---- ---- ---- ----

When Viktor had read that pregnancy could mess with the mother’s hormones, he had not been fully prepared for how quickly they would change your emotions. In his readings, he was aware that the mood swings would be something that could either go away as your body got used to the hormone changes or would last for the whole pregnancy. 

Yet, he made it his mission to bring the support you needed. In his mind, the two of you were pregnant. Physically speaking of course, you were the one carrying the child, but he was going to spend every waking moment doing all he could to make sure that you were taken care of. 

He had always been a bit of a coffee addict, which was one of the things that you weren’t allowed to have during the pregnancy. So the moment you had moved in? He threw all of it out and hadn’t brought any of it into his home. 

Was he completely worn out all the time? Was he feeling the effects of the withdrawals? 

Of-fucking-course! 

Even with how walking hurt his leg, you needed to keep up with getting at least a little bit of physical activity. As such, every single day after he would get back from the lab he would go on a walk with you. 

Exhaustion seemed to be one of the worst symptoms for you. Even with close to ten hours of sleep a night, Viktor would find you napping so often. Only to wake up looking like you were ready to pass out, the little walks having been an idea to help with that. 

For the most part, it did. It gets you a little bit of pep back, yet because of this he had made it his job to keep up with the cooking and cleaning. 

Everyday before he headed to work he had breakfast and lunch prepared and waiting for you. Most of the time it is being made special for you, appealing to your tastes specifically as opposed to his own. 

And it wasn’t like you were just sitting around at home. 

With the time that you had now that you were staying at his place, you had begun researching as much as you could on all the policies and laws in Piltover about their treatment of those from the undercity. 

The roots of this problem seemed to stretch to so many different areas of the city, many of which you had not even been aware of. It wasn’t just hospitals that didn’t allow people from the undercity, but many schools as well wouldn’t allow anyone from there admission. When you had asked Viktor about how he had then been able to get into the academy.

He had been vague, saying that it had been the Professor that had brought him into the academy as an assistant. But that was even more of a red flag as that meant that he was the exception, that even at the academy where they boasted about being about progress, they were still baring others from gaining knowledge. They were being barred from getting higher on the social ladder. 

From how Piltover wouldn’t officiate marriages between couples from the two cities, to how they kept those from the Undercity from their own property - it was all set up in a way that kept those on the bottom from ever having a chance of going anywhere else. 

You, of course, had yet to go to any of these locations to pick up a fuss. Viktor made it very clear to you that those actions should be left to the future you who wasn’t pregnant and carrying another life inside you. And as much as you wanted to argue, you agreed. 

Besides, you quite liked the idea of being able to physically get into a fight with someone if they pissed you off and that wouldn’t be possible if you were still pregnant. 

---- ---- ---- ----

That day when Viktor arrived back home, you were curious as to why he had brought back paperwork. During your time staying together, you hadn’t seen him bring any work home as he would much rather spend it focusing on what the two of you needed to do. 

“Is the lab busy?” You asked softly, when your curiosity just wouldn’t leave you. Sitting on one of the kitchen counters, you watched as he carefully chopped the vegetables for the meal that he was preparing. 

You assumed that he brought work back with him because they were busy. Which honestly just left you feeling bad for resigning, a thing Viktor still hadn’t mentioned - for reasons you weren’t aware of. 

Pausing his actions, golden eyes shifted from the knife in his hands to your own with a quizzical expression. 

“Busy? Um, I wouldn’t say that. It’s been the typical amount” Turning back to his cutting, he was silent for a moment before speaking up once more. 

“Why? Did you hear something through the grapevine?” 

You smiled at his teasing tone, truly loving this domestic sort of life that the two of you had found yourself slipping into. Viktor was aware of what you wanted to do with your life, that you wanted to fight the systems that were in place that kept the two people separated while also caring for your child. Viktor having already promised that he would be funding you not as your partner but as one of the creators of Hextech, as someone from the undercity itself. 

“No, jerk” Ruffling his hair, you smirked at how it was soon a mess and because he was busy with food preparations he wouldn’t be able to fix it for some time. “The papers you brought home” 

Finally understanding what had led you to the thoughts you were having, he completely froze. 

“Viktor?” 

Startled, he jumped and dropped the knife in his hand, turning to look at you like a deer. Making a hasty retreat, you could hardly make out anything that he was mumbling to himself as he rushed to the bedroom. Though, from the small little bits you could make out, it would appear it was his in native tongue. 

