#peach.pen

Sulfur.

That tang has always sprinkled pockets of air in the Undercity, to the extent that those dwelling within barely take notice anymore. Therefore, when you do, it takes you by surprise. You glance around the room, troubled. Had the ventilation system halted? Or worse—had Piltover’s best decided to poison your already polluted oxygen with sewage, or something similarly offensive? And then a sharp, metallic singe punches you square in the nose. So sudden that your eyes squash shut, overwhelmed.

After taking a moment to reorient, you are shocked by the sight of a man scorched onto the coarse floorboards of your shabby homestead. Like a meteor had cannoned through the building, but a cursory glance upward reveals no such destruction.

Even more curious is the man’s appearance; he is a sinewy splat, draped in a white robe, crumpled on his side and perfectly pristine. Despite the edges of his garment and the surrounding space having been kissed with char. Mahogany tresses cover most of his pale face, shifting over sharp peaks as he stirs to consciousness. All the while, you are struck statuesque with bewilderment and a whisper of utter captivation.

How?

Who?

Why?

The stranger groans, a hand coming up to soothe his head that must be pounding from such a sudden entrance. Amber eyes blink open slowly into a squint. Confusion, then some kind of realization has his eyes widening when they meet your own. Your expression must match his as the two of you scrutinize one another, a pregnant pause scribbling the walls of your mind with even more questions that you cannot fathom one single answer to.

“Tell me…” He breaks the silence with an accent that tells you he is a Zaunite, in spite of such an odd appearance for this origin. “Do you know who I am?”

“No,” you reply softly, cautiously. And then your walls come up, as though your subconscious punches an internal panic button. No matter how otherworldly this materialization has been, this is still a stranger. “You better explain whatever the hell this is before I manually eject you from my home.”

A nimble hand reaches for the nearest weapon: a knife you’d left out on the counter to be washed. In his direct line of sight, you hold the flat of the blade against your thigh, posed to get rid of any threat quickly and efficiently.

“There is no need for that.” He says your name. Your real, given name. You almost don’t react since it’s been eons since the last time you’ve heard it said aloud. That hand at your side clenches the hilt of the blade—Not in anger, but petrification. “You don’t seem to know me in this timeline. I promise I am not here to hurt you, but to ask for your help. You are the only person I can trust.”

“How do you know my name, and what do you mean by in this timeline?” You take a step backward, bumping into the counter and jolting when the rough surface meets your clammy skin.

“I will answer all of your questions, but first,” he clears his throat. “May I have some water?”

Viktor is the name of your unexpected guest. This is the first thing you learn about him, after he drains two full glasses of water. The second piece of information you glean is that he is a scientist from another version of your world. A version in which you knew one another. In fact, the two of you were co-creators of a scientific breakthrough in his world with Jayce, another man you don’t know. Supposedly, this creation led him to end up here, on the other side of your dining table, looking as if he has been through hell and back.

While it is an interesting anecdote, you still do not trust that he isn’t someone sent by the heathens that haunt your past. How can you even believe something so utterly improbable? Does this man take you as a fool?

“If you are who you say you are, from where you say you’re from, how can I know that? How can I know what your intentions are? That little magic trick was impressive, but if you’re a minion of my father’s, I will find you out and you won’t be leaving in one piece.” You begin in an even tone, but work yourself up to a growl by the time the last words rattle from your mouth.

A small smile quirks the left side of his mouth upward. Fed up, you plant the tip of your knife into the table in the blink of an eye. “Your time is up.”

“Wait! I can prove it,” Viktor sputters, shock widening those gemlike eyes. “You cannot stand the way looking into deep water makes you feel. You have a need to protect those weaker than you, especially if they are children. And one of your dreams is to be able to ride in one of those fancy carriages the wealthy do, no matter how much you despise them.”

Your stomach churns, nauseous from the fact that all he said is true, even the truths that solely live in the back of your mind, never voiced to another soul. He explained himself perfectly— The how, the why, and the who— but you have great trouble comprehending that what he says could be— No, it is true. It has to be, right?

Is he attempting to disarm you so that he can kill you? No. The man could barely stand and make his way across the room to his chair. He is weak. He is begging you for help. And worst of all, he knows another you. That fact makes you feel as though you stand in front of him exposed. He has all of the power, even though you could take him out in seconds.

“What are your intentions?” You finally ask after a good few minutes trapped in lip nibbling thought.

“I am determined to get back to my world, with your help of course.” His tone is so annoyingly matter-of-fact, it brings out some of the bitterness you’ve been attempting to wrangle since he first said your name.

“And how am I supposed to help you? Clearly I’m no big scientist in this world!” Frustration is the way you naturally cope with all of this.

“That is fine, but you still harbor a love for inventing, do you not? Over there.” He points to a shelving unit on the other side of your living space. “That was your favorite creation: A simple device perhaps, but it works as a security system for the community, to warn children and the weak of impending danger. Your city would be left vulnerable without your work.”

That crude little contraption is, in fact, your proudest work. A vaguely cat-like creature that joins two wires when provoked, to make a noise the whole town can hear. To give the people enough of a warning to protect what they hold dear… If only there was someone in your hometown that had such a thought. Maybe you would have ended up in Piltover with your version of Viktor. Maybe things would have been different.

A deal is finally struck after hours of slow conversation. The two of you sit at that table until you can hear his stomach growl, and his expression screams exhaustion. Over a meal you almost burn in your distracted state, you agree to try to help him. But in exchange, he must answer all of your questions about the other version of yourself.

He agrees, of course, but not without a warning that some things are better left unknown. That flying too high does, in fact, come with grave consequences. You can only imagine the horrors those tired eyes have seen. A man beyond his years, steeped in tragedy, from a world that seems a whole lot better than yours. How so? You must know, even if it destroys you.

First thing on the agenda is to get Viktor equipped with a cane or crutch and some regular clothes. You learn of his disability and the impact growing up in the lower levels of Zaun has taken on his overall health. As he tells you more about his life, you wonder if the two of you could have been friends if you’d bumped into each other organically. Even though he has an irritating air of knowing what you do not, something about the way he looks at you makes you feel… odd. You mull this over as you browse the town market for the items on your shopping list.

Kids run between peoples legs, causing a man to fall on his ass and yell after them. They laugh and sprint faster with reckless abandon. A woman with a large basket of goods spins gracefully to save herself from the same fate, giggling as she adjusts her grip. The smells of the street food and perfumes and the people fill you with a sense of pride in your environment. A moment of peace amongst the absolute shitstorm that awaits you back home.

Last night, you were unable to get much rest with a virtual stranger on your couch. The lack of sleep as well as all that you’ve gleaned from the sudden appearance of Viktor has left you pensive. Your hand skates over the fabric of a plain shirt and you wonder what he usually wears, how he would look in something more familiar to you. It isn’t lost on you that this man is attractive, and his attentive attitude toward you leaves room to wonder just how close he was to the other you. You could see yourself falling for him, maybe in a different life. A fleeting thought that causes you to chuckle under your breath. There is no time for such thoughts, never has been.

A slightly banged up, but still fine-looking, cane catches your eye and you immediately inquire about it. It would cost nearly the rest of the coins in your pouch, the money you need to use for food. You stand dumbly in front of the grizzly man that runs the small shop off the top of beaten up tables, a hand on your chin as you go over your options. All the while, the man in front of you looks unamused at your indecision.

As he goes to spew some most likely unkind commentary, you hear a familiar voice bellow from behind you. “What’cha doing at the market? I never see you here.”

“Powder!” You chirp in surprise as your blue haired friend rounds you, peering curiously at the cane sat atop the table.

“What the hell do you need this for?” She considers the object, not paying any mind to the vendor as she holds it in front of one eye, mimicking peering through a telescope. “Some kind of sex thing, huh? Always knew you were a bit…” She makes an inappropriate gesture that shocks you into temporary silence.

“Whatever,” you disregard, gently prizing the item from her sly hands. You sigh as you roll it up and down your palms. There is no doubt it was made well, with consideration for anyone who may need it. “I was just trying to decide if it was worth the coins.”

“Ah, I see. Old man Harry’s marking up his goods again?” One pointed look from her has the aforementioned scrambling to explain himself, but she interrupts him. “How much did you get this for?”

“Well, you see, I- I didn’t buy it, so much as acquire it,” he splutters.

Powder hums. “And so you’re gonna make our people pay out the ass for some stolen goods?” She shakes her head, scolding him with a simple motion.

“Fine, I’ll lower the price.“ He chuckles nervously. “And tell Vander I say ‘Hi’.”

“With pleasure!” Powder remarks, her infectious smile beaming at him as she drops a small fraction of your coins into his open palm.

The two of you swiftly exit the area with all of your items stuffed into a rough, burlap pouch. The cane hangs safely from the strap, rhythmically thudding against your leg as you rush forward. Powder is hot on your heels, no matter how hard you try to lose her on the way home. She is relentless as always, too inquisitive for your own good.

Shit, she can’t see Viktor, you think. But there is no stopping her once a seed is planted in her head.

“You gotta tell me what all this is for, c’monnnnn,” she whines as you arrive at your doorstep.

“I’ll talk to you later, I just have a lot to do and it’s all so boring, you should just—“

With no consideration for your privacy, your friend bursts into the front door. Viktor is in plain view of the doorway, sitting on your grungy couch with a book poised in one hand. His eyes widen at the sudden invasion, taking in your embarrassment and then focusing solely on Powder.

“Ha! I knew it was a sex thing,” she exclaims, all the while you attempt to push her out of the door, talking over her in an attempt to distract from her brash exclamation.

“You.” Viktor’s voice is barely audible, but the iciness to it causes pause for both you and Powder. He scrambles for something, eventually landing on a glass vase that he holds as if to defend himself.

As you look between the two, it clicks that something must have happened between them in Viktor’s original world. Now is not the time for theorizing though. The energy in the room is building and you must get Powder out of here. A protective feeling overpowers you as Viktor glares at the girl.

“Jinx,” he spits at her, then he turns to you. “Why did you bring her here?”

