Archive of Our Own

Viktor had left you.

After having miraculously recovered - although you wondered if the action of the hextech core should be understood as a miracle or a curse - and having left the organic frame that had served as a cocoon for him in the last few weeks, Viktor was gone.

You had not been present when it had all happened, having to settle for Jayce's mortified and heartbroken account. He told you how his colleague's eyes were deep, distant, as if he were seeing a reality incomprehensible to others and how he had limited himself to picking up his notebook before muttering a few words and leaving the laboratory.

From the desolate expression of the man in front of you, it was clear that Jayce didn’t want to talk about that subject anymore and that he could barely begin to process the hurt to be able to give you some kind of support. He needed comfort and you needed answers. It soon became clear that neither of you would find what you were looking for.

“He left?” Your voice was distressed. You wanted to go out into the city streets, but how could you do that if you didn't even know where to start looking?

You thought you knew Viktor like the back of your hand, but that was before his secrets and obsession with the hexcore.

Before things started to fall apart.

The shrug Jayce offered in response sparked an overwhelming wave of fury in you. As if he hadn't been the only person to talk to his colleague before he seemingly disappeared from the face of Piltover.

Your thoughts came to a sudden conclusion. Something obvious, regrettably obvious, as if it were the only possible possibility and the one you should have been considering all along.

Zaun.

You remembered the claustrophobic setting of the dark corridors and alleys, the suspicious looks, hostile words and how every inch of that place seemed covered in an eternal stain of pessimism and abandonment. The place you used to call home. Your pulse raced as you became more and more convinced that you would find Viktor there, perhaps back in Singed’s decrepit lap, perhaps much more of a stranger than you’d care to admit, and though you had sworn to Janna that you would never set foot in the Undercity again as long as you drew breath, you knew that your options weren’t a multitude.

That's an optimist way to say they were basically non-existent, after all, what were your other alternatives? Continue to insist that Jayce tried to remember details that might not exist, or simply beg him to go on an ambiguous journey in search of a man who most certainly did not want to be found?

You knew that at some point in the past he would be able to go to hell and back in search of Viktor, just as you always would be. That moment was so distant now that it was almost comical.

Your body turned with purpose toward the door, practically marching as your goal became clearer and clearer in your mind. A moment of uncertainty made you stop, your hand gripping the doorknob before you made a last question.

“...he didn’t ask about me?”

And you knew the answer would pierce your heart like a barbed arrow and there was nothing you could do. Your head turned partially so you could witness the emotions that ran across Jayce’s features. It was the heavy shake of his head that made your eyes water.

“I would tell you that maybe this is the hexcore’s fault, we have no idea what effects it may have caused and maybe this is some kind of symptom but…” he hesitated for a moment, seeming to consider whether or not he should continue.

“But?” You pressed, your morbid curiosity preventing you from going without knowing.

“...he seemed completely full of mental capacities. A little apathetic, maybe, but it was Viktor.”

Not a version distorted by the hexcore, was what he wanted to say.

And you didn't have time to process what that really meant, you didn't want to stop and think about the implications of those words so you left with a desperate cadence in your steps and your chest, but not before letting your eyes fall on the structure that until a few hours ago had housed Viktor inside.

All that was left now was a hole, a large dark hollow made of organic remains. You wouldn't let that happen to your life too.

As much as you wanted to just go down to Zaun through the first possible passage, it took you a couple of weeks until you were truly ready.

Your immediate priority was to make sure that Viktor wasn't in Piltover. There were days of endless walks, visiting the libraries and places where he liked to spend time alone (these last ones weren't a very long list), you left your address and name for half the city, begging them to contact you if they heard anything at all.

You also knew that waiting idly by was idiotic.

And then the real preparations began, the ones that had to do with the purest sense of survival. The bowels of Zaun had spat you out and created you with violence and paranoia, you wouldn't go back there if you weren't fully prepared. An old but sharp pocketknife, a bag of coins for emergencies and a gas mask, a model very similar to the one the patrollers had been using recently. Ironically, getting this prototype had been one of the simplest parts. The Academy had been in chaos since the last attacks, so it was easy to slip through the doors with your equipment tucked in your pocket.

Then you had to make sure that you and Viktor would still have a roof over your heads when you got back, so you gave Jayce a spare key, asked him to drop off your notice of temporary leave at your department office, and paid the landlord two months’ rent in advance, ignoring his suspicious look when you coerced him into accepting the amount.

The final preparations and the thing that was most challenging for you was preparing yourself mentally. For anything and everything. The most optimistic scenarios and the most pessimistic ones, and it was hard not to let the pessimism get the best of you, you had spent sleepless nights staring at the ceiling and thinking about disasters. Your bed was comfortable and empty, as it had been for the last few months, but your heart trembled when you remembered that you couldn’t just go to the lab if you missed Viktor anymore, since he was no longer there.

