Chapter Text
It’s starting to rain in the undercity, and Cait has forgotten to bring a coat.
Honestly, it feels like the stupidest thing to get upset about. She’s not upset, not really—or at least that’s what she tells herself as she tugs up the collar of her shirt against the rain and tucks her notes under her arm to try and protect them. It’s just, this is her first time down here, the first of what will probably end up being many research trips, and she feels like an idiot for not considering the weather. She travelled down here this morning, when the skies were still clear, but now it’s beginning to rain and her bag isn’t big enough to hold all the papers and ugh, her mother is going to give her the biggest I told you so speech when she gets back home.
Traders are beginning to pack up market stalls now that the weather has dispersed their punters, and Cait skirts around the chaos of shouting vendors and crates and lingering customers, scanning the street for some kind of cover. Finally, she spots it: a warm yellow neon sign, right at the end of the road.
The Last Drop Coffee Shop.
She makes a beeline towards it as the rain begins to come down heavier.
The smell of coffee hits her as she steps through the door. There’s soft jazz music drifting from a record player in the corner, and the coffee machine grumbles quietly as it grinds beans on the counter. There are only a few patrons in at this time of day. If the sun were visible at all through the clouds, it’d be sinking low in the sky, now. It’s got to be late afternoon, early evening maybe. Cait should think about getting home soon, unless she wants to get even more of an earful from her mother. But her notes are wet, and if she tries to head back to the bathysphere now, the paper will be unintelligible sludge by the time she makes it home.
Nobody looks up as she shakes the rain from her clothes and assesses the damage to her notes. She’d tried her best to protect them from the rain, but that most recent downpour has smudged a decent amount of ink. The papers are wet through but, at the moment, she can still make out what she’s written. Which is a win.
There’s some kind of argument behind the bar. A man—so tall and broad he casts a shadow over the steaming coffee machine—is talking sternly to a pink-haired teenager. She looks like she isn’t much older than Cait; with messy hair, dark bags under her eyes, and a black-and-white graphic tee that simply reads “The answer is NO”. Cait approaches the counter slowly, not wanting to interrupt.
“This was the deal, Vi,” the man is saying, his voice deep and firm. “You put your hours in if you want to stay here.”
“Yeah, well, that’s where there’s been some kind of mix-up.” The girl’s voice, on the other hand, is light. Almost teasing. “I don’t want to stay here.”
“Vi,” the man warns. He holds out an apron, glaring at her. “That was also part of the deal. You stay ‘til you’re better.”
The girl—Vi—scowls at him, her teasing expression dropped immediately. She snatches the apron from him, throws it over her head and begins tying the ribbon around her waist. Cait swallows. She’s definitely not captivated by how the apron hugs the curves of the barista's hips. As if she can feel herself being watched, the girl’s eyes snap to hers.
“If you’re done with the lecture,” she says to the man, nodding at where Cait stands behind him. “There are customers.”
It’s a bit of a stretch. Cait is the only customer she can see, aside from the handful of patrons already seated and cradling their beverages, but still the man spins quickly around and stutters an apology in her direction. He moves toward the till to take her order, but the young girl rolls her eyes and moves in front of him. “I got it.”
He doesn’t respond to her, instead flashing Cait a tight smile as he sheds his own apron and moves around the side of the counter to where a staircase stretches up and around a corner. Cait watches him go, then turns to find the barista staring at her expectedly, eyebrows raised.
“What can I get for you?” she prompts.
“Oh,” says Cait. “Right.”
She’s still feeling kind of frazzled, hair slicked to her face and wet notes hanging limply in her hands. “Please could I get a, uh…” She glances up at the handwritten menu, stark white chalk on the blackboard hanging behind the counter. Truthfully, Cait doesn’t really drink coffee, but there’s no herbal tea that she can see and, besides, the caffeine might do her good. “A flat white?”
The barista eyes her, warily. “Why do I get the feeling you don’t know what you just ordered?”
Cait felt herself flush red. “Ah…”
“They don’t have coffee topside, or something?”
Alright, well. That’s kind of rude. She fumbles for a response. “Well, I mean, yes … I just don’t usually drink it.”
The girl— Vi , Cait reminds herself—narrows her eyes. “Because you don’t like the taste, or because you can’t handle the caffeine jitters?”
