Chapter Text
Vi’s alarm had already gone off three times.
She groaned and rolled halfway off the couch. One arm flailed around, trying to hit the noise. After a few clumsy swipes, her hand found the screen. She slapped it quiet and let her face fall back into the pillow. Everything felt heavy. Her head, her arms, her thoughts.
She blinked.
The apartment was already dim. Faint light came in through the dirty window. She lived above a small garage, second floor. The walls were thin. The heater made loud noises but didn’t really work. Most of her furniture came from thrift shops or the street. The coffee table tilted to one side. The mini-fridge hummed too loud. The sink still dripped.
She didn’t mind. It was home.
Vi sat up and pushed her pink hair out of her face. Her hoodie was crumpled on the arm of the couch. She didn’t put it on yet. Her shirt stuck to her back with sweat.
She stood up slowly. Her legs ached. Her neck felt stiff. She stretched her arms with a small grunt, then shuffled to the bathroom, scratching at her ribs.
The light in there flickered once before staying on. The mirror was foggy with old streaks. She turned the shower knob. It made a loud squeak. The water took a few seconds to heat up, then came out warm and steamy.
She stepped in and stood there for a long moment, letting it hit her face.
No thoughts. Just water.
She washed quick. Soap, rinse, out. Her towel had a hole in one corner. She dried off and threw on fresh clothes, a tank top and the same old hoodie. She didn’t have time to care what she looked like.
Her boots were by the door. She shoved her feet in without socks. Helmet under one arm, she grabbed her keys.
She glanced at the wall clock.
6:47 PM.
“Shit.”
She’s late.
She slammed the door behind her and ran down the stairs. The helmet bounced against her hip with every step.
Outside, the alley was cold and gray. She could hear the city, cars, voices, a siren far away. Piltover never really got quiet. It just paused.
Another night. Another shift. Vi was already behind, but she ran anyway.
The evening air was warm and smelled faintly like rain, even though the skies were clear. Vi’s bike rumbled beneath her, steady and familiar, as she roared down the narrow Piltover backroads. Her hair whipped behind her from under the helmet, and her hoodie flapped open in the wind. She leaned into the turns, weaving past slow trams and late pedestrians without slowing down, like the city had memorized her rhythm and moved out of her way.
She liked riding at this hour.
The light was soft, almost gold. The streets were still busy but starting to quiet. Shops were closing. Lights in windows blinked on one by one. Laughter floated from rooftop bars and corner cafés. Piltover shimmered in the distance, its golden spires catching the last stretch of sunlight before it slipped behind the hills. Domes and bridges gleamed like polished brass, then slowly gave way to shadows and streetlamps.
It was beautiful. Not perfect. Not clean. But beautiful in a way that felt alive.
Vi shifted gears and sped up as she reached the outer edge of the city. The road curved uphill, lined with tall trees that swayed gently in the warm breeze. The air smelled fresher here. The noise faded. No honking. No engines. Just the quiet hum of her bike and the sound of tires on old stone.
She reached the hilltop right as the first stars began to peek through the fading sky. A soft purple stretched across the horizon, and the city below looked like a map made of light, tiny windows glowing, streetcars crawling along their lines like fireflies.
Vi cut the engine and coasted to a stop, boots scraping against the ground. For a moment, she just sat there, hands resting on the handles, heartbeat slowly settling.
This place always made her feel something. Like things might make sense, even if just for a second.
She pulled off her helmet, shaking out her hair, and looked toward the café.
Warm light spilled through its windows. Music played low inside, just a piano and a voice. The sign above the door flickered once, then glowed steady.
Vi smiled.
Made it.
Barely.
The café sat right at the edge of a short hiking trail, where the trees opened up to one of the best views in Piltover. It wasn’t fancy, just wooden beams, big windows, and a patio with string lights that buzzed quietly overhead. There was no need for luxury. The view did all the heavy lifting.
Tourists came for the sunset. Locals came for the quiet. And hikers stumbled in near sundown, sweaty and half-laughing, desperate for iced drinks and somewhere to rest their knees.
Vi pulled open the door and stepped into the familiar hum of soft music, chatter, and the smell of coffee beans warming on the back burners.
