Unspoken
The restaurant hummed with the lively chatter of their group, the table filled with plates of half-finished food, clinking glasses, and bursts of laughter. Ekko was in the middle of telling a wildly exaggerated story about his latest gadget mishap, gesturing animatedly as Jinx heckled him with witty comments. Jayce leaned back in his chair, grinning, while Mel added her own sharp quips to the conversation. Caitlyn, seated next to Mel, was smiling softly, occasionally contributing to the discussion.
Vi, on the other hand, was quieter than usual. She offered small laughs at the banter and murmured a comment or two when the attention turned her way, but her mind was elsewhere. Her gaze drifted across the table, landing on Caitlyn briefly before she turned her attention to her drink, swirling the liquid in her glass absentmindedly.
Her thoughts churned with everything Cait had said earlier on the balcony.
"Before I left, I already felt like you were gone."
The words hit harder than Vi expected, a sharp pang of guilt settling in her chest. She leaned back in her chair, letting out a slow breath she hoped no one noticed.
After Caitlyn’s 17th birthday party, everything had changed for Vi. The whispers, the judgmental stares, and the cutting remarks from the topsiders had built a wall between them that Vi didn’t know how to break through. She could still hear Caitlyn’s father’s disapproving voice in her head, could still see the disdain in her aunt’s eyes.
Vi’s fists clenched under the table at the memory. She had wanted to punch something—someone—when she left the Kiramman estate that night. The rage simmering beneath her surface wasn’t just about that one incident. It was about everything.
Her parents and Vander had raised her to fight for what was right, to stand up for those who couldn’t stand up for themselves. But the enforcers didn’t care about that. They didn’t care that Vi’s family wanted justice and equality for the people of Zaun. They only saw troublemakers—activists who needed to be silenced.
When her parents and Vander were killed during a protest that turned violent, Vi’s hatred for Piltover’s elite solidified. The system Caitlyn’s family was a part of had destroyed hers. And yet… Caitlyn had always been different. Or at least Vi had thought so.
But after that party, Vi couldn’t help but feel like Caitlyn’s world and hers were light-years apart. She was from Zaun—rough, poor, and always fighting to survive. Caitlyn was from Piltover—privileged, poised, and untouchable.
Vi’s gaze flicked to Caitlyn again, watching as she laughed at something Mel said. For a moment, she wondered what Caitlyn would’ve thought if she had known the full extent of what Vi felt for her kind. But Cait had tried, hadn’t she? She’d reached out, waited for Vi, and Vi had ignored her.
The guilt twisted deeper, mingling with the frustration she felt toward herself.
At the time, Mylo, Claggor, and Lauren had been her escape. They didn’t ask questions or expect anything from her. They didn’t care about her past or the chip on her shoulder. They were a distraction, a way to drown out the confusion and anger she didn’t know how to process.
And Caitlyn?
Caitlyn had been too close, too important. Vi hadn’t known how to deal with the feelings Cait stirred in her—feelings she hadn’t even been able to name back then. So she’d run. She’d pushed Cait away, letting the distance grow until Cait finally stopped trying.
And now?
Now Cait was back, and Vi didn’t know how to bridge the gap she’d created.
"Earth to Vi,” Jinx’s voice cut through her thoughts, snapping her back to the present.
Vi blinked, realizing the table had gone quiet, everyone looking at her expectantly. “Huh?”
“I said,” Jinx repeated with an exaggerated roll of her eyes, “are you gonna finish that, or are you just gonna stare at it all night?” She pointed at the untouched plate in front of Vi.
Vi forced a smirk, shaking her head. “I’m not that hungry.”
Jayce raised an eyebrow. “You? Not hungry? That’s a first.”
“I think she’s finally trying to diet,” Ekko teased, earning a laugh from the group.
Vi chuckled faintly, playing along, but her heart wasn’t in it. She leaned back in her chair, her boots propped against the leg of the table, staring blankly at her drink in front of her. The chatter of her friends barely registered. Her mind was stuck somewhere else, back in a time she’d tried hard to forget.