Why do I feel like I’m going to be judged for my answer?
“The, uh, taste.”
Vi smirks. “Well, you aren’t going to like what you just ordered, then.”
Cait huffs, turning back to the blackboard. This day just gets worse. She forgets her coat and gets caught in the rain, her notes are next to ruined, and now she can’t even order a drink without being scathed. She’s honestly about to panic-order something else that she probably wouldn’t like when the girl says, “It’s fine, I’ll make something for you. Go sit down.”
Cait’s very aware of her mouth hanging open. “You’ll—”
“—Make you something,” Vi finishes for her, quirking an eyebrow. “I won’t charge. Just in case you don’t like it.”
Cait fumbles. “I mean, I can pay—”
The heat rushes to Cait’s cheeks as Vi trails a lazy gaze over her. “Yeah, sweetheart, I know you can.” She’s already turning away, leaving Cait gawking after her. “Take a seat. I’ll bring it over.”
Maybe she falters for a second as she watches Vi saunter over to the machine and busy herself pulling a shot of espresso. Maybe she has to actively make the decision to close her mouth. Cait turns away slowly and sinks down into one of the armchairs nearby. To distract herself from the flirtatious tone of the barista and the way she said sweetheart in that low, teasing voice , she tugs out her wet notes and assesses the damage.
It’s… pretty bad.
She can make out the swirl of her handwriting on the first page, but then the water has stuck the following one to the back of it, and as she tries to separate them she’s suddenly aware of the way the paper is breaking away. Not good. It’s not the end of the world, she guesses. Only a day’s worth of research without any evidence to back it up. But honestly, it’s less about not having the notes she’d made, and more about the way her mother is going to look at her when she gets back home.
She sighs. Like she needed one more thing to make her look like a failure.
The barista sets the drink down on the table in front of Cait with a lopsided smirk. “It’s a lavender latte.” She shoots her a look. “With oat milk.”
Cait snorts despite herself. “Presumptuous.”
She grins, now. “Well, I got good instincts.” She eyes Cait’s soggy papers. “Do you want to dry those off, or something? I could put the fire on.” She nods to the nearby fireplace. “You can lay them out on that table, see if you can salvage anything.”
It’s a good idea. Cait bites her lip, anxious that she might be taking liberties, here. She’s suddenly very aware that she didn’t even pay for the drink. “Are you—ah, are you sure your boss won’t mind?”
At that, Vi snorts a laugh. “That’s my dad, not my boss. And, honestly, the bar is low. As long as I’m here, he can’t get mad.”
Vi starts to scoop the wet sheets of paper from the table. She’s gentle with them, careful not to rip the soft, wet paper as she carries them from Cait’s table to one nearer to the fireplace.
“He seemed pretty mad earlier,” Cait mumbles, following suit.
Vi laughs again. “Nah. He just likes to know where I am, that’s all. Do you like the drink?”
Cait hasn’t even tried it yet. She sets her own small pile of wet notes down on the table Vi has secured by the fireplace and goes back for the drink. She takes a tentative sip, feeling the barista's eyes on her, and—well, it is good. The sweetness of the lavender offsets the bitterness of the coffee, and Vi’s oat milk instinct was the right one. It’s what she usually drinks in Piltover. She feels kind of embarrassed for assuming they wouldn’t have it down here.
“It’s… good.”
Vi smirks.
The barista busies herself heaving firewood into the hearth, and Cait tries really hard not to notice the flex of her muscles as she does it. In fact, Cait tries not to pay attention at all to the way Vi moves with practiced fluidity as she lights the fire. Yeah, sweetheart. God, why did she have to sound so sexy? Why did that one word have to keep playing on a loop in her head?
She’s the local barista. It’s almost her job to flirt with customers, right? And maybe she wasn’t even flirting, maybe that was just her personality. Cait’s holed herself away for the best part of a year to focus on her studies. It’s been a long time since she’s flirted or been flirted with. She doesn’t go out partying with the rest of her peers, doesn’t even live on campus so that she can have fewer distractions, and definitely hasn’t entertained the idea of dating since… Well, forever. Her brother Jayce has tried to set her up with a couple of his friends in the past—the ones he seems sensible —but she hasn’t found a way to tell him she isn’t interested in… Well, guys. She’s sure Jayce will be fine with it—encouraging, even—but it feels like telling him will become much bigger than the simple conversation she needs it to be. The whole business of coming out has always felt a little outdated to her. She’s always just figured she’d bring a girl home one day, and her family would just have to be cool with it.