“Finally,” said a voice from behind the counter. “I was about to write Missing posters.”
Ekko stood by the espresso machine, sleeves rolled up and apron already smudged with chocolate syrup. His white locs were pulled into a half-tied bun, and he had that usual smirk, half annoyed, half amused.
Vi grinned as she let the door swing shut behind her. “Relax, I’m only eight minutes late.”
Ekko raised an eyebrow, tapping the old wall clock with his stir spoon. “Try thirteen. I’ve aged. My knees hurt now. You owe me a knee.”
“I’ll put it on your tip jar,” she said, tossing her helmet onto the back shelf and grabbing her apron. Hers was faded black with her name stitched in red across the chest, though the "V" was mostly thread at this point.
The café smelled like cinnamon and roasted beans, with hints of lemon soap from the recently cleaned floor. It was warm and calm, like a blanket you didn’t want to crawl out from.
Mara, their shift manager, popped her head out from the back. “Tell her she’s on dish duty if she’s late again.”
Vi gave a salute. “Ten-four, boss. No promises.”
She slid in behind the bar beside Ekko, bumped him gently with her hip. “Alright, what’s the damage?”
Ekko handed her a sticky order slip. “Table four wants an iced lavender oat milk latte. Extra syrup, light ice, no foam. No soul, basically.”
“Perfect,” Vi said. “I’ll bless it under the stars for them.”
Her hands moved easily, ice, syrup, espresso, milk. Pour, stir, slide it across with a smile.
Out on the patio, a couple of tourists were taking selfies with the skyline behind them. Vi brought them their drinks with an easy grin.
“Here you go. One latte, one view. Careful, they’re both a little too pretty to be real.”
The woman giggled. “You should be in the photo too. You fit the theme.”
Vi gave her a playful wink. “Flatter me again and I’ll bring free cookies.”
Back inside, the café was settling into that cozy evening rhythm. Hikers sipped slowly with their boots untied. Couples leaned close over candlelit tables. Someone sat at the window sketching quietly, her mug long empty but still warm between her hands.
Vi helped a little boy pick out a cookie the size of his head, cleaned a spill with one hand while pouring cold brew with the other, and teased Ekko when he tried to draw a heart in a cappuccino and it came out looking like a question mark.
Between 7PM and midnight, this was her rhythm.
It wasn’t perfect. But it was hers.
By 8:30PM, the café had settled into its groove.
The sun was almost gone, the sky bleeding orange and purple across the hilltops, and the soft clink of mugs and distant cicadas became the evening’s soundtrack.
Vi was wiping down the counter when Ekko passed her a fresh biscotti.
“Try this,” he said, mouth already full of his own half. “Mara’s experimenting with some lemon-cardamom thing. She wants opinions.”
Vi bit into it, chewed, then tilted her head. “It tastes like someone fancy sneezed in shortbread.”
Ekko choked on a laugh. “That’s a review if I’ve ever heard one.”
“I’d eat another,” she added with a shrug. “So, mission accomplished.”
Across the room, a man in a wide-brimmed hat was struggling with a loose chair leg. Vi walked over with a quiet, “Need a hand?” and fixed it with a practiced twist of her wrist and a napkin folded tight to wedge under the uneven leg.
“I used to break chairs for fun,” she said with a grin. “Now I fix ‘em. Life’s weird like that.”
The man chuckled and nodded his thanks. Vi returned to the counter, where Ekko was lining up mismatched mugs like dominoes.
“Think they’d notice if I turned this place into a marble run?” he asked.
“They’d notice when we both get fired,” Vi said, but she was already sliding a spoon between two mugs to make the chain reaction smoother.
Mara peeked out from the kitchen, spotted them, and said flatly, “No chaos until after ten.”
Ekko saluted with a mug. Vi just grinned and got back to stacking clean saucers.
At one point, a little girl ran up to the counter with a drawing of the café, string lights, trees, and what was very clearly a stick-figure version of Vi with pink scribbles for hair.
“For you,” she said shyly.
Vi crouched down to take it, wide-eyed. “Are you kidding? This is better than half the stuff in the Piltover Museum.”
The girl beamed.
