HELLO, THE AMOUNT OF NEW COMMENTS I GOT ON THE LAST CHAPTERS??? You guys!!! 🥹 Thank you so much, you have no idea how much they mean to me! I had a rough month, I was proper sick for three weeks and was in and out of hospital the whole of June. Which, is why I wasn't as active and still haven't replied to some of them. But just so you know, I've seen them and I've read all of them, and I will reply now! I hope you know just how much they keep me going 🥹 thank you, you guys, honestly ❤️

‼️ There are a few things I want to mention before we get started, so please read so that you're updated on the ongoings:

1. After a few conversations with my dedicated team (looking at you Ray and Birb, love you guys, thank you so much), I rewrote the confrontation bit in Chapter 5. Mainly because it always seemed a bit out of character for Viktor. But when I was writing that chapter, the fic wasn't getting that much attention, so I just published it with the pinned thought of "meh, I'll just fix it later". Well, later has cometh. It has now been fixed! I'll probably be going back to edit the past chapters later, but atm I'm just focused on bringing you guys more content.

2. IMPORTANT! I know there's a lot of debate on what "nationality" Viktor is. Some say he's Serbian, others Slovak, Czech, etc. For the convenience of this story, (and also because none of those countries actually exist in Runaterra), I'm gonna be using Russian. Mostly because I speak it, and I can just get more nuanced meanings out of the whole thing. I hope you guys don't mind! ❤️

3. ALSO IMPORTANT! In Russian, the name Viktor is extremely popular. And here we've got some nicknames for it, that will be used majorly throughout the entire story:

- Vitya = normal abbreviative
- Vitenjka = more affectionate
- Vitjiysh / Vitjiysha = playful
- Vitjechka = also affectionate

Like a said, it's a popular name with a lot of ways to nickname it. 😅

But that is all! Thank you again so so much for all the love and kind words you guys have left in the comments. They genuinely have pulled me through a lot these past few weeks.

Now!!! The rant is done, and you may proceed!

Enjoy ;)

Ps. Lyra is THE definition of: be gay, do crime. Happy late pride month 🏳️‍🌈

||

...Twelve.

Thirteen.

Fourteen.

Fifteen.

Sixteen.

Seventeen.

In the hours she spent pacing, Lyra came to determine that her room was seventeen strides in length.

Fourteen, in width.

Of course, like any theory, the outcome had to be tested to confirm validity. Which she had done eagerly, and continued to, even when she forgot the scope altogether somewhere around the fifty-forth lap.

The room had long been brewing in complete darkness. Lyra hadn't bothered kicking off her boots, let alone ventured to turn on the lights once night rolled in. Instead, she had made it her goal to promenade across her room. Though promenading was not quite the right term for the frantic, zigzagging stalks she was giving incessantly around her dorm. Rather, she looked like one of those mechanised toy mice she owned when she was a child — someone had wound her to the limit, set her on the pavement, and was now delighted to watch her drive about erratically without a true purpose or direction.

Round and round like a merry-go-round.

Her lower lip was bleeding.

She had mindlessly torn off a small chunk of the superficial flesh at some point in the last hours.

Though, she registered it a lot later, when the uncomfortable sting managed to at last shove through the agglomeration of thoughts that had deemed her skull a circus tent worthy of a trapeze show.

It didn't really matter.

Her skin kept stitching back together, providing her teeth and nails with more meat to rip at.

Four hours of marching up and down had resulted in many outcomes. Few were positive.

The final, ultimate goal was, as it had been: 'Help Jayce'. Get him back into the Academy, get him his life, and research back.

The 'How Do I Help Jayce?' in between, was the biggest kink to iron out at the present.

She had come up with several scenarios thus far. Though, most of them had to be written off immediately. Mostly because there would be too many legal implications involved if she were to go through with the more extreme plans.

Blackmail was not quite her forte. Arson, on the other hand... She sorted it into the 'maybe' pile.

