Chapter Text
“I’m fucked,” Vi exclaimed into the phone. “I’m fucked!”
“Well,” Jinx muttered back from the other side of the line, her voice raspy and hoarse from disuse. Vi’s call had probably pulled her out of sleep. “Good morning to you too, sis.”
Vi rolled her eyes. “Good morning.”
There was a creak, and a rustling of sheets as Jinx shuffled around in her bed, probably twisting around to see the alarm clock on the top of the dresser Vi had helped drag up a flight of stairs when she first moved in.
“It’s nine in the morning,” Jinx murmured, as if it were the ass crack of dawn.
Vi nearly rolled her eyes. Her sister easily slept in until twelve on most days.
She heard Jinx draw in a long, slow breath. “God, you’re not drunk again, are you? I told you to call an Uber—”
“No!” Vi practically shouted. Someone a few feet away from her, browsing the romance section, looked at her in surprise, eyes narrowed. Vi cursed under her breath and lowered her head, trying to slump over in her chair and hide behind the computer. “I’m not drunk.” She looked at the time displayed in the corner of the computer screen. 9:28. “Who is drunk at nine twenty-eight on a Tuesday?”
“I dunno,” Jinx responded. “Fun people?”
Vi shook her head, inhaling sharply. “I’m not drunk,” she repeated.
She heard the bed creak again. “Oh.” Jinx sniffed. “Where are you?”
“The library,” Vi supplied, raising her eyebrows.
There was a noticeable pause. “You’re not fucking that librarian again, are you?”
“What?” Vi repeated, eyes getting wider with every word. “No.”
“Well, why else would you be at the library?” Jinx hissed through the speaker. “At nine in the morning?”
“I’m using the computers,” Vi replied.
“Uh, why?” Jinx asked rather aggressively. “Have you suddenly developed a habit for online gambling like Sevika? What is it? Some poker?”
“No,” Vi snapped again, causing the same person to look over again, this time sending her a warning glare.
Vi frowned deeply, practically scowling, and they ducked back behind the bookshelf. With that done, Vi sank back down, nearly collapsing in defeat.
She sighed. “I have to move.”
She could hear Jinx blink. “What? Why?”
Vi’s lips flattened into a straight line as she held the phone closer, tucking it between her chin and her shoulder blade. “Remember when I told you someone new bought the building?”
“Uh,” Jinx whispered. “Yeah? The bald baby-looking guy?”
Vi’s lips quirked up in the corners. “Yeah, that’s the one.” She paused for a moment, tapping her fingertips along the desk top. “Well, he’s renovating,” Vi explained, running her other hand through her short hair. It was still slightly damp from her shower this morning. “He is trying to rebrand or something. He’s jacking rent up.”
“Shit,” Jinx cursed. “How much?”
“Almost double what I pay now,” Vi replied, biting her lip.
“Jesus,” Jinx exclaimed.
Vi leaned back in her chair, folding one hand across her lap. “I know.”
Her apartment was in a half-crumbling complex she had called home for years. It had been her first apartment she had moved into at nineteen, while she was still in college, using the money she had saved up since she started working at the Last Drop when she was sixteen.
But then some corporate landlord decided to buy the place up and “revitalize the neighborhood,” slapped on a coat of pastel paint, called it “luxury lofts,” and practically tripled the rent overnight. Vi, scraping by on odd jobs and bar shifts, couldn’t keep up. Within weeks, she would be priced out and forced to pack her life into two garbage bags and a duffel.
Which was why Vi was here, frantically scrolling through apartment listings and freaking out over the phone.
“Shit,” Jinx said again. She finally sounded fully awake. There was more rustling as Vi guessed that she was rolling out of bed, now sitting up. “I’m sorry, Vi. That bastard. I mean, is that even legal?”
Vi rolled her eyes skywards, staring up at the ceiling. “Probably,” she replied. “He owns the building now. He can do what he wants with it.”
“That doesn’t make it fair,” Jinx muttered.
Vi thought of her neighbors. The nice old lady across the hall that Vi always helped up the stairs, carrying her groceries inside for her. She would call Vi dearie and pat her on the arm. There was that young couple down the hall, with two young kids to provide for, and the pregnant lady downstairs, and the working college students who needed a roommate just to stay afloat and make rent on time.
Vi closed her eyes and sighed again. “I know,” she repeated.
It is never fair.
There was a long pause again. “So,” Jinx hummed awkwardly, about to ask the question Vi had been dreading. “What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know,” Vi admitted, opening her eyes. She leaned back into the chair again. “I’m checking apartment listings as we speak, but…” She trailed off, gritting her teeth.
