It all started with Maddie.
Of course, it did. It always had to start with that snot-nosed Piltie brat with her pumpkin-colored biscuit-dry, nasty-ass hair, always clinging to Caitlyn with a sugary-sweet “my best friend”—not that it mattered. Vi knew who Caitlyn’s best friends were, she was the first, then Jayce and then Mel—that nasty bitch never made it to Caitlyn’s list of friends. Ever.
Vi had hated her guts the first time they met, and she hated her guts now.
The late afternoon air in Piltover was crisp, the golden light stretching elegant shadows across the marble floors of the academy courtyard. This visit was supposed to be fine—just one afternoon, one polite obligation Caitlyn had insisted on, a brief look into the life she had left behind.
It wasn’t fine.
Vi hadn’t said a word since they left the gathering. Since Maddie had leaned in at the luncheon, flashing that perfect, polished Piltovan smile—so charming, so sweet, so obviously calculating.
"Oh, you two look really cute," Maddie had cooed, her tone airy, casual, almost dismissive. Then her sharp eyes had landed on Vi, a smirk curling at the edges of her mouth. "And you, Vi… you look really good."
There’s something about that weird snotty accent that Maddie has that Vi made her want to sock the girl in the jaw. The way she didn’t say it as a compliment. Not really. It dripped with something else—something underhanded, like Maddie was amused Vi was even there.
And then, like it was the most natural thing in the world, she had leaned in, her lips hovering just near Vi’s cheek. Not close enough to touch, but enough that anyone watching would think she had. Enough to make it look like familiarity. Like Vi belonged in the picture-perfect world of Piltovan courtyards and silver spoons.
But just before she pulled away, she whispered—so soft, so smug, that Vi almost thought she imagined it:
"Look at you, such a pretty thing. Caitlyn did a good job with you."
Vi had gone still, her stomach twisting, fists curling under the table. Her whole body had locked up, breath tight in her throat.
Vi didn’t say anything at first. She didn’t need to. Because when Maddie pulled away—grinning like she hadn’t just gutted her with a single whispered sentence—Vi glanced at Caitlyn. Just a quick look. Just to check.
And she saw it.
The slight flinch in Caitlyn’s eyes, the barely-there shift of her mouth, the way her fingers curled just a fraction tighter around the silverware. The way Caitlyn’s lips formed into a thin line just as Caitlyn tensed beside her. Vi had felt it, the way Caitlyn’s breath hitched just slightly, the way her fingers twitched like she wanted to reach for Vi’s hand but didn’t. And yet, the words had been met with nothing—no sharp retort, no icy glare, no defense. Just a tight-lipped smile, a forced laugh, and a quick change of subject.
Vi had swallowed her anger then. It sat like rusted metal on her tongue. She hadn’t said anything, not with all those Piltover kids watching, not with Caitlyn already looking at her like she was bracing for an outburst. So she bit her tongue, clenched her fists, and let it fester throughout the entire afternoon until it was time to head home.
She’s been in a nasty mood ever since. Every attempt of Caitlyn to be closer to her—dismissed.
Now, as they stepped into the lift that would take them back to Zaun, the silence was thick, suffocating. The moment the gilded doors slid shut behind them, sealing them off in that too-bright, too-polished metal box, it became unbearable.
Vi exhaled sharply through her nose. Caitlyn glanced at her, cautious.
“You gonna say something?” Caitlyn asked. Her voice was quieter than usual, like she already knew this was going to be a fight.
Vi gave a short, bitter laugh. “Do I need to?”
Caitlyn’s brow furrowed. “Vi—”
“No, really. Should I even bother?” Vi cut in, finally turning to face her. Her voice was sharp, but her eyes—her eyes were worse. There was a rawness there, something that burned just under the surface, waiting to break loose.
Caitlyn’s mouth pressed into a thin line. “I was handling it.”
“Yeah?” Vi let out a hollow chuckle, shaking her head. “Sure didn’t look like it.”
The lift hummed softly as it descended, the only sound between them.
Caitlyn crossed her arms, weight shifting as if she was preparing for impact. “You think starting a fight in the middle of a Piltovan function would have made anything better?”
Vi scoffed. “Oh, so keeping quiet made it better? Letting her talk to me like I’m some—some charity case? That was the right move?”
Caitlyn’s fingers curled against her sleeves. “It wasn’t the right time—”
“Oh, right,” Vi snapped. “Because there’s always a right time, huh? When exactly were you gonna bring it up? At dessert? On the way out? Or were you just gonna let it slide and hope I didn’t care?”
“That’s not fair.” Caitlyn’s voice was lower now, a warning edge creeping in. “You know that’s not fair.”
Vi let out a slow, shaking breath, her fists clenching and unclenching at her sides. “I know that I stood there, listening to some rich brat talk down on me to your face, and you didn’t say a damn thing.”
Caitlyn flinched, just slightly, but it was enough. Vi saw it, saw the guilt flash across her expression before she shut it down, straightening like she could will herself to be unshakable.
