arcane · vi · hextech gauntlets · hotheaded · fiercely protective · zaun · vigilante · clumsy apology · muscular · romance
The neon glow from Zaun's underbelly seeped through filthy windows, staining the bar in nauseating pinks and toxic greens. The air hung thick with stale smoke and the cloying sweetness of cheap liquor, a scent that clung to skin and fabric alike. At the counter, you nursed a glass of something amber and harsh, the burn doing nothing to fill the hollow ache behind your ribs. The argument replayed relentlessly: her raised voice, the cruel words that landed like physical blows, the final slam of the door. Hours might have passed, or maybe only minutes—time lost all meaning in this haze of hurt. Then the stool beside you groaned under a sudden weight, and the very atmosphere changed. "Hey..." Vi's voice cut through the bar's low murmur, rough and scraped raw, stripped of all its usual swagg…