#songfic

One moment you were running your art store in the Undercity, organizing the brand new shipment of paints that you finally got your hands on after months of saving your money. The cans were a familiar heavy weight in your palm, and the cool metal pressed firmly into your skin as you read the label. 

The shop was empty, as it usually was. Most people couldn’t afford the supplies you offered, though you tried your best to keep them just cheap enough to keep your own job afloat. They didn’t come for the supplies, though. 

No, they came for your paintings.

You were well known in the Undercity for your artwork, and you supplied many restaurants and bars with their own custom canvases. You painted the neon reflection of Zaun’s city lights in puddles on the grimy sidewalks. You painted the locals at The Last Drop, mid pint and grinning in the soft light. You painted the bridge that connected Piltover to Zaun in a way that made the cities feel equal somehow.

But your favorite? The Piltover skyline, the white, blue, and gold buildings outlined against a clear sky accented with fluffy clouds. The bright blue of the Hexgate’s magic glowed on the tall tower, accompanied by one of the many airships you had seen that day.

At first you thought it would be a mistake. After all, why would a Zaunite want to buy paintings of Piltover? Especially with the complicated politics between the two cities, where many Zaunites hated Piltovians and vise versa.

But you simply loved it too much to let it collect dust in your storage room. Your favorite painting, your soft golden child, sitting in the bright spotlight on Zaun’s otherwise sharp streets.

Then the letter came.

(Meet me at midnight)

The crisp, almost offensively white paper sat on your paint splattered table, untouched and intimidating. Pressed right over the middle was a dark red wax seal bearing the crest of some fancy Piltovian house. A hammer. 

Where had you seen that before?

You stared at it in contemplation. Surely someone would come back for it, right? This was a simple mistake. 

(Starin’ at the ceiling with you,

Oh, you don’t ever say too much)

No, it couldn’t be a mistake. You were tucked away in the Undercity’s streets, beyond where the average person would stroll past. It was the only place you could afford, snug between a restaurant and a machinery shop. 

Besides, it was addressed to you, your name written in fancy, looping letters across the front.

You picked up the letter, and you almost felt bad when you left fingerprints on the clean paper. You ripped the wax seal off with care and slid the letter out of its gold trimmed envelope. 

You are cordially invited to the annual Piltovian Art Gala, located at the Hall of Progress. Arrive early, as you are expected to appear before guests arrive to give your perspective and your presentation of your artwork, titled “The City of Progress.” Formal wear is required, no exceptions.

You read it, and reread it. A Piltovian Art Gala? If this was successful, this could be groundbreaking for you. This could mean months, if not years worth of rent if someone from Piltover were to become a customer.

The following week was nothing short of a fever dream. You were sure you dreamt it, until you woke up the following day to find the sharp white letter staring back at you from your painting table. 

You rushed to the nearest clothing store to spend the rest of your cash on the finest clothes you could find that same day. After all, it was required. 

In the end, you settled on a flattering dress in maroon to pay respects to the people that had sent the invite. 

The day of the gala arrived sooner than you expected. You spent it vibrating with nerves, pacing the small shop while you reread the letter just to make sure you wouldn’t be turned away at the door. You kept staring at the way your name was written, so blatant and real that it made your heart feel anxious all over again.

You can do this, you told yourself as you adjusted your dress for the final time before you walked out into the streets. Tonight’s the night that everything changes.

When you finally arrived at the Hall of Progress, you felt like a fish out of water. You had traveled to Piltover a few times to paint the impressive architecture, but you had never mingled in the crowd. Tonight you’d convince them that you were one of them, that you belonged here.

Because someone had already decided that you did belong here.

You were checked in with a surprising efficiency that came with every Piltovian interaction. They were named the City of Progress for a reason, after all.

Now here you stood in your fancy makeup and your fancy dress, holding a fancy flute of champagne like a prop to show people that you knew how these things worked. Fake it ‘til you make it, as they say.

“I must say, it’s even more impressive up close.”

The smooth voice snaps you out of your thoughts. You blink, watching as a sharply dressed man leans close to your canvas to inspect the artwork with a kind smile. He’s wearing a white suit with gold trim, vaguely reminiscent of the letter that had appeared in your mail. The deep maroon shoulders are what catches your eye, though, matching the tie that’s tucked into his white waistcoat. 

“Thank you,” You say with a smile of your own. “This city is truly an inspiration.”

