Chapter Text
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The soft hum of the television filled the dimly lit apartment, flickering images casting a dull glow over the walls. Vi lay across the couch, one arm over her eyes, the other idly flipping a coin between her fingers. The anchor talked and talked and Vi only half listened until a name cut through the static.
"Cassandra Kiramman, CEO of Kiramman Industries, has passed away due to complications from an illness. Tobias Kiramman will now assume leadership of the company. Questions remain about Tobias’s unnamed daughter. Will she step forward as heir, or remain in the shadows? Will the Kiramman legacy move forward under her name, or will Tobias keep the reins?”
Vi let out a scoff, shifting onto her side. Kiramman Industries-- the powerhouse of weapons, the head of the power chain in the city, and without a doubt have enough money and influence to make the cops their lapdogs. Cassandra gone, Tobias on the throne. Same dynasty, different face.
But even so, with enough influence, they couldn't find who the daughter is?
Pfft, not that it mattered to Vi anyway.
She clicked the remote. Another channel. Same damn story. Another click. Same again. No matter where she turned, the Kiramman name stretched across every screen. Weeks had passed and the noise still hadn’t died down.
“Tch.” Vi flicked the coin against her knuckles. “Guess that’s what happens when you’re rich enough to buy the city’s airwaves.”
With an irritated sigh, she shut off the TV and tossed the remote onto the coffee table. She stared at the ceiling for a long moment before groaning, rolling onto her bed.
Three weeks.
That’s how long it had been since this god damn news has been going on and since she had lost her job. Her funds were running dangerously low. And with no income, she’d have to stretch what little she had left. Mechanics wasn’t exactly the most stable career, but she’d been good at it.
And poof, just like that, she was fired.
The rain had started that night. Vi remembered the vivid scent of oil and the metal taste of the shop. Vi had been pulling a late shift at the shop, working overtime on a car engine from a VIP when shouting came from the alley behind the garage. Normally, she wouldn't have bothered. People fought in the streets all the time--but something in the voice made her pause.
A girl. Cornered. Screaming.
Vi wiped the grease from her hands on her shirt and pushed out the back door. Rain soaked through her shirt in seconds, smearing slick red across her forehead. The night greeted her with cold sheets of rain, soaking her shirt in seconds and dragging her hair across her face. Under a sputtering streetlamp, a man boxed in a smaller figure, his bulk blotting out the alley wall.
The girl was little more than a trembling outline against the bricks.
“C’mon, sweetheart,” the man drawled, “No need to be shy.”
“Hey. Back off!”
The man turned, water dripping from his jaw, eyes narrowing at the woman who was far more smaller than him. “Mind your business.”
“Or what?”
The answer came fast in the form of a swing—hard, wide, and ugly. She ducked, but his other hand caught her collar and yanked her forward, nearly ripping her off her feet. Her back slammed against the wall, breath knocked out of her lungs. She spat a curse, twisted, and drove an elbow into his ribs. Bone met bone with a dull crack, but he held on, shoving her harder against the bricks until her spine screamed.
“Feisty little thing, aren’t you?” His forearm dug into her throat, cutting her air. His breath stank of booze.
Vi clawed at his arm, her vision tilting. She braced a boot against the wall behind her and shoved upward, slamming a knee into his gut. The air left him in a grunt, just enough slack for her to tear free.
She didn’t waste the chance. She lunged, delivering a sharp uppercut that sent him staggering. He swung again, but this time she ducked and drove her fist into his gut. He coughed violently, doubling over. Vi grabbed the back of his collar and slammed his head against the pavement.
The man groaned, crumpling onto the wet pavement. “I'LL FUCKING GET BACK AT YOU FOR THIS YOU SON OF A BITCH!- ”
Vi cut him off with a kick that snapped his head sideways that left him unable to speak against the pavement.
“Oh yeah? as if you could you fuckwit assshole.”
Her breath came ragged, chest heaving as rain poured down her face. She tasted blood in her mouth, wasn’t sure if it was hers or his. The alley was empty now.
The girl had vanished.
Vi never even saw her face.
Three days after the alley, Vi sank into an old leather couch in her manager’s office. The whole thing felt rushed. Too sudden. She kept asking herself why the hell they called her in like it was urgent.
Her manager, named Pimp, sighed, rubbing a hand over his face as he leaned back in his chair.
"Look, what I’m going to say next may be frustrating and sudden," he admitted, his tone surprisingly sympathetic. "Hell, part of me wishes I could tell you this is just a bad joke."
"Then don’t." Vi crossed her arms, “What the hell even is this all about? Got me called over about some announcement speaker and all those dramatic stuffs"
The manager named Pimp exhaled heavily, looking tired. "The higher-ups made the call and said today will be your last day. It’s out of my hands."
"What?”
What the fuck?
But all she got was a tired half-smile from Pimp, like even he thought the whole thing was messed up. Vi’s fists tightened, heat bubbling up in her chest. “You’re firing me? For what? I’ve been busting my ass out there. Don’t tell me I wasn’t doing a good job. Hell, I thought you and I were cool.”