“I was trying not to make a scene,” Caitlyn said, voice tight, like she was holding something back.
Vi’s eyes burned. “Yeah? Well, congrats, Cupcake,” she said derisively, her voice cracking. She motioned to their surroundings, where people were already giving them looks. “You’re avoiding one topside, now you’re having one here.”
The words landed like a slap. Caitlyn’s lips parted slightly, but no words came out. Just a breath. Just a flash of something like hurt before her walls snapped back into place. The lift kept descending. The silence stretched, suffocating. The city below grew closer, the golden glow of Piltover giving way to the dim haze of Zaun.
Vi turned away first, staring at the reflection of herself in the polished steel of the lift doors. Her own face looked foreign—jaw tight, eyes red-rimmed.
Caitlyn swallowed hard. “Vi, I—”
But Vi didn’t look at her. Didn’t move.
Caitlyn closed her mouth, pressing her nails into her palms. She swallowed hard, trying to push down the lump rising in her throat. Vi still wasn’t looking at her, staring at her reflection in the polished metal of the doors like she was trying to burn a hole through it.
Caitlyn hated this. She hated the way Vi shut down like this, like she was walling herself off, bracing for impact. She hated that Vi thought she didn’t care.
So she tried again.
"Vi," she started, voice quieter this time. "You know I wasn’t just going to let it slide."
Vi let out a sharp, bitter breath. "Sure felt like it."
Caitlyn clenched her jaw. "I was handling it. I needed to be careful with my words—"
Vi’s head snapped toward her so fast Caitlyn flinched. "Careful," Vi repeated, voice dripping with disbelief. "Right. Gotta be careful. Wouldn’t want to make things awkward for your Piltie friends, huh?"
"That’s not what I meant—"
"Sure it is," Vi snapped, stepping closer now, her voice rising. "Careful means watching what you say so you don’t piss off the people who already think I don’t belong there. Careful means swallowing the fact that they see me as some charity case so that you don’t have to be embarrassed."
Caitlyn’s nails bit into her palms. "Embarrassed?" she echoed, voice tightening. "You think I’m embarrassed of you?"
Vi scoffed. "I think you care way too much about what people like her think."
Caitlyn's eyes burned. "Of course I care what they think, Vi! That’s how this works!"
The words slammed into Vi like a gut punch.
"How what works?" Vi demanded, stepping closer, voice rough.
"This!" Caitlyn threw her hands up, frustration spilling over. "This city, this system! You can’t just go around throwing punches at everyone who looks at you wrong! Not everyone can afford to be reckless like you!"
People in the lift were shifting uncomfortably now, their gazes darting between the two girls like they were waiting for the floor to open up and swallow them whole.
Vi laughed, sharp and humorless. "Reckless?" Her voice was getting louder now, hands gesturing wildly as the anger bled out in full force. "Sorry, sweetheart, but not all of us get to fight our battles with the right words at the right time in the right fucking room!"
Caitlyn’s face flushed, her breath coming quicker. "And what, you think shouting in a lift full of strangers is going to prove a point?"
"At least I actually have a fucking point!" Vi snapped, voice cracking.
Someone near the back of the lift cleared their throat awkwardly. A woman shifted closer to the wall, glancing at the floor numbers like she was begging the descent to go faster. Old men whispered amongst themselves.
Caitlyn’s chest was rising and falling unevenly now. "So what do you want me to say, Vi?" she asked, voice trembling. "That I should’ve made a scene? That I should’ve called Maddie out in front of everyone? Do you want me to stand on a fucking table and declare how much I love you so you stop feeling like you don’t belong in my life?"
Vi’s breath hitched.
The words hung there, electric, scorching.
The lift kept descending.
Caitlyn’s hands were shaking now, but she refused to look away. "You think I don’t fight for you?" Her voice broke slightly, and she hated it. "I fight for you every single damn day, Vi. Just because I don’t throw punches doesn’t mean I don’t fight. I keep defending you!"
"Oh so now, you’re saying you need to defend me? Gee thanks, Caitlyn."
Caitlyn’s throat worked like she wanted to say something—anything—but the words wouldn’t come.
The tension in the air was unbearable. Someone coughed. Another person shuffled closer to the exit, eyes wide like they’d rather throw themselves down the lift shaft than be stuck in here another second.
The floor numbers blinked lower and lower.
The moment the lift doors slid open, Vi was already moving.
Her boots hit the steel walkway with heavy, angry steps, fists shoved deep into her jacket pockets like she had to physically stop herself from swinging. The air in Zaun was thick—metallic with the scent of rust and burning ozone, the usual smog curling through the streets—but tonight, it felt heavier. Like it was pressing down on her, wrapping around her ribs, making her pulse hammer in her ears.
And Caitlyn—fucking Caitlyn—was right behind her, her voice sharp, clipped, cutting through the city noise.
