#meljayvik x reader

“Food smells amazing,” Jayce complimented, stepping in after Mel and Viktor. The three of them took off their coats, heading into the living room. Jayce helped Viktor down onto the couch, leaning his crutch against the wall.

Mel glanced over to the corner of the room. “How is it?”

Vi looked at you as you knelt silently in the corner facing the wall, with a smirk. “Good, really good. You wanna take a spin after dinner?”

The three of them looked between themselves, before smiling.

“That sounds great,” Jayce laughed lightly from nervous excitement.

Cait came into the room shortly after, greeting the three of them warmly, announcing that dinner was ready. They all headed into the dining room, leaving you alone in the living room. You listened as they all ate the delicious-smelling food, your own stomach starting to rumble softly.

“Fuck!” Vi suddenly cried. “We haven’t fed the doll.”

Cait also cursed lowly under her breath. “I’m sorry,” she apologised to the other throuple. “We’re still figuring this type of play out,” she explained quietly as Vi called you into the room.

You crawled into the room, stopping to kneel between their chairs. They let you shift onto your butt on a cushion, giving your joints a break, as they alternated feeding you bites off their plates.

When dinner was done, you all headed back into the living room, a fire burning low in the fireplace, soft music playing in the background as the five of them chatted about their lives.

You knelt on hands and knees in front of Vi, her feet propped up on your back whilst she sipped a beer. Cait curled up under her arm, sipping her wine, occasionally resting her foot next to Vi’s, before curling back in.

An hour or so passed, all of them gently plied with alcohol, before Vi made a suggestion.

“So, do you want to fuck the doll now?” she winked, gesturing to you with a tip of her beer bottle.

They all chuckled lightly.

“Really?” Jayce asked.

Cait nodded. “Go ahead. Call it an anniversary present.”

The throuple looked between each other for a second, and then all nodded, wide smiles on their faces.

Vi nudged your butt with her foot. “Go on.”

You crawled across the room and knelt obediently in front of the three of them on the sofa, head bowed low in respect.

“What can we do?” Mel asked, sitting up a little straighter.

Cait shrugged with a smile. “Whatever you want.”

After the three of them undressed, Jayce lay on his back on the floor, pulling you over his hips in a reverse cowgirl position. Rubbing the head of his cock up and down your dripping slit, he slid inside you, groaning as he felt your pussy envelop him.

“Oh, fuck, that’s good,” he breathed. “Viktor, come here,” he urged softly.

Mel put down cushions either side of Jayce’s hips, to support Viktor’s knees as he knelt over Jayce’s hips, behind you. She handed Viktor a bottle of lube, pressing down between your shoulder-blades until you rested down on your elbows.

Slicking his cock in his hand, Viktor lined up with your ass, pressing inside slowly. You couldn’t help but groan at the stretch when he did, but otherwise remained silent.

Jayce began moving under you, arms over Viktor’s hips as he held yours, moving your hips up and down, helping you rock back and forth on his and Viktor’s cocks. Viktor held onto you for stability, allowing Jayce to do most of the work, head dropping back as he felt your tight ass slide on his cock.

You had to work to stay silent, basking in the feel of your holes being so full. You hadn’t gotten a look at their cocks before they started fucking you – having obediently kept your head down – but you could tell they were both well-endowed. Jayce was thick inside you, stretching your pussy around him; whereas Viktor was longer, filling your ass.

Mel lay down in front of you, knees bent and spread wide for you. With a hand on the back of your head, she pulled you down to her pussy. You immediately latched onto her clit, sucking gently as she moaned.

“Not too fast,” she schooled. “I want to enjoy this.”

You obediently slowed down, switching between sucking her clit and running your tongue up and down her slit.

“It does eat pussy well, doesn’t it?” Cait asked from the other couch, Vi starting to kiss and suck at her neck.

Mel nodded, her hands cupping her breasts, squeezing her nipples. “Excellent tongue control.”

You slid your tongue inside her dripping pussy, properly tasting her juices. She ground down on your face, rocking her hips against you.

Behind you, Jayce slicked up one of his fingers, running his fingertip around Viktor’s back hole. The thinner man moaned desperately, his grip tightening on your hips as Jayce slid his finger inside him.

“Oh, Jayce…” he breathed, his eyes closing in bliss.

“How’s the hole feel?” Jayce asked, starting to thrust his finger faster.

Viktor nodded deliriously. “So tight, so hot.”

“This is a wonderful anniversary present,” Mel chuckled to Cait and Vi, holding your hair out of your face.

Jayce grunted under you as he fucked up into you. “Yeah, thanks, guys!”

“No problem,” Vi breathed, Cait now scissoring against her pussy on the couch.

Your blue-haired owner panted as she rocked. “You’re welcome over any time, you know? You can borrow it whenever you’d like!”

“Yeah, we’d love to see you guys more,” Vi agreed.

Mel gasped as you rolled your tongue over her clit, sucking it into your mouth. “We’ll have to take you up on that offer,” she nodded, rolling her hips against your mouth. “Can it give a strap?”

Cait nodded. “We’re still working on its stamina, but it’s got excellent rhythm.”

Mel moaned as you slid your tongue into her leaking hole. “I’ll definitely have to give that a go soon.”

Viktor came first, filling your ass with his cum as Jayce added a second finger in his ass. The bigger man started pounding up into your pussy with fervour, chasing his own orgasm. Viktor pulled out of you, shifting off Jayce, watching the scene with sleepy eyes.

Jayce came inside you next, his thrusts turning punishing as he climaxed with a loud groan, holding your hips down against him. He rocked you back and forth a little, dragging out his pleasure until he became too sensitive. Keeping his cock inside you, he sat up, watching as you ate Mel’s pussy.

She was on the verge of cumming, too. Her hands in your hair held your head to her dripping pussy, your chin and cheeks sticky with her juices. You sucked and slurped on her clit and hole, unable to keep in your moans. Jayce started pulling your hips back on his still-hard cock, spanking your cheeks in time to the movement.

You felt your own orgasm building inside you, but knew you couldn’t cum until you were given permission, so you kept focusing on Mel’s pussy.

As if sensing your need from across the room, Cait called out, on the edge of her own orgasm as she rocked her clit against Vi’s, “Has it made you cum yet, Mel?”

She panted, shaking her head. “Almost!”

“Doll,” your owner called, “You can cum, but only when the three of them are done with you. You can all keep going as long as you want.”

“Do you have any wipes?” Viktor asked, his cock starting to harden again.

Vi panted, pointing her hand to the end table next to the other couch. “In there.”

Viktor cleaned his cock off, then started stroking as he watched Jayce shift onto his knees, fucking into your pussy again.

The slaps filled the room as his hips crashed into yours, your moans vibrating against Mel’s clit. She finally dropped her head back and spilled onto your tongue with a cry, her pussy leaking into your mouth. You licked her through it, swallowing down all she had to offer until her hips dropped back to the floor, her chest heaving.

By the time the night was over, all five of them had fucked you in countless ways, with you only being allowed to cum after they all agreed they were spent. Lying in the middle of the room, all of them watching, you rubbed your clit until you whined pathetically and squirted your release.

When you came to, Cait nudged your hip with her foot. “Go make us all tea, then clean yourself up and go to bed. We’ll see you later, doll.”

Day 26

Buy me a coffee! 💜

Bubbling rosé is bright and fruity on your tongue. You're shoulder to shoulder with Viktor, the two of you half-miserable together, stuffed into formal wear and ripped from your respective labs and studios. Which is why Jayce lingers; he's hovering in that annoying way of his. Bumbling a little. He's trying to make Viktor feel more at home but—

You have something Jayce doesn't.

