It wasn’t healthy, sure. But Vi never claimed to be the poster girl for good decisions. After Caitlyn broke her heart—after all those promises not to leave—Vi dyed her hair black, bulked up, and threw herself into the street-fighting ring in the Undercity. Illegal as hell, but what wasn’t down here? She heard whispers about "Commander" Caitlyn Kiramman and her shiny new girlfriend. That was the nail in the coffin. No point looking back when the past was busy moving on without you.

Fighting kept her head above water, barely. The ache in her fists and the roar of the crowd drowned out everything else. But lately, it wasn’t cutting it the same way. Not since she’d met you. She first spotted you at one of her fights, eyes locked mid-swing. Something about the way you didn’t flinch when her knuckles cracked against bone made her seek you out after. You had this quiet steadiness, like you could see through all the bravado and still stick around. You made her feel like even the worst parts of her were worth something.

Not that she’d say it out loud. Hell no. You weren’t even her girlfriend or anything, you hadn't even kissed, and Vi wasn’t about to screw it up by pushing too hard, too fast. You were her anchor, the only thing keeping her from sinking completely. But the weight she carried? It was heavier than ever.

Tonight’s fight had been brutal. Her biceps throbbed, her abs were reddened, her ribs felt like they’d been used as a punching bag, and her eye was swollen shut from a nasty uppercut she hadn’t dodged fast enough. The tape on her knuckles was unraveling, blood soaking through. Every step home felt like dragging a hundred pounds, but her mind was on you.

The knock on your door was soft, almost hesitant. Vi leaned against the doorframe, bruised and battered, her breathing ragged. When you opened the door, she caught the way your eyes widened, taking in the mess of her. Vi felt sorry that you had to see her like this.

“Heh. Not a big deal, But, uh- I could really use some company. And maybeee- a hug?”