A dirty voice whispered that you might never see him again, and that was the last straw for you to jump out of bed, looking for the worn-out clothes that were the closest thing to an inheritance you had - a dark hoodie, boots with thick soles, and goggles with one of the lenses cracked. You grabbed the rest of your gear, trying to shield your thoughts from any trace of discouragement, knowing that there was no life for you in Piltover until you knew Viktor's whereabouts.

It was in the middle of that same hot and humid night that you slipped through the city streets, running away from patrol and lights as if your face was on the wanted posters, directing your erratic steps towards an entrance that you knew wouldn't be blocked. It was a steep climb, you would have to sneak over some fragile roofs and pipes in questionable conditions, feeling the creaking of the surfaces as you tried to distribute your weight carefully, wondering if the parkour had ever been truly easy.

The answer was no. The difference was that back then you didn't have much to lose, so it didn't matter if you missed a jump and broke a few bones. You'd be the only one to bear the consequences. Now, however, you had to find Viktor before that happened.

Swallowing your distress, you continued your journey downwards, surprised at how clear the route still was in your mind. Even when you came across a roof that looked particularly rickety and thought there was no way forward, you remembered the almost nostalgic feeling of running past it and feeling the creaking beneath your feet. Those tiles had held up countless times before.

Taking some distance and taking a deep breath to try and ignore the sheer fear coursing through your veins, you took a running leap, quickly passing over the roof and feeling it buckle in response to your weight, but still holding without giving way. You jumped to another ledge and continued, glad that your journey wasn't over so soon.

You looked down, trying to see if you could see the uneven streets yet. The only thing visible was the dark greenish smoke that was growing thicker by the moment, a sign that you were getting closer.

It was with a few more uncertain jumps that you finally reached the ground with shaky legs and a hurried breath, your body could remember the path but it certainly didn't remember the effort required. Despite the solid ground, you didn't have time to rest, knowing full well that standing still made you an easy target.

It took you a while to recognize where you actually were, as if the structures themselves become even more oppressive than before, there were practically no points of light and you could hear murmurs, although you couldn't clearly see who they belonged to. The realization that you had returned to a strange place came with a shiver - you had changed and so had Zaun. This was no longer one of the neighborhoods that had been so familiar to you when you were younger, no, this was a den adapted to swallow people alive. The den that was also one of your last hopes of finding Viktor.

After a few minutes, you felt the discomfort that only the terribly polluted air could cause. Your throat dried up and before you could start a violent cough fit, you put on the mask. The internal filters worked immediately and you could breathe again, as if the air wasn't so heavy that it was like breathing in solid matter. You continued with restless and falsely determined steps, heading for the closest thing to a familiar place those streets had.

Even in the middle of the night you could feel curious eyes following you on your journey, knowing that the sight of someone plummeting from Piltover was, at best, peculiar, and at worst, a warning that something brutal was coming. You had no intention of staying any longer than necessary, willing to drag Viktor out of there as soon as possible, even if it didn't mean returning to the Academy and the comfortable life you had so arduously built together - you would go to Mount Targon if he asked, all you needed was to know that he was safe and well.

Your gaze finally found a familiar metal door, one of the only ones that had a small lamp on the side emitting a dim light. You smacked the back of your hand harder than necessary, ensuring that you were heard.

A small sliding door opened, revealing a pair of suspicious eyes.

“What do you want?” a rough voice asked. You didn’t recognize the rude tone, but Babette didn’t usually keep the same person as security for long. Still, you had a strategy that would get you in.

Or at least you hoped.

You said your name, momentarily tearing the mask off your face, hoping that your deep gaze, the result of sleepless nights because of worry, was proof enough that you were no ordinary topsider.

“Tell Babette I’m looking for Viktor.”

You saw in the man’s eyes that your words made no sense to him and the door closed. For a moment, you feared that he wouldn’t pass on your message and that you would be left there, on the porch step all night waiting for some miracle.

To your surprise, a heavy noise announced the opening of the door. The man who had greeted you a few moments ago let you in, despite having the same suspicious eyes as before. In fact, they were one of the only organic things that were visible above the sea of mechanical improvements, which was very common among Zaunites - you remembered that one of your own ribs was made of metal, an alteration that had been made as an emergency after an accident in your childhood. It wasn’t for you to judge.

“She’s waiting for you.” He nodded toward the spacious hallway, shrouded in what seemed to be a thin layer of fog.

The intoxicating, sweet scent seemed to waft from the walls, a rosy glow emanated from the decorative lamps, and you’d be the first to admit that, compared to the state of the outside, the interior was inviting.

With a nod, you walked on, knowing the interior of the establishment like the back of your own hand.

This place had once been a safe haven for you, when the streets were too inhospitable and all you needed was some almost maternal advice, for the yordle had been the closest thing to a mother figure you’d ever had, witnessing your relationship with Viktor in your tender years. If anyone had any idea where your fiancé might be, it would be her.

Well, her and maybe Singed, but you felt chills just thinking about the man.

Finally, you arrived at the room where Babette usually sat, a place a little more reserved and that certainly reflected her etiquette - the wooden table and the lamp with the yellow bulb were the same, as were the seemingly endless pile of papers and the pipe. Her pink gaze was much heavier than you remembered, but even her makeup was true to your memories. You sat in the chair across from her without waiting for an invitation.

