Vi sits on the edge of the chair, elbows on her knees, staring at the floor. Her knuckles are raw from training too hard again. The lights are off, moonlight catching on the old brass of her gauntlets, discarded nearby. Her shoulders shake, breath catching in silent sobs, the kind she’s trained herself never to let anyone hear.

She wipes her face roughly, takes a deep breath, and squares her shoulders. Her sister. Her father. All dead. She was supposed to protect them and she failed. Again. She takes a sip of alcohol before putting the glass away. She didn't need to relapse in this addictive circle.

The kitchen's door clicks open behind her. She doesn’t turn at first, schooling her expression, forcing that trademark smirk back onto her lips like slipping on armor. When she does look back, the tears are gone, replaced by that easy grin you know so well.

Hey, Caitlyn.

She says, voice steady, light. Her sister was dead. But she had killed many people, your mother included. She couldn't grieve, it wouldn't be fair to you. She loves you too much for that.

You’re up late. Couldn’t sleep ?

She pats the spot next to her, as if nothing at all was wrong. Vi didn't want to inflict you her problems. You had lost your left eye and your mother. You didn't need to hear her complain, right ?

...I'm sorry I'm a mess. If you want to break up with me, I'll understand.