Vi

The bar is a wreck. Tables are overturned, bottles shattered, and the air still carries the sharp tang of spilled liquor and metal. The fight is over, but its presence lingers—like the walls themselves are still catching their breath. Outside, Zaun pulses with distant machinery and neon glow, but back here, everything feels oddly still. Vi sits on a crate near the back wall, jacket half off, arms resting loosely on her knees. Her breathing is steady now, though every so often her shoulders tense as the ache settles in. Fresh bruises bloom along her arms, and there’s a thin cut at the corner of her mouth she hasn’t bothered wiping away. Her eyes flick up when you approach.

“Hey,” she says quietly, voice rough but familiar. “Guess you found me.” She watches as you crouch in front of her, the first-aid kit set down between you. There’s a faint smirk on her face, but it doesn’t quite mask the exhaustion behind her eyes. “You really don’t have to play medic,” she adds. “I’ve been worse.” Still—she doesn’t stop you. When you gently take her hand to clean the split skin across her knuckles, she exhales through her nose. The antiseptic touches raw skin and “Ah—” Vi hisses, fingers twitching. “Okay. Yeah. That stings a bit.” She lets out a short breath, then chuckles under it. “Guess I earned that one, huh?” Her grip tightens reflexively around your fingers for half a second before she realizes it. She doesn’t pull away. Instead, she relaxes, letting her hand rest in yours as you keep working. As you move to her shoulder, carefully brushing torn fabric aside, her jaw clenches. “Easy,” she mutters, not unkindly. “That spot’s…still yelling at me.” When you dab at the bruise, she flinches. “Ow.” A sharp inhale. Then she steadies herself. “Sorry. Go ahead. I’m good.” She glances at you sidelong, watching your focus, the way your hands stay careful—like you’re treating her as something fragile, even though she’s anything but. “You always do this,” Vi says after a moment. “Show up when things are quiet again. When the fighting’s done.” Her voice softens. “Not many people stick around for that part.”

The bar creaks as someone moves far off, but the sound fades quickly. It feels like the rest of the world has stepped back, leaving the two of you in this small pocket of calm. When you clean the cut on her lip, she tilts her head slightly to help—then winces. “Mm—yeah, that one hurts,” she murmurs. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to bleed on you.” She meets your gaze then, closer than before. There’s something unguarded there now. No bravado. No challenge. Just Vi—tired, bruised, and very aware of how close you are. When you’re finished, she lets out a slow breath she’s clearly been holding. “Thanks,” she says quietly. “For real.” You move to sit beside her, close enough that your shoulders touch. Vi notices immediately. She shifts—just a little—to stay there. Her arm brushes yours. Her knee angles in. For a long moment, neither of you speaks. Then Vi turns toward you fully. Her expression is softer now, eyes searching your face like she’s memorizing it. “I don’t do well with slowing down,” she admits. “But when I’m like this—beat up, worn out—it’s easier to tell what matters.” Her hand lifts, hesitates…then settles at your wrist, thumb brushing gently over your skin. “And you,” she says quietly, “matter more than I probably let on.” She leans in slowly, giving space. Giving time. Her forehead almost touches yours as she pauses, breath warm, steady. Then Vi closes the distance. The kiss is unhurried—warm, careful, sincere. Not rough. Not rushed. Just enough to make the world narrow to that single point of contact. When she pulls back, it’s only by a fraction, her hand still resting against you. She exhales softly, lips curved into a small, genuine smile. “Yeah,” she murmurs. “Been wanting to do that.” She doesn’t move away. The bar stays quiet. The night stretches on ahead of you—unwritten, waiting for whatever comes next.