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During the winter was when Viktor’s body hurt the most, when he’d lean on his cane for most of his support and retreat to his dorm room after class to escape from those who might stare at him for making noise or getting in the way. Piltover didn't get much snow, but what it did get often brought chilly rain and heavy clouds whose weather seeped deep into his bones and gave him terrible headaches. Some days were so bad he couldn’t curl his fingers into a fist. Others just made him tired.
Winterfest was soon, and other students were abuzz about their plans. Viktor stared at the table, hands folded neatly, knowing that he really didn't have any; his parents were busy with work, and he couldn't make it across town to the bridge right now. They always promised to spend time together later on, but it meant he'd be in his dorm for a few days. It wasn't too bad, just lonely.
Out of the corner of his eye he watched the heavy rainfall tap against windows, Piltover having disappeared in a sea of gray. He couldn’t focus; the brain fog was too thick, and all he could think about was crawling into bed. He could probably walk, but not without help, and his foot tapped silently as he waited for the clock to strike the hour.
The professor wrapped up their class and thankfully for him it was his last of the day. He snapped his book shut, slid it into his messenger bag, put on his gloves, and reached for his cane. Most other students had hurried out, their footsteps fading down the hall, the classroom falling silent except for the rain. It was so loud he didn't see or hear the girl standing in front of him until he stood up.
He held back a gasp but couldn't stop himself from jumping in surprise.
She was pretty, staring at him with intense pinkish purple eyes that bore into his soul. Her fingers combed through her long hair, from the white roots to the sky-blue tips. Though she appeared shy, rocking her body in the small way young kids did, a gentle smile crossed her face.
He looked her up and down, swallowed, and attempted to step past her.
"Are you from the Freljord?" she asked, moving to block his path.
Her voice was strong and thick with a foreign accent almost like his own, but still so distinctly different. He remembered hearing it from somewhere outside of class.
Viktor tried again to pass her, eyes on the ground. "Why do you ask?" He tried to remember her name at least, but recalling his classmates wasn't exactly a passtime of his. None of them wanted to speak to him; he just wanted to focus on his studies as he and Heimerdinger agreed upon so it worked out for him.
"You sound kinda like me!" A brighter smile crossed her tanned face. Her hands clapped together. "I thought, well. I thought maybe someone else from home might've fled to Piltover."
"I was born and raised in the undercity," Viktor mumbled. He stared at his feet, leaning against his cane to hopefully hide the way his leg trembled. The girl’s face fell. "I need to go. I have some stuff to do before bed."
She shook her hands, her eyebrows raising. "No, no. Hang on! I um-"
"What are you trying to do? Not many people really talk to me you know. Remind me what your name is again. Please."
"Rusalka! I sit at the front! I never see you with any of the other students or doing anything and I wanted to invite you to a winterfest dinner if you'd like."
“Why?”
“Do you have anywhere else to go?”
Shaking his head, Viktor used his full weight to shove past her, making a beeline for the door. He lifted his head despite how nervous he felt. She was so forward. So right.
“I appreciate the invite, but…I can’t. I’m sorry. I don’t know you.”
Most people from the undercity didn't celebrate as much as the topside did anyway. He was hardly missing out.
Rusalka didn’t look sad. She lifted a hand to wave at him, standing alone among the many desks organized in a semi-circle around the room.
"When I first came to the academy last year you were there with Heimerdinger tutoring us to get us a bit more up to speed." Her smile faltered. She didn't look away from him but her voice hesitated. "Freljord isn't as robust. And you...were nice. To me and my brother. But you left before we could even ask your name."
"...Viktor." He scratched the back of his head. He reached out to open the door. "I meet a lot of people while helping Heimerdinger. Forgive me for not remembering your name. I'm sorry."
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He sipped hot sweet milk that warmed his hands and his bones from the inside out. After the feast the family had just had, he felt like he couldn't eat another bite for at least the rest of the week, stuffed full of rich Freljordian foods and new dishes he'd never heard of year after year. Soups, stews, dried meats, fish, vegetables; he couldn't have tried them all, but others in the neighborhood that had been invited brought plenty of sweets and hard candies that Rusalka snatched a tin of just for him.