Their best bet, was proving his theory worked. If there was concrete proof, then the Council would simply have to reconsider. Which they would do happily, were the outcome to prove useful for one economic venture or the other. It is a truth universally acknowledged, that where opportunity of money presents itself, cautions and hatreds tend to fall away in political circles.

Lyra knew some of the members would be easier to persuade. Councillor Medarda, for example. She was young, ambitious, and craved to watch something sprout from the City of Progress. Lyra had never properly spoken to the woman, but that aura had radiated off her since the student first laid eyes on her. And it was something that would play wonderfully into Jayce's favour, if he went about it all well enough.

Providing the Noxian Councillor agreed, several would indisputably follow suit. Cassandra, for starters, as well as Hoskel and Shoola. After that, Heimerdinger would have to yield, think over his decision. That's how the Council worked, after all. Democracy was a very whimsical concept, even in a land as cultured and innovative as Piltover.

Salo and Bolbok's opinions were bound to have more uncertain outcomes. But that was hardly the biggest issue at hand.

Lyra's greatest worry, was the research itself.

Even as a child, Lyra had always had a good memory. It was something she was able to flaunt, and deliver on in a nearly flawless manner. Most of the time, it was a curse more than a gift. However, on the rare occasion, the trait served her well.

She could recall some of Jayce's calculations. The few stray notes, her several personal corrections.

But the boy wrote a lot.

Almost as much as he blabbed, on a normal day.

And Lyra, in spite of her strengths, hardly had a photographic memory. Let alone the patience, to sit and make the spontaneous effort to memorise his theories. She regretted that now, which was precisely the reason for the violent assault her lip was receiving.

Jayce said his experiments had been inconclusive at the trial. The last she saw of his work, was that day he trailed after her, begging for her help with finding the parts. Everything had looked good on paper then. She remembered it, it did.

So why hadn't it worked?

If only she had his research journal, she could check for mistakes. But it was confiscated, most likely stashed somewhere in Heimerdinger's lab. So she had to resort to her own brain, which was not an easy task in itself.

Think. Think. Think. Think. Think.

She'd catch a trail on one calculation. Work through it in her head. Then loose it, just as she was about to get to the end.

Why were things not aligning now? Had she overlooked something when proofreading? Was his math off somewhere, and she hadn't caught it?

Think.

Think.

Think.

Think, you stupid—

Lyra stopped.

She sighed.

Reached to rack her hands through her hair, head reclining back. Her fingers slipped through, entwining at the base of her neck, and she let her arms hang, uselessly dangle there.

For the billionth time since she'd moved into the room, Lyra resorted to watching the ceiling. Tracing absently the wooden planks lining it, only faintly flitted with the moonbeams sneaking through her window.

She knew there was a simple way to rectify her frustration.

She just had to go, and talk to Jayce.

A stupidly easy solution, that her mind had suggested to her three hours ago now.

So why, could she not go and do that?

Why couldn't she move? 

As much as she disliked to admit it, what Viktor said at the Council Chamber made sense. The reason Jayce hadn't wished for her to approach him then, was because he didn't want her to suffer similar consequences.

He was looking after her.

Because he was her friend, and he cared about her.

But... what if he didn't want to see her anymore?

A long, annoyed groan rumbled through her, and Lyra brought the heels of her palms to squeeze into her shut, tired eyes.

Fuck's sake, you're so annoying. A sentimental, anxiety-ridden idiot.

Think rationally, use logic.

Lyra straightened, hands dropping to her sides.

The journal. She needed his journal. If she managed to get it somehow, she'd go to Jayce, and they'd go through the equations together, before Heimerdinger realised the evidence was missing.

This was a good plan.

Now, how to get the journal?

Breaking and entering?

Fun, sure, yes, but time-consuming. Risk didn't really bother her at that point. Not when it meant doing her friend a much needed service.