“Whoa, okay. Chill out. What the hell did I do?” Powder’s hands fall onto her hips and her bottom lip pokes out in a provoking manner.

“She’s dangerous, get her away from me!”

“Wow, your boyfriend’s being rude—“

“He’s just a friend,” you grit out, nearly seething now. A harsh inhale through your nose. “Listen, Powder, I need you to leave. I’ll explain later, but things are complicated and I need some time. Please understand.”

She is silent for a moment before scoffing and quickly leaving, slamming the door behind her. A frustrated groan escapes you and your knuckles kiss the rough wall paneling.

Your gaze lands on Viktor. “Who the fuck do you think you are?” You throw the bag of clothes and the cane at his feet. The things you’d spent your hard earned coin on. “She’s not dangerous, she’s a nice fucking girl.”

“That girl is a terrorist in my world, responsible for countless deaths. Jinx—“

“Stop calling her that!” You scream, every muscle within you coiling up with rage. “She is the sweetest person I know. Do you know how much she’s gone through? How many times I’ve had to pick her back up after the guilt of her sister’s death nearly destroyed her?!”

You rant on about that day, about how early on Powder learned the value of life and kindness. When their little group showed up at The Last Drop without Vi, three kids in tears, all covered in soot, you made a promise to yourself and Vi that you would take care of her little sister. Claggor and Mylo were never remotely attentive to her, Vander and Silvio had their own things going on, and Ekko was just a child himself. It had to be you.

“… Violet. She is dead?”

Another sharp look from you wounds Viktor as you snap, “How do you know Vi?”

Viktor runs a hand over his face, appearing even more exhausted than you know him to look. “Things are so different here,” he whispers to the floorboards beneath his feet.

Heavy breaths turn calm as you watch him, clearly having a hard time adapting to this place. You can acknowledge that this must be like a weird dream to him. Hell, if you were in his place, in a timeline different than yours, you would most likely lose your mind. Two long breaths.

In.

And out.

“Listen. This is a whole lot to take in, for the both of us, but I think laying out a few ground rules and giving each other the benefit of the doubt would be very good for us. If we intend to get along and get you home.”

“Home.” Viktor nods slowly. “I think you are right.”

“Anyway,” you nudge the bag you tossed at him earlier with the toe of your boot. “I got you these.”

He notices the cane and gains the first genuine smile you’ve seen out of him, mumbling something about feeling like himself again. Quietly, you observe as he tests it out, getting used to its assistance after a few steps and then giving the object a little nod of approval.

He looks over to you with an unearned softness that irks you just a bit. “Thank you.”

“It’s nothing. Just some things to help you blend in and get around,” you brush off, scooping the bag up and handing it to him. “Get changed. We have a lot to do.”

When Viktor returns from getting freshened up, you find yourself taken aback. Replacing the man with scraggly tresses and a tattered robe, is a completely new person. He has tied up the top half of his shoulder length hair, and you notice the blond underlayer for the first time. The look softens his striking features, and accompanied by the casual style of clothing you picked out—a long sleeved yellow shirt tucked into some straight legged brown slacks—it looks as though he will fit in quite well now.

“Lookin’ good,” you comment offhandedly, looking him over and mentally patting yourself on the back.

You catch a faint redness painting his cheeks before he turns away from you, fiddling with the cane. An oddly nervous innervation wraps around him for a moment, and you choose to ignore whatever is going on with him. There is a mission you must complete. The sooner you finish it, the sooner you will be rid of this man.

“So, how do we get you back?”

What a simple question for something so complicated that it may nearly be impossible.

“We will have to go to Piltover and talk to Jayce. He is a friend, one of the only people who will understand this situation and be able to help us,” Viktor supplies after clearing his throat.

Simple enough. Although you hate going up there, you follow his lead, creating a plan and mapping out where exactly this Jayce guy lives so you can get in without raising too much suspicion. A quick meal, some supplies from a couple trusted merchants, and you’re off.

Viktor and you begin the journey through the undercity, to the elevator that will spit you out on the opposite side of the river from Piltover. It is silent from the moment you exit your place, until Viktor dares to cut the odd atmosphere.

“I may sound crazy, but I missed walking through these streets,” he muses offhandedly, eyes taking in every little detail on your path through Zaun’s city streets. As amusing as this is to watch, it is dangerous nonetheless.

“Don’t act like a tourist, unless you’d enjoy getting your ass kicked. Or worse.”

Almost as if on cue, the two of you round a corner and nearly bump into somebody. You are initially ready to square up, but then you spot a familiar head of choppy, blue hair.

“Powder, what are you doing this far out?” Your tone is scolding, but your hands grasp her forearms protectively, having stopped her from tumbling over.

You feel Viktor’s hand on your bicep, tugging you backward, away from Powder as if on instinct. It pisses you off just a bit, scratching at the just barely scabbed over wound that was the last interaction you all had. You must center yourself, remembering the agreement of peace that came into place right after all the theatrics. He should remember too, though. His hand falls from you when you move out of his grasp to the side, freeing your hands and standing between the two.

“I could ask you guys the same thing.” Powder’s arms cross over her chest, hip cocked out in a defiant, and admittedly petulant, stance.

“Uh, we were just going out,” you explain, half-honest.

“So you are together!” A shit eating grin causes your eyes to roll. “You should’ve just been honest from the start, instead of rudely kicking me out.” She punctuates the statement by sticking her tongue out in the direction of Viktor.

Quick on your feet, you decide to go along with this narrative. It’ll be easier to get out of this quickly without involving her in this mess. “Sorry, Powder. You know I’m not the most… open person, and Viktor here was just confused. He thought you were someone else. Isn’t that right, babe?”

“Mm. Yes, of course. I do apologize, Miss Powder,” Viktor quickly plays along.

Powder hums and accepts the shitty explanation in all her victory. She values being right over being alert.

“Well, where are you going? Somewhere fancy, I bet.”

“I can’t afford fancy, but—“ Viktor cuts you off.

“But, I want to show them some beautiful spots I’ve come across in the uppercuts. The sky is so beautiful there, when I first saw it I was in awe.”

It’s your turn to become struck off guard and Powder giggles excitedly.

“Oh, I see. Treat them well, or I will find you and kill you.” She says it in an overly matter-of-fact manner that is clearly humorous, but the way Viktor’s eyes narrow lets you know that he isn’t trusting of the girl at all.

It is true that the sky is beautiful in Piltover. The way the fluffy clouds dapple the rich blue backdrop is breathtaking. Yet there is no time for sight seeing. Viktor is leading you straight to your destination with the vigor of somebody who is late. You know he’s trying to get back to his timeline and all, but his urgency leaves you a little on edge.

Finally, you reach the outside of an apartment building and he stops dead in his tracks, focusing on a giant hole in the space where you can only assume a very nice penthouse used to lie. Viktor begins mumbling to himself, something about the explosion still happening but a something-core can’t exist here because— he stops and turns to you.

“Something is wrong here. We must make another stop, but first I would like to investigate.”

He suggests that you stay outside, but there’s no way in hell you’re doing that. You stick with him and end up in front of a gate at the base of a staircase within. Locked. Viktor curses in defeat after rattling the barred door. You scoff at his simplicity, grabbing a set of lock picking tools from your pocket and instructing him to keep watch. Upon seeing your rolodex of tools, he is baffled, but then a smile develops on his face. He is impressed.

Upstairs, you come upon a memorial outside the door the two of you seek out. Viktor freezes for a moment, closes his eyes and sighs. He places a hand atop the one already resting on his cane, the weight of this revelation leaving him physically laden. You inspect the display and spot the name Jayce Talis.

Realization instantly hits. The man with the answers is dead. More so, Viktor’s friend doesn’t exist here. Hesitantly, you place a hand on his shoulder and he squeezes his eyes shut harder, lips pressing together. A long silence before he turns to you.

Voice just above a whisper, eyes still cast downward, he says, “I hate to ask for more of you, but would you happen to have anything to add to the memorial? It would mean a great deal to me.”

You slowly nod, shucking off your bag and finding a pretty rock you collected on the way over here. You place it near an unlit candle on the polished floor, gentle and with care. The heaviness somehow extends to you and wraps around the both of you for the time that you spend in that hallway.

“We must continue,” Viktor finally says, gesturing to the door. You try the handle and find the wooden slab barely attached to its hinges. It swings open and then adjusts to its weight, hinges squeaking before it settles on the floor permanently.

Viktor waits outside for a moment, eyes cast downward, and you wait to go further until he joins you at the threshold. Fragments of a blue gem embedded in the wall are collected and placed in a stray vile you find on the floor. It is difficult to maneuver the place. It looks as though there was an explosion that blasted the hole through the outside wall.

Some effort to clean up afterward was made, but you notice some blood spatter on the floor and wall. Your skin crawls, and you wonder if this incident could be connected with Vi’s death. From the little Powder has filled you in about that day, you are able to spot connections within the little details here and there. Your heart sinks and you halt your imagination from going any further. As soon as you get what is needed, you rush to get out of there, Viktor in tow with the same sentiment.

That secondary destination Viktor spoke of is Piltover Academy. You ask many questions about why you’re here exactly, and Viktor feeds you continuously bland answers. All you can glean is that you seek a person that will be in the courtyard shortly. Viktor has memorized their schedule, so they must’ve been close in his world. You hope, for his sake, that they actually appear.

And they do. The person in question is a professor: Cecil Heimerdinger. You’ve heard of the Yordle inventor in passing, word of his contributions to Piltover reaching even the far sides of Zaun. Enough to know that he is a highly respected scientist, and you deduce that this is why Viktor was so insistent on finding him.

Viktor gets straight to the point, spilling his guts about traveling to another dimension and wanting to get back to his original timeline. He speaks of the crystal fragments you gathered, how they have the potential to create a machine capable of taking him back.

“This is very much feasible with the correct mechanics, I am quite impressed,” the professor remarks, a hand on his chin as he mentally scrutinizes the possibilities. His eyes then land on you. “And who is this friend?”

A pregnant pause. Viktor stares at you for an uncomfortably long time before speaking. “This is my only ally here, a co-creator of the technology I speak of… They were also my significant other in my original world.”