Pimp’s shoulders sagged. He had expected her to blow up, maybe even flip the damn desk, but she held it together just enough. Truth was, she had been his best worker, no question, and yeah, they had built some kind of bond. Still, all he could give her was a look full of regret.
“I fought for you, kid,” he said quietly. “But this ain’t my call. My hands are tied. I’m sorry.”
That was it. Final. Like somebody out there had made sure she wouldn’t be sticking around.
Vi’s gut twisted, but there was no point fighting it. She was done.
Talk about getting back at her. Great.
Vi exhaled hard, rubbing at her temples. It wasn’t like she regretted anything, but hell, she wasn’t exactly thrilled about whatever shitty hand life just dealt her either.
She shook it off and stood. She needed air.
First time stepping out in weeks, and her body reminded her of it. Every joint felt stiff, like she’d been molding into the couch. She tugged on her jacket and hit the streets.
The city greeted her like an old friend who barely remembered her name. Neon signs buzzed overhead, casting flickers of pink and blue across puddles on the pavement. Traffic snarled, horns blaring, while people shoved past each other with bags and coffee cups. The sky was bleeding orange into purple—late evening, she guessed.
Last time she’d walked these streets, she wasn’t alone. Powder had been at her side, rambling about some idea only she could understand. Felt like a whole other lifetime.
Powder. She should call her.
Not now though. Not when she felt like a washed-up loser without a job.
Her sister didn’t need to hear that. Powder was out there in her fourth year of chemical engineering, living the dream, a genius on scholarship in one of Piltover’s top schools. Vi was proud—always had been. But every time people asked about her, it wasn’t her they wanted to hear about. It was Powder. Always Powder.
Vi stuffed her hands in her pockets and kept walking. She wasn’t about to dial her sister sounding all mopey and half-broken. Not tonight.
The smell of fried food spilled out of a row of corner shops. Neon menus flickered against greasy glass, hawking dumplings and noodles, burgers and fries. Her stomach growled, but she ignored it. The rain started without warning, first a drizzle, then a steady pour. Drops splattered against her jacket, cold against the back of her neck.
“Perfect,” she muttered, breaking into a jog.
Her apartment was too far, and the only cover nearby was the train station. She sprinted down the stairs two at a time, shoes squeaking against damp concrete.
The underground hit her with a wall of smells—wet stone, burnt oil, and rust. The overhead lights flickered like they were fighting to stay alive. She wrung water out of her jacket, shaking it off, then raked her fingers through her soaked hair.
A rumble echoed down the tracks. Commuters shifted, shuffling closer to the edge, shoulders brushing in the crowd. Definitely rush hour.
Then someone slammed into her side.
Vi’s hand twitched toward her hip out of instinct, but when she glanced down, it was just a kid. Couldn’t have been more than twelve, scrambling back on one knee with a backpack clutched tight to his chest. His eyes were wide, darting past her at something behind them.
Before she could say a word—
"AAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!"
A scream ripped through the station.
And then came the explosion.
The sound tore through the air, so loud it rattled her bones. Heat punched her chest, knocking the wind out of her. For a split second everything went white—ears ringing so hard it drowned out the screams, the station, the whole damn world. The ground shuddered beneath her boots, dust raining from the ceiling as fire erupted across the tracks.
Vi’s instincts kicked in. She scanned the area. The fire hadn’t spread too far yet, but the way it clung to the ground, it wasn’t normal. It looked like something had spilled. Gasoline? Oil?
"What the fuck is going on?"
The smell hit next, sharp and burning. Smoke clawed at her throat, each breath a rasp. People were moving all around her but it felt distant, muffled, like she was underwater. A woman’s voice screamed somewhere close. A man shoved past her shoulder. Her heartbeat thundered in her ears, syncing with the alarm ringing in her head.
Her eyes locked on a fire extinguisher mounted to the wall. She lunged for it, yanked it down, her grip white-knuckled around the handle—
And then someone grabbed her wrist.
The touch was solid, unshakable. Urgent.
Vi spun, disoriented, still half-buzzing from the ringing in her ears, and found herself staring into eyes so sharp and blue they damn near cut her in half.
“Run!” the girl barked, shoving a damp handkerchief against Vi’s mouth and nose. The fabric stank of smoke and cheap perfume, but it was better than choking.
Before Vi could fight back, her arm was yanked forward. Boots pounded against the slick platform as the roar of flames chased them. Smoke curled low and heavy, flames licking the rails. Her lungs burned, ears still ringing, vision swimming in the chaos.
She should’ve fought back. Should’ve demanded to know who the hell this girl was.
But her grip was steel, and for some reason… Vi didn’t fight it.
She risked one last glance back. The extinguisher she’d dropped was still there, lying useless on the floor while the blaze tore through everything. The whole scene felt wrong. Something about this didn’t feel right.
Everything was going so wrong. Like the universe had tilted sideways.