“You always do this! Violet! Hey, I am still talking to you!”
Vi spun on her heel so fast Caitlyn almost walked into her. The glow of the streetlights hit her face at the wrong angle, throwing jagged shadows across her jaw, the tight set of her mouth.
“Do what, Cait?” Her voice dripped venom. “Call out your snake-ass friends when they talk shit like I don’t hear them? My bad, I didn’t know I was supposed to smile and nod while they call me your little Zaunite project—”
Caitlyn inhaled sharply, her whole frame going rigid. “Vi—”
“Or was I supposed to just sit there and pretend Maddie wasn’t looking at me like I was dirt under her shoe?” Vi’s voice rose, raw, cracked around the edges.
Caitlyn exhaled through her nose, short and controlled, her fingers twitching like she was holding back. “Do you think I liked that, Vi? Do you think I just sat there and agreed with her?”
Vi scoffed, a bitter, ugly sound. “You sure as hell didn’t disagree.”
Caitlyn’s jaw clenched. “Because I have to pick my battles, Vi! I can’t just—”
“Oh, I get it. You don’t have to keep saying it over and over again. It gets old,” Vi let out a sharp, humorless laugh, stepping back just to keep herself from getting in Caitlyn’s face. “You don’t wanna cause a scene. Wouldn’t want Piltover’s princess embarrassing herself, huh?”
Caitlyn’s lips parted, her expression flickering—just for a second—with something almost wounded, but she masked it quickly, squaring her shoulders.
“That is not what this is about—”
“Then what the hell is it about, Cait?” Vi’s voice cracked, the frustration twisting into something more desperate, something aching. “Because from where I’m standing, it sure as hell looks like you care so much about what people think.”
Caitlyn exhaled, sharp, uneven, her fingers flexing at her sides. “I just don’t want you picking fights every time someone doesn’t see you the way they should—”
Vi froze.
Her stomach curled tight, her nails digging into her palms. There it is.
She swallowed the bitter taste in her mouth, the words coming out low, rough.
“You mean every time someone doesn’t see me as worthy of you.”
For a second—just a second—Caitlyn hesitated.
A flicker in her eyes, a moment’s pause.
Vi saw it.
And something inside her snapped.
Vi let out a scoff, sharp and breathless. “Figures.”
“Vi, that’s not what I meant—”
“No?” Vi’s voice dropped into something quieter, rougher, as she stepped forward. The streetlights caught the sharp line of her jaw, the tension in her shoulders, the way her breath came a little too fast. “Then just say it, Cait. Say I’m your girlfriend. Say I’m yours. Not your problem, not something you have to explain or defend—yours.”
Caitlyn’s breath hitched. Her lips parted, her throat bobbing in a swallow, but the words didn’t come.
Vi’s pulse pounded.
And then Caitlyn broke.
“God, you’re such an idiot,” she groaned, frustration bleeding into her words and seeping right where she’s standing. Caitlyn’s chest was rising and falling too fast, her eyes burning with something she couldn’t swallow down. “I really love you, but why do you make it so damn hard to do so sometimes?”
Vi flinched. Vi blinked. The words landed between them like a slap.
It was barely noticeable—just a flicker, a breath catching in her throat, her shoulders going stiff—but Caitlyn saw it.
And Vi felt it.
The words stung like salt in an open wound, like a punch that landed somewhere deep.
So she lashed out.
“Yeah?” Her voice was sharp, cutting—but weak, pathetic, like a dull blade thrown in the dark. “Well, maybe if it’s so hard why don’t you go home and go back to your Piltie friends instead of being stuck here with me since you care so much about what your stupid friends think of me.”
The second the words left her mouth, Vi regretted it.
The hurt flickered across Caitlyn’s face like a crack in fine glass, her breath hitching, her body going still.
And the usual chaos of The Last Drop—the low murmur of conversations, the distant clatter of glasses, the muffled sound of music from inside—had died down.
People were watching.
Because of course they were.
Because the Hound’s kid and Piltover’s golden girl were at each other’s throats, fighting in the middle of the street like a goddamn spectacle.
Caitlyn was still breathing hard, her fingers curling like she wanted to grab Vi, shake her, do something—but she didn’t.
And Vi—Vi was still stuck on those words, echoing in her skull.
That was when the Hound of the Lanes stepped in.
A heavy sigh. A shift of movement. The unmistakable presence of someone used to breaking up bar fights before they turned ugly. Vander pushed off the wall where he’d been standing—arms crossed, unimpressed as hell—and rolled his shoulders, stepping forward with slow, steady weight.
“Alright,” he said, voice low and firm, cutting through the tension like a knife.
“Show's over.”
The Last Drop was no stranger to fights. A bar in Zaun? Fights were as common as the damn drinks. But this? Vi and Caitlyn, standing in the middle of the street, screaming at each other like they were the only two people in the world—that was new.