This is news to you, and the way Viktor tears his gaze away from you tells you that he didn’t want to divulge this information. But why? What difference would it have made in this whole affair? The unearned affectionate glances and his shyness around your compliments all make sense now.

“Oh, I see. How poetic that they should lend a kind hand to you here as well,” Heimerdinger muses.

Viktor hums, looking lost in thought. You remain silent, ruminative for the rest of this interaction. The Yordle agrees to lend one of the university’s labs to the two of you, with the condition that he oversees your work. He connects the explosion at the apartment with the gem fragments and notes the dangers of the operation. While he is wary of such a conquest, he seems almost tickled by the prospect.

An appointment is made for Viktor and you to return tomorrow. At that time, you’ll receive the keys to a lab and the consent to invent… A magical machine, you suppose. You just hope this endeavor doesn’t take too long. You have already grown tired of the friction Viktor is causing in your personal life.

On the long journey home, a thought you’ve had since you heard Viktor’s confession spills from your mouth before you can hold it back any longer. “If we were together in your world, why did you tell me you hadn’t seen me in a while when you—appeared here?”

“I don’t wish to discuss that at the moment. It has been a long day,” Viktor responds, voice rough with his exhaustion.

You let it lie, for now at least. He promised to tell you all that you ask, and you intend to hold him to it. A quiet meal and a few more words are exchanged before bed. Tomorrow, more answers await the two of you. You can’t help how heavy you feel after today, or what to think of Viktor’s unwillingness to divulge the truth about your other self. It must be more than a simple falling out, or a breakup.

What could have happened to the other you? Could he have hurt you? You don’t think so, but the guilt behind his eyes makes you uneasy. Once again, the night is restless with too many unanswered questions. You will get to the bottom of this, but will you regret it when you do?

Viktor’s haunting anecdote rings in your mind all night.

Some things are better left unknown.

• next chapter here

The keys to the lab drop into Viktor’s dainty hand with a finality in the way they clink against one another. Metal on metal bounces off the hallway walls like the resonating ring of the town’s bell tower. Professor Heimerdinger and you share a concerned look as Viktor’s hand shakes whilst unlocking the door.

“It is quite the journey to get here from Zaun,” the Yordle remarks.

“Yes,” you concur, the three of you entering the large room together, “Viktor is looking worse for wear today.”

“I can hear you,” the aforementioned snarks. “And I am perfectly fine.”

He is already settling down in a chair at one of the desks, fiddling with the various instruments supplied by the university.

“If you say so…”

Heimerdinger claps his small hands together, eyes widening as he goes into a long winded speech. Viktor and you nod along as the professor scurries around as he speaks about safety and the scheduled check-ins he will be abiding by. He preaches the value of never underestimating the power of magic. Many people have attempted to harness it, some with good intentions, others the latter; but all have failed to do so effectively.

“Devastation is the only conclusion to the story of a great mind attempting to master the powerful forces of The Arcane.”

The way he speaks of it, of the dangers wielding so much power can have, causes a chill to trickle down your spine. Not because of the sentiment itself, but the look in Viktor’s eyes when this subject is brought up. An expression that you can only explain as the pain of having learned such a lesson first hand—or maybe witnessing this happening to someone else.

Heimerdinger leaves the two of you alone in the lab. Silence caresses the tall walls and Viktor seems to already be in his groove, gathering materials on his desk like a bear preparing for its hibernation.

“Eager to start?” You ask as you pace the extent of the room, taking everything in.

Large pipes loop in and out of the walls, lending an industrial feel to the room, and a long desk stretches the width of two walls. On the far side is a smaller desk that Viktor immediately gravitated toward. This lends to a personal theory that he is more of the solitary type. You eventually land in front of a window that overlooks a good part of Piltover from above.

“Indeed. I must get an idea of what materials we have so that I can create the blueprint mockup.”

You hum in acknowledgment. “We should ask Heimerdinger if he could provide dorming for you. I know you refuse to acknowledge it, but these long walks aren’t feasible for you.”

The sounds of his tinkering halt and your eyes meet his when he spins around in his seat. “My leg will not stop me from doing what I want to do. I have walked many miles and will walk many more.”

“While I understand that, this is a longevity thing, not a dig at your disability,” you state firmly, holding his gaze until he relents and tears his eyes from your face. Though he does not move otherwise, body still pointing at you. The conversation is clearly not over.

“How am I to know that the next time you return to Zain won’t be the last time I see you?”

You guffaw in disbelief. “I’ve survived long enough in my city, there’s no need to worry about me like that.”

“No.” For as firm as the word is when it leaves his thin lips, there is a vulnerability in the silence that follows. “I am asking if I can trust that you will come back?“

He wants to say more. You can tell by the way his lips part and then close twice before he dares to look at your face again. His insecurity takes you by surprise. It also offends you just a bit.

“Why would you think I’m that kind of person? Surely you know my character from being around me in your world… As unfortunate as it may be for my sake, I can’t just abandon you.” You turn toward the window, thoughtful. “Not until I have all the answers to my questions.”

Viktor huffs a small laugh, seemingly amused. You let him bask in this confession, if only to placate him into staying at the university. Maybe a little space from him will do you good. His presence is slowly growing on you, and you want to reject it before it can bud into anything. You cannot let yourself care for somebody who has a timer ticking down on when they will leave you behind.

Viktor is working on his list whilst you stay attached to the window, enamored by the details of the city. It disgusts you that this place thrives whilst the under city lives in its shadow, but you still can’t help but to marvel at what you had in another life.

As your eyes map out the streets and count the many people on them, a blue mass catches your attention. You squint at the bridge to the city, watching as a cloud of vibrant, powder blue grows bigger. Your stomach drops, throat tightening as realization takes over. Back when you were younger, after Vi passed, Powder showed you the flares her sister made her.

“She told me that if I ever needed her, to set one off and wait,” the girl explained to you as she fiddled with the canister.

“I will take on that promise,” you vowed, to which she smiled sweetly through budding tears.

In the present, your feet move quicker than you can think, pounding down the tiled university floors. Viktor says something when you fly out of the room, but the pounding heartbeat in your ears drowns it out. All you can think about is Powder, that sad little girl, crying out for your help.

The flare canister clatters to the ground when you nearly crash into Powder, squeezing her in a hug. She hugs you back tightly and you struggle to let go because you know that bad news awaits the space that will separate you.

“It’s your father,” she explains, eyes full of grief. “He sent some of his goons to find you and they burnt down your house before anyone knew what was going on.”

“They what?”

All of the paranoia you had been working on letting go of comes back tenfold, head spinning with multiple realizations crashing into one another like dominos. They found you, they intended to do something terrible to you, and now you have no home. Again.

“I’m sorry,” Powder breathes. “Vander and Silco arranged a search for the culprits, but I don’t think we’ll be able to find them. I’m glad you were in Piltover, it could’ve been so much worse if you were there.”

Her voice shakes, and you can only imagine how traumatizing this all must have been for her. “Don’t apologize, it’s not your fault,” you soothe, and then you pause to think for a moment. “I have to go investigate.”

“But they could still be in the city!”

“I know, but I have to do something. That was my home.”

Hesitantly, the girl nods, and the two of you make the journey back down to Zaun. Realization hits as soon as you see what little remains of your dwelling. Powder watches silently as you scrounge through the rubble for anything of meaning you can recover. You find the city alarm invention Viktor mentioned on the first night you met, and you carefully pick it up. The metal is scorched, the face more lopsided than usual, but it’s still somewhat recognizable.

What will you do now? Where will you stay if not your home? The thought of residing in the upper city makes your skin crawl. Being up there is already an internal battle of ethics for you, but it may now be your new primary stay. If not for anything but your temporary safety.

It’s clear that you are being hunted and those wretched people have information on you. If they already have their eyes on you, the safest option for you, Powder and Viktor would be to stay within the safety Piltover offers. At least until you can figure out what your next move will be. Hopefully that happens before your quest to get Viktor home ends.

After spending a long while mourning the place you’ve called home longer than anywhere else, you talk to Powder and quell her worries. You are sure that you can ask Heimerdinger to make accommodations for you as well as Viktor—he’s already offered—so you have options. While you don’t fully explain what the two of you are doing in the city, she is satisfied that you have somewhere safe to go.

You spend a couple more hours in your city, friends and neighbors give you kind sentiments and some goods for your troubles. An impromptu gathering takes place at The Last Drop and you get a couple of free drinks on the house. You try to enjoy your time as much as possible before Vander basically forces you to get back to the safety of Piltover.

A tearful goodbye with Powder at the same spot on the bridge and you’re off to the city with the little tangible items you still own on your back.

“Where on earth were you?” Viktor immediately questions as soon as you get back to the lab, eyebrows furrowed so deeply they almost eclipse his irises.

Him and Heimerdinger seemed to have been having a conversation before you arrived. Both do a double take of your appearance and you realize you must look an absolute mess. You walk over to the long desk and drop your backpack onto the surface, sighing before turning to the two of them.

“I got a distress signal from Powder… My home was burned down.”

“Oh my,” the professor remarks. “While this is a great tragedy, I do have a dorm room just down the hall set aside. Viktor and I were just speaking about this. If you don’t mind sharing, you are both more than welcome to stay there.”

You nod numbly. “Thank you.”

“I will leave you to it then. And Viktor, those supplies will be requested immediately.”

Without another word, the Yordle scurries out of the room and you slump into the nearest seat. You drape an arm over your eyes and lean back, pulling yourself together for the time being. The clicks of Viktor’s cane on the floor barely register in your frazzled mind, and then you feel a hand on your shoulder.

Slowly, you uncover your eyes and find him sat in front of you on a rolling chair with such concern in his gaze that your heart aches. You can’t break, not in front of him. A deep breath clears your mind for the time being. Compartmentalization does happen to be a talent of yours.

“Are you okay?” He asks softly, that look in his eyes too much for you to bear.

You lash out, compartmentalization out the window in an instant. “What do you think?”

A pregnant pause as he readjusts his grip on his cane and pulls the handle inward, toward his chest. “That’s fair.”

