Behind Blue Eyes

The Last Drop was quiet tonight—a rare gift, and one Vi wasn’t going to question. Fewer bodies meant fewer messes to clean up and less noise pounding in her head. She leaned against the bar, her fingers absently tracing a worn groove in the counter, her milky blue eyes gazing unfocused into the dimly lit room. The familiar ache behind her eyes was sharper than usual, pulsing in relentless waves that made her grind her teeth.

She never told anyone about the pain. Not Vander, not Powder, no one. It was hers to deal with, another scar from the explosion that had taken her sight. If they knew, they’d hover more than they already did. Powder would cry, guilt written all over her face as if it had been her fault. And Vander? He’d turn Zaun upside down trying to fix what couldn’t be fixed, tearing apart anything or anyone he thought might help. She didn’t need that kind of commotion. She didn’t want it.

Seven years ago, though, she’d reached her breaking point. The pain was relentless, drilling into her skull day after day until it felt like it would split her apart. Nothing worked—not the tonics the local healers brewed, not the meditation tricks Vander had awkwardly suggested, and certainly not the false promises of Zaun’s street corner chemists. The nights were the worst, when the silence of the bar left her alone with the throbbing agony behind her eyes, her hands gripping the edges of the counter so hard she thought her knuckles might crack.

It was desperation that pushed her to Silco. She’d hated herself for it even as she made the decision. He wasn’t someone you went to lightly, and everyone in Zaun knew it. Silco wasn’t just a man—he was a force, a presence that loomed over the Undercity like the smog from Piltover’s factories. His name carried weight, and so did his deals. But Vi hadn’t cared. She’d needed relief, and he’d been the only one who might have a solution.

The first time she’d walked into his place, every instinct screamed at her to turn back, to find another way. Silco had greeted her with that unsettling calm of his, his mismatched eyes gleaming with interest as he’d listened to her request. He hadn’t asked why she was there or why she hadn’t gone to Vander. He’d just smiled, sharp and calculating, and placed the first vial of shimmer in her hand.

“Remember, Violet,” he’d said, his voice as smooth and dangerous as the shimmer he’d given her. “This isn’t a gift. It’s an arrangement.”

She’d taken it anyway, swallowing her pride along with the faint shimmer-laced concoction. For the first time in years, the pounding in her head had dulled, the sharp edges of the world smoothing out into something bearable. It wasn’t perfect—it never was—but it had been enough to stop her from breaking completely.

Now, after all these years, the arrangement still held. Silco hadn’t exploited her need—not yet, anyway—but she didn’t delude herself into thinking his charity was genuine. He got something out of it, though she wasn’t sure what. Maybe he just liked knowing she owed him, liked having that little thread of control. Whatever his reasons, she didn’t care. She needed the relief, and Silco delivered.

As if summoned by her thoughts, the man himself strode into the bar, his footsteps smooth and unhurried. Silco moved like he owned the place—an air of control and authority that made Vi bristle even after knowing the man for so long. She didn’t trust him, couldn’t trust him. But trust wasn’t part of their deal. It never had been.

“Violet,” he greeted, his voice carrying that same unnerving calm.

“Silco,” Vi replied flatly, already straightening up. She didn’t bother with pleasantries; their arrangement didn’t require them.

He approached the bar with a faint smirk, as if her discomfort amused him, and slid a small vial across the counter. It caught the dim light of the bar, glowing faintly as it spun toward her waiting hand. She caught it smoothly, her fingers closing around the cool glass with practiced ease.

“Still alive, I see,” he remarked, leaning against the counter as his mismatched eyes studied her.

“Don’t act so surprised,” Vi shot back, slipping the vial into her pocket. Her smirk was sharp, her tone even sharper.

Silco’s chuckle was low and dry, a sound that didn’t reach his eyes. “You always were too stubborn to let anything kill you.”

“Guess you’d know all about that wouldn’t you,” she retorted, already turning her attention back to the bar.

Silco lingered a moment longer, his eyes watching her like he was waiting for her to slip up. The weight of his gaze felt purposeful, a calculated act to remind her of who held the upper hand in their arrangement. When it became clear she wasn’t in the mood for conversation, he adjusted his coat, the subtle creak of leather cutting through the quiet room.

“Careful, Violet,” he said, his voice laced with mock concern as he leaned on the counter. “You might start enjoying our little arrangement too much.”

Vi smirked, though the expression felt more like armor than amusement. “You’re worried about me now?” she shot back, her tone light but carrying a threatening edge.