Zaunites were nosy bastards, and they loved a show. A crowd had already started forming outside the bar, the scent of sweat, oil, and damp metal thick in the cool night air. People pressed in—boots scuffing against cracked stone, fingers curled around half-drunk glasses, eyes flicking between Vi’s squared shoulders and Caitlyn’s rigid stance, like they were watching a fuse burn down to the last spark.
Powder stood on the tips of her toes, trying to see past a pair of broad-shouldered dock workers, her blue eyes flicking between her sister and Caitlyn, her expression caught between exasperation and mild concern. She had seen Vi mad before—hell, she had seen Vi throw punches for less—but this was different. This wasn’t Vi picking a fight in the usual way. It was sharper, messier. Personal.
Her fingers twitched, curling and uncurling at her sides. She had half a mind to push through the crowd, to grab Vi’s wrist and pull her away before this turned into something worse—before it turned into something neither of them could take back.
But before she could move, a heavy hand landed on her shoulder.
“Hold on, kid.”
Vander.
Powder startled, whipping her head up to look at him, eyes wide. “Vander, we gotta—”
“I know,” he said, voice calm but firm. “Just wait.”
Powder turned back toward the fight, frustration bubbling under her skin. “Vi’s gonna do something stupid,” she muttered, shifting on her feet.
Vander huffed a quiet chuckle. “That’s a safe bet.”
She shot him an unimpressed look, but Vander’s grip on her shoulder was steady, grounding.
“She’s not gonna break,” he assured her. “And neither is Caitlyn.”
Powder swallowed hard, looking back at Vi—at the sharp edges of her, the way her jaw clenched tight like she was barely holding herself together.
Vander gave her shoulder a squeeze. “It’ll be alright, kid.”
Powder exhaled through her nose, still watching, still tense. But she didn’t move. She watched as Vander took a deep breath, rolling the tension from his shoulders, letting it settle heavy in his chest before he stepped forward. He didn’t shout. He didn’t need to.
“All right,” he called out, voice steady, even. Commanding. A low rumble that cut through the noise like a blade. The murmurs died instantly, conversations clipped mid-sentence. Vander’s gaze swept over the crowd, slow and deliberate, locking onto a few familiar faces—Zaunites who should’ve known better than to stand around like vultures. His voice dropped lower, sharper.
“Show’s over.”
A few hesitated, glancing at one another, torn between curiosity and self-preservation. Vander took a single step forward, but that was all it took. The weight of his presence alone was enough to send a ripple through the gathered bodies, a wordless warning.
“I said—show’s over.”
That did it. The crowd thinned real fast, shoulders hunching, feet shifting, bodies moving back into the shadows. The smarter ones ducked inside the bar or disappeared down the alleyways like they hadn’t been there in the first place. The ones who lingered—mostly younger punks, still eager for a little drama—got an extra glare for good measure.
“Ain’t your business,” Vander rumbled, voice like distant thunder. He lifted his chin, the weight of his presence settling like an iron clamp around the air. “And if I catch anyone runnin’ their mouth about this—” his gaze flicked, sharp as a knife, “—they’re dealin’ with me.”
That got them moving. Within seconds, the street was empty.
But the fight? That still raged.
Caitlyn’s breath came fast and uneven, her fists clenched so tight her knuckles had gone white. Vi was still burning, practically vibrating with anger, hands twitching like she was dying to hit something—anything. They were both locked in the storm, oblivious, still breathing fire at each other, too lost in the moment to even realize the crowd had gone.
Vander ran a hand down his face, exhaling slow through his nose. Then, finally—
“Inside.”
His voice was firm, unyielding. A command, not a request. Two pairs of furious eyes snapped toward him, still heaving, still seething. Vander’s patience was already thin. He met them with a flat, unimpressed stare.
“Now.”
The corner booth of The Last Drop was tucked away from the main bar, dimly lit, with its scratched wooden surface scarred from years of knife tricks and spilled drinks. It was supposed to be neutral ground, a place to talk, to settle things. At least, that was the idea.
Vander sat across from them, forearms braced on the table, fingers interlocked as he sighed—long, slow, already regretting this. Vi and Caitlyn sat on opposite ends of the booth, tense, coiled like a pair of alley cats ready to claw each other’s eyes out.
“Right,” Vander started, leveling them both with a look. “You’re both pissed. I get it. But you’re gonna sit here and talk this through like grown-ass adults.” His brow twitched, already sensing this was a tall order.
Silence.
Then, at the exact same moment—
“She—”
“She—”
They both stopped, scowling at each other. Caitlyn lifted her chin, attempting poise, but the twitch in her jaw ruined it. Vi folded her arms across her chest, throwing herself against the seat with an exaggerated huff.
Vander exhaled. “Vi. You first.”
Vi’s glare didn’t leave Caitlyn’s face. “Finally.” She pushed forward, hands on the table, voice still sharp with leftover anger. “Alright. You wanna know what’s got me so worked up, Vander? Her.” She jabbed a finger in Caitlyn’s direction. “Or, no—not her. Maddie. That little—”
“Oh, for God’s sake,” Caitlyn cut in, rolling her eyes.