You huff, indignant as you push off the floor to gain some distance from him. It’s petulant the way you spin so your back faces him.

“Was it… on purpose?”

“Absolutely,” you mumble, dismissively. “That fucker is out to get me once again.”

“Who are you talking about? I truly don’t appreciate your secrecy,” Viktor drolls out, as though the words themselves exhaust him to speak.

You chuckle, back still facing him. “I’ll tell you when you answer my questions from yesterday. And don’t act dumb, you know exactly what I’m talking about.”

A glance at him over your shoulder satisfies you just a bit. Viktor looks extraordinarily annoyed, but you know he can’t deny the fairness of such a trade. For a single moment, you think you’ve backed him into a corner, but you should expect more of such a sharp mind when it comes to a debate.

“How about we get to know one another a little better then? Before we go diving into the deep, dark depths of our pasts.”

“You probably already know about my fucked up family, that’s not fair,” you reply, one foot gently turning your chair to the side, so that you can see him from the corner of your eye.

His head shows side to side, and his voice softens as he says, “No. I don’t. That’s one thing you never got to open up to me about.”

More questions about his relationship with the other version of yourself arise. If you were close enough to be romantically involved, how couldn’t you have gotten that deep? You suppose that the ferocity in which you hold your past close to your heart could still exist, even if you were to have lived a better life.

“Tell me,” you say, fully turning toward Viktor, “how did we meet? Maybe we can start there.”

He smiles softly and settles in his chair, getting comfortable for the long yarn he intends to spin.

Jayce Talis was a vision of charisma and ambition since he was a child, the perfect foil to yourself. Yet somehow, he was attached to you by the hip like a protective brother. And his mother—that sweet woman—saw you for what you could become and nothing less when she came across you. A tween begging for food on the streets, the same age as her own son. She couldn’t keep her heart from melting at the sight, and her past struggles ignited the decision to take you in as her own.

She was like an aunt, never wishing to replace your parents—not that you wouldn’t wholeheartedly accept her as so—while Jayce became your closest friend very quickly. Going from an extroverted only child to having a new sibling caused him to take on the task of drawing you out of your shell. He would ask you every question under the sun, wanting to know everything about you.

Jayce was the only person you had told about everything that happened before. About your retched father and missing mother. Nary a judgement came through in his words nor his expression. He didn’t look down on you, and for that you loved him dearly.

He knew who he was through and through from the start. His passion for science and his visions for what the world could be drew vivid images on the horizon in your mind. He would create magnificent little gizmos and you would always be enamored by his ingenuity. You liked to doodle silly faces on his contraptions, and instead of being mad that you tampered with his things, he would only encourage you to draw more.

Eventually, he went down the science route and you went into the arts. You attended the same university, but your classes and living arrangements were pretty far from one another. Once the whole Hextech explosion destroyed his Penthouse and nearly took his life, his mom pushed you to look after him more.

This is when you met Viktor, actually picking a fight with him when he came to talk about Jayce’s invention after the authorities confiscated all of his work. You have always been a hothead, naturally. After spending the better years of your life being fiercely protected by Jayce, it was your turn to become that person for him after such an incident.

You were very cold toward Viktor in the beginning, not trusting this stranger and worried about the dangers of their joint project. In an attempt to quell these concerns, you invested as much time as you could into helping them with it. You got to keep an eye on the boys and maintain Jayce’s safety.

Little did you know, it was you who was in the most danger.

Viktor was enamored by how bright you were, how you could come up with such ingenious safeguards for each stage of their inventions. You were practically the safety committee, which led you inherently to look after Viktor as well. Since you would opt to stay in the lab when Jayce was spirited away to do PR, you would spend this time cleaning up and organizing materials. Getting closer to Viktor was inevitable during these times. The two of you slowly built a friendship and would stay up late in the lab, working on your own projects while he did his work. Silent but comfortable; alone together.

As a matter of course, you would talk about any and everything when it became late and the drowsiness loosened your lips. During one of these such nights, you ended up confessing your budding feelings to Viktor, then immediately took it back and told him never to speak of it again.

Of course the ever mischievous Viktor took every opportunity to tease you behind Jayce’s back. You would always scold him, telling him that it would only lead to bad things if you got together. He said he was willing to risk it and sealed the statement with a kiss. You felt ethereal in that moment, like a star sparking in the night sky. It was a special moment, the first kiss the two of you shared, but you were right to worry.

This little budding romance was always fated to be a tragedy.

last chapter here • next chapter here

Part 1 ~ blue

Reader receives the shock of their life when Viktor essentially materializes into their world, forever altering their version of reality as he tries to get back to his own.

Part 2 ~ blue, soft

With access to a lab, Viktor and reader can begin creating a method to get him back to his original timeline. Meanwhile, reader’s past wreaks havoc in Zaun and more context into their true relationship with Viktor comes to light.

Part 3

Main Masterlist

“Okay, I don’t mean to sound like a hypocrite, but have you left the library at all today?”

Gale stands with a hand on his hip, a crease of concern developing between his brows. Estelle looks up from her journal, lip still worried between her front teeth. This expression quickly morphs into a smirk.

“What ever do you mean, mister Waterdeep? You sound completely hypocritical.”

The Wizard rolls his eyes. “I can’t believe Sophoebe raised such a snarky little shite... Listen, Estelle. I know how wonderful it is to spend all of your time with your nose buried in great literature and poetry, I get it, but— Do you want to end up like me?”

“Gods no!”

“Harsh… But that’s the point! I spent so much of my twenties like this, lost in other worlds and the conceptual. But when you use up all of your time like this, you aren’t actually living life. I know you go on romps down town with your brothers every once in a while, but you need to go-live! Find what you like and dislike, make some friends, maybe get a bit drunk and I’ll be here to brew up a potion that will leave you feel brand new afterward. Please, just don’t waste your life.”

A long exhale leaves the Tiefling as she takes in the man in front of her. Of course he is absolutely genuine and wise beyond his years, but this speech is such a punch to the gut. Estelle feels as though she has lived too much life, she should’ve been dead alongside her village at the age of seven. The only reason she’s here in Baldur’s Gate, under protection of the Royal Guard, safe—is because of a Wizard much like Gale that values the pursuit knowledge more than anything. She doesn’t want to waste this valuable time doing frivolous things, would rather follow the Paladin Oath she took up and stay away from environments that would lead to bad habits.

“All I’m saying is that going to the pub won’t kill you, alright?” Gale digresses, shifting back on his heel to give the woman some space.

“No, no, I understand where you’re coming from. And it is Friday… Is it normal to go to the pub alone though?”

“I wouldn’t recommend going to the Blushing Mermaid alone, but there’s a new spot I heard one of our patrons talking about called Siren’s Shanty. Apparently, it’s very popular with people from your age range and it’s not seedy like most other places.”

“Alright, then. If I go, will you let me study my ass off in peace?”

Gale cracks a grin and clasps his hands together. “Only if you tell me all about it!”

“Sure, and that will be just as boring as my reading habits,” she quips back. To which Gale guffaws.

“Just get out of here before I tell your mother you’re being a little shite,” he shoos, and Estelle reluctantly gathers her things. On her way out, he calls, “Don’t forget to bring a-“

“I will not bring a dagger with me, but rest assured I will cast a protection spell before I leave,” she calls over her shoulder just as the library’s heavy oak doors fall shut.

Usually, Estelle is stone faced and focused, but a flutter in her stomach causes her to enter the chic pub with wide eyes. Actually, it can barely be called that. A bar top greets her upon entry, but past that is a window that gazes over a dance floor. So strange, she thinks as she looks around. It feels like a coffee shop with a club in the back.

People like this place?

Not knowing what else to do, she takes a seat on a stool at the bar, careful not to sit on her hair. Usually styled with some curls framing her face and the rest in a tight braid, her hair is instead down tonight. A bun sits atop her head, a couple pieces framing her face and the rest flowing over her shoulders in purple spirals. That’s going to take some getting used to.

“Something sweet, please,” she asks the bartender.

“Sweet drink for a sweet face, got it,” he replies with a wink, catching Estelle off guard.

It’s been a very long time since anyone has flirted with her. She fights the part of herself that feels embarrassed and tries to embrace how she feels a bit of satisfaction. It did take quite a while to put together her outfit and style her hair.

For a while, it feels as if she is dipping her toes in the water, a comfortable energy surrounding her as she sips at her tasty beverage and makes small talk with the barkeep between orders. She is almost ready to call it a successful night when a loud group of people enter. Actually, it’s just one person that’s being obnoxious, and she knows her.

“Oi, is that Estelle?! You beautiful little minx, it’s been ages!”

Memories of her school years flicker in her minds eye, laughing with Karlach and Shadowheart on free periods and after lessons were over. Speaking of, the latter follows Karlach over and gives Estelle an amused grin.

“Look at you,” she says flatly, but it is a loving comment.

“Wow, I haven’t seen you two in years. Could I buy you guys a drink?”

“Absolutely!” Karlach enthusiastically agrees and the two slide into the stools either side of her.

For the next hour, the three talk and catch up. Well, mostly Estelle as she’s the one that has been living in near solitude for the last handful of years. It is like a part of her that she thought she had lost was found once again and she understands Gale’s words from earlier all at once. This spark of fun, this is what she didn’t even know she was missing.

“Love, I could sit here and chat all night, but I need to dance like yesterday. A round of shots please!” Karlach smacks the bar top with a giant grin. “Will you join us?”

“Perhaps later? I may need to warm up to the idea a bit before jumping right in.”

“Don’t worry, you’ll be able to find us,” Shadowheart assures before taking two shots back to back with no hesitance. “See you later I hope!”

Karlach takes three shots and hoots, then kisses Estelle’s cheek, disappearing down a set of stairs and coming into view through the window in the wall soon after. She watches in amusement for a while before ordering another drink. She plans on joining in, but she needs some more liquid courage before going that far. The bartender has switched out by this time, replaced by a young woman that is sweet but offers no conversation. And so, Estelle sits in comfortable silence, sipping her drink and wondering if she’ll be able to join her friends tonight.