“Fucking Pilties?” Jinx guessed.
“Exactly,” Vi uttered. “It’s all expensive as shit and on the nice side of town. I can’t afford it, and I don’t want to move that far anyway.”
She heard Jinx grit her teeth too. “I mean, have you called Dad?”
“No,” Vi said instantly, narrowing her eyes.
“Vi,” Jinx said in a warning tone.
“I’m not asking for money,” Vi swore. “And sure as hell not living in the basement like Mylo. I’m a grown woman. And that is just embarrassing.”
“Hey,” Jinx teased. “Mylo’s just trying to get back on his feet. That’s all.”
“Mylo needs a real job.”
“It’s not his fault the Kiss My Bass gig didn’t work out,” Jinx pointed out. “He had all his hopes riding out on it.”
Vi groaned. “I can’t believe he seriously named his band that.”
Jinx shrugged. “It’s better than Full Frontal Funk.”
“Oh my God.”
They both snickered, and then there was another heavy, pointed silence.
“So,” Jinx said again. It wasn’t exactly a question.
“So,” Vi responded.
“You could stay with me,” Jinx immediately brought up. “Just for a bit.”
And Vi knew she would. And she loved her sister dearly, but…
“Pow, no,” Vi said firmly, already shaking her head.
“What?” Jinx practically whined, as if offended. “Why?”
“I love you,” Vi started. “But, as I said, I’m a grown adult. I’ll figure this out.” She wrinkled her nose. “Plus, I don’t want to live in yours and Ekko’s love nest, or whatever Claggor calls it.”
“Excuse you,” Jinx hissed. It was followed by a muffled moan, probably Ekko stirring from beside her.
Vi slowly lifted an eyebrow. They were just proving her point.
“We have a perfectly good couch for you to sleep on,” Jinx went on, switching to whispering so she wouldn’t wake her boyfriend. “Or the bathtub. You pass out there all the time when you’re hungover.”
“No,” Vi said again. “I’m not leeching off my baby sister. Again, that’s just embarrassing.”
Jinx sighed. “Vander didn’t teach you to be so proud, you know.”
“I told you that I’d figure it out! I just need a few days.”
“Geez,” Jinx breathed. “Okay, okay.”
“Okay,” Vi muttered half-heartedly.
“I need coffee,” Jinx said randomly, suddenly sounding tired all over again.
“Alright,” Vi sighed. “I’ll let you go. Sorry for the rant.”
“It’s okay,” Jinx yawned. “It reminds me I’m not the only crazy one in this family.”
Vi opened her mouth, then closed it. She decided not to dignify that with a response, hearing Jinx snicker quietly.
“Lunch?” Jinx asked before she could process anything else.
“Are you paying?” Vi asked instantly, tilting her head.
“Fine, fine,” Jinx grumbled back. “I’ll pay for my poor, homeless sister’s lunch.”
“Hey,” Vi spat. “Not homeless yet.”
“Yet,” Jinx replied breathlessly. She let out the sigh Vi had been holding in. “Keep me updated?”
Vi nodded. She could hear the worry in her sister’s voice, no matter how much she tried to hide it. “I will,” she promised.
“You better,” Jinx quipped right back, and then she hung up.
Vi slowly shook her head and placed her phone back down on her lap, a small smile playing on her lips. With that, she got back to work searching for a place to crash, or live in, preferably. She scrolled through pages of listings and offers, moving the clicker to hover over a particular one occasionally.
She checked dozens of housing and apartment websites she found while on Google. Her heart deflated each time she checked the price of rent. At this rate, she’d do better with a roommate, someone she could split costs with. Reluctantly, she switched to Facebook, which she only had to keep up with the older half of her family. Vander still didn’t have any other social media.
She checked a few groups. Nothing. Sighing, she clicked on one of those neighborhood websites, the ones where people complained about loud kids and asked why there were sirens three blocks away. She selected her location and signed up for a profile. After a few minutes of navigating, she didn’t find anything. Most posts were old, and it was mostly the same old ladies bickering over their neighbor’s overgrown shrubs.
Giving up, Vi exited out of the website, logging out. Reluctantly, she opened a new tab and hesitated briefly before typing into the search bar. Craigslist, she typed, then hit enter without a second thought.
It was a last resort, or so she told herself.
She already had an account from when she bought and sold random shit over the years. She logged in and immediately switched to the section for renting rooms. There were a few newer posts, but they were vague and just… suspicious.
