp. "Final offer. Take it, or I walk."
Your jaw tightened, but you nodded, "Deal."
You felt the sting of losing something worth far more than eight cogs as you handed her the shirt. At least you got something out of it, right?
Vi was looking into every crowd and peeking through every window hoping to catch a glimpse of you somewhere. The day was already almost over.
She spots Loris exiting a nearby brothel, and he makes eye contact with her. They meet halfway, an unamused expression on Vi’s face, “You really think (Y/n) would be spending her time in there?”
Loris shrugs, “I thought she might work there or something.” He smooths his hair into place.
Vi facepalms. Then after a moment, she looks up at him, “...Does she?”
“Nope.” He rubs his neck, wiping lipstick off of it.
Vi stands there with Loris, feeling somewhat hopeless. “Keep looking around, I guess.”
Loris nods, walking off in some other direction.
Vi does a double-take when some lady walks by wearing a very familiar shirt. For a moment, she thought it might be you. Vi pushed her way through a few people until she was right behind this person. She studied this person’s clothing. This is, without a doubt, the shirt you wore a couple of days ago.
She puts a hand on the lady’s shoulder, forcefully spinning her around. The lady gasps, quickly shoving Vi’s hand off of her, “The fuck do you want?” the lady barked, a disgusted look on her face.
“Where did you get that shirt?” Vi asks, her eye contact intense.
The lady opened her mouth to answer, but then her face became smug, “Oh you’re Vi, aren’t you?” She brought a hand to her mouth and giggled into it, “I don’t need to be sitting in front row seats to recognize everyone’s favorite fighter. Hah! I’m glad I didn’t bet on you yesterday. That would’ve been tragic for me.”
Vi clenches her fists, her nose wrinkling in annoyance, “Where did you get that shirt?” she repeated, more upset at the fact that this lady ignored the question. Vi could care less about this person’s lame attempt at rubbing in last night’s failure.
The woman smirked, clearly enjoying the tension she was causing, “What’s it to you? You planning to fight me for it, champ?”
Vi took a step closer, towering over her, “I’m not here to fight. Just tell me where you got it.” Her voice was sharp, low, and carried a weight that made the woman’s smile fall slightly. Vi’s eyes then narrow before she speaks, “You didn’t fight anyone for it, did you?”
“Geez, relax!” The woman exclaims, putting her hands up in defense while taking a step back. “Some poor sucker sold it to me earlier. She wanted forty cogs for it, that greedy bitch! But I got it for eight.” A smug look crosses her face. “Whats’a tough girl like you wanting prettier stuff like this for, huh? You gonna change your look, Vi? ‘Cause if you are, I’m willing to trade this shirt for your jacket.”
Vi’s eyes darkened, the muscle in her jaw twitching. “Not happening. Last chance—where did you see her?”
The woman shifted her weight back and crossed her arms, “She’s near that old pawn shop– it used to be called Benzo’s, or something. Couple of blocks away from it. You can't miss her. She’s hawking clothes to anyone who’d listen. Looked desperate, too. Pretty sad if you ask me.”
Vi took a step forward, forcing the woman to flinch. “I didn’t ask for your opinion,” she said, her voice icy. Without another word, Vi turned and pushed her way back through the crowd, her chest tightening.
You were out here somewhere, and judging by the description, you weren’t doing great. She quickened her pace, her mind racing as she tried to shake off the gnawing guilt. If she found you, she’d make this right—she had to.
By the end of the day, you got rid of most of your nicer clothing. As hard as it was to part with all those gifts you loved, your pockets were a bit heavier because of it. These things would have sold for what they were worth in a place like Piltover, but for obvious reasons you couldn’t bring yourself to make the trip over there and back.
You keep a hand on your hidden switchblade as you make the long journey back home. There was a growing sense of paranoia creeping up your spine. Each step felt heavier, the weight of your earnings barely enough to outweigh the gnawing unease in your chest. The adrenaline amplified your sense of hearing. Every miniscule noise like distant voices, your own footsteps, the buzzing of neon lights, and even the scampering of street rats and alley cats were completely ignored. Your eyes would lock on to every poster with a face on it, almost scaring yourself into thinking that it was an actual person against the wall. Most of it was just Piltover’s wanted posters for Zaun’s hero, Jinx.