Another hour passes and Estelle is still glued to her same spot, another drink down and a warm buzz in her head. But it’s not enough to push her onto that dance floor. She hums a tune to herself and her gaze trails around the pub, unintentionally catching the eyes of a man entering the door at that moment. He raises a brow and offers a handsome smile before taking a seat next to her.

“One glass of wine, please.”

The woman behind the counter practically swoons and quickly serves the stranger, lingering for a moment too long before going back to her duties. Estelle wants to scoff, immediately pegging the man as some pompous womanizer. The type of man Sophoebe warned her to stay away from. As though he isn’t there, she directs her gaze toward the window, smiling as she watches Karlach tear up the dance floor, Shadowheart cheering her on.

“Living vicariously?” A voice draws her attention away.

Estelle turns to face the man who she can’t help but to think of as handsome. His maroon eyes, high cheekbones and that voice are such a killer package. She needs to be careful.

“Hm?”

“You watch them dance, but you don’t don’t join.”

“Quite the astute observation. Say, are you a philosopher?” She sasses, lips loose from the alcohol. She would usually reserve this attitude for her brothers and sometimes Gale, but not a stranger.

He grins, though, amused and a little taken aback. “I… am not. I just can’t help but notice when a beautiful woman watches others dance from afar. I wonder what she’s thinking, if she’s waiting for a partner?”

Estelle laughs. “What a charmer you are. I’ll have to decline, though.”

“Oh? So you’re more of a chat in the lounge type?” He smoothly recovers.

“No, I’m more of a sit alone and enjoy myself type, but that was a great try.”

A look of complete shock takes over his features and Estelle bites her tongue to stop from laughing again. He is definitely too up himself, he thought it would be so easy to grab her attention. With a prideful feeling bubbling within, Estelle gives him a wave and decides to call it a night. She can’t wait to tell Gale about this guy tomorrow. But she does have to admit to herself that she had a lot of fun, more than she thought she would.

So much fun, in fact, that she ends up at that same pub the following Friday. She talks with Karlach and Shadowheart again and lets them migrate to the dance floor without her, with a promise to actually join them this time. She makes sure to ease into things, having two of those sweet cocktails and watching her friends dance for a while.

In the midst of her people watching, she hears an all too familiar voice. She knows exactly who it is, the way he drawls his syllables unlike anyone else.

“You again?”

Estelle turns her head, already amused at the huff in his tone and the slightly hurt expression he holds. Wow, she didn’t realize she’d bruised his ego so bad the last time they spoke.

“Ah, yes, and it’s you again.” She grins, enjoying his plight a little too much.

“Still not dancing, I see,” he murmurs and she nods.

“I was thinking about it, and I guess it’s about time now that I seem to be unwanted here.”

“I never said that,” he defends.

“Mm, your pout says otherwise. Don’t get rejected much do you?” She asks candidly.

Once again, he is shocked beyond words before recovering a bit. “I- Just go. Whatever.” He flicks his hand dismissively and Estelle giggles through her hand.

“Until next time then, sad stranger.”

She chugs her drink and heads down the creaky steps, each footfall causing the music to deepen until she’s in the den of the beast. Her friends see her and immediately draw her into the throng of people all moving and grinding. A shot is thrust at her and she takes it, laughing along with her friends when she sputters at the strong taste.

The rest of the night is spent dancing her ass off, but she doesn’t fail to notice that handsome stranger’s gaze through the window. When she is a couple more shots deep, she looks for him, ready to get bold and gesture for him to come dance. She mainly wants to see his reaction, and someone other than her friends would be fun to dance with. But he seems to have disappeared by this time. Shame, she thinks. And then she finds someone else, the stranger forgotten in an instant.

“Why order wine at a bar, fancy pants?” Estelle asks the next time she sees the handsome stranger, diving into it immediately. Although she hasn’t learned his name, she feels enough familiarity with him to tease him right out the gate.

“Are you always this rude to people?”

“Only you,” she sings.

“And why is that?” He raises his brow, the dejection from their last encounter seeming to fade into pure curiosity.

“Honestly, nobody has flirted with me so brazenly before. I found it funny.”

“You’re kidding.” He has to collect his jaw from the floor. “How is that so?”

“Oh, well you seem kind of up yourself, so…” He glares and she laughs, swatting his arm. “Kidding! Well, kind of, but- I don’t go out much. Honestly, the night we met was my first time going out by myself in years.”

“And why is that so? Why not enjoy yourself and use your looks to get free drinks from strangers you won’t ever see again? Isn’t that the best part of being beautiful?”

“Well, I much prefer to focus on my studies and work, but I do see the appeal of indulging every once in a while now.” She takes a sip of her drink. “And I don’t know, all I get for being beautiful is the same guy approaching me every time I’m at the pub.” She shoots a him a smile to soften the statement.

“The same guy who you haven’t even asked the name of, even though this is the third time we’ve met,” he chides in jest, a smile matching hers.

“You’re counting? How cute.” His ears redden at this but his face barely betrays him. “And what would your name be, stranger?”

“Astarion, thank you very much. And you?”

“Estelle.” She holds her hand out and he takes it gently, pressing a soft kiss to the back of it.

“Well, I guess it’s nice to finally meet you.”

“Likewise,” she chuckles, flipping their hands and placing a kiss on the back of his hand, leaving a lipstick mark behind. “Say, do you want to dance with me?”

He gives her an are you serious look. “What made you change your mind between when I asked you and now?”

“I know your name this time,” she replies simply, hopping off of her seat and tugging his hand, still in hers. “You coming?”

He gives her a smile of disbelief but gestures for her to lead, following behind the beguiling woman that still holds onto his hand.

The music flows through her and she feels alive, taking in a deep breath with her eyes closed before leading Astarion into the crowd. Once they are a good distance into the mass of bodies, she feels his hand slip from hers, trailing down to her hip. His other hand mirrors and he gently draws her into his chest. Her head lulls back and she smiles up at him, the blinking lights sparkling in her multicolor eyes. His breath catches in his throat, feeling an unexpected skip in his metaphorical heart beat.

Something about this woman makes him feel so… Is fresh the right word? But that’s the only way he can describe it. He feels as though he can see the world, feel things through her as she experiences them for the first time. He can feel her joy and when she laughs, he finds himself laughing along. Such a silly thing, but it makes him feel alive. Dancing with her is unlike when he dances with others. That sensual grinding is replaced by a more relaxed swaying as she emotes up at him, occasionally turning around to whisper something amusing in his ear. She keeps holding his hand and leaving little kisses on the back or the palm between songs.

“Hey, sexy, what’ya got there?” Karlach booms from behind, shattering the moment for Astarion and causing him to come back down to earth.

“Hey babes!” Estelle cheers, her warm hand leaving his feeling suddenly empty as she jumps into her friends arms, hugging both of them and chatting over the music for a bit before the one with silver hair gestures at Astarion.

He approaches with a smile. “Hello ladies, are you stealing her away for the night now?”

“Oh, no. Go right ahead, she desperately needs to get laid—“ Karlach receives a swift elbow to the gut by Shadowheart who is actually laughing.

“Real nice, guys,” Estelle replies, laughing, but Astarion can sense something in her he can’t put a finger on.

“Anything for you, babes. Now, go have fun with your handsome catch. Bye!”

The two women disappear into the crowd just as they appeared and Estelle turns back to Astarion with a bewildered look. He can’t help but to laugh, drawing her near once more.

“Is that what you’re looking for?” He asks, breath tickling her ear and causing goosebumps to rise on her bare arms.

“N-no, not really,” she stutters back, lips grazing his skin.

“I assumed so, based on our prior interactions. Not to sound cocky, but I’m sure I would’ve bedded you the first night we met if that was your intention.”

“Well aren’t we confident,” Estelle chuckles out. “So sure you could seduce me when you failed so miserably.”

“I could still seduce you. Easily,” he defends with a scoff.

“Alright then. Seduce me.”

He pulls away and looks her in the eyes. Her brows are raised in a challenging manner, arms crossing, as if to say you won’t do it.

“I can do that, darling,” he purrs, pulling her close so their chests are flush. “Don’t get upset when you fall for me.”

Her eyes roll but she smiles, hands moving to his arms just as the song shifts to something more befitting of this new tone. A spark threatens to evolve into a flame between them. They move together, her body warming his. His hands stay on her hips respectfully, but when she turns around, he isn’t afraid to begin grinding on her, whispering to her and letting his lips drag against the shell of her ear.

He feels her lean into his touch, melting. But it’s still different somehow, he thinks. She is being charmed by his perfectly precise moves, but she isn’t jumping on him. Is just letting herself be in the moment, not pushing for more but not pulling away. And he finds himself enjoying it more than he has in a while. There’s no guarantee she will even take him to bed tonight, and yet all he wants to do is give her a great time here on the dance floor. He isn’t thinking ahead, having been pulled into the moment by her hand.

At one point, she turns to face him and speaks into his ear, “Thank you truly for dancing with me, but I don’t want to take this anywhere else tonight.” She pulls back and smiles sweetly.

He leans his forehead against hers and runs a thumb over her cheek. “That’s fine, darling. I really enjoyed myself tonight. Will you dance with me again next week?”

“Most definitely, Astarion.”

Something in the way she says his name causes such a rush in him that he leans forward without thinking. Estelle is shocked by the unexpected kiss but almost immediately melts into it. Her hands fall on his chest, one trailing upward to cup the back of his neck. They become lost in one another for an unspecified amount of time. His hands finally break their oath to her hips and grip her ass, bringing her as close as possible.

They both gasp when they part and Estelle gives him a huge grin. “That was nice.”

“Very nice,” he murmurs, and she leans hear forehead against his neck.

He can tell that she’s done for the night, becoming tired from the alcohol and the dancing and the excitement. His hand runs up and down her back and he savors the moment for just a little longer. He doesn’t want to let go, and neither does she.

All that Karlach and Shadowheart can talk about when they’re with Estelle from then on is Astarion.

“You guys looked like a couple at prom.”

“I thought he was gonna take you home, what happened?”