She certainly couldn’t bring this girl home, with her choppy pink hair and tattoos snaking up her biceps and bruises on her knuckles… Not that she’s looking at her knuckles. She isn’t. She also isn’t thinking about bringing a girl home after a conversation shorter than the time it took the barista to make her drink. That would be ridiculous.
Cait takes another sip of the latte, grateful to have something in her hands to focus on so that she isn’t just sitting watching Vi like an idiot.
Fire catches on the kindling and begins to crackle to life. Vi straightens, flashing Cait a quick grin that ties her stomach in knots and then reaching out to shuffle the table a little closer to the fire. Whilst Cait chews the inside of her cheek and wonders how to rekindle the conversation, Vi is reaching out and gently beginning to peel wet sheets of paper apart.
There’s nobody behind the till, nobody manning the bar area, which makes Cait a little uneasy, given the high crime rates she’s read about. But nobody comes in through the door, and the few customers already in the coffee shop seem settled.
Sitting down in a chair opposite her, Vi squints at the paper in her hand, clearly trying to decipher Cait’s scrawled handwriting. “What is it you’re studying?”
Cait cocks her head. “How do you know I’m studying anything?”
Eyebrows raised, Vi trails her gaze over Cait’s body again, and this time Cait knows she’s flushed beetroot red. “I mean…”
“Yes, fine.” She knows she looks like a student. “Sociology.” When Vi doesn’t say anything, Cait expands: “My thesis is on survival and solidarity: community networks in Zaun’s underclass.”
That seems to pique Vi’s interest. “Oh? Cool.”
Something inside of Cait flutters. Nobody really shows that much interest in her studies. Her parents think her chosen subject is a waste of time, her professor thinks that her research is ‘unlikely to be groundbreaking’, and her peers are, frankly, more interested in drinking their way through the semester than settling on a thesis topic. It’s nice to have someone show an interest, even if Vi’s only doing it to be polite.
“So, you’re just here to—what? Observe?”
Cait smiles at the suspicious edge in Vi’s voice. “I mean, not in a creepy way. I need to identify crucial areas where community networks operate. It’s why I was spending time in the markets today.”
“Is this part of your research?” Vi gestures to the coffee shop around them. “I guess we’re kind of part of the community network.”
Cait hums. “I mean, yes, it could be. But, honestly, I just wanted to get out of the rain.”
Vi grins.
“ Vi .”
Both of their gazes snap up to the stairwell, where a younger girl—maybe fourteen or fifteen—stands at the bottom of the stairs, hands on her hips. The fury on her face, and her stance, is almost comical in contrast to the baby blue pigtails hanging by her ears and freckles speckling her cheeks.
Vi doesn’t seem alarmed. She shoots Cait an apologetic look. “Sorry—my sister.”
She stands up, straightens her apron, and heads over to the stairwell, her back to Cait, now. Cait does her best to appear like she isn’t subtly listening to their conversation. It’s not polite to eavesdrop, but their voices are just a little too loud to slip under the cover of the jazz record. She busies herself gently separating two pieces of paper that have fused together with the water. Great , she thinks, peeling them apart and watching the text blur. These won’t be salvageable.
“What did you say to Vander?” Vi’s sister hisses. Cait chances a glance toward them and sees Vi leaning casually against the wall as her sister’s cheeks flush with anger. “Why’s he up there panicking that you’re going to make a break for it any minute?” Her voice softens. “I thought we were good.”
“Pow,” Vi’s voice is light, casual. “I don’t think it’s unreasonable to want to leave the building.”
“You have left the building,” the younger girl argues. “We went for a walk yesterday .”
“Alright, alright.” Vi raises her palms in surrender. “Leave the building unchaperoned is what I meant. I’m an adult, Pow. At the minute, you have more freedom than I do. Hell, Isha has more freedom than I do.”
Her sister narrows her eyes. “Well, we trust Isha.”
Vi snorts a laugh, but the sound is humourless. “Fuck you, Pow.”