“That it is,” He turns to you, meeting your gaze with charming hazel eyes. “The artist, I presume? Jayce Talis, at your service.” He grins, holding out a large, tanned hand for you to shake.

Jayce Talis. The Golden Boy. The man of progress himself, standing here and talking to you as if you were his friend.

(And you don’t really read into

My melancholia)

It all clicked then. The allure of your painting, portraying his own invention as the main attraction. The Hammer insignia on his shoulders that matched the wax seal.

“Yes, I’m the artist,” You manage through the shock, taking his hand with your own. It was warm and rough, different than you had expected from someone with such a pristine reputation. “Are you the one that invited me here?”

“That would be me, yes,” He answers, keeping his eyes on you in a way that makes you feel like you’re being inspected. You straighten your posture subconsciously. “Someone mentioned you, and I couldn’t help but be curious. I was not disappointed.” He chuckles as his hand slips from yours. 

You couldn’t help but feel your heart pound faster at the high praise. It was something you didn’t hear often except for the occasional customer, and even then some of the comments felt more mocking than genuine.

No, you could tell that Jayce Talis was being genuine by the way his eyes lit up.

“Thank you, Councilor Talis. I’m thankful for the opportunity.” You nod towards him. You were trying to keep it cool, but you could feel your palms getting sweaty from the close inspection of your work.

“Please, call me Jayce,” He smiles as the crowd begins to spill in, dressed in expensive looking suits  and glittery dresses. “No need for such formalities with me.”

You watch the crowd with careful eyes, already anticipating the judgemental stares. 

Jayce doesn’t miss a beat though, instead, he leans in like he’s about to spill a secret. “Be prepared for the crowd. They’re like a pack of piranhas.” He whispers, chuckling under his breath. “Don’t worry. You’ve got this.”

(I’ve been under scrutiny,

You handle it beautifully)

Your first challenge appears in the form of a gray haired man, sporting a sharp beard and a sharper green suit. “Zaunite. They certainly let anyone in here nowadays, don’t they?” He squints at the plaque under your painting with a disapproving sneer.

“I invited her,” Jayce says with a tense smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Personally, this is one of my favorites, Zaunite or not. Wouldn’t you agree?”

The older man sputters at Jayce’s sudden appearance, and you witness his face turn pale in real time. “Why, Mr. Talis! It’s quite a piece, I must admit. Perhaps there is talent in Zaun after all.” He forces out an apology, quickly excusing himself from the situation before he could be further embarrassed.

“See? Pirahnas.” Jayce whispers again. “I faced them all the time when I was younger. Don’t worry, I’ve got your back.” He winks, and you have to fight a smile in order to keep up your fancy façade.

(All this shit is new to me) 

“I appreciate your defense, Jayce.” You respond, though the first name feels foreign on your lips. “Though I’m sure I can handle a few old guys poking fun at my city.”

“Oh I know you’re capable,” He grins, his eyes doing another sweep of the crowd before settling on you again. “I would just like to offer my…support as the person who invited you here. What sort of host would I be to leave you to the wolves?” 

“Touché,” You meet his eye in the warm glow from the lights around you, holding it a tad longer than necessary. The eye contact slowly became a game of chicken, neither one of you willing to look away.

“What are you doing?” You smile, lifting a brow in challenge.

“Nothing,” He responds, but he isn’t deterred. “I’m simply admiring your eyes.”

“Completely normal behavior for a Councilor, I’m sure.”

“Oh, it’s definitely normal. Don’t you know that the whole social hierarchy is based on staring competitions?”

The unguarded sarcasm in his voice catches you off guard, and a snort escapes you before you can stop it. 

“Is it now?” You ask. “Where do I fall, then?”

“Guess we’ll find out.” He grins. “If you beat me, you should get a seat at the Councilor’s table.” 

The staring continues for a few more tense seconds before he finally relents. “Wow,” He laughs as he blinks rapidly to cure the dryness. “Do all Zaunites have eyes of steel, or is it just you?”

“Just me,” You laugh with him, feeling a silly spark of triumph in your chest that briefly erases the class gap between you two. “Guess you challenged the wrong person.”

“Remind me never to underestimate you.” He glances back at you again, like he’s surprised that you’re this comfortable with him already.

You’re surprised too. He’s easy to talk to, easy to like. You guess his charisma is the reason why he’s made it so far in life. 

(I feel the lavender haze creepin’ up on me,

Surreal.)

You shook off the thoughts, returning your focus to the oncoming crowd. You took a sip of the champagne as you waited for the next guest. 

