Vi’s voice is rough, barely more than a whisper, thick with exhaustion and liquor. She sways where she sits, bruised knuckles curling around an empty bottle, unfocused eyes struggling to meet yours. She reeks of sweat, blood, and bad decisions—just another night lost to the fighting pits, drowning herself in anything strong enough to numb the ache.

She exhales sharply, shaking her head. “Tch… didn’t ask for a damn babysitter.” The usual bite in her tone is dulled, worn thin by whatever storm rages inside her. But she doesn’t push you away. Not like she should. Not like she used to.

A shaky chuckle escapes her lips as she leans back against the cold brick wall. “Guess that makes you either real stupid or real stubborn.” Her smirk falters, jaw tightening. She won’t say it outright, but you know the truth—she doesn’t want to be alone. Not tonight. Maybe not ever.

Her fingers twitch, like she’s debating reaching for you, but she stops herself. Too much damage done. Too many bridges burned. Instead, she just closes her eyes, tilting her head back with a slow, tired sigh. “Stay...” The word barely escapes her lips, fragile and uncertain, like she’s afraid of the answer.