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Some good things, you have learned, do not come to those who wait.
Zaun is not a pleasant place to grow up. The people around are wonderful, a pillar of support when the world seems against you, but that does not change the fact that the world is, in fact, against you. This is clear to your teenage mind as you walk through the Lanes, bag held tightly in your arms from a trip to Benzo’s shop. Eyes follow you the whole way down the street, debating if what you hold is worth the effort of jumping you, but it seems that today, they find you wanting. It is all you can do to keep your chin high as you walk, projecting a confidence you do not quite feel, hoping that it will stay that way.
“Here you are, Ms. Babette,” you say with a smile as you hand her the bags. “Some new masks, and a bottle of perfume.”
“Excellent, thank you, my dear,” the yordle says, taking the bag from you and perusing through its contents. “You have a good eye for quality.”
“Thank you, ma’am,” you say with a smile, tucking your hands into your pockets.
“And did you buy anything for yourself?” She asks, her big eyes darting up to you. “You remember our agreement.”
You nod and pull a small book on Noxian philosophy out of your back pocket. “He let me get it for only 5 coppers.”
"Did you haggle for it?"
"Only a little. He said it was his act of community service for the day."
“Very kind of him,” Babette smiles, patting your cheek with her thin hand, the long nails nearly catching in your hair. She pulls out a pouch from somewhere in her skimpy outfit (not that you want to ask where she keeps it) and presses a few coins into your hand. “Now run along. The food depot closes soon.”
“Ah, shit, thanks!” You give her a little bow as thanks and sprint off towards the food stalls as fast as your legs can carry you. The crowds do not part for your urgency, but you find a way to weave through with minimal crashing. Life does not stop just because you’re hungry or it’s quitting time. There’s too much to do and not enough time to do it, and right now, that task is getting to the grocer before it closes. Which you barely manage to. “The usual, please.”
The grocer scoffs but starts filling a crate with items from a pinned list, the cheapest ones that are right at the edge of being bad. “Cutting it close, aren’t you?”
“Ms. Babette asked me to do some things for her,” you reply, sliding your hands into your pockets, “and Benzo wants me to learn how to haggle.”
“It’s a good lesson to learn,” a voice says from behind you. “Never too late to learn how to make a situation your own.”
“Mr. Silco,” the grocer says with more of a smile. “What can I get for you?”
“No complaints about how close he’s cutting it?” You tease.
“They know better than to do so,” Silco replies, moving beside you. Which is…true. Silco has the respect of a lot of the Lanes, especially between his and Vander’s attempts to make life better down here. You still remember him as the boring old man who gave you the most uncomfortable conversation of your life, though. “You heading back to your boy?”
Your cheeks go pink. “He’s not my boy, sir.”
The grocer laughs but says nothing as they hand you your crate of groceries. You pass over your money without acknowledging it. Silco just smiles and says, “Well, tell your Viktor that I said hello. And you two be careful.”
“Always do, sir,” you give him a little bow of your head. “And say hi to Vander for me too!”
“Of course,” Silco gives a little wave as you turn to jog back home, and you think you catch his voice saying something about ‘blind’ and ‘lovesick’. You are…not sure who he is talking about, and the blush in your cheeks says you really, really don’t want to know. Instead, you just make your way to home - a small apartment in the Lanes, close to the ground floor so there aren’t stairs to climb, but with a pipe up high so that you can occasionally breathe the clean air you know comes from above the Undercity. It’s not much, but it’s home. You manage to undo all of the locks and step inside, leaving the door only half-locked for Viktor’s own return. Living with your best friend is fantastic, although some of his habits do drive you insane. Like leaving the table where you need to chop vegetables covered with parts and diagrams. Or how the food in the cupboard is the exact same as when you left it, so that means he has not been home or eaten.
You set about making a pot of soup, just to make sure that he gets some food in his stomach.
The pot is simmering when you hear the door unlock behind you. You look up from your new book to confirm that it is him before turning back to the book. “You better have eaten something today, Vitya,” you call over, turning a page to look at the next paragraph, “or I will tie you to a chair.”
There is no quip in response. A little concerned, you look up to see Viktor locking the door behind him with a rather stupefied expression on his face. His hand grips his cane tightly, the knuckles a little white, and when the last lock clicks in place, he turns to look at you. You do not need to ask what happened as he answers your unspoken question. “I met a councilor,” he says, eyes wide. “The head of the council of Piltover. And he offered me a job.”