“I’m framing this,” Vi added. “I’m not even joking. This is going on my fridge forever.”
Back behind the counter, Ekko raised an eyebrow. “You don’t even have a fridge.”
“I’ll steal one,” Vi said. “This masterpiece deserves its own appliance.”
The drawing joined a growing collection of napkin doodles and tourist postcards on the corkboard by the sink.
Hours passed like that, soft, warm, and just a little silly. Vi cleaned, poured, teased, fixed a loose table leg, helped an older woman to her seat when her knees gave her trouble. She and Ekko invented new drink names for the regulars when they weren’t looking.
By 8:45, the café had gone mellow. Music hummed low, some old Piltie jazz record Mara swore by, and the night settled like a favorite sweater.
The breeze drifted through the open side windows, rustling the trailing vines above the bookshelves. A couple in hiking gear sat with steaming mugs at the table nearest the railing, heads tucked close. A student had taken over the corner armchair with her laptop and a half-eaten sandwich.
Vi leaned over the counter, watching as Ekko folded sugar packets into tiny origami frogs.
“You really need a hobby,” she said, nudging one off the edge.
“This is my hobby,” he replied, flicking another one into her face. “I’m an artist, Vi. Respect the vision.”
Mara emerged from the kitchen, apron dusted with flour, a tired smudge of cocoa on her cheek. “You two scaring the guests again?”
“They love us,” Vi said, deadpan. “We’re part of the ambience.”
“More like background noise,” Mara muttered, but the corners of her mouth lifted.
Vi helped serve a trio of hikers who came in winded and red-faced, asking for “literally anything with caffeine.” She chatted with them while pouring, something about trail maps and getting lost at the second overlook. They laughed easily, grateful. One of them tipped Vi with a shiny rock.
“Lucky quartz,” he said with a wink.
“Gonna use this to fight my landlord,” she replied.
Ekko called from behind, “Tell him it’s super effective!”
By 9:30, the foot traffic had slowed. Vi slid into the seat near the window with a fresh tea in hand. Outside, the last bit of light had vanished completely. Now it was all soft golds and deep blues, the lights of Piltover glittering below like someone had cracked open a jewelry box.
She watched a bird swoop under the eaves, disappearing into the night.
“Hey,” Ekko said, dropping into the seat beside her with two slices of warm cake. “Break time. Take it. You earned it.”
Vi blinked at him. “Did Mara okay this?”
“She’s exhausted and stress-baking, so technically I bribed her with dish duty,” he grinned. “Eat.”
They ate in companionable silence for a bit. Chocolate. Slightly too much cinnamon. Perfect.
“I could get used to this,” Vi murmured, leaning back. “The peace. The dumb sugar frogs. The cake.”
Ekko gave her a sideways look. “I still think it’s wild you ended up working here. Of all places.”
Vi shrugged. “Yeah, well. Wild kind of finds me.”
At five to ten, Mara clapped her hands from the kitchen doorway. “Alright, closing time. Let’s move.”
Ekko groaned but stood. “You coming, or staying late again?” he asked Vi as he grabbed his jacket.
“I’ll close,” she said, already rising to start wiping down tables. “You two go. I like the quiet.”
Mara tossed her a ring of keys. “Don’t forget to lock the back door this time.”
“That was one time,” Vi protested.
“And it resulted in three raccoons and a guy asleep on the patio,” Mara said. “Don’t make it two.”
Ekko saluted her on the way out. “Don’t let the coffee ghosts get you.”
Vi rolled her eyes and waved them off. “Tell ‘em I said hi.”
The door clicked shut behind them. Silence rolled in, not empty, but full in a different way.
And alone now, with only the hum of the espresso machine and the distant sounds of the city, Vi returned to the bar to finish her last few tasks.
It was almost 10:15. The stars were out.
And somewhere behind her, the door creaked open.
The café felt different once the door clicked shut behind Ekko and Mara. The chatter and laughter had faded away, leaving behind a calm hush that wrapped around Vi like a soft blanket.
She moved slowly, almost savoring the quiet. The faint scent of cinnamon still hung in the air, mixed with the rich aroma of freshly ground coffee beans. Outside, the city lights blinked like tiny stars scattered across a dark velvet sky.