You briefly wondered if a person like Jinx had to worry about running out of cogs. Maybe she was! Ever since Silco disappeared and fell off the face of the world, you wondered how she supports herself nowadays as his supposed ex-subordinate. In a way, you somewhat understood. The absence of Silco caused a rise in other shimmer drug lords which included your ex lover. You lived relatively comfortably with the cogs that they made from it, and now you’re struggling without them.
Yeah, maybe you do understand the Jinx hype in your own way. Though most people look up to her for pissing off Piltover, you feel like you can relate to her on a deeper level like no longer having someone to take care of you.
‘Who am I kidding?’ you think bitterly, ‘I’m grasping at straws to have anything–no, anybody to relate to. I don’t know a damn thing about Jinx and her life.’ Now you are walking around feeling extra lonely than you are paranoid.
You pass by a pawn shop that you were sure was closed down. When you were younger, rumor had it that some ogre-like creature killed the shop owner. There was some back and forth about it actually being enforcers who killed him rather than some cryptid. Who knows? That was ages ago, and that shopkeeper is nothing but a name that most people have forgotten. If he was alive today, maybe he would have given you the cogs that you deserved for your high quality stuff.
You felt yourself go cold when a figure stepped out from the shadows ahead. His face was obscured by a hood, but his posture screamed trouble—shoulders squared, stance wide, and a glint of something metallic surrounding his knuckles. Your shoes scrape against the floor as you come to a stop.
"That’s a nice little haul you’ve got there," he said, nodding toward your bag. His voice was low and rough, dripping with malice. Your legs tense up, wanting to run away. But this guy was not carrying anything, unlike you. He could catch up to you easily.
Gravel and broken glass crunch under his boots as he walks towards you, a low chuckle coming from him.
"I don’t want any trouble," you said, keeping your tone even, though fear made your stomach churn.
He smirked, taking a slow step closer, "Then hand it over, and there won’t be any."
Your hand moved instinctively to your pocket, fingers wrapping around the blade’s handle. "I don’t think you want to do this," you said, hoping to sound more confident than you felt.
The man laughed, but his eyes darted to your pocket, catching the subtle motion. “A pretty thing like you wouldn’t know how to use whatever thing. you're hiding.”
“Try me.” You say, but your voice cracks. You try to hide it by clearing your throat, “You might find yourself surprised.”
"I said, hand over the bag," he growled, tilting his head at you like he already owned it.
Your grip tightened on the switchblade in your pocket, your mind racing. Fighting him was a last resort—you weren’t sure you’d win, and even if you did, it could go south in so many ways. For a moment, the tension hung thick in the air, each of you waiting to see who would flinch first. But this moment of silence had you figure out that this man in front of you is full of shit. In other words, he’s all bark and no bite. If he wanted your stuff and was confident that you couldn’t defend yourself, he would have jumped on you by now.
“Threaten me again, and I’ll start yelling,” you say, finding your confidence, “I saw some enforcers a couple of streets away. They’ll hear me. I’ve got pipes.” You hope he buys your lie.
The man scoffs, “Enforcers wouldn’t care about a Zaunite screaming for hel–”
“WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU SAW JINX?” you yell. The man flinches.
“H-hey! Wait–” he begins.
“WHAT? YOU KNOW WHERE SHE’S HIDING?!” you screech loud enough to hear yourself echo in an alleyway nearby.
He reaches his hand towards your face, probably in an attempt to shush you. Before he can touch you, you jump back and reveal your switchblade. A satisfying click comes from it as you hold the blade towards him. He puts his fists up, clutching onto the brass knuckles in his fist. However, he lacked confidence. His posture was very weak now, and he kept looking around for any signs of people approaching. The two of you shift around in a circle.
There was some sort of noise coming from down the street, which seemed to scare the man enough to look behind him.
“Shit!” he whispers from under his breath. "Whatever," he muttered, his tough guy swagger cracking. "Keep your damn bag."
He shoulder checked you before he slinked away into the shadows, leaving you standing there, heart pounding and legs trembling. You would have waited until he was out of sight before making your own escape, but you had to get going before he realizes that you lied.