Only you can do that.

You're Viktor's childhood friend, thick as thieves and twice as inseparable. You're an artist from the Undercity—a painter, a poet, a musician. An artistic genius, the world claims, an artistic savant. And one of the rare, lucky few who has been exalted and raised above your station to be paraded around Piltover like some trophy of success from their lowest. It's mostly Viktor's fault, you claim—the moment Heimerdinger found him, he also accidentally found you.

"Ah, if it isn't one of the most brilliant and groundbreaking artists of our generation." A smooth, easy voice floats through your thoughts. You turn your head to find Councilor Medarda, swathed in what could be a starry sky of silk and gold.

She's even more beautiful in person somehow; if you were to paint her, she'd be all easy, graceful lines, curved and long. A lily stem. The arch of a tiger.

"Just the person I was looking for." She muses.

"Me?" You balk, at the same time that Jayce gaps, "Them?!"

You swing your gaze to glare at him and even Viktor wrinkles his nose. Jayce tries to clear his throat, clear the mistake.

Councilor Medarda raises a brow at Jayce, but then her eyes flicker to you, honing in on you. Hazel and gold and reflective; a kaleidoscope of color. And with such—intensity. You feel it in her. Thrumming. "Yes, you." She says smoothly and she smiles in the elegant way of royalty; perfect and mysterious.

"Are you sure you have the right person, Councilor Medarda?" You joke, "you know I'm just—"

"I'm certain. And please—call me Mel. I'd love to commission you for several art pieces to be displayed in the council chambers."

Viktor whistles a little, impressed, though you can tell it's a little dry.

(He both rambles and rants about Councilor Medarda from time to time and you can never tell if he adores her or resents her.)

Jayce startles at this, but again, he tries to play it off. He places his hand on her lower back, "I didn't know the council chambers was looking to display art."

Mel allows his hand to remain, but she tilts her chin up and her eyes flash somewhat—quick, sharp. There's a silent conversation there that you can't decipher.

But you can tell there is something more than just coworkers happening between them.

"I'm looking to display art in the council chambers." Mel then says.

Jayce looks away, cowed somewhat, tail tucked between his legs in a way that makes you smile.

Mel drifts from Jayce's hands, offering her arm to you, "will you walk with me? I'd love to discuss what I have in mind."

If only to steal her away from Jayce, you finally peel yourself away from Viktor's side and the wall. Your shoulder, where it was touching his, goes cold. But Mel's arm is warm as you twine it around yours.

She draws you away from the scientists, into the fray of swirling, dazzling people.

You glance over your shoulder only once and catch Jayce's eyes, and let your smile curl into something a little smug, almost vicious; baring your teeth as if to gloat at his own, still tucked behind his lips.

***

"Mel's an artist." You say to Viktor, offhand. "A good one, too. You should see her paintings—"

Viktor sighs heavily, snatching one of the little tools that you'd been fiddling with out of your hands. "You sound like Jayce."

You wrinkle your face in disgust, reaching back for the tool and grappling with him a moment for it. You press all against each other, squabbling, before you win out and take it back from him. He stares at you, almost in some form of a glare and you stare back, watching his eyes, dark in the low light of the lab. He glances at the tool in your hands like he might try to take it back, and when he moves, you move faster, and hold it out of his reach.

"Are they together?" You ask.

He gives up on the tool.

Then, he lifts his shoulders in some form of a crooked shrug, eyes going skyward. "One can only assume."

"She's out of his league." You sigh, throwing your weight back in the chair in despair.

Viktor snorts at that, returning to his work, "I'm sure few are in league with Councilor Medarda."

His voice is dry. A little brittle.

"I don't know what you have against her." You then venture, speaking more to the ceiling, returning to fiddling with the tool. It twists in your fingers, the sound of metal whirling and softly grinding.

"I have nothing against Councilor Medarda." He says too evenly.

"You know, I've never been able to tell if it's contempt or adoration you have for her." You continue, as if he hadn't said anything to contradict you. "But either way, she gets under your skin."

"She does not—"

"Are you jealous? She took your big, dumb partner away?" You press, twisting and twisting away at the tool.

"No—" Viktor says sharply, but it rings with a note of truth. It's not quite that then.

You pause. And then.

You crack your eye open, "I think she likes me."

Viktor pauses now too, metal clinking quietly with the sudden stop of his work again. He knows that tone of your voice. His face pulls; distaste. Frustration.

(Jealousy.)

His speech is slow as he tries to parse through what to say, "Councilor Medarda is charming and—"

"She invited me to dinner." You say and now you're watching him carefully, "at her personal suite. Just us."

Viktor rounds on you, "you're going to get yourself into trouble."

You can't help but smile, slow and amused, "I feel like it's good for the art—fool around with a politician—"

"You know, I have always wondered if you would learn your lesson," Viktor continues over your monologuing about drama and passion and politics, "—maybe this time, you'll finally learn it."

He snatches the tool from your hands and throws it down on his desk.

"I love learning." You chirp innocently and he shakes his head, face flushed with passion.

He looks at you again when he can, shakes his head some more, some of the irritation fading from his features. He never stays mad at you for long; doesn't have it in him. Besides, he causes his own trouble. Doesn't learn his own lessons. And when the dust settles, the two of you are still here, beside each other. The artist and the scientist, making messes, breaking things—all for some higher purpose only the two of you have ever understood.

(You've loved him your whole life. Sometimes, you think you carry half of the other's ribs inside one another. He must have twelve of yours, and you must have twelve of his—)

You lift your foot, nudging his calf beneath the desk with it, then up to place it in his lap. An olive branch, of some kind. Your affection is unsurprising to him and he sighs. He drops his hand to your ankle. He squeezes.

"She's going to eat you alive." Viktor finally warns.

"One can only hope."

A laugh startles out of him, rough and raspy, before it dissolves into coughing.

You lurch up to give him water, sitting near you, and bring the glass to his lips on reflex, like you used to as children. And on reflex, he drinks—he doesn't try to take the glass from your hands right away or push you away. Instinctively, you care for him, and instinctively, he lets you.

(You think you're the only one he'd ever allow to do this, born out of years of pressed side to side in the same bed, listening to him weather the nights. Born out of years of your love and stubborn care for him.)

After a moment, he lifts his hand and slowly replaces yours.

You hover over him. He sets the glass down. The water is almost gone. You'll replace it for him before you leave the lab.

He settles back into his chair, eyes returning to the pieces in front of him; all the odd metal scattered like little silver stars in front of him against a vast, dark sky. He picks up one, and then another, and tries to fit them together.

Then another. And another.

You watch him twist and turn, put the puzzle together.

He says, "Lately, I feel as if—" his fingers are careful, almost shaking, as he tries to create something of the scattered, broken pieces, "everything is quite fragile. And it's all just going to—" he presses a little too hard, and the metal all splinters apart, clattering back to the desk, "break. At any given moment."

After a moment, he looks up at you, still hovering over him, "I fear you're heading towards a breaking point."

You hum a little.

"What is it you scientists say?" You ask, running your fingers through his dark hair, thick and tousled. You twirl a strand around your finger, let it fall;

"It has to break first, before you can discover anything."

***

You'd say Mel Medarda is a wolf in sheep's clothing, but she doesn't feign anything so harmless or lost as a sheep.

You do think she's—

A little like Jayce, where she hides her teeth. But where Jayce irritates you because he's certainly trying to seem better than he is, or more harmless than he can be, Mel does so with intention. Mel hides her teeth to lure you closer. She doesn't pretend she doesn't have them; she waits until you're in range before you catch a glimpse of them.