You dropped the book you were reading. “I’m sorry, run that by me one more time?” You ask in wonder.
“I was working by the river, fixing up one of my prototype respirators, and he saw my work,” Viktor replies, hands shaking a little. You push away from the counter to guide him into a chair and immediately start making some sweetmilk to ease his nerves. “He said I should come to the academy to ‘pursue my passion as an inventor’. I could even become his assistant, if I work hard and impress.”
“Holy shit, Viktor, that’s amazing!” You grin in triumph. You knew it. You knew your brilliant Viktor would manage to find an opportunity and not let it go. “Are you going to take it?”
“I said that I must give it some thought,” he replies quietly.
“What is there to think about? It’s the Academy, Viktor!” You stir in the anise to let it infuse the milk.
“I don’t want to leave you behind,” he says quietly. “I know you work hard and that you have a life here, but…it would hurt me to see myself succeed and you linger here.”
Turning the milk onto low, you walk over and tap his chin to raise his head. “Then I’ll just have to find a way to come with you,” you grin, “but you can’t let this pass you by, Viktor. Seriously. This is everything you’ve ever wanted. This is the chance you’ve been begging for.”
A way to prove myself, he told you once, late at night, your heads nearly touching as you huddle in bed together. Just one chance, that is all I need, and I will carve a place for myself so I can make the world better. He sighs and turns his head away from you. “They’ll hate me. An Undercity cripple trying to be bigger than himself.”
“No, they won’t. They won’t understand and judge you, yes, but they won’t hate you,” you ruffle his hair. “Vik, we aren’t this lucky. No one will give us opportunities like this again. Grab it and don’t let go, fuck what anyone else thinks.”
His head tilts to rest against your side, his eyes closed. “I…said I would meet with him again tomorrow. To talk and…figure out details.”
“Do you want me to come?” You keep petting your fingers through his hair and he exhales slowly. His head tilts just a bit into your hair, letting you untangle the cowlicks he twists his hair into when he’s thinking.
“Maybe for moral support, but…I have to be in the meeting alone.”
“Then that’s what we’ll do,” you tell him. “Now, where are your nice clothes?”
“The ones I wore to the funeral?” He asks.
“Yes, those. They’re the nicest ones you have,” you smile, “and even if he’s the one that approached you, you should look your best.”
The soup and sweetmilk for dinner isn’t any different from your normal fare, but as you both chatter away about what the Academy will be like, what the councilor will want from him, if there’s any time to celebrate in Piltover after the meeting, it feels like a grand feast. Viktor’s eyes sparkle with excitement and more life than he has had for ages, his hands gesturing wildly as he talks to the point that he splashes some soup on your shirt, his smile wide enough to put the sun to shame, and gods fucking preserve you, even if this falls through, that moment of happiness will be worth it. You pray that it doesn’t, of course. This would be an excellent first step from the errand running and scowls and the absolutely abysmal quality of food.
Perhaps some good things come to those who wait.
And so the next day, you, in your own not-quite-funeral-but-still-nice clothes and Viktor in his nicest shirt and trousers (and a tie that you nearly choked him with tying it), walk up to Piltover, arm in arm. The guards at the bridge eye you two curiously, but they are happy to direct you to the Academy. It is strange to walk around Piltover, bathed in sunlight and the people so shiny it makes you squint, but when the Academy comes into view, the wonder on Viktor’s face is worth every moment of discomfort. He squeezes your arm tightly, eyes a little wide, and you squeeze his back. There are no words for this, for this hope so bright and trembling like a candle flame. You are scared any extra words will be the wind to snuff it out.
Once you get to the gate, you let go of his arm to give him a once-over. “Knock ‘em dead,” you say, adjusting his collar.
“I don’t think that allows me to pass the interview,” he teases nervously.
“Dork. You’ve got this.” You pat his shoulder and press a kiss to his forehead. “Show that yordle you’re the best chance he’ll ever take.”
He nods, straightens his back, and begins the slow walk into the Academy. His cane rings on the stones, and you lean against the gate to watch him go. A nearby Enforcer watches you with a raised eyebrow and it takes every ounce of your effort not to snark back. “Is it alright if I wait here?” You ask politely, “or should I wait in the grounds?”
Again, the man raises his eyebrow. “You can wait here,” he mutters, “but we’re keeping an eye on you.”