You’d managed to walk away unscathed this time, but the thought lingered in your mind as you hurried home: next time, you might not be so lucky. Your walking turned into a light jog, hearing nothing but your own heartbeat in your ears. You looked around desperately for any nook you could hide yourself in until you felt safe, but none of them seemed secure enough.
You suddenly felt a tap on your shoulder blade, making you yell out. You swing your arm, still holding the switchblade.
Your blade cut through the air, barely missing its target as a hand shot out and grabbed your wrist. "Easy," came a low, familiar voice, but the adrenaline pumping through your veins drowned it out.
You twisted your arm, trying to free yourself from the grip. They dodged your next swing, their movements controlled, almost lazy, as if they were playing with you. You sweep one of your legs, tripping them. However, they manage to catch their balance because of their grip on your arm.
"Let go!" you snarled, lashing out with your free hand.
"Calm down, would you?" They grunted, catching your wrist again after it came in contact with their cheek. They then hold both of your arms firmly. "It’s me!"
You struggled, your breath ragged, your mind refusing to register their words. "Get off me, man!"
"Dammit, (Y/n), it’s Vi!" she snapped, her voice sharper now, the sound cutting through your panic like a blade. Your movements faltered, your heart still racing as you slowly opened your eyes, finally recognizing her under the dim light. The switchblade slipped from your fingers and clattered to the ground.
“Hey,” she says softly, shifting her weight as she slowly lets go of your arms.
Your knees felt weak, and you leaned back against the nearest wall, covering your face with your hands. "Shit," you muttered, shaking your head. "I—I didn’t know it was you."
Vi crouched down to pick up your blade. She examined it briefly before holding it out to you. "You’ve got a hell of a swing, though. Ah, but I have a tip for you: keep your eyes open next time.” She chuckles lightly as she rubs her cheek, looking at you and hoping to see if you’d laugh too. But you weren’t.
You don’t reply right away. You take your switchblade from her and retract the blade before putting it away. You slowly put your free hand to your chest, feeling your heartbeat. “What are you doing here?” you finally manage, your voice low and wary.
She takes a deep breath, “I… I came to apologize. For how I treated you. For what I said. I—I shouldn’t have taken my shit out on you.”
You blink, taken aback. Her words don’t feel rehearsed. Instead, they’re awkward and clumsy, but you can tell she means it.
“Why now?” you ask, narrowing your eyes at her. “You made it pretty clear last night how little you think of me.”
Vi winces, the sting of your words evident in her expression. “I didn’t mean it. Not a word,” she mutters, looking down at her boots. “I was pissed at myself and took it out on you. I know that doesn’t excuse it, but I just… I didn’t want to leave it like that.”
You study her for a moment, torn between giving her your back or shaking off the whole situation. A HUGE part of you was skeptical. This was not the first time you experienced something like this with someone else…
However, there’s something in her voice that made all the difference—a vulnerability that you only had one glimpse of before. You decide to test her.
You cross your arms, your posture stiff as you glance off to the side, “Why should I believe you?” you ask, your voice tight. “People always apologize to rid themselves of a guilty conscience. Not because they actually care.” You would know from personal experience…
Vi flinches but doesn’t back down. She walks over to stand in front of you, “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t care.”
“(Y/n), please look at me.”
Slowly, your eyes meet hers. Her expression was soft, and this is the first time you’ve seen her without smeared makeup and dried blood all over her face.
“I have not cared about anything for months,” she says, fighting the urge to put a hand on your shoulder, “I… The things I’ve been through. I thought I would never be able to feel anything other than pain and abandonment. Until I met you. I’m tired of fucking up, (Y/n). I’m tired of feeling like this. I truly want us to be friends.”
You study her face, searching for any hint of insincerity, but all you see is raw honesty. It makes your chest tighten in a way you aren’t prepared for.
“I’ve heard those words before,” you say, your voice quieter now but still guarded, “from people who ended up proving me right.”
The look of hurt on Vi’s face was enough to make you feel bad about shutting her down like this.
“Do you… still want to be friends with me?” she asks, finally breaking eye contact. She looked defeated, and on the inside she felt anger towards herself rising up.
