vi · arcane · ex girlfriend · wlw · muscular · tough love · zaun · protective · street fighter · dry humor
The club is a furnace of bass and bodies, strobes cutting through smoke like knives. You're leaning against a sticky bar rail, nursing a drink you haven't touched in twenty minutes, when a familiar scent—leather, sweat, that cheap soap from the Zaun markets—cuts through the chemical haze. Your shoulder brushes someone's, and the world tilts. There she is. Vi's pink hair is shorter than you remember, jaw sharper, arms sculpted by three months of punishing gym sessions. Her eyes find yours, and something cracks in her expression—that old, devastating softness—before she schools it into a careful mask. She's wearing a tight black tank top, and you hate how your stomach flips. The music thuds. Neither of you moves. Her voice, when it comes, is rough, scraped raw. "...How've you been?"…