By the time they stumbled out into the open, rain was pouring again, cold seeping deep into her clothes. The world felt muted — sirens keening in the distance, bystanders murmuring in panicked tones, the sting of oil and wet pavement hanging in the air — but it was all static compared to the girl still clamped onto her hand.
Sharp cerulean eyes locked with hers, unwavering. The neon glow of the city caught in them, or maybe they just carried their own light. Either way, Vi’s breath caught. Her mouth parted before she snapped it shut, blinking hard like she could shake off the daze.
“Why did you pull me away?” she asked, her voice rough, threaded with confusion and a touch of frustration.
The girl tilted her head, calm as stone. “Whatever do you mean?”
Vi flinched, a little too obvious. The girl’s accent fit her face perfectly, sharp and polished, but this was not the time to drool over someone who had just dragged her out of a fire. Vi forced her eyes away, back to the underground station. Flames clawed at the ceiling, smoke spilling out in thick clouds that reached for the night sky. The fire extinguisher she had dropped lay useless on the ground, forgotten. Her stomach twisted at the realization that she had almost been caught in the middle of that if it weren’t for this...very attractive woman who had yanked her out before the fire ate her alive.
I mean… maybe I wouldn’t have minded being swallowed whole by a hot tall wom—WAIT. No. Swallowed by the flames. Flames, Vi. Jesus.
Hold up, isn’t that actually worse? she scolded herself, swallowing hard. Her throat felt dry even with rain soaking her.
“…Sorry. That came out wrong.” She blew out a sharp breath, trying to shake off the spiral. She didn’t even know why she was apologizing. Maybe it was the adrenaline, maybe it was those eyes still locked onto hers, steady and unrelenting.
“It’s alright. No offense taken.” The woman’s voice was smooth, steady. When Vi forced herself to look back, those same eyes hooked into hers again. This time, the woman let the corner of her mouth twitch into the faintest smirk.
Calling her voice smooth didn’t even cut it. It wasn’t just smooth. Hell, she sounds like the epitome of a lesbian struggle to fuck the unshakable tale of an unmet orgasm that couldn’t be realized.
Silence settled between them. The air smelled of damp pavement and faint smoke, yet all Vi could focus on was the feeling of warmth against her skin. It took her a second too long to realize that they were still holding hands.
Vi looked down, startled. The woman followed her gaze, and for the first time, something flickered in her expression—hesitation? Regret? Whatever it was, it passed too quickly to name.
The grip loosened. The warmth left with it.
“Right. Sorry. I, uh… bye.” The words fell out awkward and rushed, like she didn’t even mean to say them.
Vi just blinked, caught off guard, as the girl stepped back and vanished into the rain.
She didn’t move. Not until the emergency lights blurred red and blue against her eyes. Not until the chill dug through her jacket and hit bone.
By the time Vi dragged herself back to her apartment, exhaustion clung to her like dead weight. Her boots squelched against the hardwood, leaving wet tracks behind her. Water dripped from her clothes, pooling on the floor as she kicked the boots off and peeled herself out of her jacket. The thing was so heavy it felt more like a soaked rug than a coat. She tossed it straight into the washing machine without caring.
Her shirt followed, flung in the same direction. Cold air hit her bare skin, raising goosebumps, but she barely noticed. Instead, she grabbed the remote and flicked on the TV as she shuffled toward the bathroom.
The newscaster’s monotone filled the room, a voice Vi had learned to tune out—until one word made her freeze mid-step.
“...Tonight, authorities confirmed the fire at Kiramman Station on Aries Street was caused by an oil spill accident. Fortunately, no injuries have been reported. The Kiramman family, who owns the station, has already released a statement—”
“Figures,” Vi let out a sharp scoff, dragging a hand through her damp hair. That name followed her everywhere like a damn curse.
The Kirammans. Because of course it was them. As if owning half the city wasn’t enough, now they own train stations too? Must be nice, having your name stamped on every damn thing.
Or maybe Vi was just bitter.
Her jaw clenched. She knew they weren’t the reason she’d lost her job, but hell if it wasn’t easier to pin the blame on the rich. They always found a way to make people like her feel smaller. And now, with her wallet running dry and bills stacking higher, the pressure was getting hard to ignore.
She blew out a breath, shook her head, and shoved the thoughts aside. Not tonight.
In the bathroom, she twisted the shower knob until hot water poured down, steam filling the space in seconds. The first blast of heat stung, but she leaned into it anyway, letting it soak the cold right out of her bones.
Vi tilted her head back, eyes closing, finally letting her shoulders sag under the spray.
But even here, with nothing but the sound of running water, she couldn’t stop her mind from wandering back to her.
Blue hair.
Those sharp, cutting eyes.
That strange pull, like she was looking at someone both brand new and oddly familiar.
The thought gnawed at her, sitting just out of reach, until it hit like a punch to the gut.
Shit.
She didn’t even know her name.
And worse?
She was fucking beautiful too.