You sigh, the weight of hesitation pressing against your chest. Testing her like this feels cruel, especially when you can see how much she’s trying, but a part of you can’t shake the fear of letting someone in again. Still, the idea of being alone with your thoughts, with the constant reminders of home, feels worse.
“You really think being friends with me is going to fix anything for you?” you ask, your voice is snappier than you intend, but there’s a flicker of vulnerability behind the words.
Vi looks at you again, a glimmer of hope in her eyes. “I don’t think it’ll fix anything,” she admits, her tone steady but soft, “but maybe it’ll help. For both of us.”
A distraction. That’s what this could be. For her, for you. Maybe even for both of you.
You exhale slowly and finally meet her gaze, arms still crossed as you tilt your head slightly. You want to throw up from the rollercoaster of feelings you went through in less than ten minutes.
“Let’s do it right this time.” You finally say.
A small, relieved smile falls upon Vi’s face. It’s amazing how different she looks when all of her tension is gone. You blink a few times, not trying to make her uneasy with your staring. You’re still hesitant, still unsure, but for now, you let the wall between you drop just enough to let her in. Just enough to give you both something to hold on to.
You readjust your bag, resuming the walk back to your place. Vi stays put, unsure if she should follow. She wasn’t even sure where you were going. You look over your shoulder, stopping in your tracks. Vi, trying to stifle her burst of happiness, catches up to you.
“Wanna get a drink?” she asks.
“Tempting, but I have to drop my stuff off.” You pat your bag.
“The night is still young. We can go afterwards.”
“Tempting, but my apartment is a long way from the strip. Don’t you have a fight to get to?”
Vi shakes her head, “Nah, I promised Loris that I’d give it a break today. Yesterday kind of took a toll on me.”
You snuck glances at Vi. There was a new bandage on the bridge of her nose that wasn’t there yesterday.
“You really took a beating, huh?” You ask. You mentally scold yourself for testing her once more, but you couldn’t help it. Your defenses really wanted to see if Vi would explode on you like she did last night. And if she does, then so be it. It would just feel outright shameful for you to have given her another chance so soon.
“It’s nothing. It’s all just a part of my job.” Vi said it in a tone that tried to play it off like it’s no big deal. Her ego was still very much bruised on the inside, and something about you witnessing that embarrassed her. Furthermore, she felt ashamed as the memories of taking it out on you and Loris (but mostly you) resurfaced. Before you can speak again, Vi says, “(Y/n), I know I already apologized for it, but I want to apologize again. That whole day was just terrible. I had a bad morning, drank a bit too much, and my head wasn’t in the game. I let a lot of people down, but I think you got the worst of it.”
“It’s alright, Vi,” you say, shrugging, though you aren’t entirely sure if it is. You can't shake the feeling that she's hiding more than she's letting on, but you don't press. “We all have our bad days.”
She snorts humorlessly. “Yeah, well, it was a shitshow. I shouldn't have snapped at you like that. The day I was having shouldn’t have mattered. You didn't deserve that.” Vi kicks a small stone, watching it roll away. “I’m not asking for you to forgive me.”
“I… I was really pissed at you this morning,” you admit, your voice quiet. “I wanted to stay mad at you, keep up the distance, you know?” You pause and let out a shaky breath, feeling a sting in your chest. “But I can’t. I don’t think I have the right to be. I mean... everything you’ve been through, including the multitude of stuff I don’t know about, I think you’ve got more to be angry or sad about than I do.”
You find your thoughts turning inward. You’d been so quick to throw up walls with Vi, to hold onto the anger from last night, to remind yourself that it wasn’t justifiable for her to treat you the way she did. But as you watch her walk beside you, looking so much like the person you will call your new friend—vulnerable and trying—fills you with guilt. You feel like you haven’t been very fair to her.
Vi glances at you, the hard edge in her eyes softening. Vi shakes her head, the smile she gives you was the gentlest you’ve seen in a while from anyone. It’s almost like she's proud of you for letting that much out.
“Hey. Do not downplay your feelings like that,” she says, her voice uncharacteristically gentle, though still firm. “You don’t think you’re also going through a lot? Just ‘cause I’ve been taking hits from people doesn’t mean I get to shove all the stuff you’re dealing with into a corner.”
