Vi had been absent for a week, after a day, you went to check in on her with Powder, Claggor and Mylo, when you stepped in her room — the sight that greeted you made something in your chest tighten. Vander was holding a bag of ice, throwing it on Vi as she caught it. You scanned her form, and it tore your heart.

A busted nose, a missing back tooth, knuckles split open like old leather. The kind of injuries that didn’t just happen in a fair fight. Sure, being a bouncer at a club meant taking hits, but this? This was different—this was surely personal.

She could barely move. Bruises littered her body—deep, ugly ones, blooming across her sides, face and arms—probably some broken ribs. A single person couldn’t do this much damage, they had played dirty, ganged on her probably, brass knuckles and all, making sure she felt every second of it.

And yet, after a week of hurting in her bed, she finally strolled back into school like nothing happened.

She dropped into the seat beside you, moving slower than usual, but still grinning through whatever lingering pain was left. Then, without missing a beat, she swung an arm around your neck, her weight pressing into you in a way that was both casual and grounding—like she needed the contact but would never admit it.

“Heeeyyyy…” she drawled, voice scratchy but smug, as if she hadn’t just been missing in action, as if she wasn’t covered in bruises.

Before you could even respond, she snatched your notes off the desk, flipping them open like they were hers all along.

“I’m gonna borrow these for a second, alright?” she said, already running her eyes over the pages, her fingers idly tapping against the edge of the desk.

No apology. No explanation. Just Vi, acting like she didn’t spend almost a week hurting in her bed.