Chapter Text
Exhaustion and tension seeped into his bones as he made his way home. The sun had long disappeared behind the horizon, casting the streets of Piltover in a muted glow.
Each step felt heavier than the last, the weight of the council meetings, political manoeuvring, and endless errands dragging onto every step.
When he reached his front door, he hesitated for a moment. Inhaling deeply. The quiet comfort of his home was on the other side of the wall, and he needed it more than anything.
Turning the keys and opening the door, Jayce stepped into the threshold, a yawn escaping his mouth as he closed the door behind him.
The house was quiet, minus the slight creak of the floorboards beneath his boots. Then, you appeared from the living space, greeting a warm smile that melted the tension in his chest.
You didn’t waste a second to cross the room and wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him into a kiss. If it weren’t for his fatigue, Jayce might’ve indulged more— he wanted to— but even the brief contact eased something in him.
He had been away for two whole days, buried in his work that demanded his full attention. It felt like a lifetime, but now, he stood here with you. The world beyond the four walls of the house seemed a whole world away.
You pulled away from the kiss, your hands still resting on his shoulders as you looked up at him.
“Missed you.” You murmured softly.
Jayce leaned forward and rested his forehead on yours. It was a quiet ritual that grounded him. As if he could draw strength from your presence.
“Missed you too,” he whispered, his voice low and raw.
His arms circled around your waist, pulling you closer. In your embrace, he always felt lighter— like a man he used to be without the responsibility and political threat pulling him under. Here, he wasn’t the “Voice of Progress”. He was just Jayce.
For a moment, you both stayed like this, staying wrapped in each other. A wordless comfort that neither of you had to explain. Eventually, you gently pulled backs, you hands trailing down his arms and prolonging the contact before you stepped away.
“I’ll make the tea,” you said softly. “And you can tell me everything that had happened.”
You turned and headed to the kitchen, leaving Jayce to peel off his jacket. The garment felt heavier than usual— the dense fabric seemed to carry the weight of the day’s argument and debate.
He hung it in the cloak room with care, as if putting the burden of Piltover on pause. With a deep breath, he followed the sound of your footsteps into the kitchen.
You were kindling a fire beneath a stove, the faint crackle of the flames mixed with the bubbling of the water. The gentle, earthy aroma of steeping leaves filled the air around you both.
Once the tea had brewed to the perfect richness, you poured the amber liquid into two tea cups and placed them carefully onto a tray. Jayce stepped forward and lifted the tray with his strong hands and carried it to the living room.
He set the tray down on the table before taking a seat— cup in hand with the warmth seeping in his fingertips.
As he talked through the events of the past two days he was away, it dawned on him how much it helped to unpack his rigid thoughts. The transition from the high pressure world of his job as a councillor to the warmth of your shared home felt like disarming an invisible shield.
Having someone outside of the political sphere to confide to kept him grounded. You reminded him of what he was fighting for, why he endured the endless demands.
When he finished his tea, Jayce caught the way you were watching him. There was something behind your gaze— hesitation, or maybe nerves— as if you were waiting for the right moment to say something. His brow furrowed with curiosity.
“So…” you began, carefully choosing your next words. “I have something to show you.”
Jayce straightened in his seat, his heart giving an involuntary thud from anticipation. Your tone and unreadable expression on your face made it hard to tell if he should be excited or skeptical.
He tried to gauge your intent but couldn’t pinpoint what was going on, so he decided to go along with it, tilting his head slightly.
“I’m all ears,” he said, offering a reassuring smile.
You didn’t say anything else. Instead, you rose from your seat and beckoned him to follow. His curiosity only grew, his mind racing with possibilities.
You led him to your shared bedroom. Jayce stepped faltered when he realised you were trying to block his view as you retrieved whatever it was you wanted to show him. The knot in his stomach tightened further.
You came back, cradling a bunch of mismatch blankets carefully in your arms, as though they held something precious.
His brow furrows in confusion as he takes in the sight of you clutching what looks like a pile of laundry.
