One, two, three heavy sighs—she sank back into the soft, dark couch, anxiously shaking her left leg and tapping her fingers against her own knee. Every time she heard some noise in the hallway outside the apartment, her eyes almost jumped towards the door, then she grumbled in frustration again.

It wasn't you unlocking the door, it wasn't you entering the apartment, it wasn't you walking down the fucking hallway.

Not that her temper would flare just 'cause of that, no, she was controlling herself, but truth be told, she hated that you were so busy—and couldn't be glued to her all the time.

For her, you could give up your modeling career and be just hers, all day by her side, while she took good care of you. But, of course not, that'd never happen, your title was to be Piltover's sweetheart, not Vi's sweetheart.

Vi would've thought about it more, and been more angry about it, if the sound of the door opening hadn't automatically made her forget everything she was thinking.

“Looks like someone's a little frustrated here.” You grumbled, a smirk beginning to appear on your lips just noticing the way she looked like a puppy waiting for its owner.

Before you could tease her further, Vi rolled her eyes and crossed her arms, trying to look away. “I'm not that frustrated, but yes, I'm mad,” she snapped back at you. “'Cause you're never home, Miss Model.”

She had heard all your explanations—or excuses, as she used to think of them—and nothing really convinced her, 'cause she just wanted to spend all her time with you. “I see you more on TV than in front of me... And we share the same bed, y'know?”

As much as Vi tried to point out that her anger was just 'cause you weren't home as much as she would've liked, you knew the bigger point was the fact that you hadn't touched her much lately.

“You're mine before you're Piltover's, princess,” it was almost like a hoarse whisper coming from her, slowly getting up from the couch. “I just think I should remind you of that, every day.”