That night. Caitlyn standing there, telling Vi how she felt. Vi had been floored, completely blindsided. She hadn’t known what to say. Hell, she hadn’t even known what to feel. Cait had always been the one person who made her feel calm and easy when everything else in her life was chaos. But hearing her say those words—admitting what she felt—had thrown Vi into a tailspin.
Because deep down, Vi knew there was something there. Something she couldn’t quite put into words. She couldn’t tell if it was something more than friendship, and for the life of her, she couldn’t figure out how to make sense of it.
And that was the problem. She wasn’t ready to figure it out. She’d spent so much of her life angry—angry at the topsiders who looked down on Zaun, angry at the people who’d taken everything from her. Cait was part of that world, even if she wasn’t like the rest of them. And Vi didn’t know how to separate the two.
Vi shifted in her seat, her hand gripping the edge of the table. She’d pushed Cait away that night, told her she didn’t feel the same. Not because it was true, but because admitting anything else felt impossible. Complicated.
It wasn’t like Cait ever left her thoughts. Some nights, Vi found herself pacing her cramped apartment, staring at the door and debating whether to head to the Kiramman estate. She’d picture herself scaling Cait’s balcony like she used to, just to talk to her again.
But then the doubt would creep in.
So instead of heading to Cait, she went to Lauren. Lauren didn’t come with complications. She didn’t ask questions or leave Vi feeling like she was teetering on the edge of something too big to face. With Lauren, everything was simple.
But simple didn’t mean better. Vi frowned, running a hand through her hair. Simple never did.
She glanced across the table at Caitlyn, who was sitting next to Mel, smiling at something Ekko said. For a moment, Vi let herself watch her—the way her shoulders relaxed when she laughed, the way she tilted her head just slightly when she was listening to someone.
Vi tore her gaze away, leaning forward to grab her drink. The realization churned in her chest, as confusing now as it had been back then. She still didn’t know how to handle it.
Lauren was easy to understand. She’d lost her parents young, like Vi, and carried her own bitterness toward topsiders. They had the same scars, the same rough edges, and it made sense—they fit. No questions, no expectations. But Cait? Cait was different.
Cait was kind in a way that felt rare, the kind of innocence Vi couldn’t wrap her head around. Cait was calm and patient, a warmth Vi hadn’t known she needed. But she was also rich—her family being one of the wealthiest in Piltover, if not the wealthiest. That divide between them felt impossible to bridge, a constant reminder of why Vi had tried to push her away. Cait belonged to a world that had taken everything from her, and yet Cait herself felt like more—something Vi couldn’t explain, something she hadn’t let herself explore.
Then Cait was gone.
When Vi heard from Jayce that Cait had gone abroad, saying she’d only be gone for a month or two, Vi had scoffed at first, pretending it didn’t matter. But that first weekend after Cait left, Vi found herself walking to the Kiramman estate. She stayed outside the gates, her hands stuffed in her pockets, telling herself she wasn’t waiting for anything.
The next weekend, she went back.
It became a routine—every weekend, Vi found herself heading to the estate, looking for any sign that Caitlyn had returned. It was always the same: empty quiet, no Cait. She’d pester Jayce in between visits, asking if he’d heard anything, but Jayce only shrugged, just as clueless as she was.
By the six-month mark, Vi wasn’t even pretending anymore. She missed Cait. Missed her voice, her laugh, the way she’d lean against the balcony railing, teasing Vi about everything. She missed all of it, though she still wasn’t ready to admit it, even to herself.
It wasn’t like Lauren didn’t notice. “You’re distracted,” she’d said one night, tossing a cigarette to Vi while they sat on a crumbling rooftop in Zaun.
Vi had grunted in response, lighting the cigarette and staring out at the dim, flickering lights below. “I’m fine.”