“Well, if you must know, he knows I’m not that type of girl,” Estelle replies as she arranges her stack of books on the library table. “Now can we not talk about this in public? I don’t want Gale trying to give me the talk.”

The girls giggle but oblige, scurrying off to probably go look at the erotic books as Estelle settles down into her usual spot. She cracks open a book and leans it on the stand she brought, grabbing her pen and tapping the end against her notebook as she picks up where she left off. She gets into her groove and everything fades away as she becomes immersed, scribbling notes quickly so she can get back to the words on the page.

But a voice snaps her out of it entirely. That drawl, she could never forget it from the moment she first heard him speak. She looks up and finds him speaking to Gale at the front counter, not too far from where she sits. And like a deer in headlights, she just stares at him wide eyed, grateful that he hasn’t spotted her when she comes to.

Here? Now?!

She quickly adjusts the collar of her shirt and tries to smoothen her wild bangs, disgruntled when they spring right back into place. Why is she panicking right now? She guesses that she just hasn’t seen him without the influence of alcohol and a couple hours of preening prefacing an interaction. She prays that he doesn’t see her and buries her nose into her book, taking it off the stand and causing the flimsy thing to clatter on the table loudly.

“Ah yes, that should be near my favorite nuisance over there. Yes, the one with the purple hair that’s ignoring me right now.”

Thanks Gale, she thinks, I’m going to strangle you later.

The clearing of a throat causes her to look up reluctantly, and it’s him, handsome as ever. Why does her heart beat so erratically now? Memories of the last night they were together play in her mind and she has to shove them back in the box she’d put them in so nicely once daylight came the next day. She gives him a genuine smile, honestly happy to see him, but under these circumstances…

“Who do we have here? Causing trouble for that poor librarian are we? I know you said you spent a lot of time studying, but I wasn’t expecting to see you here, pup.”

Fuck, I’m going to evaporate under that gaze.

“That poor librarian is a family friend and more of a pain in my ass to be honest. And I wasn’t expecting to see you either. Looking for pickup books are we?”

He smirks, amused. “I don’t think those are needed, do you?” He flirts.

“Convinced you’ve wooed me?”

“Not at all, but I did have a great time with you. I was actually wondering if I could take you somewhere less… distracting?”

“Uh, not to be rude, but I’m not going to your house.”

He chuckles. “Darling, I’m asking you on a date. Perhaps to a tea house, or dinner?”

Estelle’s mouth falls ajar for a moment. “Oh! Oh, okay. Yeah, sure, dinner! When?”

“We could go now if that’s alright with you? I’m just here to pick up the next book in a series I’ve been devouring lately.”

“Sure, okay,” she trips over her words and he gazes at her for a couple beats.

“Shall I come to escort you in say… One hour?”

Giddy but coy, she smiles and replies, “Sounds great.”

It feels as though the fantasies she conjures up before bed have come to life, her heart fluttering as she wonders how this night will play out. What will she wear? Gods, it’s been ages since she’s last been on a date. Estelle doesn’t have a chance to get lost in the chaos of her own mind before Shadowheart and Karlach —masters of eavesdropping— approach her to aid in preparing for the date.

⋆｡☾ A R C A N E ☽｡⋆

Viktor

Paradox Series Masterlist | soft, blue

[Preview]

Reader receives the shock of their life when Viktor essentially materializes into their world, forever altering their version of reality.

They/Them pronouns reader, No use of Y/N, Alternative Universe fic taking place after S2 Pt. 2

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ B A L D U R ‘ S G A T E 3 ˖ ݁ 𖥔.

Astarion

A Spark Struck Thrice | soft, spicy

OC main character (Estelle She/Her), Alternative Universe fic set in Baldur’s Gate where everything is fine and the new bar in town might just be the best place to go for finding a new love interest.

★ ݁ ˖ S T A R D E W V A L L E Y ˖ ݁ ★

Sam

Clearer Skies and Sea-foam Eyes Prologue (AO3 Link) | soft, spicy, blue

Series Masterlist Part 1/? Released.

OC main character (May She/Her). Is it possible to miss someone you’ve never met? And will pining after a kindhearted yet incredibly rebellious guy be a distraction from the mission May initially set out on?

Magic in the Valley | soft

Series Masterlist CH. 1/? Released.

OC main character July (She/Her). It starts with a tap on his window, and may very well end in a mess of feelings.

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PFP by Maddel_art on Picrew!

“Sure. Say one more sappy thing and I’ll leave your sorry-ass here,” you groan out, eyeing the clearly drunk man beside you that just so happens to be your best friend.

With the way things are looking, though, he may as well have transformed into your worst nightmare. Soonyoung has always been the hopeless romantic type. With a heavy emphasis on the hopeless part. Hell, the instance in which you first met told you that much.

It was a muggy, mid-summer day and you’d been on your way from your parked car to the distant beachfront. You halted when you saw a man of around your age sitting on a bench with a bouquet of vibrant, red roses lying in his lap. His head was dipped downward so that the tip of his nose was pointed toward the sidewalk.

Continually, he hummed a love song that had been popular on the radio at the time, mumbling a word or two every handful of seconds. You didn’t know why, as you tended to avoid strangers if you could, but you stopped to stand in front of him. His head shot up when he saw your shoes appear on the ground he was woefully staring at.

Hope was written across his features, but it soon died at the sight of your unfamiliar face. His quick shift in emotion almost made you laugh, but you had enough decency not to kick the man while he was down. From his posture, with the addition of the bountiful roses with no clear recipient, you deduced that he had been stood up.

“Hello. Not to sound rude, but who are you?”

“Just a curious onlooker,” you answered, not really knowing where you were going with this impromptu interaction. “I saw you and thought you should know that those roses are gonna wilt if you don’t put them in some water soon.”

His dejected expression turned into a flat out deadpan at your words. So, you weren’t very smooth, or as empathetic as you’d initially thought upon approaching him…

“Well, then,” he sighed out as he clutched the bunch of stems in a tight fist, tipping them in your direction, “either you can have them, or I can toss them into the ocean. Plenty of water there.”

An eyebrow rose and you reached out to take the flowers he held out. But then he pulled them away and smirked at you in a strangely aloof manner. You nearly scoffed.

“On second thought, I think I deserve these more. How do you feel now?” His eyes gazed at you with a certain tenacity that shocked you.

And then you laughed. His snarky little grin sunk off his face, just as he sunk back into the bench. He groaned and chucked the bouquet onto the empty space next to him, hands coming up to rub over his face.

“I guess I feel a little like you do right now,” you answered genuinely, folding your arms and watching as he looked up at you with a slow blink.

“Well, you’d be correct in that assumption.”

“Can I sit?”

He gestured limply to where the roses were lying on the scratchy wooden bench. You sat and placed them in your lap, too invested in this unknown man and his relationship problems to care about meeting up with your friend and their partner on the beach anymore. This was far more interesting than third-wheeling two of the most PDA-forward individuals you’d ever had the misfortune of keeping company. And he seemed upset. You were genuinely curious about him and wanted to try to brighten his day.

“So, what’s the story? A no-show date, proposal gone wrong?” You asked as you let your fingers rub a velvety petal that had detached from one of the flowers.

“First one,” he responded, elbows planted on his thighs with his chin in his hands. His head turned so that he could look at you when he spoke.

You acknowledged his words with a deep hum. “I’m guessing… third date?”

“First.”

“Damn.”

“Right?”

“These were expensive, huh?” You rotated the bunch of roses and spotted a sticker near the base that told you he had dropped nearly 40 dollars on the bouquet. “Were they that fine? 40-dollar-roses fine?”

He chuckled. “Not really. I just like making a good impression. And roses are romantic. They’re pretty,  and apparently fun to desecrate for nosey weirdos like yourself,” he quipped as he watched you rip up the petal you’d been fidgeting with during your conversation.

“Hey, it fell off after you threw it on the bench. That’s fair game in my opinion. Also, question: Why the hell would you spend so much money on flowers for a first date? Personally, I’d rather have someone buy food or something else that would be more useful than some flowers that’ll rot in less than a week.”

A dry look was exchanged between the two of you before he smiled and sat up. “Alright, then. Wanna go eat something?”

“Are you asking me on a date, person-that-I-don’t-even-know-the-name-of?” You crooned humorously.

“Soonyoung. And, no. I’m all dated-out for the next month, at least. But, if you wanna be friends, I’m down. It’s not every day that someone attempts to comfort you about your no-show date and then ends up making fun of you.”

“Well, I’m Y/N, and my tactics worked—somewhat, so I’d call that a success,” you responded with a grin. “And I’d be happy to grab a bite with you. But seriously, those roses are gonna die, Soonyoung.”

Soonyoung promptly snatched the bouquet from its place in your lap, walked over to the railing on the edge of the low cliff, and chucked it into the ocean as if shooting a basketball.

This is the moment you knew you were going to be good friends. Or that you’d at least have to stick around long enough to get it through his head that what he had done that day was considered a crime against the environment.

So, here you are now, sitting next to the same, tragically fanciful man you'd met that day on your way to the beach. And once again, you are left with the task of providing him support after yet another failed date. Only, this time, things are a bit different than they’d been previously.

You’ve always told Soonyoung that if he were to call you up, drunk off his ass and asking for a ride, you would hang up. Which is why he created a loophole by taking you with him to the bar. You don’t like the idea of him drinking while alone or sad, so you maintain the duty of babysitting him and regulating his alcohol intake as best you can.

“No, I’m serious. Ever since we met, you’ve been there for me. Always. Even if you-“ Soonyoung’s words are interrupted by a hiccup “-act like you don’t care… I know that you’ll always be there for me.”

Soonyoung is sat right beside you, his body turned to face you as he speaks. There’s a definite slur to his speech and a hazy look in his eyes that prompted you to subtly alert the bartender to cut him off a little while ago. He is a puddle of goo at this point, becoming extremely sentimental and directing his beam of never-ending affection at you for the night.

You’re used to it, knowing that he’s just that kind of person; someone who is perceived as flirty, even when he isn’t trying to be so. Someone that is as charming as he is absolutely hilarious. Someone that could fool you into thinking he has feelings for you when he’s just in one of his emotional moods.

