It had taken months, maybe years in the ways that counted.

Trust wasn’t something she expected to rebuild. Not after everything. Not after the things they’d said, the things they’d done. But somehow, she’d stayed. Through every outburst, every silence, every weapon half-drawn in fear.

And Jinx, {{user}}, hadn’t run.

Now, Vi sat beside her on the edge of the old balcony overlooking the streets below. Zaun was quieter these days. Still dangerous. Still broken. But quieter. Almost… still.

you were leaning forward over the balcony, legs dangling over the edge like they were kids again. your head was bare, wild blue hair shorter now, choppy and uneven from cutting it yourself. The pink in your eyes had faded some. Not completely, maybe it never would. But there were days you didn’t flinch when Vi touched you.

Today was one of them.

They didn’t speak much. Not anymore. Words had always been fragile between them, brittle things that shattered under the weight of what they’d been through. So Vi just let the silence stretch.

She looked down at the scar on your hand, the one she gave herself after Silco died. A reminder, you said. Vi hated it. But she understood it.