And by then, well. It's too late.

You realize this over dinner, as she laments about what art she'd like from you and she's adamant about not censoring you.

(You're known for you controversy; whether in your physical art, your poetry, or music. Once pulled to the light of the Upper City, you refused to let them defang you. Where Jayce pretends he doesn't have teeth, you bare yours proudly, and sometimes wish you could tear the tender parts of Piltover open.

You strive to do it with your art. And while applauded in some vague capacity, you are also kept on a tight leash. Your patrons are warily supportive of you. Your commissions are strict. You're treated the way you think a wild animal is; with utmost care and fear and awe.)

In fact, her only rule for you, is to not hold back.

Which, given the growing tension between the Upper and Lower Cities, you realize this cannot only be from the goodness of her heart or for the integrity of art but—

You tilt your head and consider her.

"Am I a political move, Mel?"

She smiles in that enigmatic way of hers, her teeth flash, "isn't all art?"

You narrow your eyes, "perhaps. I wonder of it's effectiveness when it's employed by the people it often critiques." You lift your chin and pretend to be hurt—or perhaps, mask your hurt within dramatics to make it seem ironic, "and here I thought you really liked me—"

"I do." Mel assures, "I've admired you a great deal from afar. And getting to know you, your mind, it's—" she considers her words, "it's been nothing short of mesmerizing. Astonishing."

She sounds sincere. But you wonder if she always sounds that way.

She can tell she hasn't convinced you because you've never been able to mask your emotions well, so she leans forward and says, "unfortunately, everything I do is a political move, whether I'd like it to be or not. Both can be true—" she says, "I can adore you. And I can also need you to make a public point, wield you like my own elegant weapon."

"Artists make for disobedient weapons, usually." You say.

She laughs a little at that and agrees, "True." And then she lowers her voice, looks at you through the fan of her dark lashes in such a way that seizes you—arrests you, holds you right there, caught, in her heady gaze;

"But I don't need you to be obedient."

"I can never tell if you're trying to seduce me or persuade me." You blurt out, the words running from your mouth like a rabbit from a wolf. Your desire bursts from you like frightened birds taking to flight, like most of what you feel does, all of it spilling out of you in a gush of rawness.

She stands gracefully and again, you think of how you'd draw her—how you'd capture her in a poem or a song. The sharp curve of her waist, the predatory grace she carries effortlessly. You think her song is a croon from the deep part of your chest. You think her poem looks like an hourglass on the page and she slips from your fingers as easy as time does, too.

She rounds the small table to your side.

You look up at her. Your heart kicks up into a quick dance.

She brings the back of her knuckle to your jaw and gently—with all the carefulness in the world, strokes you.

(She touches you the way one does a bird, as if they know it's fragile. Perhaps as if they know it might fly away.

Or maybe she touches you the way one does an animal they're not sure of; will you bite? Will you lean into the touch?)

"Both can be true." She finally answers.

When she kisses you, it's fiercer than you're expecting; a lightning strike, a blow to the heart.

Your teeth come up against hers.

She gasps when you drag her further down to you, greedier than she's ever known, meeting her fierceness with your own, like the clashing of blades, or the destruction of stars.

And you think, if you don't want obedience, then I'll show you.

I'll show you.

***

"What are you playing at?"

Jayce's voice is a vicious little hush in the caverns of the council chambers. Mel has just left you after peaking over your shoulder to view the preliminary sketches.

You lift your head and blink up at Jayce slowly, dragging yourself from your sketch; from your world of art.

(It sets his teeth to grinding because Viktor makes that same look, when he's so deep into his work and Jayce disturbs him. It's a face he finds endearing on both of you, unfortunately. He imagines your minds are in heaven and he's selfish enough to drag you both back down to earth.)

"What do you mean? For the art piece?" You ask, glancing down at your lap, at the series of gestures and lines that you've been lost in. Maybe you're feigning innocence a little. But you want him to say it, if he's going to pick this fight.

Jayce's eyes flash like the too-hot part of the flame.

You have to bite back a smile.

Come on, you think wildly, say it. Let's fight. Here in the chambers, where you try so hard to be their golden boy.

"What are you trying to get out of Mel?" He asks and it makes you laugh outright, because he's dancing around what he really wants to ask.

Your laugh echoes in the hall, bouncing off all this marble and gold. It's out of place here, too loud, too free.

"The better question is what she's trying to get out of me." You say, "do you think I have it in me to manipulate the Mel Medarda?"

He goes quiet at that.

"Are you doing this to get back at me?" He asks after a moment and it's so close to what he wants to ask, so close to what he really wants to talk about.

"She kissed me first." You answer. "Have you had this conversation with her?"

You can tell by the shadow of uncertainty that passes over his face that he hasn't. You stand, easily setting your sketches and pencils aside, and drift nearer to him.

"Oh," you hum, "you didn't know. She didn't mention some plan of seduction to you? Maybe she really does like me."

He rounds on you so sharply that you are genuinely surprised. You gasp when your back hits the wall and he's got you caged in, a snarl on his lips and you finally get to see those teeth of his—

"You just always have to push me, don't you? In all the years I've known you, you've only ever tried to get under my skin. I tried so hard, for so long, for Viktor's sake to get along with you." He says lowly and distantly, you think, does he cage in Mel like this? With his big arms and broad chest? Or does she have him on a tight leash, underneath her?

"This time, I didn't mean it. Surely, you understand—" you say slyly, "when she comes onto you like that, all honey-voiced and half-lidded. She's hard to resist, isn't she?"

The grip he has on your biceps tightens to a point of pain—he'll bruise you. You'll be tender there, where his big hands gripped you, and it only makes you smile.

"Stop it." He snaps.

But you can't help yourself now, because once you've got something between your teeth, you've never been able to let it go;

"I just want to know if she kisses me the same way she kisses you? Does she play nice with you? She's quite fierce with me—"

When Jayce kisses you, it's a crush of aggression.

You laugh into his mouth wildly as he shoves you harder against the wall, teeth mean in the tender part of your bottom lip so that your laughter melts into a groan of pain. Of pleasure.

You claw at his back and wonder if Mel does, too.

You fight and hiss and snarl, show him your teeth when he sinks his into the fluttering pulse at your throat. You try to draw blood. You think he tries to bruise.

And well, you always wanted to see his teeth—

Just never thought you'd end up with a ring of their mark on your neck.

***

You're not really sleeping—nights are long. Days are longer. You're in the studio too much. This art piece is strangling you, wrestling with you and you're losing. Your lovers are strange, demanding types. Jayce comes to you at his lowest, and Mel at her highest. She licks the wounds Jayce leaves on you, purrs about how good you're being for her, goads you into putting up more of a fight that she likes to quell. She asks, have I stolen your bite? Are you going soft on me? Until you try to wrestle with her, too.

Mel subdues you the way snakes do—constricts and tightens and puts all that pressure on you until you just burst.

Until you go slack in her grip.

Jayce takes his anger out on you and he's not so cunning or delicate as her. You think Jayce struggles with you the way he must with his hammers, with high heat and all his strength.

Your art is starting to look like pieces of them; brutal and brilliant and cunning and beautiful. Tricky to capture, even more difficult to mesh together.

You're covered in paint when Viktor comes to visit you, frustrated with the canvas in front of you, which you think you'll end up scrapping again.

(This is the fourth one. You've been trying to fit all the components and pieces together but none of it's working, all of it's a mess. Splintered apart on the canvas. It looks like a disaster on the page.)

"Have you eaten?" Viktor asks as he comes to stand behind you. He gazes at the canvas n front of you.