She merely arched an eyebrow before blowing smoke from her pipe carelessly.

“Well, well, look at what the street rats dragged in…” she looked at your clothes before speaking again. “Don’t the pilties pay you enough to buy you some better clothes, dear?”

And you knew the woman well enough to know that there was some degree of genuine concern in her mocking words.

“Don’t tell me you were really expecting me to come all the way here in a fur coat, Bette.”

Something passed through her wide eyes. You always thought she was too expressive, it seemed to be a quality that time couldn’t change.

“I didn’t expect you to come at all, my dear.” Any trace of lightness that existed in that conversation died right there. “Are you looking for Viktor?”

You nodded, sober.

“I would tell you the whole story if I had the time… or even an idea of what happened, Babette. All I know is that he disappeared.”

It had been much more than that. The disappearance had been voluntary, and perhaps the detail that hurt you the most was that he had left and left you behind in the process, as if you were an ignorable collateral damage.

She hummed, seemingly pondering.

“It seems to me that you had time to prepare yourself.” Her gaze remained on the mask that you still carried in your hands. “But perhaps not enough, it’s not a fancy mask and willpower that will get you far around here, you know that. Maybe it’s best that you go back to your home.”

“...there is no home without Viktor, Babette.” You whispered, trying to ignore the implications in her words as you suspected she was holding back information.

You stared at her, letting her try to read you like a book as she had done so many times before. When she was satisfied, she took one last drag on her pipe before setting it aside with a heavy sigh.

“Some time ago I began to hear whispers about a healer. A man in a hood and with a staff in his hands who performed miracles. Able to cure even the worst things in this hole - it seemed too good to be true and I thought it was just talk from people too stoned to be able to tell real life from fantasy.”

Her expression got briefly serious.

“But no. I saw with my own eyes a boy who had a horrible aftereffect of shimmer. It was a wound that was always open, going through the poor thing’s chest.” She made an imaginary line to illustrate the position of the wound. “...I saw him yesterday and there was nothing left but skin. The healing wasn’t perfect, but it looked like a miracle.”

You knew that miracle was just another way of saying magic. If there were miraculous occurrences around, then there was a high chance it was hextech.

“And what did this guy say?” You leaned against the table with interest, eager to capture every detail if it meant getting closer to Viktor’s whereabouts.

“The same absurd story I had heard before. A man with an inexplicable cure, but he didn’t mention a staff… he said the man used a crutch.”

Your eyebrows rose as you digested the revelation. Not only was your fiancé alive and well, he had also acquired the ability to miraculously heal wounds. You agreed with the cabaret owner—it sounded too good to be true.

“The man doesn’t have a name. They call him the Herald.”

You leaned back in your chair.

“It’s a title worthy of a savior.” She nodded. “And where do I find him?”

She paused for a moment.

“I’m not sure. He seems to mysteriously appear when there’s someone in need of help, but I can’t tell. This story sounds more like something I’d read to you at bedtime.” And she gave a weak smile. “…do you think it’s him?”

It was your turn to sigh.

“It’s possible. A little absurd, I admit, but possible.”

She took another puff of her pipe.

“Darling, the absurd is becoming mundane.”

The two of you fell into a heavy silence, an indication that everything she knew about the subject had been told. It was with a cold feeling in your chest that you stood up, skillfully adjusting the mask to your face. She did nothing to stop or delay your exit, just watching as you walked towards the door.

Before you left, however, you stopped yourself.

“...I'm sorry, Babette. For leaving. For not visiting.”

Her hoarse laughter made you turn around completely, coming face to face with the face she usually made when you told her something funny.

“There's no reason to apologize, girl. I know you always wanted to leave. I won't lie and say it didn't hurt and that I didn't miss you but... it's good to know you're okay.” You nodded, not trusting that your voice wouldn't break if you opened your lips again. “When you find Viktor, stop by before you go back. I want to see if the boy has changed at all.”

Not if you found him; when you did. As if your goal was only a matter of time. The cold from before gave way to a warm feeling and you felt optimistic for the first time in a long time.

“Will do, Bette.”

And with that you were gone, soon leaving all the familiarity of the cabaret behind.

Although Babette’s words had served as some kind of kickstart, they hadn’t helped that much, not really.

Contrary to what the topsiders seemed to believe, Zaun wasn’t a simple hole in the ground with a few dozen troubled people living there - in fact, it was much more like a labyrinth in the ground with a few hundred people. Your case was even worse, because you didn’t even have an address. All your clues were the supposed existence of a Herald, which could very well be just another rumor born of the dementia of the streets.

At least Babette had told you that she had witnessed the result of this Herald’s actions with her own eyes, so you weren’t in such a bad situation.

Your steps were still hurried, even though you no longer had any clear objective in mind. Wandering around at night was a bad idea, but wasting even more time sounded like an even worse alternative, so all you could do was walk and hope you found something important sooner rather than later.