Waiting a moment, your curiosity had you hopping off the counter to follow after him. Upon entering the room, you found him hastily throwing things about. Clearly looking for something. Though, if memory serves you, the file you had mentioned was in the dining room on the table. 

“You alright?” 

Once more you watched as he stiffened and halted his search, this time turning to face you. Eyebrows scrunched, a deep frown on anxiety, whatever he was worried about was clear as day on his face. 

“....please don’t be upset with me…” 

You blinked. 

And without a word you turned on your heels to head straight to the where you knew the file was. You were aware of Viktor’s off-beat steps, the rushed beat trying to catch up to you. 

It took but a moment to find the thing, your memory having been correct on its location. 

“Wait, wait please” 

The folder was in your hands, with you soon playing a game of keep away around the table as Viktor tried to follow after you to keep the contents from your eyes. 

“P-Please!” It was the voice crack that had almost stopped you, yet in the moment you have opened the file to look at the first page. 

Application for License and Certificate of Marriage

“I-I only wanted to have it available if you ever wished to…” He started, deflating as you started to read over the information. Just from how the paperwork looked, it was clear this was Zaun’s paperwork - not Piltovers. It was Zaun where the two of you would have to wed for it to be allowed. 

“Please, I don’t…I would never require you to…you weren’t ever supposed to see it here. I..” 

With your eyes leaving the form, you finally looked up to see just how this man in front of you seemed to be shrinking by the second. Shoulders drooping, his eyes on the floor in shame, the way he was speaking - it was as if he still didn’t think he was worthy of affection. 

“I’m so sorry. I ordered it rashly, without thinking. I should never ha-” 

“Yes” 

Silenced by your voice, the man simply stared for a second as he slowly processed what you had said. 

“Yes?” 

He mumbled softly, slowly piecing it all together. Yet you waited, knowing you would see when it finally clicked in his brain. 

And boy, were you glad that you did. The moment it finally fell into place, you watched as his whole demeanor changed. 

From anxious, trying to make himself smaller to looking like energy was ready to burst out of him - a radiant smile quickly taking over his face as he raced around the table to scoop you into his arms. 

Paper flew across the floor, the file being knocked out of your hands as he nearly caused the two of you to crash into the wall. 

And yet, neither of you cared.

---- ---- ---- ----

The week following your acceptance to the academy is incredibly hectic. Evidently, your letter had been late in arriving to you, because the day after, you receive another envelope in the mail, containing all your class scheduling as well as your dorm information.

You’re still reeling from the emotions of V’s confession; the hurt of knowing you’d be so close to each other, but unable to meet. You understand that he would be stressed about everything - his entire life was being uprooted, after all - but you can’t help the sharp pangs of sadness that claw their way through your body. 

You would have thought that you were a place of comfort for him, instead of another cause for anxiety.

He’d usually been so open with you - he’d even told you outright that you were the only person he spoke so freely with. You don’t understand why he’s so nervous to meet face to face.

In an attempt to distract yourself from spiraling further down the rabbit hole, you spend most of your week going through your clothes and other items, in hopes of figuring out what you want to pack.

You obviously need your school uniforms, which would be arriving closer to your departure date, but you also want to make sure you pack some more comfortable outfits. Things you could wear around your dorm room while you were studying or lounging, and things you could wear on a casual day out.

You momentarily debate bringing something fancier, in the event that you got invited somewhere, but you nix the idea at the last moment. You don’t know anyone you’re going to school with, and though you hope you’re going to make friends, you’re not going to get your hopes up.

With any luck, you’re going to be able to survive your first semester, and the ample workload that came with it.

—

The day of your departure, you wake up early. You’ve gotten into the habit of staying up until the wee hours of the morning, talking with V or doodling invention ideas, and sleeping well until noon.

You’re tired and rumpled at an hour such as nine in the morning, even after dressing and preparing for the day.

It takes you twenty minutes for you to lug your suitcases down the stairs and into the front hallway, and by the time you have your two small trunks stacked by the door, you’re out of breath and your back is aching.

“You know, you’d be less tired if you went outside every now and again,” your mother gently teases, bringing her wheelchair to a halt beside you. You’d built it for her well over a year ago, after her health had suddenly started to decline. 

Her body had ached so severely that she could barely walk, and most of her days had been spent laying in bed, reading the same books over and over again. You’d hated how she had gone from lively and strict, to frail and quiet, in such a short amount of time: so you’d done some research, and had built her a contraption that would help her get around.