She scrolled through three more and raised her eyebrows.
Roommate Wanted (You Must Own Less Than 10 Items)
I am looking for someone who doesn’t need furniture, doesn’t need a bed, and thinks “cooking” is optional. If you have more than one spoon, do not apply. Rent is $300/mo. Must enjoy quiet, staring contests, and very little oxygen.
Roommate Needed
Looking for a roommate who doesn’t mind strange smells, weird noises, and occasional explosions (mostly minor). $650/mo. No interns.
Roommate Needed, Spiritually Inclined Preferred
Two-bedroom apartment, one friendly ghost. You must be comfortable with occasional floating objects. Rent is $500/mo. Bonus points if you can communicate with the dead.
Vi frowned. Well, this was what she got for going on Craigslist. Still, she scrolled on. She was getting desperate at this point. She clicked on the next one.
roommate
i need a roommate plz
Vi put her head in her hands and groaned.
Vi kept on going anyway.
It was well past ten at this point. She had been scrolling for a while when she suddenly stopped, her eyes scanning over the words.
A newer post. It was made late last night. It was long and actually descriptive. Unlike the others, it actually had the location tagged and a description of the person she would be living with. And, well, it looked… promising?
Vi read on, and her jaw nearly dropped.
Room for Rent – Quiet Flat in Piltover Heights
- Large private bedroom with attached bath
- Rent: $500/month (utilities included)
- Fully furnished, no pets required (though tolerated)
- Ideal for someone seeking a peaceful living space
- Must be tidy, respectful, and discreet
About me: Professional, well-traveled, often busy in the evenings. Looking for a roommate who values privacy. No drama. Non-smoker preferred.
Please reply with a short description of yourself.
Vi stared at the advertisement. It was like seeing gold under layers of rocks. It was like seeing an oasis in the middle of the desert.
She read it and read it again. Sure, it was… spotty in some points, but it was the first one that seemed actually serious. First of all, that price seemed way too low for Piltover Heights, but if they meant it, it would be a good bargain for Vi. That complex was nestled right between Piltover and Zaun. She wouldn’t be too far from her family, and she’d still be close enough to work.
Before she could help herself, she was already typing out a reply. Smirking, she hit send.
Subject: Re: Room for Rent – Piltover Heights
Hey,
My name is Vi. I am 23. Bartender/mechanic/sometimes bouncer/whatever pays the bills. My last place got jacked up to luxury prices overnight, so now I’m couch surfing and about one week from moving into a cardboard box.
I’m clean (ish). I don’t leave dirty dishes festering in the sink, but I will forget laundry until it’s a science experiment. I’m quiet when I come in late, unless someone pisses me off, then maybe not so quiet. I don’t smoke indoors, but I do like a beer or three.
I don’t care what you do at night, as long as you don’t bring home creeps or murder me in my sleep. I don’t snore, I can fix a leaky sink, and I’ll pay rent on time.
If you’re cool with all that, I’m game.
—Vi
P.S. That rent’s too good to be true, so either you’re a serial killer or you’re hiding something. If it’s the first, at least let me finish my beer before you chop me up.
Subject: Re: Room for Rent – Piltover Heights
Hello Vi,
Thank you for your candid response. Your straightforwardness is refreshing. I appreciate honesty, even in excess.
The rent is as listed. I inherited the property, so there’s no need to charge market rates. I prefer to live with someone reliable rather than attempt to maximize profit. Provided you can respect the space and my privacy, I believe we will get along.
A few things to note:
- I keep unusual hours, as you may have gathered, but I am discreet and will not disturb your rest.
- The kitchen is yours to use, though I seldom do more than make tea.
- Guests are acceptable if courteous, but I value quiet.
If you are still interested, perhaps we could meet in person to ensure compatibility. I will be home this Friday evening from 9pm onward.
Kind regards,
Caitlyn Kiramman
Vi nearly snorted when she got the reply.
It was Wednesday afternoon, nearly twenty-four hours after she sent the first email expressing her interest. She sat hunched on the ripped vinyl booth of the diner, half-warm fries shoved between her teeth as she opened the reply on her cracked phone screen. At first reading, it was polite, precise, and perhaps just a little chilly, like it was dictated on expensive stationery rather than typed into an email regarding a Craigslist ad.
Vi’s eyes narrowed as she focused. Her eyes flicked over the opening line. She snorted so hard she almost choked. Refreshing? What am I? A fucking cucumber water?
She chewed louder, scrolling. Her eyes locked onto a particular sentence next. Inherited the property.