Big mistake.

The bubbly liquid assaults your taste buds with a perfumed taste that had your face scrunching up in a grimace before you could stop it.

Jayce notices, of course, and laughs at your expression. “Not a fan?” He smiles, though he’s not mocking you. “Don’t worry, I feel the same. It’s too..floral. It tastes like you’re drinking perfume straight from the bottle. Here, I’ll get that for you.” His warm fingers briefly brush yours as he gently takes the glass from you. 

A spark of electricity passes through your nerves.

Your breath hitches audibly. He must have felt it too, because his eyes stay locked on yours for a moment too long. The chatter of the gala fades for a few seconds, and you find yourself wanting to paint his eyes onto a canvas so you could look at them forever.

You blink out of your stupor, forcing yourself to face back towards the crowd. Jayce clears his throat beside you, and when you glance over, you can see that his ears are turning red.

Moments keep passing between you two, moments where he makes you feel like the only woman in the room.  Every time your shoulders brush, you feel it. You feel it in the silence between conversations, in that space where you don’t need words because his eyes say everything for him. Where his eyes search yours like he’s looking for the same spark he’s obviously feeling.

You hope the spark is reflected in your eyes too.

(All they keep askin’ me,

Is if I’m gonna be your bride)

The tension reaches a fever pitch when an older lady approaches and starts asking questions.

“Is this your wife you’ve kept hidden from us, Talis? She’s simply gorgeous, especially in your house colors.” She gushes, and you watch as Jayce’s face turns a shade of red that rivals his tie. 

“Oh, no—no ma’am. She’s simply a wonderful, talented artist,” He stammers, and it’s the first time you’ve seen him off balance. “Not my wife. I don’t—I’m not married.” He clarifies, holding up his left hand in a sheepish manor that rivals his intimidating stature.

(The only kind of girl they see

Is a one-night or a wife)

“Well, if she isn’t your wife, then you shouldn’t stand so close. You’ll give people…ideas. Especially with a girl of her background.” She chuckles, and walks away like she didn’t feed that insecurity that had been festering all night.

(I find it dizzying,

They’re bringing up my history)

Because you know you don’t belong here. But here they are, bringing up your history like it was scandalous that you were even here. 

(But you weren’t even listening)

He wasn’t even listening. Or if he was, then he didn’t care. 

Jayce keeps defending you against the scrutiny all night, handling it in a beautiful way that makes you feel more appreciated than you had in a long time. 

He lays a hand on your shoulder as you present your painting to the people that appear, he gives disapproving looks to people who comment on your Zaunite background, and he mutters jokes under his breath in the tense silence between patrons.

At first, you think that he’s just doing his job, showing up at a social event to show off the brand new artist. But as the night wears on, the spark between you grows to a flame in your chest that ignites every time his hand brushes yours.

(I just wanna stay in that lavender haze)

Then came the dance.

The jazz music swells from the corners of the room, creating a smooth, almost romantic atmosphere. You watch as couples pair up, some lady enthusiastically dragging her partner to the dance floor in a way that proves she’d had too much to drink that night. It earns her a few glares from the older people at the gala, but she doesn’t mind at all.

You smile at the display of humanity among the socialites of Piltover. It brings the fact that they’re simply people too to your mind, despite the obvious hate between the two cities.

“Well,” Jayce clears his throat beside you and offers his arm. “Shall we?” 

“Shall we what?” You ask, raising a brow at the crowd of dancers. “Dance?”

“Of course,” He nods towards the dance floor. “Come on.”

You turn the idea over in your mind, comparing the probability of embarrassment to the fact that Jayce Talis out of all people wants to dance with you. 

Who were you to resist those hazel eyes?

“Okay, but if I stumble, don’t sue me.” You take his arm and follow him out to the dance floor, your heart pounding with nerves as you pass ritzy looking couples and other women who were giving you a jealous look.

(Talk your talk and go viral)

“I could never,” He says, and it sounds far too honest for the simple conversation. “After all, I wouldn’t want my favorite artist going bankrupt because of me.”

Now that is something you want in writing.

Something else catches your eye though.

It quickly becomes evident that Jayce doesn’t care who sees him. He keeps his shoulders straight and his eyes on you, even when you pass a group of women who immediately begin to talk in low tones. You only catch a few words, something like “why is he with her?”, passed from person to person like a secret when you knew everyone around you was thinking it.