In your distracted state, you almost failed to notice movement in your peripheral vision. A few figures slipped through an alley you hadn't seen before, trying to position themselves on your flank.

You quickly turned around, your hand instinctively reaching for the improvised pocket knife.

There appeared to be three men, looking at you as if you were a valuable piece of meat. Their gazes were fixed on your face, or rather, on your mask. The worn clothes you were wearing couldn't disguise the technological and unmistakable design that the elegant lines formed - it was only a matter of time before you stopped going unnoticed.

“You’re a bit far from home, piltie.” The first one said, while the others began to circle you. For a moment you thought about opening your mouth and trying to defend yourself, because that sounded like an insult and you had interpreted it as such, but you thought better of it.

You could be Janna herself, that wouldn’t stop them from disemboweling you and stealing every last coin.

One of them advanced from behind and you successfully dodged it, albeit a little sloppily. It had been a while since you had had a physical confrontation like this and although you were feeling proud of having done parkour without breaking any bones, that didn’t mean you would escape this encounter in one piece.

“You want the mask?” If all they were after was the piece of piltovian technology, you would gladly give it up, even if it meant you would no longer have any protection against the almost pungent air.

“The mask is a start. I know people like you don't usually come down here without their pockets full of gold.” He pointed to your waist with an object in his hands that you quickly recognized as a knife.

You hesitated, but soon gave in, recognizing that being without gold and without a mask was better than being dead. In truth, there was no guarantee that they would let you go even after making sure that you were no longer carrying anything of value, but perhaps you could escape while they worried about the spoils.

And anyway, it was still three against one.

It seemed like a great time for a miraculous figure to appear and help those in need.

Your hands reached for the mask again, removing the object from your face. You threw it to your assailant, who caught it without difficulty. When you reached for the small coin purse that was actually attached to your waist and stretched out your arm to give it to him, the man spoke again.

“What is this?” He held your wrist, his eyes fixed on the small silver band that encircled your ring finger.

Your engagement ring, forged by Jayce to Viktor’s detailed specifications. It wasn’t a valuable metal, because you thought it was silly to spend much money on something as symbolic as that - it was a simple band with a tiny hextech crystal in the center, so small that you could barely make out the blue glow.

You flashed back to the day Viktor had proposed to you. His yellow eyes were so full of tenderness and expectation that you could cry just remembering it, as if you weren’t physically incapable of saying no to him. You would pluck the moon from the sky with your bare hands if he wanted you to, so agreeing to spend the rest of your life with your great love seemed like the natural course of things.

That ring had once been a mere symbol of the agreement you had. Now, however, it was one of the only physical remnants of Viktor you had left. And you would much rather risk your life than let some random guy take it from you.

Suddenly, it didn't matter if it was three against one.

It was the last coherent thing that went through your mind before your other arm, the one still holding the knife firmly, struck the assailant, who let out a squeak of surprise and pain as the blade met his skin. You kicked him back with all your strength, barely having time to worry about the other two when a body pinned your torso, a knife immediately being held close to your neck.

"Oh, look who's got some fight in her-", you took advantage of the mockery to step on one of his feet brutally, thankful that you were wearing the boot with the particularly thick sole. The sudden discomfort was enough for him to release you for a brief moment, which you used to elbow him in the abdomen and distance yourself.

The third, the only one who hadn't tried to attack you directly until then, was still a reasonable distance away, watching the situation with surprise. Your determination seemed to be greater than his, so it was your turn to attack, advancing against him with enough force to take both of you to the ground - you punched him in the middle of the face with all the fury that the adrenaline running through your veins could generate, ignoring the pain in your knuckles in favor of listening to the brutal crack under your fingers. His cry of pain suggested that maybe you had indeed broken his nose.

Someone grabbed you by your hood, pulled you off the other man and threw you back to the ground, you grunted a little before managing to recover, staggering to your feet. It was the one who had approached you first, looking at you with the purest vitriol.

“You know, I was going to let you go, but now it's personal.”

You scoffed instinctively, readjusting the pocketknife in your hand.

“I’ve heard worse threats when I was a child.”

He seemed disarmed for a moment.

“...that’s nothing to be proud of, lady.”

And it really wasn’t, but this wasn’t the place or time to think about your traumatic childhood.

You adjusted your posture, making sure the guy with the nose was still on the ground, but something was wrong.

Wasn’t it three against one?

The feeling of a blade lodging between your ribs prevented any further thought from forming. Before processing the pain, you processed the infernal tingling that spread through the wound.

Your immediate reaction was to gasp, falling to the ground after being roughly pushed, barely managing to put your arms in front of your body to soften the fall. You tried to get up, only managing to roll onto your back and watch as your assailants surrounded you, watching you agonize on the ground.

You had been stabbed a few times before but nothing like this - nothing like the searing, almost dizzying sensation spreading through a cut you didn't think was that deep. Until you realized it wasn't about the cut itself, but rather as if the pain was spreading through your blood. With a little more attention, you remembered that exact feeling, like liquid fire running through your veins.

Shimmer.