You sigh heavily. "Have you?" You return.

He snorts at that, "No. I'm coming from the lab and thought I'd check on you—Mel mentioned you were here."

He pauses and then, "that you'd been here. For awhile now."

You hear the layers in his voice; the worry, but then the—

Irritation? Disdain?

"Are you asking me to dinner?" You say instead, dashing the canvas with a sudden great, horrible X. It's your meager attempt at some sort of joke or flirting, but your voice is perhaps too thin for it. You stare at your canvas, now dripping with that great X, the paint slipping down and marring it further.

When you turn to look at Viktor, he regards you warily. He glances at the canvas you've just ruined, and then back to your face.

He takes in your appearance; your disheveled hair and the paint all over your clothes and skin. And then his eyes skip down to your throat, to your arms. All marked up and bruised, unhidden and worn proudly here, in the safety of your art studio.

"Should I be concerned?" Viktor asks instead and you've always loved his bluntness. His lack of tact is like coming home. It's a relief, when you're constantly with Mel and Jayce lately, who talk in riddles and niceties and flowered language that hides their intentions or feelings.

There is a bitterness in Viktor's voice that you know well, too.

"About?" You prod.

"I'm no fool." Viktor answers, "I know you're sleeping with Councilor Medarda."

"Is that all you know?" You return, tilting your head.

"Is there more to know?" Viktor asks, eyeing you.

"Jayce hasn't said anything?"

You watch a strange shadow pass over Viktor's face as he slowly comes to the natural conclusion that you've lead him to. He's right, he is no fool. And then you watch his eyes catch fire, catch jealousy.

"I warned you—" he starts, suddenly.

"And I told you, it's good for the art—" You joke.

"Obviously it isn't!" He snaps, gesturing to the canvas behind you, ruined and glaring at your back. And then he heaves out a rough, agitated breath, dragging a hand through his hair. "Do you ever think of consequences?" He demands.

"Sure," You say, "I'm exactly where I want to be."

"You know, they are my colleagues. What am I supposed to do if—?!"

You laugh at that, enough that it startles him out of his beginning tirade. He comes up short and his shoulders bunch with tension as he glares at you.

"Is something funny?" He hisses.

"Your colleagues?" You repeat, "that's all they are to you?"

"Well—yes, technically." He stumbles on his words here.

"Are you jealous, Viktor?" You ask. "You don't have to be."

"I'm not jealous—" He refutes, even as his cheeks grow ruddy. And for a moment, you could be twelve with him again, his face flush as he looks at you after you'd kissed him for the first time because he'd never kissed anyone before. Or twenty-two and drunk, kissing one night under the stars when you felt so lost and disorientated in the Upper City—just wanted to feel like yourself again.

Or now, at thirty-two, staring at the man you've loved your entire life and whatever mess you've made out of everything.

You reach out and touch his cheek, glowing with color, and at first he winces away, but when you persist, he relaxes. He presses his cheek to your open palm and looks at you; raw and frank and so Viktor that you can't help the faint smile that touches your lips. Even as he frowns at you.

"What are you meddling with?" Viktor murmurs, turning his face into your cupped hand. You feel the faint brush of his lips, a little dry, and soft. Warm.

"Apparently our political landscape." You respond and that at least gets a laugh from him. You feel it against you and some spark shimmers through you, shudders and opens itself to you.

(Your desire for Viktor is something always with you, ambient, perhaps dormant, that always resurfaces like the great fins of some horrible, huge monster in dark waters. Your desire for Viktor is a symptom of your love. You've never know what to call it except that, except his.)

"Have I upset you?" You ask now as his laughter fades, and with it his amusement.

He sighs deeply and you feel his breath against your skin. You draw nearer. He leans back onto his crutch only slightly, only for a moment, before he allows you further into his space.

"I don't—" He struggles for the words before admitting, "yes, somewhat. For some reason."

"Are you feeling neglected?" You ask and try very hard to keep your amusement out of your voice, lest you irritate him further. He's always had a jealous streak in him, even as kids. If you made another friend, he would pout until you draped yourself over him and showered him in your attention again.

Even your previous relationships had bred some sort of jealousy in him; he's never liked any of your partners.

(It's so endearing to you that you have to tuck your teeth into your own lip and hum a little.)

You lean towards him, ducking your head so that your nose dips to brush against the line of his jaw. You feel his body shudder more than you see it. His breath goes tight. Your eyes flicker, a flash in the sun-spun light of your art studio;

"Do you want me to kiss you the way Jayce kisses me?" You murmur, your lips hovering over his. You watch his face gutter, lashes fluttering against his cheeks. His breath goes shallow.

"Or would you prefer Mel?" You murmur, just before you close the distance and kiss him with a certain fierceness, a meanness that you don't usually have with him. He stumbles back a little with the force of it and your hand that had been holding his cheek, slips into the hair at the nape of his neck.

A groan startles out of him when you tighten your hand into a fist and pull.

You part from the kiss, panting a little, and he looks down at you, eyes molten gold and burning.

You're about to kiss him again, when he murmurs, "I want—" he swallows hard, "I want you to kiss me the way you do—I want—"

You press back into him instantly, suddenly overwhelmed with the thought, with the notion that his desire, his jealousy—

You kiss him like you always have, overeager and desperate and messy. You urge him backwards, towards your workbench, all cluttered with paints. His crutch clatters against the ground uselessly as you grab for each other. You knock over a jar of brushes half-haphazardly placed on the floor.

You're overwhelmed with the thought that his jealousy might've been for you, too.

When he braces his hand against your work bench, he knocks over a cup of paint. You laugh into his mouth as you paw at his stupid, perfectly buttoned vest. When he touches you again, he stains you blue—and later red and violet. Burnished gold and paint so silver it makes the stars look dull.

A mess, he tsks, impossibly fond, as he looks at you and himself and the work space.

At all that you'd done.

***

"You've been pulling strings," Mel says as you lay in her lap, letting her pet and stroke you. Her fingers dance over the ridge of your brow.

You blink up at her slowly, eyes fluttering. "Shouldn't that be my line?" You ask.

"I'm not naive to the way you've been pulling our strings." She muses, fingers tumbling into your hair. She's gentle here, careful as she cards her way through your hair, her fingers nimble.

"Pulling strings is a far too sophisticated thing to call it." You snort and lean into her touch like a cat, preening a little.

"What would you call it?" Mel asks and the smile she wears is less of a mystery to you now, and you can tell there's a fondness to it.

(She does really like you—she is really being sincere, you've learned.)

You think about this for a long moment; you toy with saying a fucking mess. Or digging my own grave. But neither feel quite so full—while true, in many ways, there leaves little room for—

Well, this.

The way she holds you. The cat's curl of her smile, pleased and mischievous. Her fingers, gentle and coaxing, urging you to unfurl and bloom.

Or Viktor's rasping laugh that you can pull out of him. The fondness you hold for him like a pearl held inside a clam, growing and glowing. The way you drape yourself all over him, and he accepts it as easy as the day accepts the sun, or the night accepts the moon into its skies.

And even Jayce and the strangled back-and-forth that the two of you dance; it's still yours. It's still his. And the way he cups your cheek admist the violence or how he let's no one speak ill of you in front of him.

(Or the way Jayce and Viktor's minds work together, or how tactical Jayce and Mel can be; sharpened like daggers and twice as pretty. Or the creativity you pull out of Mel, allowing her to see the world like a boundless piece of art. Or the way Viktor's science influences your art; how your art influences his science. The fierceness you bring out in Jayce—the passion he brings out in you.)