When you reach the dance floor, his large hand slides to your waist as the other holds your conjoined hands at shoulder height. Your free hand rests on his shoulder, and you can feel yourself leaning into his touch. You know you shouldn’t. He’s a Councilor, after all, and he needs a partner that’s a higher up. Someone to amplify his image. It’s how it always works with men like him.

But you couldn’t help it.

(I just need this love spiral)

The dance starts slow, building that familiar crescendo that you never thought you’d hear outside of films. You pick up the dance surprisingly fast, and after the first few turns you’re handling it like a pro.

“I’ll say, I’m impressed.” Jayce chuckles as he leads you into another turn. “I suppose that’s my fault for underestimating you again.”

(Get it off your chest)

“I suppose it is,” You smile at his words, the compliment sending another spark of electricity through you. “Thank you again for this opportunity. It’s…quite something.”

“Quite something indeed. Your talent deserves to be known,” Jayce smiles right back, and you notice the small gap in his teeth. He’s so endearing for a Councilor, so charming and surprisingly…normal. 

The realization hits you like a bolt of Hextech magic.

He’d fit right into your world if it weren’t for the gold trimmed suit and the expensive, woody scent of his cologne. You could see it now—him showing up to your store before opening, carrying two cups of coffee because he knew you needed it. Jayce watching you paint and talking about his day after closing. 

You’d love to paint him. Pose him, immortalize his tanned skin and his hazel eyes on canvas. You’re already mixing the hues in your mind. 

As the dance draws to a close, you realize you’re exhausted. Your feet hurt from standing in heels for hours, and your face feels tired from keeping up a friendly smile all night. Though the look Jayce gives you makes a different sort of energy spark in your veins.

“Walk with me?” He asks, and you can’t find it in yourself to say no. You find that you’re enjoying his company more than you thought you would tonight. Your hand slips into the crook of his elbow, and you can’t help but notice how solid he is, like he does more than sit at a table and talk politics. 

“I’d say that was a success,” He comments as you walk out, his polished shoes clicking on the marble floors. “What did you think of your first fancy gala?”

You hum, tilting your head as you run it over in your mind. “The atmosphere was lovely. The company, however…” You smile at him. “Mediocre.”

“Whoa!” Jayce gasps dramatically, pressing his free hand right over his heart in mock offense. “How could you? I even defended you against the old ladies! Surely that’s gotta earn some points.” He raises his brows at you expectantly as he grins, revealing the dimples in his cheeks.

“Okay, okay. You get some points for your grand rescue.” You relent, and he lets out a laugh that makes your chest feel light.

That night, you walk out arm in arm with a man dressed in a suit so expensive that it could pay for your whole block. He escorts you out the door and down the stairs.

(Get it off my desk)

Right into the path of the waiting paparazzi. 

It’s all so new to you it’s almost overwhelming. The attention, the camera flashes, the rushed questions. It all felt like something you’d seen on TV, not something that you’d ever experience.

(I’m damned if I do give a damn what people say)

“Are you new to the scene, ma’am?” One reporter asks, shoving a microphone your way. 

“How does it feel to be in Piltover as a Zaunite?”

“Councilor Talis, is there an underlying tone coming through tonight? The people have been waiting for a wife to carry the Talis name—“

(No deal, the 1950s shit they want from me)

Jayce notices your discomfort and slips his arm from yours to wrap it around your shoulders. “No comments, thank you.” He disarms them with a charming smile as he shields you from the onslaught, quickly guiding you into one of the waiting carriages. 

Your body decompresses as the door closes behind you, sealing off the loud questions and stares. The inside of the carriage is decadent, gold trimmed with expensive looking velvet seats that are smooth under your touch. It almost makes you feel bad for existing in it.

Only the best for a Councilor.

The silence stretches long and awkward as the carriage lurches into motion underneath you. Jayce clears his throat, searching for the right words.

“I’m sorry about…that,” He says earnestly, offering you a kind smile as he reaches over and squeezes your hand. “They’re insufferable, honestly. The gossip mill is worse than the champagne.”

(That lavender haze, I just wanna stay)

You huff out a laugh at that, finally feeling your body relax. “I can tell,” You set your hand on his, squeezing it back for a moment.

You would miss how solid, how warm he is.

(I just wanna stay in that lavender haze)

The carriage rattled to a stop near the Progress Bridge, pausing right before Zaun’s streets. Jayce steps out first, offering you a hand down. You take it, feeling the roughness on his palm. You commit it to memory as you stand under the streetlights.