Your eyes tried to focus on your attacker's blade but in vain, your pupils were in a state of supernatural dilation, the only thing you could do was lie there, panting as if all the air had been stolen from your lungs.

When you finally believed you had gained enough motor control, you tried to get up, receiving a kick you didn't see coming. Falling to the ground again, you yelped in pain. It was like an overdose in a homeopathic dose, tearing your entire nervous system apart from the inside out. Maybe you would start foaming like a rabid dog if enough time passed.

One of them crouched down, holding your arm with unnecessary force. You tried to struggle when you realized he was taking off your engagement ring, doing everything you could to keep your fist closed, trying to stop him from taking it.

In your almost delirious state, you thought Viktor would think you were a complete idiot for believing you would be able to win in that situation.

Until something caught the attention of the three assailants, their heads shooting in a specific direction before they got up and ran, not hesitating to leave you and your belongings lying on the dirty floor. Before any kind of relief could blossom in your mind, another figure entered your field of vision.

A crutch and a pair of glowing eyes. That was all you understood before a sudden wave of discomfort made you lose consciousness.

Your awakening was torturous. You still felt the effects of the shimmer, although much weaker, and now the stabbing pain was a separate problem. Your head felt heavy and you were disoriented, knowing only that you were lying in an unfamiliar place.

It took longer than you would like to admit to sit on the edge of the small bed and soon all your attention was directed to trying to remember anything other than the three assailants and your mysterious kidnapper. It hadn't been all bad, as your engagement ring was still perfectly fitted on your finger and all your clothes seemed to be in place, the exception being your heavy boots and the filtration mask, which was on the small bench next to the bed.

Looking around, you felt confused.

That room, if you could call it that, was laid out very similarly to the part of the lab that used to belong to Viktor. A whiteboard with so much information that it almost made you dizzy - calculations on various elements, small sketches that looked like prototypes of the most varied equipment, a list of runes that could be familiar, in addition to the various benches occupied by books, sheets of paper and various materials. The obvious first guess was that some kind of inventor lived there.

Your heart beat faster as you realized that you felt hopeful.

Ignoring your body's demands to remain lying down, you stood up, dragging yourself to one of the benches and examining one of the sheets carefully. The lines had been written in a crooked and hurried handwriting, as if the person writing was being rushed by their own thoughts. The scrawl was almost incomprehensible, but you had had a lifetime of training to learn how to read Viktor's notes.

Pronounced form, acts as a substance to incapacitate. Various effects, harmful amounts condensed into small doses, long-term consequences on the central and peripheral nervous system.

A creaking door announced that you were no longer alone.

“...I see you feel well enough to snoop around other people’s notes.”

Similar to the stab, the simple words had stolen all your breath. It was like a brutal punch in the pit of your stomach, a series of contrary reactions awakening throughout your body and you felt your throat tighten.

Even after weeks of not having heard it, even after so much, you would recognize that voice among millions of others. The almost shy accent together with the cadence that calmed and comforted had already been tattooed on your soul.

You turned around, letting out a heavy sob the moment your eyes landed on Viktor’s figure.

Like a moth attracted to a flame, you staggered quickly towards him, letting your hands hold his face with a perfect and gentle fit, as if they had been made just for that. If it were possible to drown in a vision, you would choose Viktor’s face. It was exactly the same - the same elegant features, the same moles, the same nose, the same lips. His eyes were huge and expressive and… pink? Blue? White?

With absolute fascination you watched as his irises shifted between a mesmerizing rainbow, sometimes landing on the amber yellow you loved so much. You frowned, letting your hands slide over his skin as you took in all the changes. His hair was a little longer than usual - you were the one who insisted he keep it trimmed, so it didn’t surprise you that the locks were a little longer than usual.

Only then did you notice the skin on his cheeks and neck, which was no longer as white as everything else, having a new grayish color. Then your hands found his and you couldn’t suppress your expression of surprise and confusion. In place of calloused digits and neatly trimmed nails, you found small golden details on the knuckles, all the skin replaced by a dark, purplish appearance that wasn’t at all strange. You’d seen that pattern before.

It was the same appearance his leg had acquired after the initial tests with the hexcore. The texture was smooth, without any pores or imperfections, despite being unquestionably organic.

He let you watch in silence, pliant under your curious touch as you rediscovered his anatomy in a mix of incomprehension and awe.

When you were satisfied, you pressed your own palm against his, noting that the proportions were the same. You intertwined your fingers with his before turning your attention back to him.

Since the beginning of your near-suicidal crusade, you had never given much thought to what you would do or say when you met him. The biggest reason was perhaps because you didn’t genuinely believe you would find Viktor - all the odds seemed to be stacked against you and the moment that knife had pierced you yesterday, you believed you would die alone and in vain.

Being reunited with him didn’t seem real, even though it was.

He was right in front of you, staring at you with an impassive expression and it was as if nothing had happened. It was almost as if he hadn’t left you behind. Your brow furrowed before you could fully process the memory of the hurt you had felt when Jayce had told you that Viktor was gone.