It doesn't quite account for all the parts that make you burn and grow and shake out your great, big wings to fly.

Finally, you say, "it feels like I'm trying to find the melodies and harmonies and how they mesh—or the composition of a painting, or the feeling of a poem, but some of the words are still missing. It feels like when I chase art and try to break it open, to reveal what it wants me to learn—or show me."

"Have you figured it out yet?" She asks and she's genuinely curious, almost quiet in her desire to know.

At that, the door creaks open and there are several hushed whispers before Jayce suddenly strides into the room with all the false confidence in the world. Viktor looks sheepish behind him.

You sit up sharply, trying to detangle yourself from Mel.

"I told you they were here—" Viktor hisses to him, "and we shouldn't—we shouldn't be here."

Jayce isn't listening, though, and he's clearly inflating himself to get out, "I've come on important business of the council."

Mel raises her brows and throws you a sideways glance. She then says, "then come in, Councilor, since it's so important that you've come to my personal quarters. Unannounced."

Jayce at least has the good sense to look a little sheepish now, too. You can't help the laugh that springs out of you.

He throws you a dark look before clearing his throat.

"Councilor Haskel and Salo are seeking to strike down the art deal." Jayce announces and your heart drops a little, sinks in your chest.

You look at Mel. She purposefully keeps her face a mask of coolness. She rolls her shoulder briefly, which is your only tell of irritation or concern.

"Come in, Jayce." Mel finally says, "and you, too, Viktor. Shut the door behind you."

Both wander into the space and it's such a surreal moment, all four of you, for once, in the same room, that you can't help but laugh again.

Mel sighs in a way as if to say, I suppose this would happen eventually.

Jayce and Viktor can't quite look anyone in the eye and they both take uneasy seats int he living room.

Again, you feel like laughing—you're not sure what all the trepidation is for. Each of them have you seen you naked; you have seen them naked.

"What's their angle?" Mel asks, ignoring both Jayce and Viktor's shyness.

Jayce clears his throat, "they don't think it's worthwhile to support an artist from the Undercity at this time."

You wince and Jayce adds, "their words, not mine."

"Well, that won't do." Mel tsks and she suddenly moves to stand, graceful as ever, her robes trailing in a wave of silk and the smell of lillies. She likes to pace when she's thinking, and she pads over the window, to look out at the city.

Eventually, she says, "we'll need a grander plan. Something they can't refuse."

"What are you thinking?" Jayce asks.

She turns and all around her, she's doused in gold light, glowing in the evening sun as if she was born to it. "Perhaps combining some science with it." Now she looks at Viktor, "something symbolic to the current advancements with Hextech, perhaps."

Viktor looks at you, then back at Mel, "I can do that."

"Jayce, I need you to talk to the other Councilors and be sure they're not swayed by Haskel or Salo." She then adds, "and I want more publicity around it—and around our artist and scientist."

Our artist.

Our scientist.

"Ah—" Viktor starts, "I don't want to be in the public eye."

Our, our, our.

"It'll put pressure on Haskel and Salo if the people are behind you both, too." Mel presses gently, though her gaze has softened on him; she's sympathetic to his desires.

To assure him, you chirp, "I can do all the talking."

"Not sure that's our best idea." Jayce remarks.

"I am certain I can name several worse ideas of ours." You quip without thinking, and then you toss one of Mel's throw pillows at him; the beautifully embroidered one that's likely far too expensive and made from the rarest threads.

It hits him with a dull thud. And for a moment, he's shocked. The room is silent.

Still, your heart sings our, our, our.

But then Viktor snorts, before breaking out into his low, soft chuckle. And then the twinkle of Mel's giggles, coupled with your own laughter that bursts from your chest like a bird taking to flight.

And Jayce watches a moment, all of you laugh and smile, and if you could paint him in this moment, you would—

A little awe-struck. Tender around the edges, burnished gold. Breath stolen from him.

(Oh, he does really like you, too. All of you.)

But then laughter rumbles from him, too. And the tension slips from all of you, drains from your bodies with each bubbling sound.

And all of them together—finally together—are the melody you've been looking for, the words you couldn't place. The color on the canvas that finally brings it all together.

It's all the broken pieces like a mosaic, finally put together to create something whole.

And it's all ours, you think, the sun a flare of light and beauty bursting through the room, bathing all of your favorite people in it's gold and glory;

Prologue: Who we are

◈—-*——☆——-*——◈

-Now Playing-

Hard Sell- The Crane Wives

◈—-*——☆——-*——◈

It was autumn already, the lingering summer sun was beginning to set earlier and earlier.

It was still warm, but the leaves on the trees had already taken their cue to begin golding at the ends. The mornings were chilly, and the days relatively fair.

Which meant it was time to start school once more.

The Piltover Academy of Excellence, the place you spent your entire adolescence trying to get into. Today was the first day of your third year, and you were desperately staving off the impending, inevitable burnout that came with your course load.

Being a fine arts major is all fun and games until you have to maintain a minimum 3.0 cumulative gpa or higher to keep your scholarship.

Especially when the odds were stacked against you the way that they were, in the face of condescending professors and prejudiced classmates.

Oh, joy.

You were your neighborhood’s local Cinderella story. A bright young artist from the undercity gets noticed by a kind sponsor, wins a life changing scholarship, and lives happily ever after drowning in academic bliss. 

You had made your parents proud, waved for the cameras at graduation, and profusely thanked your sponsor and the academy for giving you the opportunity. There was a block party your friends and family had pooled together money to celebrate, there was a small article in the paper showcasing some of your work; And for a moment, it was all perfect. 

From a distance.

The academy was hard to get into for a reason.

And while you were prepared for it, it didn’t make the actual doing any easier.

Let alone dealing with the culture shock of meeting all the students who hadn’t worked as hard as you to be there. The ones who merely had the wealth or influence to buy their way in.

It left a bitter taste in your mouth.

“Persevere, no matter what.” you remember your Dad had told you, the night before you moved out. 

“It is who we are.”

Part of you knew you were chosen for optics. You were a prime candidate after all; good grades, no major disciplinary actions in school, a stable set of hard working parents— You were chosen as one of the “good” ones, to set an example; to say-

“Look! Zaunites can succeed too! Look how inclusive we are!”

It would be demoralizing if you didn’t want that damn degree so much.

Or, correction: it was demoralizing, you just didn’t have the time to worry about it.

But at this point, you’d given up on trying to fit in. Anyone who actually mattered knew what you were really like anyways, so you saw no need to prove yourself or go out of your way to reassure your silver-spoonfed peers that you weren’t some kind of feral gutter child sent to disrupt their clean, pristine academic experience.

It’s not that you were unfriendly, it’s just that small talk and keeping up appearances was tedious. Could you be a bit blunt or too aloof sometimes? Sure! Was your resting face often misinterpreted as latent anger? A lot of the time!

But you were too tired to care now.

And all Zaunites looked angry, to them.

You groaned as your phone’s alarm blared into the darkness of your room, cursing as you accidentally knocked it off of your nightstand while trying to hit snooze.

You took it as a sign that it was time to face the day.

You had purposely set it early enough to squeeze in a shower and a small breakfast before you had to catch the bus to the campus, so the idea of sleeping in was nothing more than a fleeting dream anyways. Rubbing the sleep from your eyes and forcing your aching body upright, fumbling for your phone to check your notifications.