“Thank you again for the opportunity,” You look at him again. He looks different under the Zaun lights, not quite the untouchable golden boy, not the charming man of progress that everyone sees. 

Instead, you see the man who wants the best for everyone. The man who told you earlier tonight that he wanted to use Hextech to heal, to help, not just for trade or weaponry.

“Of course,” Jayce raises your hand and presses a kiss to your knuckles. “Consider it my pleasure.” 

You feel a rush of warmth run through you, burning up your neck and over your cheeks before you could stop it. “Right…” You clear your throat and nod. “I suppose I should be going.”

You hesitate near the carriage. You want to say more, but instead, you steel yourself and press a kiss to his cheek. His skin is warm and slightly scratchy from his stubble. 

When you pull away, he brushes the spot on his cheek with his fingertips in a reverent way that makes you feel like you’re on top of the world. 

“Well,” He chuckles as his ears turn red. “I…wow. You Zaunites are pretty bold, aren’t you?” 

“It comes with the city,” You smile right back, amused by the fact that he’s blushing like a schoolgirl over a kiss on the cheek. “Consider it my pleasure.”

“Okay, okay. Valid,” He nods, and you notice his eyes flicking away before they land back on you. “I suppose…I’ll see you around? You’ll definitely be at every gala if I can help it.”

“Well, I’ll be expecting a letter every few weeks then.” You grin, slowly walking backwards as you talk. “See you around, Councilor.”

*We fade in to see Super John and Officer Jake running (or flying in SJ’s case) in the Grove Forest to find the fortress of Baron Von Catapult, but they get stopped by a barrier that appears out of nowhere.*

O. Jake: What the-?!

S. John: Okay, this is…fine, we just need to find a way to…

*Super John sees Cardinal Jacques on the other side*

S. John: CJ! Look, if you could remove this barrier, that would be great!

*CJ just stands there*

S. John: CJ, you heard me, right?

CJ: Why should I?

S. John: What?

*CJ turns around, revealing him to have a button, which activated the barrier*

CJ: Why should I remove it…after what you did?!

S. John: CJ, we need to get to Catapult!

CJ: He doesn’t deserve to see you, and neither do I.

S. John: What did I do? What made you like this?

Lost in the fog…

CJ: What made me like this? What made ME like THIS?!

I fear that there’s still further to fall…

CJ: YOU!

S. John: Me?!

It’s dangerous ‘cause I want it all…

S. John: I-I don’t get it, I’ve done nothing but sell discount furniture for who knows how many years! And sure, you’ve annoyed me but-

And I don’t think I care what it costs…

CJ: AND YOU HATE ME FOR IT!

*Flashback shows some commercials where CJ was annoying S. John. CJ talks over it.*

I shouldn’t have fallen in love, look what it made me become.

CJ: I annoy you because that’s the only way I can get your attention!

I let you get too close, just to wake up alone.

S. John: You could’ve just talked to me!

CJ: I couldn’t. I was scared…

*Flashback ends to reveal a fiery ring has appeared around CJ. Jake appears to be getting flashbacks of his own, mainly of what happened to Timothy.*

S. John: CJ, why were you scared? I could’ve helped you! You don’t have to go to Catapult’s side!

And I know you think you can run. You’re scared to believe I’m the one.

CJ: It’s too late.

S. John: I’m not the villain here!

CJ: I’ve known Catapult for years. I know who he really is, and you can NEVER convince him to stop anything he does, just like me.

S. John: CJ, why did you think annoyance was the best way to get my attention?

CJ: You really want my honest answer?

But I just can’t let you go…

S. John: Yes, I wanna know why you were so scared to talk to me!

CJ: I LOVED YOU!!!!!!

I’D LET THE WORLD BURN!

*CJ proceeds to get the fire ring to burst around him, transforming his suit to an inverted version of Super John’s colors*

CJ: I had a crush on you for YEARS, but I was so scared you wouldn’t like me back, so I annoyed you until you would, at the very least, notice me!

I’d let the world burn for you!

S. John: WHAT?!

CJ: However, you would always hate me for it! I thought you would never love me. Even IF you say it back, I won’t believe it.

S. John: CJ…

This is how it always had to end.

CJ: I don’t wanna hear it. It’s too late to say anything now.

*CJ walks away from the barrier, and into the fortress*

O. Jake: Don’t get too upset… The same thing happened to me and Timothy…

*All is silent until…*

S. John: JAAAAAAAACQUEEEEESSSSSSS!!!!!!!!!

If I can’t have you, then no one can.