Vi wiped down the last of the tables, the smooth wood cool beneath her fingertips. The soft hum of the espresso machine was the only sound now, steady and soothing, like a heartbeat.
She paused by the window and looked out over the city. The hills rolled gently into shadow, dotted with glowing windows and flickering streetlamps. Somewhere in the distance, a dog barked, sharp and brief, then silence again.
A cool breeze slipped through the open door, carrying the faint smell of wet earth and leaves. Vi pulled her hoodie tighter around her, the fabric worn but comforting.
Her thoughts wandered, drifting between the day’s rush and the quiet night ahead. The sketches pinned to the corkboard caught her eye, little drawings left by customers, each one a tiny story she’d never get tired of.
She smiled softly.
For a moment, she let herself just be here, no hurry, no noise, no expectations. Just the warmth of the café and the steady pulse of the city below.
The stars outside seemed to grow brighter, and the night stretched out, full of possibility.
And yet, beneath the calm, something felt like it was waiting, just out of sight.
But for now, Vi breathed deep, closed her eyes, and let the quiet settle around her.
Vi closed her eyes, letting the quiet wrap around her like a soft, familiar cloak. The night was still, save for the gentle hum of the espresso machine and the faint rustle of leaves outside.
A sudden sound broke the calm, a soft click at the front door, lighter than the usual bell.
Vi’s eyes snapped open.
The door stood slightly ajar, a shadow slipping through the crack.
She blinked, heart picking up its pace.
Then, stepping into the warm glow of the café, came a woman.
Tall. Athletic. Fair-skinned. Dark blue hair falling in loose waves around her shoulders, catching the light in shimmering teal highlights.
She wore simple jeans and a long-sleeved shirt, the kind of casual look that somehow still felt deliberate.
Her eyes found Vi’s instantly, deep teal, calm, almost searching.
Vi swallowed.
“Hi,” the woman said softly, voice like a breeze over water.
Vi managed a nod. “Hey. We’re… still open.”
The woman smiled, a little wistful, and moved toward the counter.
“I know,” she said. “I just needed to be here.”
Vi’s pulse quickened, a strange mix of curiosity and something else, something unspoken.
She stepped forward, wiping her hands on her apron.
“What can I get you?”
The woman looked out the window, eyes tracing the city lights. Then back at Vi.
“A dark roast pour-over,” she said simply.
Vi nodded, heart still thudding in her chest.
As she prepared the coffee, she stole glances at the woman, sensing there was a story beneath that calm surface, something waiting to unfold.
The café felt different now. Full of questions.
And maybe answers, too.
Vi set the pour-over carefully on the counter, the rich aroma swirling between them. The woman didn’t reach for it, just stared out the window, eyes distant yet clear.
Vi cleared her throat. “You look like you’re not from around here.”
A faint smile touched the woman’s lips. “Piltover has changed a lot. Maybe I’m just… remembering it differently.”
Vi cocked her head, curious despite herself. “That so? You look like you know this city well.”
“I used to,” the woman said softly, her gaze never leaving the skyline. “Or maybe I wished I did.”
Vi shifted, feeling a strange tug in her chest, a pull she couldn’t explain. “Well, if you want a place to start, this café’s got the best view and the strongest coffee.”
The woman finally looked at her then. Her eyes held something almost… otherworldly, calm, but edged with a kind of sorrow that didn’t seem new.
“Thank you,” she said, her voice low and smooth, like someone unused to speaking often but practiced in being careful when they did.
Vi stood there, a moment suspended between past and present, two strangers on the edge of something neither fully understood yet.
Vi’s mind buzzed with questions. Who was this woman? And why did her presence feel like a whisper from some forgotten dream?
She glanced back out the window, the city lights twinkling, and wondered how a quiet night shift had turned into the start of something much bigger.
She picked up the empty cup and carried it to the sink, moving toward the kitchen to finish her chores. Her hands were steady, folding clean napkins and wiping down counters, but her eyes kept flicking back to the woman. The woman sat near the window, calm and still, watching the city as if it held a secret only she could see.