“What’s all this?” he asked, stepping closer to study the bundle you carried so delicately. “Did something happen?”
You glanced down at the bunch of blankets in your arm, your expression softened with a tender look. Before you could answer, a soft, plaintive cry broke through the silence.
Jayce froze, a chill racing up his spine at the unexpected sound. His gaze snapped to the bundle, baffled.
“Is that…?” He steps closer, leaning in to get a better look.
Carefully, you pull back a corner of the blanket, revealing the baby’s delicate face. Her eyes were scrunched shut, her soft cheeks flushed pink as she let out another tiny wail.
Jayce could only stare, his mouth slightly agape, completely at loss for words.
A baby. An actual baby crying in your arms.
His mind spun, a rush of questions crashing into one another, each getting louder and more urgent. But before he could voice any of them, you spoke again, your tone laced with something deeper.
“I found her in the Undercity,” you said, tightening your grip on the baby protectively “She was left in a cardboard box with a note. Her mother didn’t want her.”
The baby stirred in your arms, one tiny hand peeking out from the fold of the blanket. Her fingers curled instinctively, the fragile motion pulled something aching in Jayce’s chest.
The weight of your words hung in the air, heavy and heartbreaking. His heart sank at the circumstances that could lead to this, but the weight was quickly replaced by a new tension.
He had an idea— and uneasy realisation— of where this conversation was going.
He looked at the baby, still letting out small cries, and then to you. Searching your face of some kind of elaboration that might make all of this make sense.
“And…you just brought her here?” he asked. “Brought her home?”
There was a flicker of defiance in your eyes as you lifted your chin.
“What else was I supposed to do, Jayce? Leave her there? She was so small, so… helpless. I couldn’t just walk away.”
He rubbed the back of his neck, glancing down at the baby again. “I mean, yeah, but… this is huge. A baby isn’t just—she’s not a stray cat or something. This is… wow.” He trails off, struggling to find the right words.
“She doesn’t even have a name yet,” you murmured, your voice soft as you cradled the baby closer to your chest. The little one stirred in your arms but didn’t cry, settling as though your presence alone was enough to sooth her.
Jayce felt his throat dry as he watched you, the sight stirred something foreign in him. You looked…natural holding her like that— your touch gentle yet protective. He felt something he couldn’t quite name— an instinctive pull.
But he couldn’t let the seed of desire plant itself in his mind. Not when the reality of the situation was so dire.
He forced himself exhaled slowly, bearing his teeth as the weight of the situation started to settle over him like a heavy cloak.
“What do you want to do? Are you… are you planning to keep her?”
“She deserves a chance,” you voice was steady, despite the tremble in your hands. “And I want to raise her.”
Your conviction pierced through his confusion, making it impossible to dismiss what you were saying. Not that he could, especially with something like this.
The mere thought of you bringing home a baby— nurturing her to her fill, cradling her, making this monumental decision— all while he had no idea, hit him like crashing waves.
Doing this all alone, without him, only made it harder for him to process. His mind spiralled, trying to wrap itself around what it meant for you now moving forward. Did you even fully think this through?
He knew you were naturally empathetic, especially when it came to anything vulnerable or in need of care. But taking home a baby wasn’t just another compassionate act, it was a whole new responsibility and he wasn’t sure you even thought beyond that.
And worse, you hadn’t come to him first. You didn’t ask him, confide in him, or even hinted at what you were planning. The realisation stung.
It wasn’t just the decision that unsettled him— it was the fact that you’d made it without him. A flicker of hurt sparkles in his chest, feeding into the mounted frustration.
Suddenly, the room felt stuffy, too small to hold the gravity of this moment. The tea from earlier churned uneasily in his stomach, causing a sour lump of nausea.
He ran a hand through his hair, pacing from one end of the room to the other. Meanwhile, you took your seat on the bed, cradling the newborn against your chest with a silent determination. Shielding her from the storm that was brewing inside of him.
Jayce stops pacing and turns to you, his voice firm but not unkind. “This is a bad idea.”
He couldn’t suppress his frustration now.
