Work Text:
The statue loomed over Piltover’s Academy Square, its polished bronze surface catching the faint glow of the streetlamps. The crowds had long dispersed, leaving the square quiet except for the faint hum of the city’s late-night airships.
Jayce Talis stood at the base of the monument, staring up at his larger-than-life likeness. Stray confetti littering the streets and his ears still ringing from the high praise and applause. His jaw was tight, his hands buried deep in his coat pockets as though bracing himself against the chill that wasn’t just from the air.
"You should be proud of it," a familiar voice cut through the quiet.
He turned to see Mel standing a few feet away, her coat drawn tight around her shoulders.
She looked as composed as ever; hair neatly pinned out of her face and eyes as clear as a sunny day.
He couldn’t think of the last time he just looked at her.
"I thought you’d gone home," he said, voice low.
"I thought about it," she replied, stepping closer. "But it felt wrong to leave things... like they are."
He turned back to the statue, unable to meet her gaze. "You mean broken."
Or, perhaps, wilted was a better word.
Mel’s silence spoke volumes, and he felt the weight of her unspoken agreement settle heavily on his shoulders. It was not lost on him her displeasure as of late.
"How long has it been since you were home before midnight?" she asked, her tone measured but laced with frustration. Her pretty mouth pulled into a frown. Hands clenched too tight in the gown adorning her body, a small gesture; but one he knows speaks to her discomfort. Something she does to regulate her emotions, something Ambessa beat into her.
She was… no is unhappy.
"Mel—"
"How long, Jayce?"
He exhaled slowly, his breath fogging in the cold air. "A while."
She let out a bitter laugh, shaking her head. "You don’t even know, do you? You’re so buried in this—" she gestured vaguely toward the statue, the lab, the invisible weight of his work—"that you’ve forgotten what the rest of the world looks like. What we look like."
"I’m doing this for us," he said defensively, turning to her. "For Piltover. For everyone."
"No, Jayce," she said sharply, her voice cutting through his words. "You’re doing this for you."
The accusation hit like a blow. He flinched, his jaw working as he struggled to respond. How could she just—
"Do you think this is what I wanted?" she continued, her voice trembling with a rare vulnerability. "A relationship where I’m constantly waiting—waiting for you to look up from your work, to notice that I’m still here?"
Jayce’s throat tightened, the guilt he’d been trying to bury clawing its way to the surface. He’d known things were strained—Mel’s pointed silences, her absence from the lab, the growing distance between them.
But hearing it laid bare like this was a different kind of pain.
"I’m sorry," he said quietly, his voice barely audible.
Mel’s shoulders sagged slightly, the fire in her eyes dimming as she looked away. "I don’t need an apology, Jayce. I need... I need to know I’m not just another part of your work. That I matter more than this."
He swallowed hard, the words catching in his throat. "You do. Of course you do."
"Then show me," she said, meeting his gaze. Her voice softened, a hint of desperation breaking through. "Because right now, it feels like I’m standing in the shadow of your hammer. And I can’t compete with that."
Her words hung in the air, raw and unrelenting. Jayce felt like the ground beneath him had shifted, the foundation of everything he thought he was building cracking under the weight of his neglect.
"I don’t want you to compete," he said finally, his voice breaking. "I never wanted that. I just... I thought I could do it all. Be everything everyone needed me to be. But I’ve been failing you, and I didn’t even realize it."
Mel’s expression softened, but the pain in her eyes remained. "You can’t fix this with promises, Jayce. You have to unlearn whatever taught you that being a savior means sacrificing everything else."
He nodded slowly, the enormity of her words sinking in. "I don’t know if I can. But I want to try. For you."
Her lips curved into the faintest of smiles, a flicker of hope breaking through the tension. "Then start here. With me."
Jayce stepped closer, his hand hesitantly reaching for hers. When she didn’t pull away, he took it gently, his thumb brushing against her skin as if grounding himself in the reality of her presence.
The statue loomed behind them, a hollow reminder of all he thought he needed to be. But in that moment, standing with Mel, he realized the only monument that mattered was the one he was building between them—a fragile, imperfect thing that could only survive if he learned to tend it.
"I’ll come home earlier," he murmured, his voice laced with determination. "And I’ll leave the hammer at the lab."
Mel raised an eyebrow, her lips twitching into a small smirk. "We’ll see."
But her hand stayed in his, and for the first time in weeks, Jayce felt like he was taking a step in the right direction.