—--------

*6 Notifications!*

Email- Campus Alerts: Welcome back students! please remember to…(more)

Message- Ma💙: Have a good day today! If you're too tired, I can have someone cover your shift tonight :) 

Message- Mel✨👑: Miss you much!💛 I should be back in town a little after syllabus week, a few more boring Galas to attend this week here at home 🙄

Message- Sky💫🌤️: You have statistics this semester right? Please let me sit with you!!! 🥺

Email- [email protected]: You were marvelous in the summer show my dear! I cannot wait to have you in my new class this semester! Please let me know…(more)

Local News Alert- NEW‼️ Record Breaking Fundraising Gala puts promising Scholar in the spotlight…(more)

—---------

You smiled. Today was going to be a good day, regardless of how stiff your muscles were.

A hot shower, some coffee, a bit of toast, and you'd be right as rain!

Well, that's what you told yourself.

After the heavy lifting you did yesterday, you knew you were lying to yourself.

Your parents owned a small cafe on the outskirts of midtown near the bridge into Zaun. You had moved there after the old storefront back in Zaun was sacked during a riot. After years of toil, they had saved enough to relocate across the bridge.

You worked there full time in the summer, and went part time during the school year. You were fortunate, luckier than most in that respect; that you had a stable family business to rely on when work was so hard to come by these days, especially in your field. Your family was not rich by any means, but you weren't nearly as poor as you were while growing up.

You decided to put in a few extra hours, helping unload and unpack the grocery order. There were some heavier boxes than usual, and you wanted to spare your mom the trouble.

And now you were sorely regretting it.

While your parents were capable people, they were getting older. Perhaps it was your urge to repay them for their support by being a dutiful daughter, or perhaps it was simply to spite your own weak constitution.

Regardless, your back hurt like hell at the moment.

You turned and yanked the blackout curtains open, hissing at the sudden light hitting your eyes, and got to work preparing for the long day ahead.

2 years of college down, two more to go.

You could do this. It was who you were.

–

As expected, the commute was relatively easy. The bus may have been slower than the campus shuttle, but it was certainly much quieter, and less cramped this early in the morning. 

You were a scholarship student, which meant you qualified for use of the dorms. In your first year you made the mistake of staying on campus- immediately ostracized and singled out due to your status. Halfway through that same year you applied to move to the off campus dorms further downtown.

 It was approved right away.

 You weren't sure if it was because they were afraid of a discrimination case, or if they just pitied you. Either way, you were content with your cozy 1 bedroom apartment. No roommates, no curfew, no fuss. There was the occasional loud party on the upper floors, but it was nothing you weren't used to.

The only downside, if you could even call it that, was having to commute everyday. Having a license, but no car, the bus was really the only way to go.

You put in your earbuds and watched the sights of the city bathed in the hazy morning glow roll past you. It was meditative almost: It gaves you time to center yourself; read the news, respond to texts, check your emails.

It was the little things.

—-----------

Messages: Mel✨👑

Mel✨👑: Miss you much!💛 I should be back in town a little after syllabus week, a few more boring Galas to attend this week here at home 🙄

     You: Miss you too! It’ll be so dull without you til then :( 

—------------

Mel Medarda was one of the very, very few friends you had made while studying at the Academy. It was quite a quirky match up, the two of you, seeing as she was literally the daughter of a foreign diplomat, and you were just some kid from the undercity.

At least you weren’t completely alone. There were two other Zaunite students you were acquainted with-

Sky Young, your childhood friend and current cafeteria buddy. You went to the same high school, and were near inseparable when you could find the time outside of class to hang out. She was a Medical Science major; ambitious, but very busy– after all, she worked at the campus lab part time, which helped with her tuition. 

——

Messages: Sky💫🌤️

Sky💫🌤️: You have Stats 102 this semester right? Please let me sit with you!!! 🥺

                                                           You: I sure do, let’s suffer together💙

Sky💫🌤️: at least you’ll have your eye-candy there✨

                                                                                                 You: shut up 🙄

———

You sighed at her playful jab, putting your phone back into your pocket and turning up your music.

There were three Zaunite students in your grade. Sky, Yourself—

And then there was Viktor Michálek. The genius.

He was the other scholarship student. The smarter one, you bitterly recalled some of your more mean spirited classmates had called him. 

Your piddly arts scholarship paled in comparison to his. You remembered reading a local article about it. He was some kind of science prodigy, hand chosen by the dean of the academy, and offered an internship straight out of high school. You’d be jealous if you didn't understand how daunting all of it must have been. You were merely relieved that you and Sky wouldn’t be the lone undercity kids amidst Piltover’s gleaming perfection.

To call him your friend wouldn’t be quite accurate.

Close acquaintance? Favorite cafe customer? Prettiest man you know?-- Perhaps. 

But friend? You didn’t want to overstep by claiming that title officially. You had a few classes together, studied together on occasion, got along well enough, and you knew his cafe orders by heart. 

In the mornings, an extra sweet Caramel Macchiato with a dash of cinnamon on top and a bagel.

In the afternoon, vanilla sweet milk, a sprinkle cocoa powder on top, honey around the cup, and a square of coffee cake.

He would linger, sometimes until your break started, and you would swap stories about your day.

There was an unspoken comfort between the two of you. An understanding. There was no need for small talk, or upper city etiquette. You could just…be. And it was extremely nice in such a sterile, uppity place.

And a part of you felt warm and fuzzy inside knowing he only came to the cafe when he knew you were working.

His face often appeared in your warm up sketches. You couldn't deny that he was handsome, after all.

Perhaps you had a crush.

Perhaps.

Hence Sky’s inside joke of a nickname for him.

Perhaps that’s why you shyed from calling him your friend.

But, aside from them, you more or less kept to yourself. You had plenty of acquaintances, putting a lot of effort into your outward persona. Polite, quiet, non-confrontational, and reserved- the opposite of the gutter rat that the topsiders normally assumed you would be.

But Mel was the first real friend you had made with no prior connection or shared plight. Your friendship was a fast one, a fierce one, and you missed her terribly when she had to go home during the breaks.

The sun continued to peek over the passing buildings as you let the rattle of the bus lull you into a calm, tranquil state. You took a deep breath as you turned up your music.

Onward you went.

◈—-*——☆——-*——◈ 

Now Playing: Fare Well –Hozier

◈—-*——☆——-*——◈ 

Sky was a loving person.

She loved her family, her plants, and karaoke on the weekends–

Sky loved her friends, she loved her job, and she loved being at school.

Sky was full of love. And she was very patient when it came to the things and people she loved.

What Sky did not love, was how oblivious and stubborn her friends could be. And since she worked and went to school with said friends, her irritation and affection often fought for dominance.

Sky was a lot more observant than people gave her credit for– for example , she noticed that despite Jayce claiming he and Viktor were “just roommates”, she very much picked up on the fact that there was definitely more to it than that– as she very clearly saw them making out in a shadowy corner backstage after his speech at the fundraiser gala during the summer. It wasn’t lost on her how his pupils would dilate and his ears would run pink anytime Viktor was mentioned in idle conversation.

“We’re just really close, that's all! Is that so strange?” was the defensive reasoning when she had asked if they were dating, despite knowing full well how they were damn near attached at the hip anytime they occupied a room together.

Or how she noticed that though Viktor claims that his feelings toward you are completely platonic, his face always softened when your name was mentioned, and he seemed strangely pleased when you announced you had sworn off romantic entanglements a while ago. And it wasn’t lost on her how he practically short circuited during Stats when you called him Sir and Mister. 

“Do not get lost in conspiracy, Sky. I just want her to be happy – that's all! ” was the dismissal when she asked him if he was interested in you, despite knowing full well he’s had a crush on you since freshman year at the very least. 

She had noticed how you say the same about Viktor and Mel, despite bearing witness to you idly sketching their faces with loving detail in your sketchbooks when you would chat over lunch and coffee, not a single freckle or mole out of place.