“Hardly.” Silco leaned slightly closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial murmur. “But if Vander knew—”

“He doesn’t,” Vi interrupted, her voice pointed and low, the warning in her tone unmistakable. Her grip on the counter tightened, her knuckles brushing against the worn wood as tension rippled through her frame.

Silco chuckled, the sound dry and cutting, as if her defiance amused him. “Keep it that way,” he said, straightening his posture.

Vi didn’t need the reminder. If Vander ever found out about this, it wouldn’t just be trouble—it would be murder. The man had a temper when it came to protecting his family, and Silco’s involvement in her life, no matter how minor, would set him off like nothing else. Vander would come for Silco with fists swinging and fire in his eyes, and no amount of logic or pleading would stop him. It wasn’t just the shimmer; it was the principle of it. Silco was everything Vander despised—a symbol of everything wrong with Zaun, someone who thrived on the chaos Vander had fought so hard to keep at bay.

But that didn’t matter to Vi. She wasn’t proud of this arrangement, but it worked. It dulled the pain that Vander didn’t know about, that no one knew about. As much as she hated Silco’s sly comments, he delivered when no one else could. If it meant keeping herself together—keeping her family from hovering and worrying—it was worth it.

The door to the Last Drop creaked open, the groan of the hinges punctuated by the cool rush of night air spilling into the bar. Vi’s focus shifted at once, her ears picking up the light, measured steps of someone entering.

Silco’s piercing gaze flicked toward the newcomer, his eyes narrowing briefly as if assessing whether they posed a threat. Apparently satisfied, he adjusted his collar and stepped back from the bar. “I’ll take my leave,” he said smoothly, his tone neutral but with that ever-present undercurrent of mockery. “Enjoy the dark and quiet while it lasts, Violet.”

Vi bristled at the jab but didn’t respond, her attention already pulled toward the sound of a stool scraping against the floor as someone settled at the bar. The rubbing sound cut through the stillness, and she tilted her head slightly, her fingers tapping against the counter as she waited.

Silco lingered by the door for a moment, casting one last glance over his shoulder before slipping out into the night. The faint scent of smoke and chemicals trailed after him, fading into the cool air. He was gone, but his words hung in the space he’d left behind, a reminder of the precarious line Vi was walking—one that no one else could ever know about.

“What can I get you?” Vi asked, her tone steady, though a flicker of curiosity crept in despite the persistent throb behind her eyes. The ache was sharper now, a relentless reminder of the explosion that had stolen her sight. She’d need a dose after this, no question about it. Anything to dull the pain—physical and otherwise.

The reply came without delay, crisp and formal but laced with a hesitation that didn’t go unnoticed. “Whiskey, neat.”

Vi’s jaw clenched at the unmistakable voice, and recognition hit her like a punch to the gut. Her grip on the glass she grabbed tightened momentarily before she poured the drink with the ease of long practice. “Well, if it isn’t Piltover’s nicest lady,” she drawled, sliding the glass across the counter with a smirk deep enough to leave a impression. “Didn’t think you’d stoop to slumming it in the Lanes.”

The pause that followed was almost palpable, the weight of the woman’s discomfort hanging in the air between them. When she finally spoke, her words were careful, practiced. “I… didn’t mean to offend you at the Academy,” she began, her voice softer now. “I wasn’t paying attention. I shouldn’t have said…”

“Save it,” Vi cut her off, her smirk fading into something colder, harder. She leaned her elbows against the counter, tilting her head as if to meet the woman’s gaze. “I don’t need an apology from someone like you.”

The woman hesitated, her fingers lightly brushing the edge of the glass as though seeking a distraction. “I still feel I owe you a proper one,” she said quietly, her earlier bravado replaced by a subdued sincerity that made Vi’s lip curl.

“Let me guess,” Vi said dryly, crossing her arms. “You came all the way down here just to say sorry? How’d you find me?”

A sigh escaped the woman, and Vi could almost hear the tension in her shifting posture. “I may have asked around after you left the Academy,” she admitted, her voice quieter now, as though revealing a secret.

Vi’s smirk deepened into something more sardonic. “Lucky me. I’ve got a stalker now. Blindness wasn’t enough, huh?”

The tension between them thickened, the ambient noise of the bar receding into a distant hum. Vi could hear the faint rustle of fabric as the woman adjusted her seat, could feel the weight of the stranger’s presence lingering like an itch she couldn’t scratch.

“For what it’s worth,” the woman said after a long moment, her tone tentative, “I wasn’t trying to be rude. I just… wasn’t thinking.”

Vi let out a quick, humorless laugh, the sound brittle. “Pilties not thinking? Well, knock me over with a feather.”

