♡ I'm married to my problems ♡

Hands buried deep in your pockets, you fidget with the small piece of paper that brought you here. It just reads five words, hastily scribbled: ‘meet me in the studio. -F’ As you finally open the heavy oak door, it creaks familiar as you carefully push it open to not cause too much noise. You hurry inside just as the note demands you to and find yourself surrounded by canvas stands, wet brushes, paper, ink and countless other art supplies. The smell of fresh paint and graphite made you feel at home instantly.

“Fiora? … Are you here?” you ask softly into the spacious room and look around. “Hello?” In the blink of an eye, a blurred figure emerges from behind the curtains.

“Oh My God! There you are!” She throws herself into your arms without a warning.

“Whoa, what happened? Are you okay?” you ask suspiciously and return the hug a little more reserved. If anyone saw you hugging the daughter of Sebastien Laurent you might be in serious trouble. “No! No, I’m seriously not okay. I think I might die.” Your stomach drops immediately. You know her and you also know her tendency to exaggerate things, but an uneasy feeling crept up your throat nonetheless. It caused you to grab her shoulders a bit harder than necessary, forcing her to look into your eyes. “What is it? You can tell me anything!” She bit her lip and averted her gaze, redness flushing her cheeks. “I think it’s best when I show you.” Your brows knot sceptically, but you let go of her. “Do you remember what I told you about us having huge trouble finding enough recruits for the army?” You nodded quickly. It was like two weeks ago? She came to you during your lunch break and spilled the tea. It hasn’t been long since House Laurent had fallen from favor, with Fiora’s father ruining their reputation. What she did was controversial to say the least, but apart from killing her own father for his own good, it was a huge weight she had to carry. The tables turned and many good people left without a word. It was also evident in the declining numbers of new recruits. Things changed. The people averted their gaze, scrunched up their noses and turned to other families in regards to their military education. “The First Commander talked me into agreeing into a campaign. He argued that I was our best embodiment, since the people either loved or hated what I did. There’s no in between and we should use it to attract whoever's left.” “So far, that sounds pretty reasonable to me,” you shrugged, still clueless. “Yes, but I didn’t know he wanted to plaster the whole city with THESE!” She stepped aside and revealed a large canvas behind her. You blink multiple times, taking in the information, eyes flickering from the painting to Fiora and back. It showed Fiora in shiny golden armor, looking far in the distance, one hand shadowing her eyes from the sun. The big letters above her read “We scout ahead”. At the bottom were more information and a call to join the Demacian Corps. When you remained silent, she sighed deeply. “What is it?” you asked calmly, watching her face keenly.

“I…. I just hate it,” Fiora admitted, “I don’t understand how people look at it and not get sick? Tell me I don’t look like a fucking idiot!” She mimics the gesture from the portrait with ironic enthusiasm, before her expression gets sour again. “I should’ve never agreed to that. I mean… what even is this pose and the weird perspective and the huge shoulder armor?! I look like a busty version of Garen, please kill me!” You try to suppress a grin, but the way her lip shakes makes your heart heavy with concern. “Be honest, I know it’s bad. But what do you think?” she asks more reasonably, arms hugged around herself as if she shivered. “I don’t know. I think you actually look good.” A quick punch with her fist hurts your shoulder and her whole face scrunches in disbelief. “Shut up! I told you to be honest!” You shrug indifferently, “but I mean it.”

When she lunges her fist again, you hold up your hand to catch it midair. Her watery eyes bore into yours, furious but questioning.

“Fiora, come on. Are you serious?” You needed a moment to wrap your head around it, but you guess she really needed to hear it. Unlucky that it was you of all people who needed to tell her. “Fine. You are gorgeous, okay? Your eyes are the most beautiful shade of blue, your smile shines brighter than the morning sun and your body is in fantastic shape. You’ve proven more than once that you owe a mind as sharp as your blade. Also, I think the armor, it just screams authority. Sure it's gold-gold, but we're in Demacia and subtlety was never our thing, so why not do it properly?” The hand you weren’t aware you were still holding slips through your fingers and her expression softens a bit, as she stares at the painting, visibly thinking. After a moment of silence, you catch her gaze. The setting sun kissed her ocean blue eyes into a turquoise shade and it made your knees weak.  Her voice cut through the calm as a mere whisper “You think I’m gorgeous?” “I do.” You step a bit closer so you can put a hand on her back to softly pat her. “They will come, because of you and what you did. I'm sure.” You try to sound convincing without your voice breaking, but you’re not sure how she will take it. A part of you expects to get hit once more. But she doesn’t. “Thank you, it’s really sweet of you,” she gives you a halfhearted smile, but her dimples drop very fast. “But there’s more to it.” Hesitantly, she runs her fingers through her hair and sits down on the next best stool. It’s weird seeing her on a simple wooden stool. But it’s also exemplary for her, you think to yourself. She never made a fuss about ancestry or etiquette. “It’s just… I hear them talk behind my back. All the time. The court ladies, the soldiers, the nobles… they call me heartless and arrogant or that I just need the right man to teach me manners.“ She sighs and fidgets with her hands in her lap. “You know… most of the time I don’t care. I know it's hard for them to adjust and accept the changes. But I saw this and it dawned on me.“ Her voice grew thinner and she averted her gaze from the painting as if she couldn’t bear to watch herself any longer. “As long as I’m of use for the greater good they tolerate me, because I can help them get what they want. But anything apart from that?” You can see how the corner of her eyes fill with tears “I’m afraid they’ll respect neither me nor my decisions for who I am.” “They will,” you answer instantly. She shyly looks up to you, chewing her lip. “They will?” You squat down to be eye level with her. “Yes. Maybe not today and maybe not till the end of summer, but the day will come. And you know why?” She shakes her head slowly, a single tear running down her cheek. “Because you’re not giving up so easily.” Slowly and carefully you wipe away the salty drop before it reaches her jawline. Her skin feels hot under your palm and she watches you through her lashes with doe eyes. Another wave of sympathy washes over you, pinches at your heart and makes speaking the next words much harder. 

“You are the Grand Duelist. You are Fiora Laurent, the proud leader of the finest bladecraft within the kingdom. You deserve respect and loyalty and empathy.” “Thank you,” she breathes and pulls you into a tight hug. 

This time you delightly return it regardless of who might see you, because it didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered was that you two were holding each other, feeling the prickling warmth of mutual affection.

You breathe in the light floral scent of her hair and just hold her, whispering “As long as we’re together, I promise we’ll find a way.”