It was not lost on her how you’d sigh airily as you nitpicked the details— particularly their eyes, and their lips.

“It's normal to admire your friends, Sky! I’d be blind and stupid to claim I didn't find them attractive, but it’s not like that!” was your exasperated reasoning, when she had playfully asked if you liked either of them, knowing full well that you did, and that it troubled you deeply. 

She also noticed how Mel– despite claiming she wasn't the jealous type– never informed either men that she was one of your closest friends– Sky being the only exception to this omission of information, because she was your friend first. It also was not lost on her just how much more physically affectionate she was with you compared to her other friends and acquaintances. 

“Truly—Is it so bad to keep your relationships separate? We are very comfortable with each other, and I simply like spending time with her separately, that's all ” was the cool response she received when she asked Mel why she was so secretive about you, knowing full well that it was because she didn't want to share you yet. 

Mel and Viktor only realized you all knew each other after a very tense run in at your family’s cafe last fall, the three of them all having incidentally come to visit you at the same time during your shift.

She could’ve cut their tension with a knife, their gazes clearly sending a silent, yet heated declaration of:

“She’s off limits”

For this reason, she was infinitely grateful she had never let it slip that the two of you fooled around a bit in highschool while you were still figuring yourselves out.

She could only imagine the catastrophic upset.

Sky felt a cold shiver run through her at the hypothetical.

But aside from just being observant, Sky also wasn't blind . She’d definitely seen all three of them sporting matching hickies or wearing borrowed clothes more than once, during suspiciously simultaneous timeframes.

Sometimes more than once in one week.

And on the periphery, you were none the wiser.

Sure, she teased– but the thought of you actually getting involved with that situation made her worry for both your sanity and her own.

It was a tangled, raunchy, obnoxious mess, summarized as: 

- Mel liked playing around with the boys, and keeping you to herself when she could

- Viktor loved Jayce, yearned for you , and loved bantering with Mel

- You liked Mel and Viktor, but were too afraid of ruining your friendships.

- Jayce loved Viktor and Mel, and had a heart big enough to love more, if given the chance.

And Mel, Jayce, and Viktor were all in some kind of weird…open… thing.

A Situationship? Could a situationship even happen between more than two people? She wasn’t sure. 

It was more like some kind of fucked up love-trapezoid, she thought.

Whatever it was, it was definitely best that she didn’t pry too much. That was a can of worms she had no desire to crack open. After all, everything she knew about the intimate lives of her friends was learned against her will via accidental discovery or tipsy oversharing; a victim of her own alert nature.

Sky loved all of you enough to realize it was a recipe for disaster, and she could see it coming a mile away.

She only hoped it wouldn't get any messier than it already appeared to be.

She heaved a sigh as she opened up her laptop. The online portion of her day often came as a good time for reflection, the safe haven of the lab preferable to the library or the commons. Familiar, heavy footsteps down the hall indicated that Jayce was on his way into the lab.

At least there was one saving grace in this situation. Somehow you and Jayce never crossed paths, and Sky was somewhat grateful for it; if not merely because she knew how quickly he’d fold if he did.

Ever since you were kids, you always had a sort of… magnetism that you never seemed aware of. It was how you and Sky became friends in the first place all those years ago. You unwittingly pulled people into your orbit, and brightened their days as a result. 

The only issue was that you were extremely unaware of it. it was honestly a bit shocking for someone so smart to be so clueless.

Be it merely out of a low regard for yourself, or just a factor of your naturally aloof demeanor. She’d borne witness to many an unintentionally broken heart amongst your peers growing up.

There was another– crueler nickname you'd been anointed with; one that she’d made sure you'd never heard about:

The Maneater

And the lore was scathing . 

Your magnetic aura, combined with your cold treatment to potential partners led to a devastating recipe for disaster for any poor fucker that developed any interest in you. Serious or not.

You would eat them alive with your fierce words, tear apart egos, freeze them out, and never give anyone a chance. Consciously, and subconsciously.

Not since the incident in your first year here.

Hell, even she had found herself smitten with you at one point, as a younger kid. But she realized she liked you much more as a friend, after a few youthful escapades and subsequent realizations as young teens.

And she knew a friend was truly what you needed back then, not another wayward admirer.

Sky wanted you to be happy , and she knew you wanted to avoid drama. So all she could do was pray nothing else would complicate things for you.

Not when you had told her about your strategy for the year with such an endearing, determined look on your face.

Jayce walked in, and where Sky expected to hear his usual chipper greeting, there was instead a dazed silence as he approached his workbench. She looked up over the rim of her glasses, pausing her sorting for a moment to peer at him—

“Hey Jayce! Are you feeling alright?”

He looked up with a bit of surprise, as if not having expected her to be there already. “Oh! Hey Sky! Sorry, just lost in thought.” He smiled, setting down his bag to pull out his laptop. There was something off about this. She could feel it in her gut.

And then she remembered something.

Something very important.

“Oh!…Is..is it about that theatre class you mentioned? How did it go?” She remained as composed as possible, waiting to gauge his reaction. He stopped for a moment, before a goofy smile crept onto his face.

Oh no.  

“Yeah actually, how’d you guess?”

“Just a lucky shot, so what’s got you so giddy?” She prodded further, although she could predict the answer. He hesitated as he searched for an explanation—which definitely did not bode well.

“Oh…well…ugh, how do I even explain- okay, it’s gonna sound stupid.” He sighed pinching the bridge of his nose with a dry laugh.

“…a crush on the first day back , Jayce?” Sky asked flatly, already exasperated by his dodging of the subject. Perhaps she was wrong. She hoped she was wrong. She wanted to be wrong.

“…yes. Well, no- I mean...kinda? Not really sure yet…” He sighed, placing his face in his hands. “I was paired with this girl for a project and she’s…” he paused as he attempted to find an adjective, and promptly failed, merely sighing softly--dreamily, with that dumb little lopsided smile.

Oh no.

“Uh, well…anyways, I wanted to make a good impression and… I may have laid it on a bit too thick.” He drug a hand down his face as he recalled the interaction, leaning back in his chair.

Sky was almost certain now, but she wanted to hold out hope that she still could be wrong.

“Oh? Why do you think that?” She asked, adjusting her glasses. “Was....was it one of your corny math jokes?” She tried to lighten his anxiety with the little jab, but he merely huffed and rolled his eyes. “ No . I’ve already learned my lesson from that, okay?”

Jayce’s charisma always flew out the window when something– or someone– intrigued him.

Unfortunately, his jokes about imaginary numbers weren't enough to salvage what would remain of his charm.

 “She’s just…well she’s from… downtown .” He didn’t say the proper name, but she knew immediately what he meant. Though she did appreciate that he didn’t automatically assume you would know each other just for being from the undercity, however…

There were only 3 Zaunite students in their grade. 

Viktor, Herself, and…. 

Oh no.

“And that’s not an issue or anything! You know it’s not—“ he looked to Sky for confirmation, and she nodded mutely as he continued. “—So I didn’t mention it or anything when it came up. But…right away she seemed a bit wary of me, and at first y'know, I thought maybe it’s the whole ‘Scholar of Progress’ thing; except, it seemed like she didn’t care about that at all!” He sounded intrigued, fascinated. 

Smitten. 

That was not a good sign.

“We talked a little bit, and I thought it was going pretty well…but then when everyone else was exchanging contact info she…” he sighed, embarrassed and still somewhat in disbelief “… she only gave me her email address ..” 

It was you. It was most definitely you. 