The younger girl huffs out a sigh. “Stop pissing Vander off. When he can trust you, he’ll let you out on your own, but honestly, Vi, would you trust you right now?” She raises her eyebrows, and Cait thinks she suddenly looks a lot older. Despite the pigtails. “It’s been, like, a week. We just got you back. Could you just play by the rules, just for a while?”
Vi says something else, too quiet for Cait to hear this time, and then sweeps away from her sister and back to the bar. She begins furiously cleaning glasses. Cait feigns interest in her drying papers as she feels Vi’s sister's gaze land on her, just for a moment. Then, with another huff, the girl is heading back up the stairs.
Cait chews her lip. Vi can’t leave the building? Did she hear that right? She filters through her brain, trying to come up with one scenario in which that isn’t a super alarming thing to hear.
Vi doesn’t come back over. Cait keeps watch out of the corner of her eye, but Vi is cleaning behind the bar with just a little more aggression than necessary. Whilst Cait lets her notes dry by the fire, Vi serves a couple more customers that enter the coffee shop. This time, her friendly demeanor has dropped. She’s stiff and quiet and hands them their drinks without a hint of the earlier flirtation she’d shown Cait.
Vi’s family don’t trust her. She isn’t allowed to leave the building. Cait finds her gaze drifting to the door. It’s really only a few paces away from where Vi is standing behind the counter. If she really wanted to, she could go now, right? Her dad and sister are back upstairs. There’s nobody stopping her.
Except maybe whatever awaits her when she gets back home.
This is none of my business, she tells herself, firmly. I don’t even know this girl.
Cait smooths her fingers over crinkled sheets of dried paper. As each sheet dries, she takes a minute to see if she can decipher it, taking out her pen and going back over some of the words. It isn’t all lost. There are only a couple of pages that are indecipherable, so that’s something. She can’t pretend she’s not distracted by the barista storming around behind the bar this whole time, but she manages to get a little bit of work done. She finishes the latte. It’s getting dark outside. The few customers that had been lounging around inside have begun to slink out through the front door.
Eventually, she packs up her things. If she leaves it any longer, she’s going to be in for an earful when she gets home. She runs a hand through her hair, which has dried into loose, frizzy waves. It’s only going to get wet again when she steps outside. The rain still hasn’t let up, but she’s got a plan this time to tuck the sheets of notes inside her actual shirt.
Vi is mechanically cleaning the coffee machine, her eyes glazed over. Cait doesn’t know why her heart twinges like that, seeing Vi look distracted and tense when just half an hour ago she’d seemed so, well… at ease.
Cait pauses by the counter on her way to leave. “Ah—thank you.”
Vi’s eyes snap up from the machine, suddenly breaking her focus. “Oh—right. Yeah. Sorry. Was everything okay for you?”
“Lovely,” Cait says, politely. “I, uh, should head back, now, though.”
God, why can’t I speak like a normal person?
Vi shoots a look outside. “Yeah, it’s getting dark. Still raining, though. Here—take this.” She moves out from behind the bar, digs around in a bucket by the stairwell, and pulls out an umbrella. She holds it out to Cait, expectedly. “Otherwise your notes are going to get even more ruined.”
Cait fumbles. “Oh, I couldn’t possibly—”
“Yeah, you can.” Vi is still holding the umbrella out to her. “Nobody’s going to miss it. Come on, if you feel that bad about it, you’ll just have to drop it back off sometime.” She clears her throat. “You know, when you come back to do your research.”
Right.
Cait takes the umbrella. Her fingers brush Vi’s for less than a second. It’s like electricity. She pulls back, the handle smooth in her hand. “I will. Bring it back, I mean.”
Vi shoots her a grin, and there’s a little bit of life sparkling back in her eyes. Cait pretends she can’t feel her stomach flipping as Vi says, “Alright, then. I’ll see you later.”
“See you later,” Cait breathes.
She turns the conversation over in her head on the way home, barely paying attention to her route, or the encroaching darkness, or the rain that patters gently on the skin of the umbrella. Despite being surrounded by people back in Piltover, Cait always feels so alone. She’s felt, for so long, that she’s pretending to be someone she’s not. Going through the motions. Being the girl that everyone expects her to be. It’d begun to feel so tired, so repetitive, faking smiles and engaging in meaningless conversation. She hasn’t felt… authentic in so long.
Who knew it’d only take one day in Zaun to make her feel like herself again?