But she wasn’t.
Six months had turned into a year, and Cait still wasn’t back. Jayce had stopped bothering to offer updates, and Vi had stopped asking. She told herself to stop caring, to stop thinking about the girl who made her feel like she could be something more.
But no matter how much she tried, Caitlyn was always there—in the back of her mind, in the moments of quiet when she let her guard down. And that scared Vi more than anything.
There was a point where Vi convinced herself that Caitlyn had forgotten about her. If Cait had cared, wouldn’t she have reached out? Wouldn’t she have said something? Anything?
She wanted to believe that Caitlyn’s silence meant nothing, that it was just Cait being busy with her shiny new life abroad. Maybe Cait had finally realized how different they were and decided it wasn’t worth the effort.
And yet, Vi knew deep down that none of that felt right.
There were nights when Vi told herself she hated Caitlyn. She hated the way Cait had left without a proper goodbye, hated how she made herself so damn easy to miss. It was anger, or at least it felt like anger—hot and suffocating, something Vi could cling to when the ache in her chest felt too raw.
But even then, it never lasted long.
The truth was, forgetting Caitlyn wasn’t easy. No matter how much she tried to shove those memories aside, they clung to her like stubborn vines. Cait’s laugh, the way she’d lean close when they talked, her stupid little smirk whenever she was about to win an argument—it was all there, vivid and persistent.
Vi let out a sharp breath, leaning forward with her elbows on her knees. “You’re a fucking mess,” she muttered under her breath.
The words hung in the air, as honest as they were unhelpful. Forgetting Caitlyn wasn’t just hard; it was impossible. And maybe that was what scared Vi the most.
A burst of laughter jolted her back to the present. Jinx was practically doubled over, clutching her sides as Ekko shot her an exasperated look. Vi didn’t even know what the hell they were laughing about, but she let out a chuckle anyway, shaking her head. If anything, it gave her a chance to shove her thoughts where they belonged.
The group exited the restaurant together, their laughter lingering in the air as the night began to quiet down. Jayce slung an arm around Ekko, who groaned dramatically.
“Carrying me to my bed is the least you guys can do after dragging me to that run,” Ekko joked, leaning into Jayce. Viktor followed closely behind, his quiet amusement clear as he adjusted his scarf.
“Alright, we’ll get you guys home,” Jayce said with a chuckle. “But don’t expect me to tuck you in.”
“Worst friend ever,” Ekko muttered, earning a smirk from Viktor.
Caitlyn and Mel stood nearby, exchanging a few last words before saying their goodbyes. Caitlyn caught Vi’s gaze briefly and offered her a polite smile. Vi nodded back, her hands shoved into her pockets as she stood next to Jinx.
“Goodnight, Vi,” Caitlyn said softly.
“Yeah,” Vi replied, her voice gruff but not unkind.
As the others dispersed, Vi and Jinx made their way to her truck. Jinx hopped into the passenger seat, immediately pulling her legs up onto the seat like she owned the space. Vi started the engine, the familiar rumble filling the silence as they pulled out of the lot.
“So,” Jinx began, drawing the word out in her usual teasing tone. “What the hell was that back there?”
Vi didn’t take her eyes off the road. “What the hell was what?”
“Oh, don’t play dumb,” Jinx shot back, poking Vi’s arm. “You were all… weird during dinner. Like, not your usual badass self. What’s up with that?”
Vi snorted, shaking her head. “You’re imagining things, Jinx.”
“Uh-huh,” Jinx said, rolling her eyes. “You barely said anything all night. It’s like your brain short-circuited or something.”
“Maybe I just didn’t feel like talking,” Vi retorted, throwing her sister a quick glance. “Ever think of that?”
Jinx grinned mischievously. “Sure, sure. Nothing to do with a certain golden girl sitting at the table, right?”
Vi sighed, gripping the steering wheel tighter. “You’ve got too much time on your hands, you know that?”