You stiffen, looking up at him. “What do you mean?”
“I mean this, all of it,” he says, gesturing to the baby. “You just found her in Zaun, and now you’re—what? Planning to raise her? Just like that?”
You bristle, your arms tightening protectively around the baby. “She was abandoned, Jayce. She doesn’t have anyone else.”
“I get that, but this is… it’s huge. ” Each syllable of his words escalated in pitch, trying to hammer some sense into you. His hands moved as if trying to grab hold of the spiral emotions between you “Taking in a baby isn’t something you can just decide on a whim. Do you even know what it takes to raise a child? The time, the resources? It’s not just about wanting to help—it’s about being able to,”
“What are you saying, Jayce?” you shot back. “That I should’ve just left her there? Pretend I didn’t see her?”
“No!” he says quickly, his tone softening. “I’m not saying that. But there are people—systems—that handle this kind of thing. Places that—”
You cut him off, a flare of heat in your tone. “Places like what? Orphanages? Do you have any idea what happens to kids in Zaun, Jayce? Even the ‘good’ places are overcrowded and underfunded.”
You stopped yourself, breathing hard, realising your voice was rising. You glanced down at the baby in your arms, expression softened instantly as her small face remained in a peaceful sleep.
The sight of you stirred something in Jayce again. The pull he couldn’t grasp— something that tugged at his heart, clouding his thoughts with an unspoken ache.
You as a mother, the baby nestled safely in your arms.
But he shook his head, forcing himself to push the thought aside. He needed to stay grounded.
You spoke again, your voice quieter now but there was still that fire. “And the bad ones…they don’t even survive. I wasn’t going to let that happen to her.”
That struck him harder than he expected, the words settling heavy on his chest. Jayce ran a hand down his face, feeling caught between the logic of the situation and the unshakable yearning growing in his chest— two forces yanking him in opposite directions.
He sighed, long and slow, and pinched the bridge of his nose, searching for the right words. “I just… I think you’re rushing into this without thinking it through,” he paused, the words starting to strain. “You’re already stretched thin, living between Zaun and Piltover. And me? I’m a Councillor. My life is under a microscope. If word gets out that I’m involved in something like this—”
“Something like what? ” you snap, standing up abruptly. The baby stirred, but you quickly adjusted your arms, soothing her back to sleep. There it was again— that fire. The ferocity. “Caring about someone who needs help? Doing the right thing?”
Jayce falters, guilt flickering across his face. He hadn’t meant it the way it sounded, but there was no denying how harsh it came out.
“That’s not what I meant,” he said quickly.
You shook your head, eyes narrowing as you turned away from him. “I don’t care what the Council thinks of me, Jayce. I’m doing this. With or without you.”
The baby turned her head as she opened and closed her mouth repeatedly, searching for sustenance. Her fist drew closer to her mouth, and she started sucking on it with soft muffled noises.
You took this as a sign to leave the conversation and headed towards the kitchen. It was the baby’s feeding time.
Jayce lingered for a moment, his feet rooted to the floor, but the nagging pull to follow you was too strong. His thoughts still whirled chaotically— your words replaying in his head and the effect it had on him was still residual— but his focus shifted as he watched you move with fluidity.
All he could do now was watch as you cradled the baby in your arm, your figure moving with purpose through the kitchen. Jayce's eyes flickered to your arm, which reached for a baby bottle and milk formula in the cabinet.
One he hadn’t seen before. When had you gone out and brought that?
He stood silently in the kitchen doorway, watching as you prepared the milk with an efficiency that surprised him. As if it was something you had done for years.
Meanwhile, the baby in your arms started to fuss a little, squirming and letting out small whimpers. Jayce noticed and felt his concern grew a little, his instinct to soothe her came unbidden.
But he didn’t move— he was transfixed by the way you handled her so gently, murmuring quiet reassurance.
Once the formula was made, you checked the temperature with your wrist and headed to take a seat in the living room. The baby was clinging onto you as though she knew she was safe in your arms.