Not that you don’t enjoy pretending as if you are the apple of his eye in those moments.

Not that you’d ever give him an inkling as to the growing feelings you harbor for him.

“Yeah, well that’s my job as a decent human being. You’re my friend and I’m supposed to look out for you. But you do make it very hard for me to do that when you shower with the mushiest lines I’ve ever heard in my life,” you respond, punctuating your statement with a dramatic gagging sound.

Soonyoung giggles, and his beaming smile is displayed to the world for a short while. Until he remembers why he’s here, at the bar, after having dragged you out of your home to comfort him for the nth time this month alone.

“Do you ever get tired of it?” He asks, bottom lip jutting out a bit to display his sudden shift in mood.

“Of what?”

“Of dealing with me?”

Your eyebrows draw together in disbelief. “No,” you state, firmer than you intend. “I don’t ‘deal’ with you, Soonyoung. I care about you. You may rely on me a lot to cheer you up after whatever goes on in your dating life, but that doesn’t mean I don’t rely on you, too.”

“But I never do things for you. You never ask me for help with anything. I’m useless in this relationship.” He raises his hands and then slaps his thighs to punctuate his statement.

You shake your head at him, mentally counting the amount of drinks he’s had before deciding that he’s drunk enough to probably—hopefully—not remember what you say next.

“You’d never be useless to me. Even if the only time we spent together was just you crying in my lap over some person that broke your heart, I’d be there. Because I’d get to hold you and be near you. And I’d be the one you were going home to… That’s selfish, isn’t it?”

His lips part to respond, but then you stand up and he shuts his mouth, blinking at you in an admittedly adorable manner.

“C’mon. Let’s go.”

“We’re going home?”

“Yup. Get up.” You usher him along with a roll of your wrist.

When he finally slides off of his barstool, he grabs onto your arm and gives you a look that nearly melts your heart. “Can we go to your home?”

“Yes, Soonyoung.”

He appears to have already forgotten about your roundabout way of confessing to him, excitedly babbling in your ear about something you don’t register because you’re too busy thinking about the way he so easily leans into you. You wonder if you’ll ever get the guts to sincerely tell him how you really feel.

You suppose that having him by your side, as you’d told him before, is enough.

You tell yourself that it is enough.

“What did you expect from me?” Soonyoung asks, a little smirk curling the edges of his lips as he holds an ice-cream cone in both hands.

Your eyes roll in his direction, but you can’t help but to admire how easy it is to please him. One cone from a drive-thru fast food restaurant and you’ve just become his favorite person in the world—as if you weren’t already.

“Hey, I’m not gonna judge you for your lifestyle,” you respond, holding your hands up in defense.

The two of you are sitting in the parking lot of the aforementioned food joint, the fluorescent lights from the sign out front casts a warm glow onto Soonyoung’s face. You are turned in your seat to look at him, to observe the way he practically inhales his treat, nearly dropping it a few times.

“Stop making it sound like I do bad things,” Soonyoung complains in between small nibbles at the beige colored cone. “Can’t a man enjoy a fifty cent ice-cream in the middle of winter without getting slandered?”

You sniff in amusement but don’t respond, busying yourself with queueing up some songs for the ride home. Upon feeling eyes on you, you look up at Soonyoung and quirk a brow. A semi-defeated sigh leaves you when you realize what that looks means.

The drive home is fairly uneventful. Soonyoung immediately takes control of the aux—as he usually does—and belts along to every song that is played, absolutely singing his heart out. The windows are cracked open about an inch, even though it is exceptionally chilly out, and the cool wind that kisses your skin is soothing in a cathartic kind of way. The contrast of the freezing, winter air and the processed heat erupting from the vents causes you to sink into your seat. Two opposites clash and create something lukewarm and comforting.

Your gaze shifts to Soonyoung when you can afford it, at stop signs and red lights, and you smile every time. He is full of passion, and unabashedly so, as he holds an invisible microphone in one hand, the other animatedly flailing to the cadence of his voice. And then the light turns green, or you notice that you’ve been stopped for too long, and you step on the gas, embarrassed. Disconcerted by the way he so easily gains your full attention by simply being himself.

The turning point in the night is when you arrive home, park the car, get out, and Soonyoung immediately throws up in a nearby bush. You thought you’d done a good enough job at monitoring his drinking, but the sight of him with his hands on his knees, spitting into that poor bush, tells you otherwise.

“You okay?” You ask as you rub circles onto his back. He hums and slowly stands straight, once again latching onto you by the arm so that you can lead him into your home. “You know, I’m a little worried about you,” you say as you help him out of his coat. “You usually drink more than that, right?”

Soonyoung shrugs, continuing to remain silent. You sense that something is up with him, but you let your worries die in your throat when he waddles off to the bathroom. As he freshens up, you start on the routine you’ve established for whenever Soonyoung spends the night: grab the extra blankets and pillows, peel your covers to one side and set up Soonyoung’s side. Always him on the left and you on the right. The domestic quality to it all makes your heart ache in your chest.

He enters the room not too long after, gracing you with a soft smile when he sees you waiting there on your designated side of the bed for him. You smile back, gesturing to your dresser wordlessly. There are always clothes in there that he leaves after hanging out or sleeping over. It just became a habit for you to wash them and place them in your dresser until you decided to give up on reminding him to remember his clothes completely. That’s how the Soonyoung drawer was born; another thing that’s painfully domestic when you think about it for too long.

Soonyoung crawls into the spot next to you, laying on his belly and burying his face in a pillow. A long pause comes and passes.

“It was the fifty cent ice-cream, wasn’t it?”

His giggle is muffled until he turns his head to look up at you where you sit, back against the headboard. For the second time tonight, you roll your eyes at him, but your overall countenance remains lighthearted.

“If I say ‘yes’, you’re just gonna make fun of me.”

“Of course I will,” you reply with a faux warmth that has him pouting up at you.

A small yawn leaves his lips and you watch as his eyes slowly fall shut, his features relaxing as you assume he falls asleep. You allow yourself to openly take him in, even going so far as to reach over and brush the hair off his forehead once you deem it safe to do so. Your eyes wander to the clock on your nightstand and your brows shoot up when you realize that it’s nearly 2 in the morning. Tonight’s excursion lasted longer than you’d planned for, but that’s a thing that comes with Soonyoung: forgetting about time itself in his presence.

With one final look at his peaceful face, you heft yourself off of the bed and go to turn off the light.

“Where are you going?”

You stop in your tracks, glancing over your shoulder to see Soonyoung turned on his side, looking at you. An unexpected flutter starts up in your stomach and you have to look away from him before your thoughts bury you further in the rut you’ve dug yourself into. Soonyoung’s question is answered by the flick of the light switch. Silence follows, aside from the rustling of the covers as you crawl back into bed. Your heart races in your chest as you wonder if he’s been awake this whole time. He’s sobered up enough to question the affectionate way you touched his forehead earlier.

“Goodnight,” you breathe, even though you are on your back, staring wide eyed at the ceiling. Or trying to, at least, as it’s too dark to see much of anything now.

“What’s wrong?” He simpers, and you want to bury yourself in your blankets and scream at the softness of his voice.

“It’s late; you should go to sleep, Soonyoung.”

You feel the bed shift, hear the blankets rustle as he moves. And then he’s in your ear. “You’ve been acting weird today. What is it?”

He moves again, and then his knuckles brush against your arm. Your face burns and you let out a sigh in an attempt to steady your shaky breathing. He is right beside you. You can hear his quiet breaths, can feel them tickle your ear.

“Were you lying about what you said at the bar?” He asks when you don’t answer his previous question.

“What do you mean?” Your entire body tenses up when he mentions the bar. The thinly veiled confession you'd made earlier replays in your mind and presses a firm hand down on your chest, holding you in place.

“You said you rely on me, too. But now you won’t tell me what’s going on. C’mon, Y/N. Talk to me. It’s okay,” he says, speaking slowly as his fingers curl around your arm and his nose presses against your shoulder.

“Soonyoung… I-I’ll tell you tomorrow, okay?”

“Fine, fine,” he finally digresses, “but you better tell me.”

You hum, but you are praying he won’t ask about it after you wake up. Have you really been acting strangely? Can he sense your emotions? Why is he still so close to you?

A brief pause.

“Goodnight,” you say again, eyes still wide open.

Soonyoung nudges your temple with his forehead and lets out a soft sigh that warms the side of your face for a brief moment. You are still paralyzed with nerves, mind swimming with the possibility that when you inevitably do confess to him, he won’t return your feelings. It doesn’t seem that life-shattering to the logical side of your mind; you’re not the first person to fall in love with their best friend, and Soonyoung is one of the most understanding people in the world. Nothing about the way he interacts with you would change, and that should be comforting.

But to the emotional side of your mind, that fact only gives you a sliver of relief. The problem here is you. You aren’t sure if you’d be able to continue receiving his caring touches and mushy words without reading too much into them, as you have been doing for quite some time. The thought of you having to distance yourself from Soonyoung because of the sappy, hopeless romantic part of yourself that you never let see the light of day pains you. It fills you with convoluted feelings that drown you from the inside in their attempt to free themselves from your sealed lips.

What makes your agony infinitely worse is that the person fueling all of these intense and complex emotions is currently beside you. Ever so slowly scooting himself closer to you. You realize this when you are pulled out of your own mind by the feeling of Soonyoung gingerly placing his arm over your stomach.

Why is he still awake?

“I can't sleep,” he whispers, as if reading your mind.

The weight of Soonyoung’s arm on your torso is so comfortingly upsetting to you. You don’t want him to move away, but your conscience is telling you to push his arm off. To not take his platonic affection and contort it into something else.

“Why not?” You ask, if only to distract yourself from the heap of internal conflict that runs rampant through your mind.

“I can tell you’re upset about something right now, and I wanna make sure you’re okay. You know I can’t rest if you’re not happy.”

His tone is knowing, perceptive in a manner that you can’t argue with. Being secretly in love with your best friend is a hard thing to pull off when said best friend can read you like a book. Even when you are positive that you aren’t showing any sign of distress, he always knows when you’re overthinking or just generally upset.