Vi’s head snapped toward her, incredulous. “You defending her now?”
“I am not defending her,” Caitlyn snapped, posture tightening. “I am trying to have an actual conversation instead of—”
“Oh, please. Like you even care—”
“You think I don’t care?” Caitlyn’s voice climbed, her accent sharpening with disbelief. “Are you serious right now?”
“You didn’t say shit, Caitlyn!” Vi’s voice boomed across the booth, rattling the glasses on the table.
“Oh, I’m sorry, would you have preferred I punched her?” Caitlyn shot back. “Would that have made you feel better?”
“Might’ve helped!”
Vander slammed a hand on the table. “Enough!”
Silence—except for the two of them still glaring at each other, fists clenched, breathing heavy. Vander pinched the bridge of his nose, his patience wearing thin.
“Caitlyn,” he said, voice low, measured. “Your turn.”
Caitlyn took a steadying breath, hands smoothing down the front of her coat as if that would somehow fix the sheer mess of this situation. She tried to start calmly. “Vi doesn’t think before she acts. That is my problem.”
“Oh, here we go—” Vi muttered under her breath.
Caitlyn ignored her. “It’s always a fight, always fists first. And every damn time, I have to be the one to def—”
“Oh, so that’s what this is about?” Vi cut in, scoffing. “You don’t like that you have to ‘defend’ me?” She leaned forward, throwing Caitlyn’s own words back in her face. “That’s what you said, right? You always have to defend me?”
Caitlyn’s lips parted, her breath catching—because, shit, she had said that.
Vi’s hands curled into fists against the table, her voice raw, unsteady. “I never asked you to.”
Caitlyn flinched.
Vander could feel the tension spiking again, heat rolling off both of them like a damn wildfire. This was going nowhere. If he let this keep going, they’d tear into each other all night.
“All right,” Vander muttered, standing up abruptly. “That’s enough. Clearly, you two can’t be in the same room without barkin’ at each other, so we’re doin’ this one at a time.” He jabbed a finger toward Vi. “You. Stay here.” Then, at Caitlyn, voice firm. “You—walk with me.”
Caitlyn looked like she wanted to argue, but Vi let out a sharp, bitter laugh and leaned back against the booth, stretching her arms out like she owned the damn thing. “Yeah, great idea, Vander. Maybe she can go find her real friends while she’s at it.”
Caitlyn’s nostrils flared at Vi. “Go to hell, Violet.”
“I’m already there, Cupcake.”
Vander groaned, rubbing a hand over his face.
Yeah. One at a damn time.
Caitlyn stood outside The Last Drop, arms crossed tightly over her chest, staring at nothing in particular. The night air had a bite to it, but she barely felt it over the simmering frustration curling inside her ribs. Vi was impossible. Impossible and stubborn and so damn—
“C’mon,” Vander’s voice broke through her thoughts, steady and expectant. She turned to find him holding the door open, nodding his head toward the back. “Let’s walk.”
She hesitated, then exhaled, following him down the quieter alley beside the bar. The further they got from the street, the more the noise of Zaun faded, replaced by the distant hum of machinery and the occasional drip of condensation from overhead pipes. It was quieter here, tucked away from watchful eyes.
Vander shoved his hands into his coat pockets as he walked beside her, his steps slow, measured. He didn’t speak right away, just let the tension sit between them until Caitlyn finally broke the silence.
“She’s unreasonable.” The words left her in a sharp breath, her grip tightening on her sleeves. “She just—she fights everything. She doesn’t think, she just reacts, and then I have to be the one to—”
“To clean up after her?” Vander finished for her, glancing over.
Caitlyn pressed her lips together, looking away. “That’s not what I meant.”
Vander hummed, unconvinced. “Maybe not, but it’s what you feel, yeah?”
She didn’t answer.
They reached a rusted-out railing, and Vander leaned against it with a grunt, arms braced as he looked out over the winding alleys below. Caitlyn stayed standing, her arms still crossed, her nails pressing into her sleeves.
Vander sighed, low and tired. “Vi’s used to fightin’ for everything, Caitlyn.” His voice was quieter now, but not soft. It still carried the weight of years, of knowing Vi in ways as his own child. “She had to fight for food. For a bed. For Powder. For everything worth a damn in her life.” He turned his head slightly, meeting Caitlyn’s gaze.
“And now, she’s fightin’ for you, Caitlyn.”
Caitlyn’s throat tightened, but she lifted her chin, unwilling to let herself waver. “I never asked her to.”
Vander let out a short breath through his nose—something close to a laugh, but without humor. “No. But with Vi, you never had to.”
Caitlyn’s fingers twitched against her sleeves.