Their banter fizzled into silence, the hum of the engine filling the space between them. The occasional bump in the road made the truck groan softly, its steady rhythm matching the unspoken tension in the air. Jinx adjusted her position in the seat, resting her chin on her knees as she gazed out the window. The glow of the streetlights flickered across her face, her usual smirk replaced with a rare thoughtful expression.
Vi kept her focus on the road, her fingers tapping lightly on the steering wheel, a habit Jinx recognized all too well. It was the kind of silence that didn’t just settle—it lingered, wrapping around them like a heavy blanket. Jinx glanced sideways at her sister, noticing the tightness in Vi’s jaw, the way her grip on the wheel was just a little too firm.
“You’re quiet,” Jinx said finally, her voice light but probing. “Like, too quiet. Makes me nervous.”
Vi didn’t respond, her gaze fixed ahead, though her jaw twitched slightly.
Jinx tilted her head, watching her sister for a moment longer before sighing dramatically. “Alright, fine. I’ll bite. What’s going on in that big, stubborn head of yours?”
Vi gave a faint snort, shaking her head. “Nothing. Just tired.”
Jinx didn’t buy it. She never did. “Yeah, sure. You’re just tired,” she echoed, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “That’s why you’ve been acting like a total weirdo lately.”
Jinx smirked faintly but didn’t press further. Instead, she turned back to the window, her fingers tapping absently on her knee. The silence stretched again, not awkward but heavy, like there were words sitting just out of reach, waiting to be said.
She traced patterns on the glass with her finger, her tone softening as she finally broke the quiet. “You know,” she began, almost to herself, “you used to talk to me. About stuff that mattered. Even when you didn’t want to, you’d still tell me.”
Vi’s hands tightened briefly on the wheel, but she didn’t say anything.
Jinx continued, her voice quieter now. “But ever since Kiramman left, you’ve been different.”
Vi didn’t respond immediately, her focus locked on the road ahead. The streetlights cast fleeting shadows over her face, but her expression remained unreadable.
Jinx leaned back, crossing her arms tightly over her chest. “You know… when she left eight years ago, I couldn’t stand her. I blamed her for everything—how different you became, how you stopped being… you. It felt like she just disappeared and left a mess behind that we had to deal with.”
Vi’s grip on the steering wheel tightened slightly, but she stayed silent.
“I hate her, you know?” Jinx said, her voice quieter but still carrying that sharp, sarcastic bite. “Like, she just takes off, and boom—you’re not you anymore. Something in you just… shut down, like someone cut the power. And now she’s back, acting like she never left? I don’t even know what the hell to feel about that.”
Vi’s jaw tensed, her lips pressing into a thin line.
Jinx glanced at her sister, her expression softening. “Look, big sis… I might give you crap all the time, but I want you to be happy. You’ve always looked out for me, even when everything was so fucked up.
For a moment, Vi didn’t say anything, the weight of Jinx’s words settling between them. Then, she let out a short laugh, shaking her head.
“Wow, Jinx,” Vi said, a faint smirk tugging at her lips. “Getting all mushy on me now, huh?”
Jinx groaned, throwing her head back dramatically. “Ugh, forget I said anything. You’re weirdo and a loser.”
Vi chuckled softly, her grip on the steering wheel relaxing. “Thanks, Jinx,” she said quietly, her tone sincere despite her teasing.
Jinx waved her hand dismissively. “Yeah, yeah. Just don’t make me regret it, okay?”
They pulled up to their apartment building, the familiar creak of the truck’s brakes marking the end of their ride. As they stepped out, Jinx shot Vi a mock glare.
“And if you ever tell anyone I said those, I’ll deny it,” Jinx warned, pointing a finger at her sister.
“Noted,” Vi replied, smirking as they headed inside.
The night closed in around them, but for the first time in a while, Vi felt a small crack in the walls she’d built around herself. And maybe, just maybe, she was ready to see what would happen if she let them fall.