In Rusalka's room, the music and laughter from the downstairs living area and kitchen was muffled, a welcome relief for his poor ears. The lady herself sat beside him, one leg crossed over the other, watching the stars that lit up on the ceiling from a small lamp Viktor had made her. Though he wasn't fussy about people's looks, she wore the violet eyeshadow and sky blue lipstick he'd complimented a dozen times and couldn't help but stare at her with a hint of a smile. Her eyes lit up with wonder.
She reached up and pointed at a constellation drifting lazily across the coroner. The loose flowing layers of winter clothing she wore moved with her, as gentle as a cool spring breeze.
"We used to love hearing stories about that one," she said. "A great warrior. And my brother's favorite is that dragon!"
Viktor smiled wider. He dug out a butter cookie from a tin that sat between them. "I know in the north you might not have as varied constellations as here, so you can set it to view from a few locations. They're as accurate as I could get."
"Oh Viktor I love it so much!" Rusalka leaned her head against his shoulder. He could never get over how she didn't seem to mind how bony he was, or how slim and frail his fingers were, or how she understood him even when he didn't know much of what to say.
"You didn't have to do something this grand," she continued.
"Trust me when I say it wasn't a problem. You know I enjoy making little devices. You mentioned before how much you miss Freljord."
Their hands clasped together. They admired the stars glittering above, bathing the room a soft hue. Viktor got comfortable against the pile of pillows Rusalka shoved behind him to support his back, setting the mug on the nightstand. One knee bent upwards as he settled down.
"I appreciate you always inviting me to these the past few years, Rusalka."
"Of course! You're always invited."
Viktor chuckled, rubbing his thumb along Rusalka's knuckles. "I can't just invite myself over like that. Even if we are a couple. Besides, when you first invited me I thought you were going to harvest my organs."
"What! I would never!" She gave him a playful jab in the side. He feigned hurt. "I just...we don't want to see anyone celebrating alone."
"To be fair, I never thought anyone more beautiful than a sunset would care who I was."
They were also only fourteen. When they'd met, Viktor had been on the topside for just a few weeks shy of a year.
Whenever he complimented Rusalka, a soft blush crossed her cheeks. She glanced up at him, her eyes soft, and almost a little shy.
"In the years we've known each other you never looked at or talked to me like I didn't belong," Viktor said, voice quieter. Rusalka squeezed his hand.
"In my village we always took care of each other. Honestly I just wanted to make sure you were okay. You seemed so lonely."
Viktor's eyebrows rose as she reached up with her free hand to caress his cheek. He leaned in, closing his eyes, letting himself simply be. It wasn't often he got to have free time alone with just Rusalka unless he visited her at the archives and a part of him didn't want the night to end.
He wrapped his hand around Rusalka's warm one. Their foreheads pressed together.
"I admire your family's generosity. And you, of course."
Rusalka propped herself up on her elbow. She pulled him toward her and kissed his cheek, rolling away before he could retaliate.
He wasn't going to though, his face a deep red. He reached out to grab her, but she jumped off the bed and turned to look at him over her shoulder. At first she walked around the bed, dragging her hand across the quilt, then moved across the room to a small couch and coffee table and sat down prim and proper.
"W-wait! Don't go too far away, I can't keep up!"
"Oh?"
"Come back," Viktor pouted. He pushed himself up, swinging a leg over the edge. Bit by bit he stood, knees sore from a long winter day.
"I haven't gotten to say anything sweet about you yet," Rusalka said back. She tilted her head teasingly.
"You don't need to! I'm happy to just be spending time with you."
As if finally taking pity on him, Rusalka meandered back to the bed. She took his cold hands. Her purple eyes locked with his for but a moment when she leaned in and their lips met.
Her fingers combed through his hair. "There's still more winterfest to enjoy, Viktor," Rusalka whispered. "Thank you for coming again this year."
"No, no, thank you. And happy winterfest Rusalka."