“She hears what people say about her, y’know,” Vander continued, gaze shifting back to the alleys below. “She acts like she don’t, but she does. And it don’t matter how strong she is—doesn’t matter how tough she talks—it gets in there.” He tapped a knuckle against his temple. “Eats at her.”
Caitlyn swallowed, her jaw locking.
“She’s scared,” Vander said simply. “Not of fightin’. Not of gettin’ hurt.” He exhaled, shaking his head. “She’s scared you’ll be just like the rest of ‘em. That one day, you’ll listen to all that shit they say about her, and you’ll start believin’ it.”
Caitlyn’s stomach twisted. “I don’t.”
Vander finally turned to face her fully, leveling her with a steady, knowing look. “Yeah, but Vi doesn’t know that. You need to show her, Caitlyn.” His voice was quiet, but firm. “You can’t just tell her she’s got nothin’ to prove if you’re not willing to prove that to her.”
Caitlyn’s breath caught.
The argument replayed in her head—the sharp words, the accusations, Vi’s voice cracking just slightly when she threw back I never asked you to.
And then, before Caitlyn could even try to sort through the mess of emotions threatening to unravel inside her, Vander straightened with a grunt and clapped a heavy hand on her shoulder.
“Now,” he said, stepping back toward the bar. “I’m gonna talk with her.” His tone had already shifted—less fatherly, more like a man preparing for a headache. “And after that, you’re both gonna sit down and figure this shit out, ‘cause if I gotta break up another fight, I swear—”
“I get it,” Caitlyn muttered, rubbing her temples.
Vander grinned, shaking his head as he walked back inside.
Caitlyn exhaled, pressing her fingers to her lips, willing herself to push down the lump forming in her throat.
Vi wasn’t just fighting.
She was fighting for her.
The bass from Vi’s speakers thumped through the walls, rattling the pipes in the basement of The Last Drop. A heavy, pounding beat—loud enough to shake the floor, loud enough to drown out her thoughts. She sat on the edge of her cot, forearms braced against her knees, head hanging low. Her knuckles were clenched so tight they’d gone white.
The door creaked open. Powder knocked once—more of a courtesy than anything—before barging in, completely unbothered by the volume.
She stepped in like she owned the place, not the least bit bothered by the shaking floor or the oppressive volume. “You’re being loud,” she announced, flopping onto Vi’s bed like a ragdoll. The old mattress let out a strained creak under her weight.
Vi groaned, rolling her head back with an exaggerated sigh. “And you’re being a pain.” She grabbed the nearest pillow and chucked it at her.
Powder caught it midair, hugging it to her chest. Her legs swung idly off the edge of the bed. “You’re dumb,” she declared, as if it were an undeniable fact of the universe. “Caitlyn’s nice. You should stop being dumb.”
Vi scowled, but the corner of her mouth twitched—just barely. “Oh, great advice. Why didn’t I think of that?” she muttered.
Powder grinned, sharp and teasing. “Dunno. ‘Cause you’re dumb?”
Vi let out a sharp exhale—half a laugh, half a groan. “I swear, Powder, one of these days I’m gonna kick you if you keep being insufferable.”
Powder grinned wider. “And you’re terrible at feelings.” She threw the pillow back at Vi’s face. “Fix it.”
Vi caught it, fingers twisting in the worn fabric. Her shoulders sagged, just a little, her grip loosening.
“I know,” she muttered, scrubbing a hand down her face.
Powder had a way of cutting straight through the bullshit, slicing right to the core of things without hesitation. And the worst part? She was usually right.
The door creaked again.
Heavy footsteps. A shadow in the doorway.
Vander.
His voice rumbled over the pounding bass, calm but firm. “Powder. Give us a minute, yeah?”
Powder twisted on the bed to look at him, nose scrunching. “Ugh. You’re gonna do the serious talk, aren’t you?”
Vander crossed his arms, brow lifting. “Maybe. Get.”
Powder let out a dramatic sigh but slid off the bed, dragging her feet toward the door. As she passed Vander, she muttered, “She’s being dumb.”
Vander huffed, barely holding back a smirk. “Yeah, I caught that.”
Vander watched Powder’s retreating as she went upstairs. He took his time. No rush. He’d been dealing with Vi’s temper since she was a scrawny kid with blood on her knuckles and too much fire in her chest. She always burned hot, and always needed an outlet.
And right now? She was burning hotter than he’d seen in a long time.
The basement was dimly lit, the flickering glow of a single overhead bulb casting long shadows against exposed brick and old crates. Vi’s door was cracked open, enough for Vander to see her sitting on the edge of her cot, forearms braced against her knees, head hanging low. Her knuckles were clenched so tight they’d gone white.
Vander stepped inside without knocking, the old hinges groaning as the door swung open. The air inside was thick—stale with the scent of sweat, metal, and the faint, lingering traces of smoke.
Vi barely acknowledged him. She sat hunched on the edge of her cot, forearms braced against her knees, fingers still twitching like they wanted to hit something. The red glow of a neon sign outside bled through the basement’s grimy window, casting uneven streaks of light across her face.