“Really?” You keep your tone casual, remaining aloof in the face of his spot-on analysis. “What makes you think I’m upset?”

“... I don’t know. I can just feel it,” he replies with genuinity woven into the fabric of his voice.

“You can feel it,” you echo with the hope that your teasing timbre will lead to a more lighthearted conversation.

“Stop.”

Soonyoung’s voice is clear in your ear as that single syllable punches you in the gut, rendering you speechless. He is being completely serious, and you’ve just gone and insulted him by trying to joke about the way he’s explaining himself. You want to sink into yourself until your atoms collapse into a black hole that wipes you out of existence. You’re being an asshole.

“Sorry.”

“Why do you do that?” You hum questionably, urging him to continue. “Whenever I talk about my feelings or say something from my heart, you almost always brush it off. Or-or you act like I’m being silly. Why do you act like you don’t have emotions at all when it comes to me?”

Soonyoung’s voice never raises once when he says this, but his syllables are sharp, punctuated by the agitation he feels in the moment. You don’t understand. The relationship you guys have has always worked in this manner. You’ve always been frank and sarcastic. Since the day you met him, he’s known that this is how you act, how you function, how you cope when faced with emotional situations.

You can acknowledge the fact that it was wrong of you to joke about his sincere feelings, but when it comes to things like this, he’s never this vehement. You’ll receive a glare or an ‘I’m being serious’ under circumstances where Soonyoung wants you to listen without the usual commentary, but never this. Never him calling you out for the personality and habits that make up, well, you. Never him accusing you of being void of emotion when you've had long talks in the past about the way you respond to that kind of thing.

It’s in your nature to pull away from soft feelings, and in his to nudge that softness back at you; this relationship is symbiotic, evening one other out naturally without one having to push for the other to be a certain way. So why is he dissecting you and telling you that you lack a heart within your chest?

“It’s a defense mechanism. You know that.”

Soonyoung’s arm retracts from where it lays over your stomach. Your chest aches at the loss of contact, but even more so, it burns with dejection. You suppose you hurt him so he hurt you, and it feels twice as bad.

“From what?” You hear him move and assume that he is sitting up now. “Y/N, I know you’re practically the opposite of me, but it makes me wonder sometimes—When I’m looking at you and you look so cold, I wonder if you feel the way that I do. Because you do all these things behind the scenes, like putting my clothes in a drawer just for me and keeping my favorite snacks on hand. And you listen to me talk about my train wreck of a love life and give me somewhere where I can go to stop the loneliness from killing me but—When I try to give back, it’s like you don’t care.”

“Soon-“

“You smile and accept my gifts and hugs, but you retract right after. You almost look… disgusted. So, is it me? Am I just a basket case that you can’t get rid of because you’re already in too deep? Are you lying when you say things like you rely on me, too, or you like that you're the one I come home to? Do you think I’m stupid? That I don’t remember what you said and then brushed off like it was nothing? Jumped to shove me into the car so I could go to bed and forget about it all the next day? Tell me what’s going on, because it feels like you’re playing with my heart.”

It’s silent for a long while as you process everything he’s just said. You shift to sit up on your bottom, feeling strange about remaining on your back, and you wish that you could see him right now. His voice became choked at the end of his deploration and you can only assume that he is near—if not in—tears at the moment.

“I-I don't really know how to respond, Soonyoung. You said a lot of things, and I understood them, but what’s the reason for all of this? I feel like this is about something bigger, because you never…” You come up empty handed when you delve for the right words to describe your fast paced thoughts.

“No. It’s fine. I shouldn't have said anything.”

Soonyoung’s watery voice and the sniffle you hear after he speaks confirms that he is now crying. You aren’t sure what to do. Your mind is still stuck on some of the things he said.

‘I wonder if you feel the way that I do.’

‘It feels like you’re playing with my heart.’

These are some of the things you think about when Soonyoung is in front of you. So, is it that he feels the same way for you, or does he just care about you that much platonically? Either is reasonable in your mind, based on the affectionate way he talks about his other friends. You try to be unbiased, but you want it to be the former option so badly you can’t bear it.

“Soonyoung, it’s not fine. Those are your feelings, and it seems like you’ve been keeping them inside for a while… If you want me to work on myself, I will. I don’t like being the reason you’re crying.” He sniffles again but remains silent otherwise. “Please say something.”

You reach out into the darkness and find his elbow with your hand. Clumsily, you snuffle toward him on your knees until they bump against his leg. He lets out a small sigh and his arm slightly moves, but not out of your grasp. You let your hand run up his arm, finding his hand, and his damp face underneath.

“Soonyoung?”

His hand grasps yours and slowly pulls it behind his shoulder so that you lean in closer to him. Immediately, your free arm finds his waist and you push him toward you, so that you are holding him to your chest. His moist cheek presses against your collar bones and his hair tickles your upturned chin, your bodies awkwardly stretched to meet one another in your sitting positions.

“I do care,” you mumble. “I just don’t know how to express how much I care without going over the line.”

He finally speaks, his cheek leaving your chest. “If there’s a line, I’ve been walking it for a while.”

“Please stop speaking in metaphors; it’s confusing.”

Soonyoung lets out a frustrated groan and suddenly his hands find your cheeks. He squishes your face between his palms and you find yourself becoming annoyed with his knack for being unresponsive when you need clarification, but your grievances don’t get the chance to come out. There is a warmth that blocks your lips from moving, and then it is gone. The only reason you understand what has just happened is the unfamiliar brush of Soonyoung’s nose against the side of yours when he pulls away. Your hands clutch his shirt where they rest on his back, and you let out a noise of utter confusion.

“This is scary,” you hear Soonyoung say, the vibration of his voice felt through the small pocket of air between your lips. “But I couldn’t say it, so I had to show you.”

“You… Do you like me?”

Your brain is going at approximately one mile an hour, the shock of it all nearly slowing your thoughts to a halt.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Y/N. I—oh, god, I’m gonna say it—I love you. In the most not-as-best-friends-way. Or, maybe as best friends. But, like, best friends that want to get married—in the future, of course. Not right now. I’m not proposing or anything-“

“Soonyoung.”

He falls silent, his nervous babbling halting at the sound of his own name. You aren’t sure if you can say those three words to him yet, if you can find any words at all to express the overwhelming amount in which you agree with him. So you close the gap between your faces once again, bringing a hand to the back of his neck and pressing your lips to his for a longer, more drawn out kiss. When you pull away, he wraps his arms around your body and gently lowers the two of you down onto the bed. You keep your grasp on him, afraid of letting go and losing him in the darkness once again, and he chuckles blithely.

“We’re idiots,” he says, but with the most jovial lilt to his voice.

“I think you’re correct,” you reply as your fingers trail down his arm and find his hand with yours. Your palm flattens against his and your fingers intertwine.

“I think you’re the only person that would kiss me back after I threw up an hour before.”

You blink. “Did you brush your teeth?”

“Of course. I’m not a monster.”

“Hey, Soonyoung?” He hums, chest rumbling under your head. “I would’ve kissed you even if you didn’t brush your teeth.”

He laughs. A yawn leaves you as fatigue sets in; both physical and emotional. “Is that your way of saying ‘I love you, too’?”

“I guess so. For now.”

“Gross.”

It’s just a couple of mumbled sentences. But the way she says them, the meaning behind those words, it causes your heart to swell up in your chest. Your tired eyes blink a couple of times, and your fingers curl around the wheel so that you can safely merge into the very right lane, rolling to a stop at last.

A tired sigh escapes you and your knuckles press into your sockets in a futile attempt to alleviate your surely bloodshot eyes. Your head turns to look at Hyunjin, where she sits in the passenger seat, already looking at you. “Thanks.”

She flashes you a sweet grin, holding eye contact for longer than necessary. The click of her seatbelt coming undone pulls you out of the hazy space you’ve fallen into, and you’re quick to undo your own. When you pass her on your way to the other side of the car, her hand glides across your hip; ever the silent but loving type.

You can’t suppress the loving smile that develops as a product of that subtle tenderness. Even after you are strapped into the seat she’s left warm with her body heat. A puff of air draws your attention to her and the blithe expression she adorns.

“What?”

“You’re cute,” she responds easily.

“Where are we even going?” You redirect the conversation, slightly defeated by the fact that your girlfriend can so easily fluster you with just her words alone.

“We’ll figure it out,” she responds, shifting into drive and turning on the blinker before smoothly merging back onto the vacant highway.

You sink into your seat, getting comfortable and adjusting back a few degrees. A yawn. “I’m getting sleepy.”

“Take a nap then. I’ll wake you up next time we stop.”

“Okay,” you breathe, tired eyes still open so that you can observe her profile as she focuses on driving. “I like this.”

“Yeah?” She glances at you, eyes full of fondness. “I like this too. You should get some rest, though.”

Her hand reaches over to increase the volume of the radio just a bit, allowing for soft music to flow into the small space the two of you occupy. That, combined with the jostling of the car as it goes over bumps and uneven patches of road, lulls you to sleep almost instantly.

What causes your muscles to ultimately relax is her warm hand on your thigh, reminding you that she’s close, even if she can’t hold you at the moment. The sun will crest the horizon soon, and you’ll open your eyes to be greeted by somewhere entirely new.

Earlier, when she asked you if you’ve ever wanted to drive and continue driving until you ended up in some place you’ve never been, you didn’t expect her to take your affirmative answer as the go ahead for a spontaneous road trip. So far, you’re enjoying yourself, and you can’t wait to see what lies ahead.

You wonder, where will the two of you end up? And when you get there, will you want to turn back and go home afterward? This journey will surely make for a good story to tell friends in the future, but right now it feels almost dreamlike. Being taken out of your usual activities to do something so impulsive is just the excitement you’ve been looking for.

You didn’t know what you were signing up for when you and her got into a relationship, but with the way things are going, you are sure of the fact that things will never become dull between the two of you. It’s as though she appeared out of thin air, took your hand and told you with a sparkle in her eyes, Let’s make life an adventure.