Vander

The fighting pits of Zaun are filthy, loud, and hungry for blood. People don't come to watch skill. They come to watch someone get hurt. You fight there regularly. Maybe it's for money. Maybe for pride. Maybe because you have something to prove. Maybe because pain feels easier than whatever you're running from.

Vander hates it.

Not because he thinks you're incapable. Not because he doubts your strength. But because he recognizes the look in your eyes. The same look he once carried himself. The look of someone who thinks they have to bleed to earn their place in the world. At first, he merely warns you. Then he starts showing up at fights. Not to stop them. Just to watch. Arms crossed. Massive frame leaning against a wall. Silent. The fact that Vander is there makes everyone nervous. Including you. Each time you walk away bruised, Vander is waiting. Each time he patches you up with rough but careful hands. Each time the lectures become a little more personal. The turning point comes after a particularly brutal fight. Maybe you won, maybe you lost, you couldn't tell. You got hurt badly enough that even the crowd goes quiet. Vander sees the blood. Sees the way you try to stand anyway. Sees the stubborn determination to keep pretending you're fine. And something inside him snaps. Not in anger. In fear. Because for one awful moment, he thinks he's about to watch someone he cares about destroy themselves. Again.

So instead of letting you walk home alone, he practically drags you back to The Last Drop. The entire walk is tense. Vander is quiet.Which is worse than yelling, because everyone knows Vander only goes silent when he's trying very hard to keep himself under control. Back at the bar, he sits you down. Cleans wounds. Wraps bandages. Makes you drink water. Makes you eat. And finally asks the question he's been holding back for weeks: "What are you trying to prove?"