A seated lift to get her up and down the stairs. A motorized chair so she could buzz around the house and the garden as she pleased. Ramps in and out of the house so she could go on her weekly outings into the city, without assistance.

She’d been wary of everything at first, not entirely trusting your work to function as needed, but it had only taken about three days for her to get used to everything. The ease with which she could move around now was visible, not only in how much energy she seemed to have, but also in the way she held herself - confident, and happier than she’d been in the months where she’d been suffering.

You knew she still had pain, and you knew she hid it in an attempt to save face, but you trusted her when she said she was managing it - you knew how much she hated to be doted on.

“I do go outside, mama,” you whine at her, listing off all the times you’d been out during the month. “Besides, I’m going to be out constantly now that the semester is starting. Parties, boys, all that fun stuff.”

“Right, right, and I’m meant to believe that you would willingly socialize?” she shoots back, laughing quietly when you feign offense. “Really though, dear, must you go to live in a…a dorm? Surely you could attend all your classes while still being here - the Academy really isn’t that far.”

You sigh deeply, straightening your posture and fixing your clothing. “It’s about the experience, you know that. I need to learn how to manage myself, my time, and my resources - if I don’t do it now, I never will.” 

You don’t mention how you also want the freedom of not being under their constant watchful eye.

“Besides,” you continue, “I’ll come back every weekend I’m able to. We’ll have dinner, and I’ll tell you all about my classes and the people I meet, and then I can fix anything around the house that needs fixing.”

Another, deeper sigh sounds from behind you, as your father walks through the open front door.

“Your ride to the academy is here, pumpkin,” he says, setting a hand on your shoulder. “And I think what your mother is trying to say is that we’re going to miss you.”

“Don’t put words in my mouth!” the woman chirps indignantly, “It’ll be nice to get some peace and quiet for once! No distant sounds of hammering or…or welding!”

You quickly bite back a grin, and grab your first suitcase to drag it out to the cab. For all the times you butt heads with your parents, they sure had grown softer in recent months - ever since your mother had gotten sick, really. You weren’t sure what was going on in their heads, but you were at least grateful that everything seemed to have simmered down.

Even if they did still hound you.

“I’ll be fine,” you promise them, when you return to the atrium for your shoulderbag, containing your prized notebook and magic pen. “I have to go now, though. Otherwise I’ll miss lunch!”

You hug both your parents goodbye, blinking back tears when they both squeeze you a little tighter, and hold you a little longer, than they usually do.

—

Evidently, you miss lunch anyways.

Your driver had been a nice man, well into his sixties from the look of it. He was chatty on the ride over, asking you all kinds of questions about the academy and what you were going to be studying. You weren’t used to such socialization, but you did your best to fight away the awkwardness and answer any questions he had.

By the end of the ride, you’d more than talked his ear off about niche mechanical subjects, most of which you’re certain he had very little interest in, but he pretended to listen quite well and for that you’re pleased.

He isn’t able to help you carry anything up to your dorm, saying something about bad knees and heart problems not mixing well with stairs and heavy lifting, but you don’t mind. Looking around, you can see other students unloading their own transports with far more material possessions than you have - lugging what little you have shouldn’t take you long at all.

Your driver is kind enough to wait with your things while you run back and forth between your room, though, so you leave him with a hefty tip and he bids you good luck.

When you finally drag your last trunk up to your new residence, you’re exhausted.

You take a seat on the edge of the provided bed, and flop backwards, your head narrowing missing the wall. You’re sweaty and out of breath, and your back is aching, and your arms feel like noodles. But you’re done. You’re done, and you’re in your new home.

You grin.

Ear to ear your smile stretches, as you let yourself relax and bask in the quiet aloneness of your little room.

It really isn’t much; a bed and a desk, a narrow bookshelf and a single wardrobe, a small powder room that you had to squeeze into. But it’s yours.

And you’re happy.

After a sufficient rest, you spring up and grab your bag off the floor, setting it on the desk in the corner to pull out your beloved pen and notebook.

I don’t know if you’ll read this right away, but that’s alright. I know you only moved in a couple of days ago, so you’ve still got a lot to get used to.

I just wanted to let you know that I’m all set up in my room now! Kind of. I have all my stuff up here, but I still technically have to unpack it all and put it away. I don’t mind, though. Everything is so close together, it really shouldn’t take very long - most of what I brought is uniforms anyways, plus a bunch of comfy things. Something tells me I won’t really be getting invited anywhere fancy, so I only packed a couple of nicer things.