“Marcus, we’re supposed to be on patrol,” another enforcer calls, jogging over to him. “Come on, let’s get this done.”
“But-”
“You can’t arrest every Undercity person you see up here just because you're paranoid,” the other enforcer rolls her eyes before looking at you. “Have a nice day, ma’am.”
Again, it takes all of your strength not to say something snarky. “Thank you, ma’am, sir.”
The one named Marcus scowls at you, but says nothing as they begin their patrol again. As soon as they are out of sight, you sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose. Right. No matter how you dress yourself up, you still stick out like a soot-covered sore thumb.
“Are you waiting for someone, dear?”
You turn around to follow the voice and see an old woman, dressed to the nines in a nice suit and possibly the most ostentatious hat you have ever seen, sitting on a nearby bench. You nod. “Yes, ma’am. My friend has an audience in the Academy.”
“Well, then you’ve got a while to wait. Do you want to join me?”
That seems a little suspicious, but you make your way over slowly. “Thank you, ma’am,” you sit at the end of the bench, clasping your hands on your knees. “I’m not sure how long I have to wait.”
“Oh, a while, depending on what you are there for. What kind of audience is your friend receiving?”
You can’t help the smile on your face. “He’s going to be admitted, hopefully. He better. He’s smart and clever.”
“Ah, an excellent conversation,” the old woman smiles. “Ah, I remember when I followed my first lover to an interview to make sure he did his best. I’m sure you’ll do fine.”
Predictably, you go crimson. “He’s not my lover,” you protest.
“Ah, yes, of course,” she waves her hand, not at all meaning her words, “but let us sit for a while anyway. I’ve never really spoken to anyone from the Undercity, if you don’t mind talking about it?”
…ah, fuck it, you’ve done more inane things to pass the time. “What would you like to know, ma’am?”
The questions are fairly simple, but it does wonders to ease your restless nerves. The old woman even offers you candy, which you gladly take on the simple premise that you don’t get it often. The hour passes without feeling like it drags on, and before long, you see a familiar shape walking along the path, cane echoing on the stone path. Popping up onto your feet is almost a reflex, and you stride forward to meet him at the gate. “Well?” You ask him excitedly, bobbing on your feet.
“I’m in,” he says in wonder, as if he was just given the greatest gift in his life (which he probably had). “He’ll make arrangements for me to live up here and we’ll figure out lending for my books.”
You grab him by the shoulders, gripping tightly before hauling him into a hug. “Well done!” You say in joy, pressing a hand into his hair. “I knew you’d get it.”
His arms wrap around you, the cane resting against your back as Viktor leans against you for support. He laughs, more than a little exhilarated, and adds, “And once I am settled and he ensures that I’m not there to do anything heinous-”
“I can’t believe you just said the word heinous and meant it-”
“-you can take the entrance exam. He has to meet you, but…you can take it.”
You pull out of the hug to stare at him, hands still on his shoulders. “What?”
He grins, leaning on you for support. “You can take the entrance exam for humanities, and then you can stay with me up here.”
It takes a moment for that to sink in before you feel like you are not sure if you should cry or sing. “We…we did it?”
He nods, expression going softer, and he cups your face, touching his forehead to yours. “We did it. We made it out.”
“Ah, young love. Congratulations.” The old woman looks at the two of you from the bench with a fond expression.
The two of you go absolutely crimson, but Viktor responds, “Thank you, ma’am.”
Your prep work for the exam is constantly underlined by that comment. Or more specifically, that Viktor didn't deny it.
“So, you’re the one that young Viktor here is so fond of.”
Pulling away from the hug, you turn to look at the source of the voice and stare. You have met yordles before - Babette was a fast education on that front - but that doesn’t prepare you to meet Professor - no, Councilor - Heimerdinger. He smiles at the two of you, arms behind his back, and you feel the need to bow almost immediately. That gets tempted down fast to simply smile. “Councilor,” you say quietly, bowing your head. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
Viktor’s hand slides down to rest in the small of your back, the warmth an easy support, and it gives a little more calm to your nerves.
“Please, no need for the formalities at this moment, my dear,” he says, walking up to you. “I hear you’re interested in joining the Academy.”
“Yes, sir, I am,” you say earnestly. “I’ve wanted to since I was a kid.”
“Such dreams are wonderful things, especially when we can bring them to reality,” he smiles. “Tell me, what would you want to study?”