The woman’s jaw must have tightened; Vi didn’t need her eyes to sense the subtle shift in her energy. But instead of rising to the bait, the woman lifted her glass with measured grace, taking a slow sip. “What’s your name?” she asked after setting the glass back down, her voice steady.

Vi hated moments like this—moments when the silence stretched, heavy and uncertain, and she couldn’t read the other person’s expression. Her smirk returned as she straightened, her tone mocking. “Why? You planning to turn me in to the Enforcers for battery?”

“Hardly,” the woman replied evenly, her composure unwavering. “I make it a habit to know who I’m speaking with—and apologizing to.”

Vi tilted her head slightly, her unseeing eyes narrowing as she studied the stranger’s voice. “You always this polite, or just when you’re trying to make up for being an ass?”

A faint smile crept across the woman’s lips, though her tone remained cool. “You didn’t answer my question. Do you always evade questions with your own?”

“Why’s it so important to you?” Vi shot back, her tone nonsense as she turned away, reaching for another bottle on the shelf. The motion was quick, efficient, a testament to how well she’d memorized the layout of the bar despite her disability. Though she hated that word.

The woman didn’t respond right away, her gaze lingering on Vi’s movements—precise, practiced, unflinching. There was something about the bartender, something she couldn’t quite pin down, and it tugged at her curiosity in a way that surprised her.

When she finally spoke, her voice was softer, more reflective. “As I already explained—it’s a question you didn’t answer.”

Vi didn’t turn back, her fingers gripping the neck of the bottle a fraction tighter than necessary. The bar felt smaller, quieter, under the weight of the exchange, the air thick. Finally, she set the bottle down with a soft clink and turned, her smirk back in place, though there was no humor in it.

“Names don’t come cheap,” Vi said, leaning against the counter again, her tone laced with defiance. She tilted her head slightly, her unseeing eyes narrowing as though daring the stranger to push further. “You really want to know? Try earning it.”

The woman didn’t falter. “And how, pray tell, might I do that?” she asked, her voice smooth and controlled, the faintest hint of a challenge weaving through her words. Her polished Piltover accent contrasted sharply with the rough grit of the bartender in front of her.

As she studied Vi’s face, her gaze lingered on the tattoo etched into her left cheek—a simple yet unmistakable mark: VI. It was almost too obvious, and for a moment, the woman wondered if Vi even realized how little she had to hide. Still, she chose not to comment, keeping that observation to herself. There was something intriguing about the way Vi held herself, the way she spoke with confidence, unflinching despite her impairment.

Instead of pressing further, the woman allowed her lips to curve into a faint smile, her fingers tracing the rim of her glass. “Earning it,” she mused aloud, her tone thoughtful. “You do enjoy to make things difficult, don’t you?”

Vi let out a low chuckle, the sound dry and humorless. “Life’s difficult,” she shot back, shrugging one shoulder. “Might as well keep things consistent.”

The woman’s eyes didn’t leave Vi’s face, her expression unreadable as she considered her next words. The quick wit, the hardened demeanor, and the way Vi seemed to deflect every attempt at connection—it all painted a picture of someone who had long since learned not to trust. And yet, beneath the layers of sarcasm and evasion, there was something else, something pure and hidden, that made her want to dig deeper. If not for pure curiosity sake. It’s been far too long since anyone has spoken to this crassly. It was quite refreshing if she was being honest with herself.

The relative calm of the bar shattered as the door burst open, swinging on its hinges with a loud creak. Powder’s voice rang out, high-pitched and brimming with excitement. “Vi!” she yelled, her exuberance filling the once-muted room like a crashing wave.

Vi winced sharply, her shoulders tensing as the sound hit her ears like a hammer. She flinched instinctively, her head jerking slightly as she pinched the bridge of her nose, trying to block out the painful sting that spiked behind her eyes. It felt like a nail driving through her skull, and the sudden burst of noise did nothing to help. She bit back a growl of frustration, her fingers tightening against the counter as she tried to steady herself.

Powder was oblivious to Vi’s discomfort as she bounded toward the bar, her energy practically radiating off her in waves. Her boots scuffed against the worn floor, and she came to a bouncing halt in front of the counter, her toes practically leaving the ground with every movement. Her vibrant blue eyes sparkled with excitement as she opened her mouth to speak, but her gaze caught on the woman sitting a few feet away.

Powder’s enthusiasm momentarily faltered as realization struck. Her bouncing stilled, her head tilting slightly as her wide-eyed gaze settled on the stranger. Recognition dawned in an instant, her voice carrying a mix of surprise and nervousness. “Sheriff Kiramman?” she blurted, her tone rising in pitch.