You looked down at your clasped hands. Your silver ring reflected some source of light. Suddenly, everything felt wrong. You pulled away from him abruptly, as if his simple touch had offended you in the worst possible way.

He didn’t stop you.

“...you look fine, Vik.”

Your voice was shaky, a reflection of how desperately you were trying to keep the tears from streaming down your face.

His eyes widened for a moment before returning to their neutral state.

“I… I’m fine, I suppose. The experimental treatment with the hexcore was somewhat a success.” He stretched out one of his arms and rotated it, showing the limb’s new state in detail.

In contrast to your own shaken state, he seemed strangely unconcerned, as if this was all nothing more than routine. As if you were chatting about your time in the lab.

You had known from the beginning that there was a possibility that he didn’t want to be found. His disappearance was the behavior of someone who didn’t want to be found, Jayce had already told you that, it was something that couldn’t come as a surprise to you. Still, experiencing it for yourself was agonizing.

It was almost humiliating to stand there, waiting for him to talk to you. Waiting for him to explain himself, or ask what you were doing there, or come closer and hug you, promising that everything would be okay.

Anything that would indicate that this was still Viktor.

The feeling was almost as cold as lying in bed alone during the endless nights in Piltover.

“...what are you doing here?”

After what seemed like minutes he finally asked a question.

“What do you mean, Viktor? I came after you.”

Your disbelief was evident in the short answer, as if that were the most obvious thing in the universe - because to you, it was. It was more than obvious that you would go after him even if it meant putting yourself at risk.

But the confusion on his face was still visible, as if his explanation made no sense at all.

You tried again, weakly.

“You don't- you don't get to disappear without any explanation. Not when… I…”

Not when you had spent so many sleepless nights wondering where you had gone wrong for him to just abandon you like that. Not when you could barely remember a time in your life when you didn’t feel worried every second of the day. Not when you had sworn to burn down the entire continent if he didn’t recover.

Not when you still loved him so much that it was like a part of you was dying with every moment he looked at you with that barely concealed indifference

That’s what you wanted to say, although maybe that would only confuse him even more.

Your face was hot and definitely red, the way it used to be when you were trying to fight the tears off. You didn’t know what you were going to cry about, just like you didn’t know what you really wanted from him anymore.

Closure? Or maybe a logical, well-articulated explanation of why everything had happened the way it had?

It all seemed ridiculous now.

His eyes fell for a few moments, as if he was searching for a clue on where to start on the ground.

“I had hoped Jayce would convince you to stay.”

You suspected that it shouldn’t have caused the discomfort it did, but you felt wronged. Did he expect his friend to convince you, his fiancée, not to go after him?

“What?”

He didn’t seem to understand that your disbelief had turned into a volatile mix of anger and impatience, continuing to speak with a worrying nonchalant.

“The hexcore changed things. It changed me.” He gestured to the room, as if the scene would support his explanation. “I can heal people. I don’t understand the mechanism completely, but here I am free to figure it out for myself. Without the expectations from the Academy, without the pressure from the Council, or from Jayce—”

“Without me.”

Normally, you would never interrupt a monologue of his, especially when he had reached the familiar stage where he was genuinely excited by his own line of reasoning and you suspected that this was the closest you would get to an explanation, but it was inevitable.

“...I’m not going to pretend to understand, Viktor, because I don’t think I would in a million years,” you ran your hand through your hair, desperately trying to calm yourself down, “in fact, I’m not even going to ask you to try to explain, because it’s obvious that you see no point or importance in trying to explain anything to me. If you had, you would have at least left a damn letter-”

A deep, heavy sigh, enough for you to feel a small sting where you had been hit.

You ripped off your ring, no hesitation in the way you threw the small object at him with unnecessary force, maintaining eye contact the entire time. “You can keep this.”

You didn’t witness the quick look of hurt that passed across the man’s face before he reached for the ring, promptly putting it in his pocket before watching you begin to put on your boots.

“What are you doing?”

“Leaving. It must be familiar to you.” You tied your shoelaces in a hurry, reaching for the mask that was still on the side of the bed with incisiveness. “If you think it’s better, I can disappear in the middle of the night while you’re sleeping. That way we can avoid saying goodbyes.”

Your acidic words were being answered mainly by an uncomfortable silence.

He approached you, positioning himself directly in front of you, blocking your way.

“And where do you intend to go? In Piltover’s eyes, you’re still simply a zaunite. They don’t respect people like us.”

It was almost funny how suddenly the two of you belonged to the same side of the coin again.

Despite all the ironies present, you knew he was right. It wasn’t new that the identities of zaunites living in Topside were questioned - the conflict had only exposed the prejudice and spite that Piltover felt for you. Your little irregular adventure had included an illegal visit to Undercity and you were aware of the consequences. You just didn’t care.

Either way, you scoffed.

“You say that but you had no problem leaving me there.” You wouldn’t be fooled for a moment by the speech that you were one of the good ones because that was just another part of Piltover’s oppression strategy, but it was insane to hear that from Viktor, the person who had turned his back without any apparent hint of hesitation. “And it doesn’t matter. Where I go or don’t go is no longer your business.”

