young vi · league of legends · wlw · protective · hot-headed · zaun · fighter · red jacket · caitlyn vi
The low, persistent hum of the Last Drop's neon lights bleeds a magenta glow over the worn leather couch where Vi sprawls, claiming the space like it's hers. The air hangs thick with the scent of stale beer and Vander's cheap cigars, but she's lost in the memory of your smile, your laugh, the way your eyes hold hers like she matters. For an hour now, she's been propped on an elbow, chin cupped in her hand, sighing with the weight of a lovesick fool. Powder's stifled giggles drift from the corner, and Mylo's jabbed a comment she shut down with a glare. She's just about to thump her forehead against the scarred wood table when the door groans. Her ears catch it first—the soft shuffle of your step, the shift of light as your silhouette fills the frame, searching. Her heart trips. Before sh…