The Sheriff, for her part, didn’t seem fazed. She turned in her seat slightly, her composure as polished as always. Her lips curved into a faint smile, and she gestured casually to the glass in front of her. “Caitlyn, please,” she said, her voice calm and measured. “I’m off duty.” She lifted the glass slightly as if to emphasize her point, the amber liquid inside catching the dim light.

Powder blinked rapidly, her mouth opening and closing for a moment as if struggling to process the situation. She glanced between Caitlyn and Vi, her expression a whirlwind of emotions—confusion, curiosity, and a hint of unease.

Vi, meanwhile, exhaled a long, heavy sigh, the sound almost drowned out by the lingering hum in her head. The initial shock of Powder’s entrance was beginning to fade, but the throbbing behind her eyes hadn’t eased. If anything, it had grown sharper, each pulse a reminder that she couldn’t keep putting off the dose she so desperately needed.

Her fingers drummed lightly against the counter, a restless, agitated motion. She couldn’t decide what was worse: Powder’s uncontainable energy or the realization that Caitlyn Kiramman—the same woman who had collided with her at the Academy—was sitting in Vander’s bar, completely at ease. Her jaw clenched, and she resisted the urge to slam her fist against something, knowing the sound would only make her headache worse.

“Powder,” Vi said finally, her voice low and strained as she pushed through the haze of pain clouding her mind. “What are you yelling about?”

Powder’s attention snapped back to her sister, her expression lighting up once again as if she’d momentarily forgotten her excitement. “I got great news!” she declared, her voice bubbling over with enthusiasm.

Vi pinched the bridge of her nose again, a futile attempt to stave off the headache pounding against her skull. Whatever Powder had to say, it could wait. Her patience, already paper-thin, was wearing down to nothing.

“Make it quick,” Vi muttered, her tone gruff. She cast a quick glance in Caitlyn’s direction, though her eyes didn’t quite land on her. “I’ve got enough to deal with already.”

Powder’s face lit up even brighter, her earlier hesitation forgotten as she launched into her news. “Vi, I did it!” she exclaimed, her words tumbling out in a rush. “The judges at the competition loved my generator. They said it was innovative, and… and they want me to attend the Academy! Like, as an actual student!” Her voice cracked with excitement, her hands clutching the edge of the counter as if she needed to ground herself against the weight of her own enthusiasm.

Vi blinked, the corners of her lips twitching upward in a faint smile. “That’s… great, Powder,” she said, her tone low and genuine, though lacking the energy Powder might have hoped for. Her sister’s success was a bright spot in her otherwise murky day, but the relentless ache behind her eyes prohibited her ability to fully engage.

She tried to suppress the wince that accompanied the next sharp pulse of pain, but her body betrayed her. Her shoulders tensed, and her lips pressed into a thin line as she instinctively rubbed at her temple.

The movement wasn’t subtle enough to go unnoticed. Caitlyn, who had been quietly observing the exchange, tilted her head slightly. “Are you feeling well?” she asked, her voice calm but laced with concern.

Vi stiffened at the question, her jaw tightening as she turned her head in Caitlyn’s direction. “I’m fine,” she replied tersely, waving a dismissive hand. Her tone was clipped, bordering on curt. “None of your business anyway.”

Caitlyn raised an eyebrow but said nothing further, her blue eyes studying Vi for a moment longer before returning to her drink.

Powder, however, wasn’t so easily convinced. Her excitement faltered, replaced by a creeping unease as her gaze flicked between Vi and Caitlyn. “Vi… are you sure?” she asked, her voice softer now, tinged with the guilt that always lingered just beneath the surface. She fidgeted with her sleeves, her movements growing restless.

Vi sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of her nose again as she shook her head. “I said I’m fine, Powder,” she muttered, though her voice lacked the bite it had carried moments before. “Just… lay off, all right?”

Powder’s shoulders slumped, and her fidgeting stilled as she bit her lower lip, clearly torn between pressing the issue and respecting her sister’s boundaries. The last thing Vi wanted was for Powder to start spiraling into self-blame.

“Look,” Vi added, her tone softening just a fraction as she forced a faint smile. “This is about you, okay? You did something amazing, Powder. You earned this. Don’t let me ruin it for you.”

Powder nodded hesitantly, though the worry didn’t fully leave her expression. She glanced at Caitlyn briefly, as if seeking some kind of reassurance, but the Sheriff kept her gaze focused on her drink, her features unreadable.

The moment hung heavy between them, the air layered with repressed tension. Vi exhaled quietly, desperately trying to will herself to push through the pain long enough to keep Powder from dwelling on it any longer. The kid deserved to celebrate, even if Vi couldn’t muster the energy to join her.