Vi grunted and rolled her eyes. Figures. Fancy-ass, silver spoon, probably writes thank-you notes in calligraphy. She grunted again as she bit into another fry, ripping it apart with her teeth. Really great. Just what I need.
Her thumb jabbed grease onto the screen, smudging the pristine, wordy sentences. Who was this person? They were written like it was someone’s grandmother drafting business emails. It was so overly formal. They were going to be roommates after all, not business associates.
At unusual hours, Vi raised a brow. Unusual hours, huh? Yeah, sure.
Were they a hitman, or a fellow bartender perhaps? Though, they wrote way too fancy to be someone who mopped piss off bar floors. They sounded like they belonged in some Ivy League lecture hall, not a dingy, backroom bar full of drunken idiots.
Vi shrugged after thinking it over for a moment. She couldn’t judge on that part. She often had late nights, working night shifts and then hitting the gym for an hour right before it closed. She often didn’t get home until midnight, or later, and promptly collapsed into bed.
Vi kept on reading. Seldom do more than make tea. She nearly snorted again. Tea. Tea. Yep, that checked out. Definitely.
Onto the next line then. Guests are acceptable if courteous, but I value quiet.
Vi furrowed her eyebrows at that. She rarely had guests. She doubted her family would want to hang around whoever this rich snob was, so bringing them around was out of the question. Besides, all of their family gatherings for Thanksgiving and Christmas were usually held at Vander’s anyway.
Vi bit her lip. And her romantic life was… dull. Painfully dull. She hadn’t really dated since high school. She hadn’t had a serious girlfriend since college, after the woman had left to study across the country shortly after graduation. She had been Vi’s first real heartbreak.
Since then, it had just been tipsy women flirting with her as she passed them their drink and leaving their phone numbers on sticky little napkins. Oh, and the occasional quickie in the bar bathroom.
Not that Vi minded. She had more things to worry about than romance.
Vi’s thumb lingered at the bottom of the message, her fry halfway to her mouth as her eyes snagged on the closing line.
Kind regards, Caitlyn Kiramman
She read the name again. She blinked once, twice, then shoved the fry between her teeth without tasting it. Caitlyn. Fucking Caitlyn. All this time she had pictured some stiff old dude with wire-rimmed glasses and a wine cellar full of skeletons. But nope. It was a girl. A woman. Some fancy, prissy woman.
Heat crawled up her neck, absurd and unexpected. Great. A woman.
She could already hear Jinx cackling in the back of her skull. The jokes were practically writing themselves as she sat down, eating fries in the corner booth and feeling sorry for herself. Vi leaned back in the booth, tilting her head against the torn cushion, staring at the fluorescent ceiling lights. She dragged a hand down her face and read it again, then again.
Still, as the email went on, her laughter thinned into something else. Her chest felt heavy. Friday, 9pm. Meeting in person. The idea made her pulse skip. This Caitlyn—formal as a nun, rich as hell, maybe even a serial killer—had just invited her into her world.
Vi licked salt from her fingers and hummed under her breath. I guess we’ll find out if you’re a freak or just a lonely rich girl. She silently shook her head. Either way, I’m not sleeping in Jinx’s bathtub another night.
She began to type out a short reply, nothing like the one Caitlyn had sent her. Friday worked just fine. She usually worked nights at the bar, but she wasn’t working this Friday. Instead of pouring drinks for drunk people and wiping up vomit, she would be meeting her potential future roommate.
Her nose wrinkled as she looked over the woman’s long ass email address. It seemed proper and old-fashioned. It used her full surname, and the domain just sounded obscure and archaic.
Fuck. Was this woman eighty?
Frowning, Vi finished typing and sent the reply. She supposed there was really only one way to find out. She read over the reply again, suddenly feeling anxious. What if she wasn’t good enough? What if Kiramman preferred some artsy, rich snob over a muscled, tattooed bouncer? What if she wanted someone who drank tea and went to art museums instead of someone who sipped beer while watching football and came home late smelling of liquor and piss?
Shit, she really needed this. She wouldn’t have anywhere else to go. She didn’t have any other leads, and she had so little time. Vi stared down at the email as if silently willing for the strange lady to reply within milliseconds.
Sighing, she shoved the phone back into her pocket, popped the last fry in her mouth, and nearly grinned. Well, Miss Caitlyn Kiramman, let’s see what kind of trouble you really are.
Subject: Re: Room for Rent – Piltover Heights
Friday at 9 works. I’ll bring beer.
—Vi