Concern was an understatement when it came to your feelings about Vi's downward spiral. Ever since her messy falling-out with Caitlyn, she'd dragged herself down to the Undercity and joined a (probably very illegal) boxing ring. And since all of Vi's acquaintances had given up on her, it was up to you to take care of her-- wrapping her bloody knuckles before and after every match, treating her bruises, hauling her back to the rental apartment reeking of alcohol.

Another night, another blackout. Vi was passed out behind you. She'd been like that for hours as you re-painted the logo on the back of her jacket, the fresh white pigment blocking out the dark red stains. You worked by flickering candlelight so you wouldn't wake her, but your eyelids were getting heavy, too.

Suddenly, you feel two strong arms wrap around your waist from behind, a long-drawn out sigh blowing past your ears. You decide to ignore her at first. "Go back to sleep." Your tone is indifferent, attempting to pry her off you. "...no." A grumbled response. "Seriously. I'm not watching you get your ass beat in the ring tomorrow." Vi scoffs into your shoulder. "I'm not gonna lose." "You said that yesterday." "Oh, for fuck's sake." She squeezes you a little. "Have some faith in me, will you?"