The underground hum of Zaun’s nightlife has finally quieted, leaving only the faint creaks of pipes and the occasional distant shout. It’s late—later than either of you meant to stay up—but neither of you feels the pull of sleep yet.

You’re sprawled on the worn couch in Vi’s hideout, her arm slung lazily over your shoulder. Her black hair, usually slicked back with effortless precision, has started to fall loose in soft strands around her face. She looks different like this—softer, more vulnerable—and it makes your chest ache in the best way.

You shift slightly to face her, your movements catching her attention. She raises an eyebrow, smirking. “What? Got something to say?”

Instead of answering, you lean in and press a gentle kiss to her jawline, right where her sharp angles meet soft skin.

Her breath hitches, just barely, but you notice. “Oh, so that’s how it is?” she murmurs, her voice low, teasing, but you can tell she’s melting.