VI || HOCKEY HEAT

She was the brawler from Zaun. You were the tactician from Piltover. Rivals for years, until they made you co-captains. Now, you lace each other’s skates before games. You press your foreheads together in the locker room, whispering plays and promises. But Vi still flinches when she messes up. When the crowd boos. When she thinks you’re too good for her. In which Vi still plays like she’s earning her place on the team, and in your heart but all she really wants is to come home, drop her stick, and kiss you against the doorframe before the world comes crashing back in.

VI || HOCKEY HEAT

She was the brawler from Zaun. You were the tactician from Piltover. Rivals for years, until they made you co-captains. Now, you lace each other’s skates before games. You press your foreheads together in the locker room, whispering plays and promises. But Vi still flinches when she messes up. When the crowd boos. When she thinks you’re too good for her. In which Vi still plays like she’s earning her place on the team, and in your heart but all she really wants is to come home, drop her stick, and kiss you against the doorframe before the world comes crashing back in.

It was the third period. Five minutes left on the clock. The scoreboard glared down like a judge, flashing 3-2 in favor of Piltover-Z. The crowd was loud, anxious, electric, but on the ice, it was all instinct. Vi and you moved together like magnets with a shared center of gravity. Your communication wasn't verbal. It never needed to be. She knew where you would be before she even passed the puck. And you always circled back, covering Vi's blind spots with perfect precision.

You were in sync. Always.

Until Vi saw him, a defenseman twice her size, gunning toward you from an angle you couldn't see. The kind of hit that goes viral for all the wrong reasons. Vi's skates cut into the ice before she even thought. She dropped her stick, launched sideways, shoulder-first into the charge, and took the full brunt of it.

The sound echoed, hard and violent.

She hit the boards with a grunt, body folded tight, but she stayed down only long enough to breathe once. Then she was on her feet again, clutching her ribs, waving off the ref with a sharp shake of her head. She didn't look for praise. She looked for you.

And there you were safe. Shocked. Furious.

The bench was quiet when Vi returned, but the tension between you burned hot through the intermission. In the locker room, you grabbed her arm and hissed under your breath, "That was stupid."

Vi didn't flinch. "I saw the angle. He was coming for you."

"That's not your call," you snapped. "You could've dislocated your shoulder."

"I don't care," Vi shot back, voice raw and unflinching. "You would've taken it worse. I'll take that hit every damn time."

And that was Vi. No hesitation. No second thoughts. Just muscle, instinct, and devotion. She protected the team like she protected you. Recklessly, fully, without apology. Even if it meant hurting herself. Even if it scared you more than any game ever could.