I missed lunch, though, which sucks because I also missed breakfast. I could go out and get something I guess, but honestly I just feel so lazy right now. It might have something to do with having to drag all my nonsense up four flights of stairs. Twice. Maybe I should at least go and see where all my classrooms are?

Or I could stay here and read.

How are you adjusting so far? Hopefully it’s not too bad of a culture shock…though from what you’ve told me, it probably is. If you have any questions about anything at all, you can ask me! I’m not really well versed in the social aspects of Piltovan society, but I know my way around the city - I could probably at least offer you some locations that you might like.

Talk to you soon, V.

Though you don’t expect him to reply to your message right away, a little part of you hopes. Hopes that he’ll be keeping an eye out for you, hoping that he’s always got you on some part of his mind, like you do with him.

But his words don’t come, and you’re left feeling a strange sense of hollowness.

And instead of grabbing your schedule and going out to find your classes, as someone productive might do, you instead dig one of your novels out of your suitcase, and plop down on your bed.

It’s some shitty romance novel, full of terrible tropes and cringey dialogue, and it’s your guilt pleasure. The comfort of knowing that the main characters will end up together, of the predictability in the story…you love it. It makes you feel warm and squishy.

Like you do with V.

Whom crosses your mind again, when you’re about twenty pages in.

You love him most dearly, you know. You have for years now. It had begun as a sweet and innocent crush, and had developed into something deeper as you grew. You knew him as a person - passionate, driven, prideful of his work, and terribly intelligent. You don’t have to see him to know that he’s beautiful, and you admire him with every fiber of your being.

You love him with every fiber of your being.

And he doesn’t want to meet you.

Stop, you tell yourself, but your thoughts have already begun to snowball.

Why would he be so anxious about getting to know one another in person? Surely it wouldn’t be all that different than in writing, right? You might initially be a little excitable and therefore unable to find your words, but that awkwardness wouldn’t last forever. You know each other, and you have for years!

You don’t want to pressure him, don’t want to rush him, or really even bring the subject up again, lest you face another rejection.

But it wasn’t really a rejection, was it? He’d said he wasn’t ready yet. He’d promised that he would be.

One day.

You just hope that day comes before you graduate.

Your parents would want to marry you off as soon as possible once you finished school, no matter how you protested. You knew they wouldn’t approve of you and V being together, not in any form…but you couldn’t imagine a future without him.

At least not one where you were happy.

Being loved by V would be your ideal wish - to have him, and hold him, and laugh with him, and kiss his cheeks, and see him smile. But you’d also be more than happy to work with him as friends. He was so driven to help people, to make the world better and leave his mark on society, and so many times you’d already come up with designs together.

If you couldn’t marry him, then you could build a career with him! You could change the world. Together.

If you had a promising job, then maybe your parents wouldn’t try to set you up with some dolt, either.

Still, all the thinking is enough to sour your mood. So with a deep, annoyed sigh, you snap your novel shut and set it down beside you.

Then, you stuff your face into your pillow and groan.

—

The first day of class comes quicker than expected. You know that a day and a half really isn’t a very long amount of time, but it feels exceptionally short when you have such a big event to prepare for.

You’re startled awake early on Monday morning by the incessant ringing of your alarm clock, which you seriously regret buying.

What you regret even more is having modified the damn thing.

You reach out blindly from beneath your sheet, trying in vain to slap the little switch on the top of the clock to shut it up…only for it to roll away.

Ah.

You poke your head out from your nest and glare murder at the device, just in time for it to fall off your bedside table and start rolling around on the floor.

Still ringing.

It takes every ounce of energy you possess for you to throw yourself out of bed and chase the stupid thing around. You knew it didn’t have a brain, or any semblance of thought, but it sure feels like the alarm is mocking you as you bumble after it for a good thirty seconds.

But it works as it should, you think, because you’re awake enough to start getting ready for the day by the time you catch it.

It doesn’t take you long to fix your hair or brush your teeth, nor does it to pull your uniform on. You’d been smart enough to pack your textbooks and other necessary class supplies up the night before.

Leaving only V.

Good morning! Hopefully you’re having a better time waking up than I am. I can;t believe I made an alarm clock that runs away - it’s horrible and awful and I despise it.

I just wanted to wish you good luck today, though. I don’t know what your first class is, but I hope it goes well! I’ve heard that their sizes are a little larger than last year, but hopefully it’s not too crowded. I’m honestly a little bit nervous.