The prospect of not being able to return to the Academy sounded like a minuscule loss to your ears. Viktor was apparently doing just fine judging by the way he managed to stand up straight without the aid of his crutch (and you had forgotten how much taller than you he was than you when he wasn’t hunched over), so your main goal had been accomplished. Of course, the ruin of your engagement wasn’t among your predictions but at least the man wasn’t dead in some alley.

If you were, maybe you wouldn’t feel so miserable and abandoned.

“You should stay.”

That made you laugh. A crooked snark dripping with disbelief.

Stepping toward what seemed like an exit, you felt something like a splinter in your heart as you realized he was going to let you go without another word. Maybe it was for the best.

Reaching the only visible door in the room, you tried to turn the handle. Despite the small clicks, you weren’t able to open it.

“Open the damn door, Viktor.”

You felt a presence behind you almost immediately, cornering you between the closed door and his rigid body. It was hard to ignore the way your heart raced in response to the mere presence of Viktor, who despite all his mistakes and offenses against you, was still the man you loved so much it hurt.

“You had been injected with a concentrated dose of shimmer. I made an improvised detox cocktail but there must still be some levels circulating through your body.” He spoke absolutely, as if there was no room for questioning, “you still need to rest.”

You ticked your jaw, squinting and trying to find something beyond the logic in his words, desperately searching for any other clue that he was asking you to stay because he wanted to, and not because you needed to.

It wasn’t long before you realized you couldn’t read him as well as you used to.

“Open the door.”

“I only have your well-being in mind.”

“...funny, I used to say the same thing every time I tried to get you to go home and get out of the lab for a few hours.” You almost smiled. “Not that it made any difference. Not that it will now.”

If his speech was causing you at least some degree of discomfort, he was doing an impeccable job of not letting it show.

It was with a passive sigh that he spoke again.

“At least stay the night. If you still want to leave in the morning-”

“I’ll leave the morning.”

“...then I won’t get in your way. Now I insist that you stay and rest.”

And you really wanted to march back to the streets right then and there, didn't matter if it was still night or if your body was still recovering from an induced overdose, even if it was just because of the petulance of going against his words, but your blood was cooling and you were starting to feel the consequences of the journey.

Besides, the idea of ​​returning to the sweet arms of unconsciousness seemed almost irresistible.

Very reluctantly and with a frown on your face, you took off your shoes again, accepting your situation as a temporary lodging.

He watched as you sat back down on the bed, a very defeated look in the way you wrapped yourself in the sheets and turned your back to him.

"You must be starving.”

“...leave me alone, Viktor.” Your request sounded small, the regret being all that was left of the ugly mix of anger and hurt from before.

Because the truth is that you were one step away from collapsing again and eating would not be a good strategy to distract yourself this time. You could only feel a little relaxed when you watched him unlock the door from before and leave, looking at your chosen form one last time before disappearing.

At least this time you had seen him leave.

And you were accompanied by your heavy thoughts and tortured mind, which in a very ironic way, were even more erratic than before your journey.

You remembered Jayce's words.

A little apathetic, maybe, but it was Viktor.

And it hurt to recognize that yes, that man was entirely, purely Viktor.

You didn't stop the sob that left your mouth, nor the low, inconsolable cry that came after.

Your night of rest, which consisted of a few insufficient hours of insipid sleep, was restless. Exactly like your awakening.

Your eyes opened slowly, as if you could postpone having to deal with the uncomfortable and strange situation you found yourself in. Despite your best efforts, however, you were soon awake and sitting on the edge of the bed, staring disinterestedly at your surroundings.

A part of you felt offended that Viktor had traded you for this life. So you shook your head, admitting that it most likely wasn’t as black and white a situation as you’d like to believe.

Gathering up whatever crumbs of courage you had left, you gathered your things and walked to the door from before, opening it casually.

It revealed a sort of living room, although the room had the same chaotic air and the same alarming amount of piles of paper as the bedroom. Sitting at the somewhat vacant desk was the cause of all your recent disarray.

One of his hands supported his head lowered, his eyes fixed on some reading material.

The sight was so familiar that you almost felt sick.

“How are you feeling?” He raised his head almost imperceptibly, watching you carefully. You looked away instantly, recognizing how painful that had become.

“I’m fine. It’s like yesterday never even happened.”

Physiologically, at least, because you still felt a dull sting where the mugger had hit you with the knife, and also because you knew you were emotionally ruined for the rest of your life. Other than that, though, it was as if the hellish sensation of the shimmer melting you from the inside had been nothing more than a nightmare.

The space between you had become so obviously awkward that you were a little tempted to make another remark to fill the silence. You knew that would only result in more awkwardness, so taking advantage of this weak cue, you spoke again.

“Thanks for not leaving me to die on the cold floor yesterday.”

It barely qualified as a proper goodbye, but it was all you could offer without your voice breaking again. You tried to make your way to another door, hoping he had had the decency to leave it unlocked.

This time, however, he stood up without hesitation.

“...you need to eat.”