Vander didn’t say a word at first. He just walked over to her speakers—past the scattered weights, the dented locker, the wall still bearing the faint imprint of a fist—and turned the volume off with a decisive click.
The silence crashed in like a wave, thick and suffocating.
Vi groaned, tilting her head back to glare at the ceiling. “Really?”
Vander leaned against a nearby crate, crossing his arms over his chest. “You okay now?”
Vi scoffed, dragging a rough hand through her hair. “Oh, sure. I’m great, Vander. Just great.” Her voice dripped with sarcasm, but it didn’t quite mask the sharp edge underneath.
Vander gave her a long, unimpressed look, the kind that had silenced plenty of rowdy drunks and hotheaded punks over the years.
Vi exhaled sharply, shaking her head. "Look, if you're here to tell me I'm being an ass, save it. I know." Her voice wavered, just for a second, before she bit down on it, hard. Her jaw clenched as she looked away, fists curling over her knees.
Vander sighed, pushing off the crate with a quiet grunt. He softened—just a little. “Vi.”
She didn’t look at him.
“She’s still upstairs.”
Vi’s fingers curled against the edge of the cot. “…Good for her.”
Vander huffed, dropping heavily into the old armchair in the corner. "Y'know, for someone who throws punches first and asks questions never, you're a real coward sometimes."
Vi’s head snapped toward him, eyes narrowing. "The fuck does that mean?"
Vander didn’t flinch. Just leaned back, rubbing a hand down his face. "It means you’d rather pick a fight than admit you’re scared."
Vi laughed—sharp and humorless. "Oh, that’s rich."
Vander shrugged. “Tell me I’m wrong, kid.”
She clenched her teeth so hard it hurt.
“You think Caitlyn doesn’t give a shit about you?” Vander continued, voice even. “Think she’s ashamed? That she won’t choose you?”
Vi’s fingers twitched. Her throat felt tight.
Vander leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Kid, the girl chased you all the way to Zaun. Walked through the slums, stood her ground against damn near everyone here, all for you. She’s still upstairs, sittin’ in that booth probably being pestered by Powder, waiting for you.”
Her breaths came shallow, her pulse loud in her ears.
“But instead of seein’ that, instead of listenin’,” Vander shook his head, "you keep swingin' at the wrong damn things.”
Vi let out a sharp breath, hands gripping her knees. "I just—” Her voice cracked. “She doesn’t get it, Vander." She swallowed hard. "She doesn’t get what it’s like to have people look at you like you’re less. Like you’re just some dirty Zaunite who’s lucky to be standing next to her."
Vander was quiet for a moment. Then, in a voice far softer than Vi expected, he said, "She’s not the one saying that."
Vi’s stomach twisted.
“She never said it, Vi,” Vander continued. “So why the hell are you putting those words in her mouth?”
Vi’s breath hitched. She shot up from the cot, pacing the room in sharp, restless steps. "She doesn’t have to say it, Vander. You should’ve seen her face when I was yelling at Maddie. Like she couldn’t believe I was causing a scene. Like I was embarrassing her.”
Vander sighed. “Or maybe—just maybe—she was frustrated ‘cause she felt like she had to keep you from throwing punches instead of lettin’ you trust her to handle things her way.”
Vi stopped pacing. Her jaw clenched, but she didn’t argue.
Vander let that sit for a moment. Then, with a heavy breath, he stood. "Vi, I ain’t gonna sit here and pretend Caitlyn’s perfect. But neither are you." His gaze softened, just a little. "She’s trying, kid. And I know you are too. But you gotta meet her halfway."
Vi swallowed, looking down at her hands.
Vander stepped past her, clapping a hand against her shoulder as he moved toward the stairs. “Now, get your ass upstairs and talk to her.”
Vi exhaled, long and shaky. "And if I fuck it up?"
Vander grinned, shaking his head. "Then I guess I’ll have to bang both your heads together ‘til you figure it out."
Vi huffed a weak laugh, running a hand down her face. She stayed in place as Vander left, the weight of his words settling in her chest.
Eventually, she took a slow breath, squared her shoulders, and followed him upstairs.
When Vi trudged back upstairs, her head was still buzzing, her heart still pounding from Vander’s words. The bar was quieter now, the earlier crowd long gone, leaving only a few stragglers nursing their drinks. Caitlyn sat at the corner booth, her back straight, hands clasped tightly on the table, staring at nothing in particular.
Her eyes flicked up the second Vi stepped into view. She looked… tired. Frustrated. But mostly tired. Vi had put that look there.
Vander, standing near the bar, caught Vi’s eye and jerked his head toward the booth. "Go."
Vi hesitated. Just for a second. Then, with a slow inhale, she moved.
Caitlyn tensed when Vi slid into the seat across from her, but before either of them could say a word, Vander—big, solid, immovable Vander—clamped a heavy hand on Vi’s shoulder, then one on Caitlyn’s. "Nope. Not like that."