You walk a few paces in silence, the space between you comfortable for the first time today. It felt good to have someone acknowledge your pain. “Thank you, Vi.”
She runs a hand through her hair, definitely not used to hearing those words. She shrugs, but smiles as she does so.
The lights have started to become less neon, less saturated. More softer yellow lights were around instead. Vi looked around at the somewhat nicer buildings. Even as a kid, Vi never really explored this part of Zaun. She looked at you curiously and put two and two together: you’re financially struggling.
“So… how long have you been living in this area?” she asks, now following you instead of walking beside you.
“Ah, nearly four years.” You find your key before spotting your building.
Vi raised her eyebrows, a look of realization on her face. To test her theory, she asks “You got roomies?”
You look back at her, wondering if you should lie. It’s not like Vi is a bad person, right? Should you tell her?
“...No,” you finally admit, voice soft. “I live alone.”
Vi’s eyebrows furrow, her lips pressing together in thought. “That can’t be easy,” she says, her tone careful, like she’s trying not to overstep. “This place… rent must be a lot.”
You simply hum in agreement, trying to play it off like it was nothing. You find your unit, unlocking the door and pausing. With your hand on the handle, you feel unsure if you should invite her in or not. The thought of someone else stepping into your space feels daunting—like giving her a glimpse of the parts of you you’ve been trying to keep hidden. This was way too soon. You clear your throat and look at Vi with a sheepish smile.
“Uh, I know we just stitched back our newfound friendship, but I don’t think I’m ready for you to come into my apartment yet.” You then chuckle awkwardly.
Vi blinks, then lets out a breathy laugh, rubbing the back of her neck. “Yeah, no, I get it. You’re not ready for me to see the tragic state of your apartment, huh?”
You roll your eyes. “It’s actually clean, thank you very much.”
“Ah, so you’re the tragic mess, then?”
You stifle a laugh. At least this means she’s not upset with you for having her come all this way.
Vi then takes a step back, nodding in understanding. “No, I get it. I’m just happy that you’re back home safe. I should get going, then.” Vi turns on her heel and walks a few steps before looking back at you with a grin, “But now I know where you live, (Y/n), so you bet I’ll come looking for you if I don’t see you around.”
“Is that a threat or a promise?” you laugh, opening your door ajar.
“Whatever scares you more.” She teases.
Guilt tugs at you. She’d walked all this way with you, and now she’s walking off. You don’t even know if she’s going to go home or if she’s going to go drink by herself. You can see Vi hesitate again, and she turns around to face you once more.
“You sure you don’t wanna just say screw it and go straight to the bar? No bags, no rules, no complications.”
The suggestion almost tempts you, but you shake your head. “As much as that sounds like a perfect disaster, I’ve got to at least pretend like I’ve got my shit together for a few minutes.”
Vi hums, rocking back on her heels. “Fine, fine. I’ll be a patient, responsible friend for once.”
You snort and push your door open just enough to toss your bag inside before pulling it shut again. “There. My responsible moment of the night.”
“So, drinks?” she asks after a beat, her usual brashness returning as she gives you a sideways glance. You can tell that she’s trying not to show her excitement too much.
You chuckle despite yourself. “Yeah, drinks. Let’s just... take it slow, okay?”
And just like that, the night stretches ahead of you—uncertain, but a little less lonely than before.
The bar is packed, the low hum of conversations mixing with the distant bass of the music. Vi leads the way, navigating through the crowd with the ease of someone who’s been here more times than she can count. You follow closely, the smell of alcohol and cigarette smoke thick in the air. Your feet were killing you from all the walking you did today, and sadly there were no seats open at the bar.
Just as the two of you step in line to order some drinks, a voice calls out from behind you two.
“Well, well. If it isn’t everyone’s favorite frontrunner.”
Vi tenses beside you. It’s subtle, but you catch the way her shoulders draw up just slightly before she forces herself to relax. When she turns around, her expression is already set: a lazy smirk, cocky tilt of her head, the perfect facade.
The guy who spoke leans against a nearby table, drink in hand, eyes flicking over her with barely concealed amusement. You recognize those thick forearms. Next to him is the agile woman from the other night, leaning against him with her hand on his chest.
