Home for Christmas (Part 2)

Things are bleak, the Christmas of your dreams fading away as each minute passes.

You try to do what Vi has instructed you to do. You sit on the couch with a chipped mug of hot cocoa, warming your hands. Home Alone plays on the TV only after Jinx has played Last Christmas on loop enough times that the opening synth makes your eye twitch, and yet Vi’s absence still lingers like a shadow stretched across the room.

It clings to the empty space beside you on the couch, to the jacket still hanging by the door, to the dent in the cushion where she always drops herself down after a long day. You can’t shake it. Can’t lose yourself in the movie, or the cocoa, or even Jinx’s running commentary about how she could “definitely booby-trap a house better than that kid.”

Home For Christmas (Part 1 of 2)

You’d started dating Vi the summer before you began your first semester at Piltover College. She was there for you for every brutal exam, every late night, and every near-failure of your undergraduate program. But she was also the first one to celebrate with you when you graduated, when you debated continuing your education, and then when you were eventually accepted into Noxus’s most prestigious university. You’d applied there on a whim, thinking there was no way in hell you’d get accepted, but somehow, you did.

Truthfully, your relationship with Vi was the anchor tugging at your chest, making you ache at the idea of choosing ambition over the comfort of her arms.

But she was also the biggest advocate for your going.

“It’s such a good opportunity for you,” she argued.

“It’s too far away,” you replied. It was true; Valewood University, located in the heart of Noxus, was a grueling twelve-hour drive from Zaun on a good day. “Plus, I’m sure it’s far more expensive than any other place around here-”

She interrupted you by reaching out to gently cup your face in her hands, which always makes your brain stop.

“You’ll go, kick some smart-people ass, and I’ll still be here when you get back.” She placed a gentle kiss on your nose before releasing you. “Besides, it’s not like you’ll be in prison. We can still visit each other. Text, FaceTime… I’ll even send you love letters in the mail if you want.” She gave you a wink that made your knees weak. “It’ll be fine. Trust me, this is the best thing for you.”

And she was right.

But that didn’t make it any easier.

Tramp Stamp

It all started when you saw some prank video on TikTok. ‘Tricking my husband into thinking I got his name tattooed on me.’ You found yourself scrolling past the video, but you couldn’t seem to shake the idea. 

You decided to try it out on Vi. In your experience, Sharpie didn’t appear real at all, so you turned to the internet for help and promptly found a website that manufactured custom temporary tattoos. All you had to do was upload a photo, pay an obnoxious price for a simple Roman numeral six, and you received it in less than a week.