She stifled a sigh and mustered a sympathetic smile. “oh…oof…That’s rough, man…I’m sure you’ll clear it up, you’re good with people!” Luckily, he didn't seem to notice what she felt like was blatant anxiety seeping through her encouraging platitudes.

As he smiled sheepishly and nodded, and as their small talk continued, she thought about you. A mess was brewing, and Sky wasn’t certain if it was for better or for worse yet. Perhaps if you had met sooner, you and Jayce could've been decent friends to each other. Before the cruelty of your peers made you harden up, and before you gave up on forming new connections topside.

She knew you, and she knew how cynical you had become since then. You’d become wary of attention, like an apprehensive stray cat. Any interest shown that wasn’t solely creative or academic in nature set you on edge.

She knew Jayce probably spooked the shit out of you, considering… well… the way he was.

Should she say something? It wasn’t really her place, and god knows how you’d feel about any of what’s been going on in the personal lives of your friends. You'd been quite vocal and firm before about not wanting to know any intimate details about your close friends.

But in the case of Mel and Viktor, she wasn't sure if it was out of respect, fear, or deeply hidden and unacknowledged jealousy.

She would wait.  

She would wait, and watch, and be there if you needed her, just as she’d be there for the other three.

Weather the storm, Sky. 

Just brace yourself, and weather the storm. 

——---------

The day went by surprisingly quickly, already finding yourself on your way back home for a brief reprieve before work. The latter half of your day was mostly uneventful; introductions made, syllabuses collected, and lofty expectations put in place. 

And then— freedom! 

In the afternoon sun, the air had become humid from the rain earlier, and despite the clammy feeling of the air, you felt instantly relieved that you had made it through the day. You still ached like hell, but you could at least attempt to put in a few hours at work before you gave up for the day completely.

You thought about Viktor. You knew sudden changes in the weather bothered his leg on occasion, and you hoped it wasn’t bugging him too severely. You could feel the subtle twang in your own joints, but you chalked it up to the preexisting fatigue.

You could tough it out. You always did.

The bus ride was blissfully uneventful compared to that morning’s fiasco. It had been a weird day altogether, with such a hectic start and ordinary finish. But at least there was nothing too catastrophic…

Your mind drifted to Jayce and his million dollar smile.

Oh. Well there was that .

There was…. him. 

You’d have to ask Mel when she came back if she knew what his deal was. You felt like she always knew everything about everyone, so perhaps she could back you up on just how… weird he was.

You could ask Viktor, but he also didn’t seem the type to keep up with stuff like that. And his advice when it came to guys was usually pretty cut and dry, things like—

“If you don’t like them, then don’t bother with them.”  

It came clean and easy in that snarky, accented drawl of his.

You smiled to yourself. He was always blunt and to the point. And while you appreciated it, you needed input from someone more well versed in… nuance .

Before you knew it, you were idly pacing your small apartment; thinking.

Jayce Talis seemed nice. But you had more than enough experience with the guys at this school to know that nice did not guarantee good or kind in the slightest.

His apparent perfection, and the amount of attention he attracted was something you had no choice but to adjust to. No matter how much it was beginning to irk you as you thought about it.

It was going to be an interesting first week. No doubt about that.

It’s only the first day, I won’t pester them with my paranoid anxiety. 

It’ll all sort itself out 

That’s what you told yourself, despite the uneasy feeling in your gut telling you otherwise.

After dedicating what little free time you had left to changing into your work clothes, setting out tomorrow’s outfit, and scrounging around for a pain pill in your medicine cabinet, you set off for work.

The path was well memorized; familiar and comforting. Your short commute of 10 minutes was almost meditative; as you knew it well enough to lose yourself in thought

It was consistent, and few things in your life were.

And in what felt like no time at all, thanks to your ruminating and daydreaming along the way, you found yourself at your family’s cafe. The wind chime hanging by the door tinkles and sings as you enter, immediately accompanied by the smell of coffee and pastries.

Home sweet home. 

It was shaping up to be a slow evening, being a Monday night and all. A few regulars nodded to acknowledge you as you headed in, but it was mostly empty.

You savored it for now, knowing that once fall was in full swing it would get a lot busier.

Your cafe was unique, being open as late as some bars in the area. It made for a popular study spot for the community college students and for the kids that went to school across the bridge since it was in such a convenient spot. On weekends, you served alcohol after 6pm, and hosted open mics, karaoke, small performances from local bands– pretty much anything that kept folks lively, hungry, and thirsty. Much to your relief, most of your classmates wouldn't be caught dead this close to downtown despite it being popular with students from other, smaller schools. 

You were safe here. You could be at ease here.

You could be yourself here. 

“You're earlier than I expected! How was today?” 

Your mother’s voice took you out of your thoughts, causing you to look up with a tired smile. She was restocking the pastry case, and like always, one was set aside on the counter for you, still warm.

You shrugged as you made your way behind the counter, sticking your bag in your usual cubby beneath the register. “...About what I expected. Nothing too crazy.” you replied as you settled into a familiar routine, snatching up the pastry and savoring its warmth as you bit in.

Eat a snack 

Put on your apron 

Wash your hands 

Check the beans in the espresso machine 

Make yourself a drink with the test shots 

Change the playlist when Mom wasn’t paying attention 

Ignore the weight of the day grinding your knees  

Eventually find the stool that you insist you are fine without. 

Perch near the register, 

and dream. 

“And how’s Sky? I haven seen her in a bit!” 

“Busy, but well! You know how she is– always working on something new and exciting.”

Your mother hummed as she watched you, your movements entirely muscle memory as you maintained conversation. It was so easy to go into autopilot like this, the familiar movements like a domestic choreographed dance. You omitted some details, and you knew that she could tell. But she merely smiled the way she does when she’s resisting the urge to tease you, and opted to hand you an empty cup so that you could make her a drink as well. 

“And what about Helena’s boy– Viktor , how’s he doing?”

There was only a small pause in your fluid and practiced movements, as you shot her a side eye. “He’s… good . It’s his first semester as a TA, so he’ll probably be too busy to stop by for a bit.”

You sounded disappointed. You knew it, and you knew that she knew. But she merely pinched your cheek affectionately as she moved to continue setting out pastries.

Viktor’s mom was an old acquaintance– an old regular from the old cafe back downtown.

This association, and your friendship with Viktor, gave your mother ample ammunition to pry and speculate.

oh, joy.

You know she meant well–But you could only insist you were only friends so many times a day before you gave up under her knowing gaze.

“Ah…Well, don’t worry hun, we both know his sweet tooth won’t allow him to stay away for too long.”

You huffed a laugh, as you rolled your eyes as you poured the foam of her latte into a pretty leaf pattern. Your own came out more like a heart, and you frowned at it; ‘tsking as you disrupted the pattern by taking a vindictive sip. She took your silence–and her drink–in stride, with a warm but smug smile. “And nothing else of note? Interesting classes? Interesting people?” she prodded for a final time.

You thought about Viktor in his slick new clothes. 

You thought about how much you anticipated Mel’s return. 

You thought about Jayce, and his warm eyes and disarming smile. 

“...no. Not really anything worth mentioning.” you lied, turning your attention to putting a lid on your coffee.

“hm…That's too bad. Oh well! Don't push yourself, you have school in the morning after all!”

Your mother smiled knowingly, and disappeared into the kitchen.

You sighed as you changed the music, letting yourself settle back into your routine.

Change the playlist 

Ignore the ache 

Ignore the day 

Ignore school 

Ignore the world 

Get your stool 

Perch at the register 

Relax 

Listen to the music 

Relax 

Drink your coffee 

Relax 

Smile for real