It was with a defeated sigh that you answered.

“What I need is for you to get out of the way. And unlock the door, in case you've decided what's best for me again.”

And there was no bite in your words, not really.

You just wanted to get out of there and leave it all behind. As if that were actually possible.

Your fiancé, or the person who used to be your fiancé, however, had other plans. He remained motionless, staring at you as if he were going to discover the answers to the greatest mysteries in the world.

You remained in this silent impasse for a few moments, until he spoke again.

“Stay.”

Not a request, nor an order. Almost a statement of what would happen next.

“...you don't get to ask me to stay, Viktor.”

“I know that very well.” He didn't stare for long before speaking again. “But you seem to have something to tell me. So, stay and tell me.”

Your discouraged smile was inevitable.

“Observant as always, I see. I do, Viktor, I have a myriad of things to tell you, but I suspect it wouldn’t change anything.”

The anger that you thought had been entirely replaced by desolation bubbled up in your gut - a part of you refused to accept the situation.

And his apparent passivity was starting to bother you in an unpleasant way.

“What do you really want to hear from me, anyway? That I missed you? Because I did, Viktor, I felt the loneliness tearing me apart from the inside out and when I wasn’t crying because I didn’t know where you were, I was crying because you left without even asking about me. You fucking left me.” A wave of energy that was almost alien to you took over your body, your skin starting to boil with each vicious syllable that left your lips. “And now that you’re here in front of me, I don’t even recognize the man I-”

“I’m not that man anymore.”

The soft sentence was like a heavy punch to your face, robbing you of any argument and breath.

His eyes widened for a moment, as if they had surprised him too. Unlike before, it seemed that this time he had understood the immediate effect he had caused on you, his hands surrounding yours in an uncertain way.

“Not entirely.”

“What does that even mean, Viktor?” You whispered, about to break down once more.

“The core has changed me. The physical effects are clear, but it goes far beyond that. I am not the same man I was.” His voice carried some emotion that you could not accurately recognize, although you were relieved just to know that there was still emotion, “I doubt I remain even the same organism.”

The hands that held yours carefully, almost afraid to let go, cupped your face with confidence, molding themselves gently against your features.

“And although I am no longer entirely the man you loved, although I am only a fraction or an altered version of who you knew… I still love you.” His eyes darted frantically over your expression before settling on yours one last time, the colors just as mesmerizing as before, but your chest tightened every time his irises turned amber.

You gripped his forearms limply, needing his touch just to ground yourself in that overwhelming moment.

“…Vik, how can you say you love me after you’ve abandoned me? After you’ve left our lives behind?”

Somehow, finally verbalizing his critical error made the real situation seem stunning. He frowned deeply, as he often did when faced with a particularly complex equation. At least he seemed to be taking the discussion seriously.

“…what kind of life can I give you when I barely know what I am, my love?”

And the sliver of vulnerability that shined through his question disarmed you for a moment.

“You’re still you. It’s all I care about. All that ever mattered.” Looking closer into those round eyes, you could see a small glimmer of insecurity. Just the glimpse that you were reaching him kept you going. “My dearest friend. The most brilliant man I know. A complete idiot and the love of my life.”

Despite your overwhelming urge to just cry again and let the tears take at least some of the weight off your chest, you were determined to finish making your point.

“You’ve always been very indulgent with me, but understand that it’s not an understatement when I say I’m not the same anymore. I’m more, and in some ways, I’m less than I was.” He let one hand hold one of yours, stretching his palm against yours and drawing your attention to the altered digits, the absence of pale skin. His lost humanity, perhaps. “Maybe the truth is that I’m not enough for you anymore.”

Looking carefully, you recognized a very familiar metal band on his ring finger. You sighed.

“Let me decide that for myself. Don’t steal my right to do so by leaving again.”

He looked down at where your hands were now intertwined, a perfectly matched fit despite everything.

You couldn’t tell for sure if that was his attempt to make you stay or to leave for good without looking back. All that was clear after years of knowing this man was that all the uncertainty, the decision-making for your own good without first consulting you, the roundabouts and the sheer difficulty in having a direct conversation were incredibly in-character for him. He always had some degree of emotional constipation for a long time now and you doubted that the hexcore would make things easier.

But you were still willing to try. After everything, it made sense that one of the final obstacles to your reunion with Viktor would be himself. Of course, that didn’t make the situation any more bearable or less frustrating, but you were used to reaching out to him even when it seemed like he was actively trying to push you away.

After all, you were really forgiving when it came to Viktor.

“I have hurt you terribly, my love.”

You hummed, transfixed on his ring. A nearly identical copy of yours. The same promise, the same expectations, the same bond.

“You have.” And there was an unspoken notion hanging in the air that he would probably hurt you again at some point in the future.

Then he hugged you for real, cradling you with his slender arms carefully, a silent promise of comfort and reassurance. Your anxious panting left you soon after, you pulled him closer tightly as if you were able to merge with him, putting the world around you on pause.

Viktor was back in your arms, just like you used to dream about a few days ago.

Things would never be the same again.