Jayce followed again, his gaze catching on a bag sitting neatly on the counter— the content barely visible. Neatly stacked diapers, formulas and clothes so small they looked like they could fit his palm.
Not only had you brought this baby home in the two days he had been gone, but you’ve already gone out of your way to make sure she had all the supplies she needed.
You made the decision and have taken action. You were completely serious about this.
You settled on the couch, holding the baby close as you guided the bottle's nipple to her lips. It took a moment for her to latch on, but once she did, her small body eased as she began to drink.
Jayce didn’t know how long he was staring, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away from what was unfolding in front of him. A mix of resignation and intrigue.
For the first time, he saw how maternal you looked— how natural you fit in the role, even if it was new and overwhelming. And the baby…she looked so fragile and helpless. It was hard to believe that someone left her abandoned in a box.
The pull he felt earlier came back— the tug in his chest at the sight of you with the baby. But this time, it morphed into something heavier, deeper the longer he watched you. Like he was plummeting from a great height.
It made his pulse quicken.
This wasn’t just about you anymore. This was about the new life you’ve brought into his home, the tiny human you have chosen to care for.
Jayce stepped closer, his voice softer this time. “You’re good at this.”
You glanced up at him, surprised by the change in his tone. “I’m just figuring it out as I go.”
He kneeled beside you, his eye now fixed on the baby. He reached out hesitantly, brushing some of the baby’s hair from her forehead. She flinched at the sudden contact, but quickly relaxed and continued with her feed.
Once the bottle was empty, you carefully pulled the bottle away and sat her up on your lap. For the first time, the baby slowly opened her eyes, revealing two iridescent grey-coloured eyes— resembling a storm just before it broke.
After you tapped her back, she let out a few soft burps, the sound faint and unexpected. You seemed to keep your focus on her, as if Jayce wasn’t watching your every move— yet he still admired the way you handled her.
“How often does she need to eat?” He asked suddenly, the words leaving his mouth before he could think them through.
You shifted the baby in your arms, cradling her against your chest as her eyes slowly drooped and slipped shut.
“Every two to three hours,” you answered. “One bottle will be enough to keep her full for the next feed.”
The idea of such a routine felt overwhelming. “And what about…other things? Diapers? Sleep?”
There was a hint of exhaustion mixed with amusement in your smile. “Babies are a full time job, Jayce. She sleeps a lot at this age. And when she is awake— there’s always something to do— feeding, bathing, changing her.”
He didn’t know where the sudden curiosity came from, but he found himself asking more questions— about the baby’s cries, what she needed when she fussed, how to prepare her bottle.
And you answered every single one, patiently, as if the knowledge had come second nature in just the span of two days.
Jayce pictured the scene in his head: you alone in the house, juggling bottles and dirty diapers, the sound of her cries filling the space. Baby supplies scattered across the living room and kitchen. The fistful of broken sleeps you were running on.
He swallowed hard, a hint of guilt creeping in along with his admiration. He didn’t know how he would adjust to the new environment— this new life with a new baby in your shared home.
But hearing you answer his questions stirred something in him. Maybe it was the weight of the responsibilities starting to take root, or maybe it was the pull from earlier— now impossible to ignore.
“I’m going to put her down for the night,” you said softly, standing up from the couch. The baby’s breath was soft and even against your chest. “Come to bed when you're ready.”
Jayce nodded wordlessly, watching as you disappeared down the hallway. The soft click of the bedroom door and the house fell silent again, save for the rhythmic ticking of the clock.
He sank down onto the couch, running a hand through his hair as his thoughts swirled. He couldn’t shake the image of the baby's soft cries or the way you looked at her with protectiveness, as though the world had narrowed down to just her. And the careful way you fed her.
This wasn’t what he envisioned for his life, not now at least. And yet, when he felt the pull growing in the corner of his heart, he didn’t fight it anymore. Maybe it was exhaustion. Maybe it was something deeper. He didn’t know.
He sat in one place for what felt like hours, staring at nothing in particular, the weight of the day finally settled on him. Eventually, he rose from the sofa, letting his legs carry himself to bed.