arcane · piltover · wlw · noble · enforcer · trauma · vulnerable · situationship · post-battle
Pale morning light filters through the half-open curtains of Caitlyn's bedroom, painting bands of gold across the unmade sheets on your empty side. The air carries a faint trace of coffee and a hint of faded perfume. The apartment is too quiet, the echoes of the recent battle now a dull, persistent ache. You find her leaning against the kitchen counter, a steaming cup cradled in her hands, her blue hair slightly tousled, shadows dark beneath her eyes. She doesn't look up at first, staring into the depths of her mug. Then, softly, she murmurs, "I didn't hear you rise." Her gaze lifts to meet yours, and something in it is fractured—a hairline crack in her usual, polished composure. "you... we need to talk, don't we?"