The café felt quieter now, softer somehow, like the night had deepened just a little more.
Vi refilled the sugar jar, tapping the spoon gently on the side. She told herself to focus on the work, the simple rhythm of closing tasks, but the presence in the room pulled her attention away.
Every so often, she caught the woman’s gaze out of the corner of her eye. Always calm. Always watching.
The clock ticked steadily.
Fifteen minutes to close.
Vi moved to sweep the floor near the entrance, pushing crumbs and dust into a neat pile. Her thoughts swirled, questions, quiet wonder, the feeling that this was no ordinary customer.
The wind picked up outside, rattling the window panes just slightly. The soft glow from the streetlamps flickered, casting long shadows across the wooden floor.
Vi paused and looked back at the woman. The woman’s eyes met hers for a brief moment, holding a calmness that seemed both warm and distant.
A whisper of a smile crossed the woman’s lips, and then she returned her gaze to the city.
Vi shook her head lightly, as if waking from a daydream.
She glanced at the clock again, ten minutes left.
Time to finish up.
Vi stacked the last of the cleaned mugs behind the counter, wiping her hands on a towel that had long since given up on being white. The hum of the refrigerator, the soft clink of cutlery settling in its tray, and the occasional rustle of leaves outside made up the quiet rhythm of closing time.
She glanced at the clock again.
Five minutes.
Her eyes drifted back to the woman by the window.
Still there.
Still... stunning.
The woman hadn’t moved much, she sat with the same gentle poise, arms resting lightly on the table, fingers curled around her untouched cup as if pretending it still held warmth. The outside lights traced the edge of her face, catching the soft sheen of her hair and the delicate line of her jaw.
Vi caught herself staring.
She blinked, turned quickly, and ducked back into the kitchen to store the broom.
What was she doing?
It wasn’t weird to be curious. People came and went all the time, tourists, couples, hikers who barely had enough breath to order, but this woman was different. She didn’t look lost or tired or even particularly hungry. She looked... at peace. Like the night had been waiting for her.
Vi exhaled slowly, rubbing the back of her neck. Then, with nothing left to clean and the clock ticking down to closing, she grabbed a clean cloth and gave the counter one last wipe, stalling, maybe, or just giving herself an excuse to look again.
She peeked.
The woman was still gazing out at the lights below, the faintest smile at the corner of her lips, as if she could hear a song no one else could.
Vi leaned an elbow on the counter, pretending to check the receipts. “You good over there?” she asked casually, not even sure why she spoke.
The woman looked up slowly, her eyes soft and blue in the dim glow. “Mm,” she said, nodding. “Just didn’t want to leave yet. It’s beautiful up here.”
Vi’s mouth twitched into a small smile. “Yeah. It’s one of the reasons I took the job.”
The woman tilted her head, curious. “Not the pay?”
Vi laughed. “Definitely not the pay.”
The café fell quiet again.
The woman turned back toward the window. “You’re lucky. Most people don’t get a view like this every night.”
Vi didn’t answer right away. She just watched the way the light caught in the woman’s hair, the way her voice settled into the room like it belonged there.
And then she looked away, flipping the lights above the espresso machine off one by one.
“Alright,” she said gently. “We’re closing in a minute.”
The woman nodded and finally rose to her feet, brushing imaginary creases from her dress.
Vi walked around the counter and reached for the stool by the entrance, dragging it gently across the wood floor to flip it onto one of the tables. She heard the faint shuffle of the woman rising, the brush of denim against wood.
The woman moved with a kind of unhurried ease, like someone who didn’t rush for anything. Not slow, just... sure.
“You need help with anything?” she asked, her voice quiet but not shy.
Vi looked up, a little surprised. “Nah, I’ve got it. Just the usual closing dance.”
There was a flicker of a smile from the woman. “You’ve got it down to a rhythm.”
Vi smirked, lifting another stool. “You hang around long enough, you start to see the choreography.”
The woman laughed under her breath, a low, melodic sound. “It’s kind of nice. Watching everything settle down.”
Vi wasn’t sure what to say to that, so she just nodded and moved to the next table. The woman wandered slowly toward the door, not leaving, just hovering near it, as if she wasn’t quite ready to step outside. Her hand drifted along the edge of a bookshelf, pausing now and then to glance at the spines.