Don’t forget to eat lunch though, alright? Or breakfast. I know you do that sometimes, and let me tell you - an empty stomach is not conducive to learning.

After you pack the pen away in its box, and stash it away somewhere safe, you grab your bookbag, and head out the door to grab a quick meal from the cafeteria before your first morning gathering.

—

Most of the morning goes smoothly.

You get through your first class without issue, taking whatever notes you can about the course plan and rubric. You don’t recognize any of your classmates, but that’s not much of a surprise - you already knew so few people in Piltover, despite the amount of people your mother was constantly bringing over and introducing you to.

You exchange names with a couple of girls in your first class, chatting a little bit in your seats after you’re dismissed. They seem nice enough, but as fate would have it, none of them shared your second class.

Which is where your afternoon gets interesting.

You wander quietly into your last morning class, only to find that it’s set up like a traditional lecture hall. The desks are raised higher the further back they go, to give everyone an equal opportunity to hear and be heard.

Thankfully there aren’t many people in the room just yet, allowing you the choice to sit where you pleased - in the middle of the room, and close by one of the large windows. You didn’t want to take the front row away from anyone who might prefer it (you also didn’t really want to be in your professor’s direct line of sight), and the window allowed you a wonderful swath of natural light to take notes in.

More and more students gather in the room as the minutes tick by, clumping together in little groups to chat noisily while you wait for your teacher to arrive. 

You’re fairly certain that you;re the only person who doesn’t know someone in the class, and why you try not to let it bother you, it’s a little unsettling. 

But eventually your professor strides into the room, tall and narrow as a pole, with a face that looks as though he’s been perpetually bored for the past century. He seems nice enough, though, and commands respect from the room while still keeping his voice even and tepid.

He introduces himself and quickly goes over the outline for the semester, setting a pile of papers on each desk in the front row. He waits patiently while they’re passed back, and you watch in confusion as each student reads the page and makes a face.

When you get yours, you realize why.

“I know this is only our first class together,” your professor says, “but I would like to take part of the hour to talk about your final projects. You will create something -anything, really- that will display each concept we learn throughout the months we have together. You will be graded not only on how well you can grasp the material and apply it, but also on how well you cooperate.”

He pauses for a moment, making sure he has everyone’s attention.

“This is a partnered assignment,” he says, raising his voice ever so slightly. “I will be drawing names from a bowl, and whomever you are paired with, you will remain as such for the entire course.”

A couple people raise their hands.

“No,” your professor sighs, “You cannot change partners. Unless your pair drops out, you are stuck together.”

The hands fall.

Anxiety floods your system, as names are drawn two by two. You watch while people pack up their belongings and move to go sit with their new partner - some with scowls on their faces, and some with elated smiles. 

You can’t feel anything except for nervous, as name after name is drawn.

You wonder briefly if your name wasn’t added to the batch…but you’d been called during attendance. You had to be on the list, right? The entire class seemed to be paired off and chatting already, so who-

“Y/N,” the professor says, and you freeze, your breath catching in your throat. 

“Viktor.”

You exhale.

You glance around the room.

You find a young man doing the same, down in the front row.

Ah.

You offer him a little wave and a shy smile, and he offers you a nod in return.

And then he turns back to the front of the room.

It takes a couple seconds of feeling utterly snubbed for you to notice the staff at his side, leaning against the table.

Except it’s not a staff. It’s a cane.

You feel a bit like a dolt for not noticing sooner, and you hastily pack up your items and sneak down to the front of the room. You’ll miss your little patch of sunlight, but you’d rather not make your partner do stairs if walking was something he had an issue with. You weren’t so rude as to ignore something like that.

Nor did you want to get on the bad side of someone you had to spend the semester with.

“Hi,” you say softly, quietly taking a seat beside him. “I’m Y/N.”

“Viktor,” he replies, in a gentle lilt.

You smile at him again, and quickly fall into silence when your professor shushes everyone to continue with the lesson.

You take whatever notes you can throughout the class, though there’s not much to be taught on the first day. Most of the hour is spent going over the rest of the itinerary for the course, as well as the parameters of all your assignments. You write down the necessary dates and regulations, though most of it is listed on the papers that were provided earlier, which you pin to the first page of your notebook.