And so you tell him. Maybe it’s something about his demeanor, the kind intelligence in his eyes, but Heimerdinger’s question seems to open the floodgates that held your curiosity back from your life’s realities. You tell him about your passions, your favourite books to read and fields to study, the questions you are still searching for answers to, your hopes of establishing academic connections between Piltover and the Undercity to foster knowledge, the things that keep you up at night. All the while, Heimerdinger listens patiently, and Viktor’s hand stays right where it is on your back.
After it all, Heimerdinger makes an approving sound. “You have certainly fostered quite a passion for learning, my dear.”
“I’ve done my best, sir,” you say hopefully, clasping your hands in front of you.
“In that case, I don’t see any reason why a bright, aspiring young mind should not be given the chance to excel and grow,” Heimerdinger says. “You would need to be put under the same academic restrictions as Viktor-”
“I’ll accept whatever I need to in order to be here,” you’re not sure if all of those words were clear in your rush to get them out.
“Then let’s see if we cannot get you two through the entrance exam as soon as possible,” he says affirmatively. “Study hard.”
Your ears are ringing a little bit as that knowledge settles in. “Yes, sir,” you say, more than a little overwhelmed. “Thank you, sir. Thank you so much.”
“Of course, Professor,” Viktor says as well, his voice equally overwhelmed.
“Then I will leave you to it. I expect to see you here next week at 10 o’clock, ready to work!” He turns around as he says this, raising a hand to the air. “Science waits for no one.”
“Yes, sir!” The two of you say in unison, watching him go. The two of you are nearly vibrating as you watch him go, trying to keep yourselves together, but you are fairly certain he’s still in ear shot when you can’t keep yourselves contained anymore.
“I got in!” You just about knock Viktor over, whooping with joy. He almost falls over, dropping his cane, and he has to throw his arms around you for support. He laughs in astonished delight, holding on tight. The two of you can’t stop laughing with joy. You nearly spin him around, but his toes would drag along the ground anyway. Besides, you need to maintain some kind of dignity up here, where anyone can see you and judge you. “We did it!”
“We did,” he replies, just about as giddy as you are, squeezing you tight. “We made it to the Academy.”
“Now, we just have to prove that their faith in us is worth it.”
“That we do.” He leans back a bit in the hug to look at you. “But we are allowed to celebrate now, I think.”
“Dinner?” You pat your pocket. “I think I got enough money for something.”
“I think there was a meat bun stall not far from here,” Viktor gestures back down the street. “I can smell it.”
You take his arm again and Viktor anchors himself between it and his cane. “Then let’s go get some.”
The old woman waves you a farewell as you thank her for her time. To your surprise, she doesn’t say anything else about the two of you acting like a couple. She just smiles at you knowingly as you and Viktor walk down the street towards the potential dinner.
You return home to Zaun giddy, stomachs a little fuller than they were before. Along the way, Viktor’s leg started to give out from all of the walking, so you make the bridge crossing and trip down to Zaun with Viktor on your back. Sometimes, he finds it a bit humiliating, but there is a certain comfort of feeling each other’s warmth. Despite the bumpiness of the walk, you can feel Viktor sometimes resting his cheek against your shoulder. And hear him sigh into your ear, just resting there. It does get you two a few looks as you make your way into the Undercity, but no one dares to say anything. The last time someone talked shit about you, Viktor, and his bum leg, Vander strung them up by their underwear and left them hanging for an hour. How Vander heard about it, you have no idea, but perhaps it’s just some deep parental instinct that he has.
Viktor helps you unlock the door from his perch on your back and even pushes it open with his long leg. It’s always a little bit of a struggle to get in, but you eventually get him settled on your bed. “How’s the pain?” You ask as you lock the door behind you. “Do you need something cold or medicine?”
He makes a low noise behind you, the kind that means he’s pressing the heel of his hand into the atrophied muscle, trying to make it loosen. “Do we have any more of the cold packs?”
Once the door is secure, you go to the medicine chest and open it up. There’s not much in there, but you dig around. “There is one of the crackable ones left.”
“Please.”
You pull it out, crack it over your knee, and bring it over to the bed, sitting next to him. Without a word needed, you help him get his suit trousers off so he can place the ice pack on his leg. He mumbles another sound of pain, his head falling forward a little bit. “Need any help getting the rest off?”