Vi let out a slow breath, the faint smile she’d forced quickly fading as she straightened up. It didn’t work. She needed relief, and she needed it now. Ignoring the pang of guilt in her chest, she turned her head toward Powder.

“Powder,” she said, her voice steadier than she felt, “can you cover the bar for a bit? Just for a little while.”

Powder blinked, startled by the sudden request. “Uh, yeah, of course,” she replied quickly, stepping toward the counter without hesitation. “Everything okay?”

Vi didn’t answer. Instead, she waited just long enough to make it clear she wasn’t in the mood for follow-up questions. Powder, sensing the shift, nodded and slipped behind the counter, her movements cautious.

Satisfied, Vi shifted her focus to Caitlyn, who was still seated at the bar, her posture poised yet relaxed. Vi leaned slightly against the counter, her milky blue eyes narrowing as if she could see Caitlyn’s face. “You may know my name,” she said, her voice low and deliberate, “but you didn’t earn it.”

Without waiting for a response, Vi pushed off the counter and made her way toward the back of the bar. Her boots scuffed against the worn floor, each step echoing faintly in the quiet space. The door to the back room creaked open, and she disappeared into the dimly lit corridor that led to her room in the basement.

The basement was dark, cool, and quiet—her refuge from the noise of the bar above. Vi moved with practiced precision, her fingers brushing against the walls as she navigated the familiar space. She reached her small, sparsely furnished room and closed the door behind her with a soft click.

Her hand dipped into her pocket, retrieving the small vial of shimmer she had just received from Silco. The faint, iridescent glow of the liquid cast a cold light in the chilled room, its ethereal shimmer mocking her as if it knew the power it held over her. Vi’s fingers trembled as she unscrewed the cap, her movements both purposeful and desperate. She raised the vial to her lips and took a small, shaky sip, the metallic taste sharp and bitter on her tongue.

The effect was immediate. The relentless pulsing pain behind her eyes dulled into a faint whisper, the kind she could ignore. The ache that had threatened to crack her composure vanished, leaving behind a strange, hollow calm. Her shoulders relaxed, and the tension that had been grinding her nerves into raw edges melted away. Her other senses, always hyper-focused to make up for her blindness, quieted as if wrapped in cotton. The bar’s muffled hum and the distant chatter from above no longer felt like knives scraping against her skull. For the first time that night, she felt like she could breathe without pain.

Vi leaned back against the wall, exhaling slowly as the shimmer coursed through her veins. Her hand tightened around the vial, her grip firm despite the trembling in her fingers. The weight of what she’d done—and what she continued to do—pressed down on her, but she shoved it aside. A necessary evil, she told herself again, her jaw tightening. She hated that she needed it, hated that it worked, but she couldn’t deny the relief it gave her. Not when the alternative was unbearable.

After a moment, she pushed off the wall and tucked the vial back into her pocket. With her senses muted and the pain pushed to the back of her mind, she felt steady enough to return. She climbed the stairs, made her way through the back, and stepped through the door into the main bar area, her boots scuffing against the wooden floor.

Her ears picked up the soft scrape of a stool being pushed back and faint footsteps moving toward the exit. She tilted her head, recognizing the distinct rhythm of the steps, and a small smirk tugged at her lips. Caitlyn was leaving. ‘Good.’

Vi moved to the bar, her hand brushing the edge of the counter to guide herself. Powder turned to her immediately, her eyes wide with concern. “Vi? Are you sure you’re okay?” she asked, her voice tight with worry.

“Yeah,” Vi said with a faint shrug, keeping her tone casual. “Just needed some air.” She leaned her hip against the counter, tilting her head toward Powder. “So, tell me all about this Academy opportunity. Don’t leave anything out.”

Powder hesitated for a moment, studying her sister’s face as if searching for cracks in her composure. When she didn’t find any—or at least nothing Vi was willing to show—she smiled nervously, her excitement bubbling back to the surface.

She launched into a rapid explanation of the program, the opportunities it would offer, and how it could change everything for her—and for Zaun. Vi listened, her smirk softening into something warmer, though the relief from the shimmer dulled the depth of her reactions. Still, she focused on Powder’s voice, letting it drown out the lingering guilt gnawing at the edges of her mind.

Vi smiled, a genuine flicker of pride breaking through the muted haze of the shimmer. “That’s amazing, Powder,” she said softly. “You’ve earned it. I always knew you were the smart one out of the two of us.”

Powder beamed at the praise, her cheeks flushing with excitement.

No matter what demons Vi was fighting, she wouldn’t let them overshadow her sister’s moment.