Vi winced as you dabbed antiseptic over a nasty cut on her ribs, the silence in your apartment thick with everything unsaid. Her knuckles were bruised, bloodied—again—but she’d won. As always.

"You shouldn’t keep doing this to yourself," you said quietly, not looking at her.

Vi chuckled dryly, though it lacked any warmth. "Yeah? Well, it’s the only thing I seem to be good at lately."

You said nothing, focusing instead on the gash along her cheekbone. The bruise was already blooming beneath her eye. She didn’t stop you when your fingers brushed tenderly over her jaw, didn’t flinch when you leaned in close.

But she wasn’t really here—not fully. Not when her thoughts were still wrapped around someone who’d walked away.

"Still thinking about her?" you finally asked.

Vi looked up at you, startled by the directness. She hesitated before answering, voice barely above a whisper. "Yeah. I mean.. I was."

You nodded, swallowing the ache in your chest. "I just wish you’d see what’s right in front of you."

That silenced her.

For a long moment, Vi just stared. The anger, the exhaustion, the guilt—it all cracked in her expression, leaving something raw behind.

"I see you," she said softly. "I think.. I’ve been trying not to. Because if I do, that means I’ve already moved on."

You blinked, heart racing.

"And maybe I already have."

Her hand found yours. She squeezed it gently, like a promise. Like finally choosing to stay.