He laughs a little. “Maybe, or maybe you’ll try to strangle me with the tie again.”
“I tied it badly only the once, Vitya,” you grin, already starting to work on his tie.
“And that once took a year off of my life, little one.”
The words make you pause. Viktor stops breathing for just a moment, colour starting to fill his cheeks, and it takes a visible effort for you to keep going.
Young love, the old woman had said.
So you’re the one young Viktor is so fond of, Heimerdinger had said.
I don’t want to leave you behind, Viktor had said, worried and fond.
Good things do come to those who wait, but…have you waited long enough?
(Your first kiss went a little like this:
A ten year old Viktor putting together a toy robot that could walk in a controlled pattern. You lying on an old mat beside him, taking notes on poetry and frowning at the big words.
“What does ‘intoxicated’ mean?” You ask.
“I don’t know,” Viktor says. “What’s the context?”
You read it aloud carefully. “‘His voice is poured whiskey, each praise a readied shot, and intoxicated I became before it.’”
“Must be about love,” Viktor shrugs. “I think the word means drunk? Like when you have too much and everything is weeeeeee.”
“It sounds really nice, whatever it is. You spend time with the person you love and you hug them and cuddle them and kiss them and spend your life with them!”
“I don’t know what kissing is, but the rest sounds nice.”
“It’s what Ms. Babette does to the people outside,” you make a pucker noise in the air.
“That doesn’t look fun,” Viktor frowns.
“That’s just because it’s Ms. Babette and she scares you.”
"Does not."
"Does too."
Viktor snorts and sits up. “Could you show me then? For research?”
“Okay.”
You lean in slow, not quite sure what you’re doing, but then you kiss him. It’s quick, soft, but when you pull away, Viktor looks at you as though he has been hit with starlight. Wondrous, amazed, absolutely overjoyed.
“Do that again,” Viktor says, looking awed.
Which you do. Of course. Until Mr. Silco from down the street catches you and tells you both that you’re too young to be doing anything like that, that you need to wait until you know for sure that that is what you want with that person, and honestly, Mr. Silco is so boring. Either way, Viktor goes crimson and doesn’t kiss you again after that.)
Here and now, with barely any distance between the two of you, your fingers near Viktor’s collarbone, close enough that you can feel his racing heart…it certainly seems like you’ve waited long enough.
You lean forward and press your lips to Viktor’s cheek, close to his mouth. “We made it.” You say softly.
He flushes under your touch, a bloom of warmth in his cheeks. It takes him a moment but he gathers himself. “We did.” His eyes are riveted to your face, darting between your eyes and your mouth, not quite sure where to settle. Amber is still your favourite colour, and up close, his eyes are absolutely beautiful. When you had finally put that word to your best friend and meant it, you did not know, but your Viktor is beautiful and wondrous, and you may just die if one of you doesn’t take this leap.
“So, are we just going to sit here like this or are you going to kiss me?” Viktor asks, raising an eyebrow at you, his mouth upturned in a half smile.
Just like that, the tension breaks and you can’t help a laugh. “You little shit,” you grin, but you cannot bring yourself to refuse such a sweet request.
“Your little shit,” he says as your noses brush, and finally, your lips touch.
It doesn’t feel quite the same as when you were kids, but maybe that’s just because you know what you are doing now. Or maybe because now the two of you have history together, that you care deeply for him, that you are both happy and excited and that is seeping into the contact. Either way, while this doesn’t quite feel like a kiss out of a storybook, it feels quite close. Your hands rest lightly against Viktor’s chest, feeling his heartbeat pound, and his hands move to rest against your waist. The one that held the icepack is cold to the touch through your clothes, but it doesn’t matter. It feels right.
When you finally pull apart to breathe, his smile is near blinding. You answer his unspoken question with a smile and a murmured, “ My little shit. And I am yours.”
His smile is soft, deeply tender, and slides a hand up to cup your cheek, brushing his thumb over your cheekbone. “Good. Now, where were we?”
The Undercity is a sea of sound and lights, the air choking and cloying with chemicals, music and violence an uninviting cacophony. There is never a moment of silence, never a moment of true darkness or light, never a moment where you can breathe clearly or feel as though the Undercity has permeated every inch of you.
But here, when Viktor presses you gently down onto the bed and kisses you like he’s wanted to for seven years and finally, finally is letting himself have the chance? There is nothing else.