Vi frowned. "Like what?"
Vander didn’t answer. Instead, with all the effort of moving a couple of chairs, he grabbed Vi’s arm, yanked her up, and unceremoniously shoved her into the seat beside Caitlyn. Shoulder to shoulder. No escape.
"Seriously?" Vi muttered, half a glare shot his way.
"Seriously," Vander confirmed, crossing his arms. "You’re gonna sit here, and you’re gonna talk. No yellin’, no fightin’, no stormin’ out. Just talk." He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. "Or so help me, I’ll make you hold hands like a couple of bratty kids until you figure it out."
Vi huffed, crossing her arms, but didn’t argue. Caitlyn, for her part, let out a slow, measured breath, composing herself like she always did when she didn’t want to react.
Vander lingered for a beat, making sure neither of them so much as twitched toward the door. Then, satisfied, he clapped a hand against the table. "Good. Now, don’t do anything stupid while I get myself a drink."
And with that, he walked off, leaving Vi and Caitlyn alone. Close. Quiet. Nowhere to run.
The silence stretched between them, thick and suffocating. It wasn’t the comfortable kind, the easy quiet that sometimes settled when they were together. No—this was awkward. Frustrating. The kind that made Vi’s fingers twitch, made Caitlyn’s jaw tighten.
Neither of them spoke. Neither of them moved.
They just sat there, side by side, close enough that Vi could feel the heat of Caitlyn’s arm against hers, but not touching. Not looking at each other.
Every few seconds, Vi would glance at Caitlyn—just a quick, fleeting look—but Caitlyn would do the same at the exact wrong moment, and their eyes would meet, sharp and uncertain, before darting away again.
It was stupid. It was so stupid.
Vi exhaled sharply through her nose, shifting in her seat, arms still stubbornly crossed. Caitlyn, ever composed, simply folded her hands in her lap, lips pressed into a thin line.
The weight of their fight still lingered in the air.
Neither of them wanted to be wrong.
But they both knew they couldn’t walk away from this. Not like this.
The silence stretched, suffocating and unbearable. Neither of them wanted to be the first to cave. Neither wanted to admit fault, to be the one who blinked first.
Vi picked at the frayed edges of her shirt, rolling the cloth between her fingers. Caitlyn worried her lip between her teeth, staring so hard at the table like it held the answer to all their problems, her knuckles white from forming into fists.
It felt like an eternity before Caitlyn finally broke, her voice barely above a whisper.
"I’m sorry," she said with an exhale.
Vi scoffed, reflexively, but it lacked real bite now. She exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand over her face before muttering, softer this time, "Yeah… I’m sorry, too."
They glanced at each other, hesitant. The tension still hung between them, but it wasn’t as sharp now, the raw edges dulled by exhaustion. After another beat, Vi nudged Caitlyn’s shoulder—not rough, just enough to say I’m still here .
Caitlyn huffed out a tiny, tired laugh.
It was enough.
Somehow, without thinking, without planning, one of them finally closed the distance. Just a small, tentative kiss—hesitant, like testing the waters, like making sure the other wouldn’t pull away.
Neither of them did. And as their foreheads rested together for a brief, fleeting second, they both exhaled—like finally letting go of all the weight they’d been carrying.
Vi let out a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding. Caitlyn was still close, too close, but Vi wasn’t about to complain.
So, she kissed her again.
It wasn’t hesitant this time—it was deeper, more certain. Caitlyn responded instantly, her fingers curling into Vi’s shirt, pulling her closer. Vi’s hands found their way to Caitlyn’s waist, gripping tight like she was anchoring herself.
It was messy, desperate, fueled by the lingering embers of their argument and the need to prove something—until a heavy hand clamped down on Vi’s shoulder.
“Alright, that’s enough,” Vander’s voice cut through the haze like a damn knife.
Vi flinched like a kid caught sneaking out, pulling back so fast she nearly knocked over Caitlyn’s glass. Caitlyn cleared her throat, straightening her shirt as if that would somehow erase what just happened.
Vander’s stare flicked between them. “If you two are done tryin’ to kill each other—or eatin’ each other’s faces—get out of my bar before you traumatize my customers.”
Vi snorted, rubbing the back of her neck, and Caitlyn’s ears burned red.
Without another word, they made their exit. Caitlyn slipped her hand into Vi’s as they stepped out onto the quiet Zaunite streets, fingers threading together easily, like muscle memory.
Just as they were out of sight, Vander leaned against the bar’s entrance, arms crossed.
“Try not to kill each other before next week!” he hollered after them. Then, with a gruff chuckle, he shook his head, muttering under his breath as he makes his way to the bar, shaking his head. He wipes the countertop, amused. In the corner of the bar, his eyes gaze towards the picture stuck on the wall there: the younger versions of him and Silco, standing over Vi's parents, Felicia and Connell.
“Kids.”
(#)