You want to talk more to Viktor, get to know him a little bit, but he’s even more focused on the class than you are. He writes quickly, nearly scribbling every single word that comes out of your professor’s mouth - it’s actually kind of impressive, in your opinion.

It’s not until you’re officially dismissed from the lesson that you get a chance to say something to him.

“Hey, Viktor?”

He pauses packing, and glances at you.

“Sorry,” you laugh, “I just wanted to know if you have any preferences for where we meet up.”

He looks puzzled for a moment, “Pardon me?”

Your smile falls slightly. “For the final project. We’re not going to have a lot of class time to work on it, so we’ll have to find other places to meet and talk. Is there anywhere specific you want to go?”

“Oh,” he mumbles, the brows pinching together ever so slightly. “Eh…wherever is fine, I suppose. The library may be easiest?”

Without meaning to, you crinkle your nose. “Everyone will be in the library, though,” you say, unable to stop yourself, “and there aren’t that many places to properly sit. We’d have to get really lucky to find a spot that can fit both of us.”

You can feel a piece of your soul shrivel up when Viktor looks at you with an intense expression, and what you believe to be barely hidden annoyance.

“Where would you suggest, then?” he asks.

You pick anxiously at your nails. “Maybe…um. One of Piltover’s other libraries? There will be fewer people, but we’ll still have a quiet atmosphere…”

He’s quiet for a moment.

Then, “That’s fine. We can decide later in the week when to meet, though. I have another class to get to.”

You nod quickly, bidding him a friendly farewell while you pack up your own things.

He leaves without so much as another word to you.

—

You’re beginning to believe that barging into your dorm room and flopping onto your bed in complete exhaustion is going to become your newest habit.

The rest of your classes were as uneventful as the first, though they were significantly longer than you’d anticipated. You’d nearly missed dinner by the time you’d run to the cafeteria, directly after being dismissed from your fourth and final class of the day.

You weren’t even remotely thrilled by the constant rush of the day, but then you’re not sure what else you’d expected. Of course your new life wouldn’t be as leisurely as your old one - you had a lot of information to be learned in a very short amount of time.

You suppose the shock of it all is what’s getting to you.

You wonder if V is having the same bad time that you are, but upon opening your notebook, your heart sinks.

I wish classes were longer. I feel like I barely got anything done today - how were your classes?

You sigh, and forcibly pull a smile onto your face.

Speak for yourself! I just know that I’m going to have a hard time sitting through all of that.

But you always sit while working.

Yeah, but I have stuff to do. I’m usually whistling, or jiggling my leg, or spinning a pencil around my fingertips, or humming, or singing! I won’t be able to do any of that in class - not only will I get in trouble, I’ll also get made fun of.

Fair enough. Hopefully as the lessons get more engaging, it won’t be such an issue. But if you’d like, I can send over one of my old blueprints for a…a fidget cube, if you will.

A what?

A fidget cube. It doesn’t really have a name, nor a purpose beyond being a subtle handheld…thing…that you can play with. It will make more sense with the sketches.

I’ll take your word that it works, because it sounds like something I need. Please send blueprints when you have the time?

Of course. You didn’t answer my question, though. How were your classes?

Ehhhh…overall they were okay I guess. Second class was kind of awkward, but the rest were alright.

That makes two of us. I…don’t suppose you got assigned a random partner to complete projects with throughout the semester, did you?

YEP. Who did you get?

That would defeat the purpose of anonymity, dear.

Oh. Whoops. In any case, I don’t think my partner likes me very much. Which I’m trying not to be sad about, because he doesn’t even know me.

Did he say something to you?

Not really. He didn’t say much at all, actually. I wanted to try and sort out meeting dates, but he was just…I dunno. Passive about it, I guess? I don’t expect anyone to think highly of me, but it would be nice to be taken seriously. He barely even looked at me! I hope it’s not because I’m a woman - I’ve met guys like that.

With any luck, it’s a misunderstanding. It’s a new school year, so everyone is surely on edge while they fall into a routine - I know I am.

Still finding PIltover weird, huh?

Immensely so. But the partner I got seems nice enough, if not a little airheaded. But she was taking notes for most of the class, so I’m hoping she’s serious about studying. I don’t want to be stuck doing all the work for our projects.

That’s fair. Most of our classmates seem pretty okay overall. Though…I do get some weird vibes from that little group in the back of the class. I don’t know what it is about them, but they make my skin crawl.

I’ll heed your warning, then. You know pilties better than I do. I think for now I’ll try to get some preemptive studying done though, if that’s alright?