Vi exhales sharply through her nose. Her eyes darted between the two of them. “And you two are…?”
“That’s cute. You forget who we are? Or did we knock your noggin around too hard?”
Your eyes flick to Vi. She’s good at hiding it, but there’s something restrained in the way she stands, like she’s fighting the urge to react. You nudge Vi, already feeling protective over your barely-established friendship. “Just ignore them, Vi.”
The guy looks at you then, really looks, like he’s only just now realizing you’re part of the equation. His face twists into a smirk. “You got yourself an accessory?”
Vi steps in before you can answer, her voice flat. “Not everyone needs a floozy by their side,” she sneers, glancing at the lady beside him. The woman’s face wrinkles in anger. The man growls, slamming his drink down on his table before standing up straight. It was loud enough to make the ambience pause for a split second. When he takes a step towards you two, Vi takes a step forward, guiding you behind her with her arm.
“Hey, man,” the four of you turn to the bartender, yelling out, “Save it for the ring, or all of you are getting kicked out!”
The brute huffs, backing off. He returns to his table and his woman, picking his drink back up. He tips his drink toward Vi in some mock gesture of acknowledgment. “Next time, try to stay on your feet, Vi. I don’t think anybody finds you capable of walking a straight line in general.”
Vi growls, “I was wanting a rematch anyways!” She takes two aggressive steps towards him before you grab her by her arm and pull her back. “It’s not worth it, Vi. Come on.”
The man and woman laugh, then the woman speaks up, “Is she your new parole officer or something?”
“Say that again!” Vi barks, those words striking a nerve. You dig your heels into the ground as you try to keep Vi from taking another step, but holy hell this girl is a tank.
“Vi, just leave them! Come on,” you practically begged. Vi kept her eyes glued to the couple before letting you lead her away.
You drag her to the furthest end of the bar area away from her previous opponents.
“Sorry, (Y/n). I made us lose our place in line.” Vi sighs, still visibly upset.
“Don’t worry about that. You okay?” you ask, voice low.
Vi lets out a breath, rolling her shoulders like she’s shaking something off. That wasn’t exactly a yes or a no. What about their words triggered her so much?
“Ignore them, they’re stupid,” you say with a little laugh, trying to lighten her mood. Her face is still tense, and she’s not even looking at you. You notice how her jaw stays tight, her fingers flexing like she’s itching to throw a punch. The tension in her shoulders hasn’t eased one bit, and it doesn’t sit right with you. You could keep talking, try to get her to open up, but something tells you she doesn’t want to dwell on it.
So, instead, you do the next best thing. You move.
You sway a little, rolling your shoulders to the beat, then step in front of Vi, moving in sync with the music. At first, she doesn’t react, still caught in the storm of her own thoughts, but you don’t stop. You let yourself loosen up, exaggerating your movements just enough to catch her eye. A huge part of you feels stupid and awkward. It’s been a few years since you went out to dance at a club, and it probably would come more naturally to you if you already had a drink in your system.
She finally looks at you. “The hell are you doing?”
You can see Vi trying not to smile. “That’s a very interesting dance you got going on there.”
“Dance interestingly with me!” you grab her arm and pull her to the dance floor. The strobe lights should mask any further awkward dance moves you do.
“You’re ridiculous,” Vi mutters, but there’s a smirk playing at her lips now.
“Maybe,” you say, shooting her a wink, "but at least I’m fun.”
She begins to dance too, and her willingness to participate catches you off guard. “You really don’t look like the dancing type!”
“Just because I throw hands doesn’t mean I can’t dance,” she counters, getting closer to you so she doesn’t lose you in the crowd and the flashing lights.
But even as the two of you dance the rest of the night away, you can’t shake the feeling that whatever happened in that fight last night—whatever’s still sitting in Vi’s chest—hasn’t been left in the ring.
Ch. 1 Ch. 2 Ch. 3 Ch. 4 Ch. 6
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Taglist Cupcakes: @ren-ren23 @captain-crabbo @baylegend6 @winchestergirlspn @charcoal-heart @brbaabs
half a dozen cupcakes right thereeee^ YAY! My bakery grows >:3