Vi wiped down the last table, glancing over. “You like books?”
“I like quiet places,” The woman replied, not looking up. “And places where people don’t pretend too much.”
Vi leaned back against the counter, crossing her arms. “You say that like this place passes the test.”
“It does,” the woman said simply. “You do.”
Vi blinked at that. It wasn’t flirtation, it didn’t feel loaded like that. It was just… honest. And maybe that made it land deeper.
She cleared her throat. “Well... I won’t kick you out yet. Just don’t tell my boss.”
The woman turned then, leaning one hand on the doorframe, and gave her a smile that wasn’t wide or showy, but it softened something in Vi’s chest. “Your secret’s safe.”
They stood in silence for a moment, not awkward, just... suspended. The wind picked up again outside, brushing through the leaves, the chimes above the door dancing softly.
Vi finally broke the quiet. “So. Just passing through?”
The woman tilted her head, thoughtful. “Something like that.”
Vi waited, but nothing more came. She liked that, in a strange way. No over-sharing, no prying. Just enough to wonder.
She moved behind the bar again, tucking the rag into a drawer and flipping off one more row of lights. The café dimmed, golden glow fading into soft shadows. The woman didn’t move, didn’t seem to mind.
Vi glanced up and caught her watching again, not staring, not intense, just… present.
“Y’know,” Vi said, reaching for her hoodie. “If you ever want to see the city from up here again, we’re open most nights.”
The woman’s smile returned, gentle and unreadable. “That’s good to know.”
Vi nodded and walked to the door, unlocking it and pulling it open. The breeze greeted her, cool and clean. The world outside looked bigger now. Quieter.
The woman stepped out, pausing just past the threshold. She turned, eyes catching the warm light one last time.
“Thanks for the coffee,” she said.
Vi gave her a lazy salute. “Thanks for making my shift less boring.”
The woman chuckled. “See you around, Vi.”
And then she was gone, swallowed by the night like a figure in a dream, leaving only the faintest trace of her presence behind.
Vi stood there for a second longer than necessary, then locked the door and leaned her forehead against the glass.
The café was empty again. But it didn’t feel the same.
She didn’t know her name.
She hadn’t asked.
And somehow, that felt okay.
Vi took a slow breath, her forehead still resting against the glass.
The city below shimmered with a thousand amber lights, windows and lamps blinking like distant constellations. Cars whispered down the sloped roads, too far to hear. The sky stretched wide and velvety, tinged with faint purple where the last of the day still clung to the horizon.
Behind her, the café had dimmed to a soft glow, warm, like the memory of laughter, like a song still echoing after the last note.
She peeled herself from the door and went through the motions: wiping the espresso machine down a final time, double-checking the back exit, turning off the under-shelf lighting. Everything in its place. Everything just so.
But she kept glancing toward the stool where the woman had sat. It was empty now, just wood and fabric, but the shape of her lingered. Like steam still curling from a mug long set down.
Vi flipped the last switch, casting the café into shadow, save for the amber porch light outside. She stepped out, locking the door behind her with a soft clink, and pulled her hoodie on tighter against the breeze.
The street was mostly empty. Her bike waited at the corner, parked like always beneath the slanted tree that dropped leaves all year long. The wind picked up, brushing her cheek like a secret.
Vi paused before straddling the bike, her eyes drifting up the hill the woman had disappeared over. Just in case. Just to see.
Nothing.
Just the soft hush of night and the weightless, nagging pull of curiosity.
She smiled to herself, barely.
Then kicked the engine awake.
The ride home was quiet, the streets half asleep. But her thoughts weren’t.
She didn’t know what she’d expected from tonight. Just another shift, another close, another stack of dishes and scraped mugs and maybe a little music.
Instead, she got... that.
Someone with storm-colored eyes who ordered coffee without drinking it.
Who sat like she belonged nowhere and everywhere at once.
Who spoke just enough to make you want more.
Vi couldn’t stop thinking about her.
The quiet woman with the sea-glass eyes.
The way she looked at the city, like she used to belong to it.
Like she still wanted to.