Lyra knew dangerous items were inevitably destroyed. It was only a matter of time before Jayce's were, too. So time, was of the essence. Her lock-picking skills were rusty, and the Academy Dean's office door was barricaded like a safe, locks on locks on locks securing the room. Which made sense, considering his position, and the importance of some of the documents stored on his shelves.

What an irritation.

Who'd have the keys?

Who would...?

Lyra froze.

Her eyes widened.

Before she shut them, and dropped her head into her hands.

"Fuuuuuck!" She groaned loud and lengthy in the darkness of her room.

Of course.

Bloody of course.

Of course, it would be him. 

Trudging over to her bed, she collapsed onto her back. Her frame bounced lightly off the mattress before the movement settled her into her untucked, wrinkled sheets. And she stared at her ceiling, face devoid of emotion, interrupted periodically by the twitching corner of her lip.

Viktor.

Fucking, Viktor.

Dear old Vitya, Vitenjka, precious little assistant, a big bloody damn nuisance.

But he helped her.

He gave her information before the trial, he'd stayed by her, made sure she didn't do something dumb. Which was a likely possibility, considering how volatile her emotions were in recent days.

He had actually been nice to her.

Why?

Had he started realising who she was?

Of course not. They'd be having a completely different conversation if that were the case.

So he just helped... to help?

He was being kind.

That's... good?

Then, why was she still angry?

For very good reasons, thank you very much, a part of her brain interjected into the already jumbled mix, and Lyra reached for a stray pillow which she plunged readily on her face. An attempt to suffocate the conflicting debate in her head, and maybe, if she was lucky, herself along with them.

How had she become so entangled into such a mess? Jayce was expelled, she was a state, and Viktor— well, Viktor was Viktor, and that was more than enough.

Dear old Vitya... with his sharp remarks, sharp wit, sharp brains, sharp everything.

She hated him.

Was hate the right word?

No, but it had to suffice. It felt right, or at least better than any other one she could come up with at the present.

There was no way Lyra would ever march up and willingly ask him for help. If Runaterra froze over, maybe, just maybe she'd consider it, but she'd absolutely be damned if she did it now.

It was her friend's life on the line, though... Jayce's future, his passions, his aspirations. He had protected her, made sure she was alright time and time again.

He was her family.

Would her pride truly stand between her helping him, when he needed her most?

Lyra shoved the pillow off her face. Before her features steeled, resolute, and she frowned up at the darkness above her.

"This is stupid." She ground at the ceiling, who would have undoubtedly been confused and mildly offended at her tone were it not an inanimate object.

Gathering her strength, Lyra propelled herself upwards and off. Brows set deeply into a frown, determination lining her features.

That's it.

No more dumb excuses.

We're going to Viktor.

We're asking him for help.

We're getting the journal one way or another, and we're helping Jayce.

Past and present grievances be damned.

Lyra marched to her desk, mindlessly snatching her jacket from the back of the chair, which wobbled lightly at the force of the motion. Then, she made her way forth, towards the door, shrugging the item on. Hands flimsily adjusting the hood, before they worked the hair-tie off her wrist, and busied themselves with securing the silver curls into her signature bun.

At one point, she became aware of the stray paper stuck to the sole of her boot. And she floundered to shrug it off, hand gripping the handle. Leg shaking sharply, a stray of incoherent curses leaving her mouth, as she almost lost her balance when tearing the door open.

The sheet finally released its hold on her shoe.

And Lyra grumped, righting herself, going to move. Only to almost end up walking headfirst into a frozen mid-air knuckle.

The student jumped back, eyes blowing wide.

Blinking, mutely.

Watching the person opposite her do exactly the same.

Viktor's posture had planked, going imperatively stiff. Adam's apple bopping uneasily, shocked gaze pointed directly into hers.

They stared at each other for one moment.

Two.

Three.

Four.

Until he seemed to remember that his hand was still halfway up, and that he was standing at her door in complete darkness, in the middle of the night. He rushed to clear his throat, bouncing to strengthen his collar with poorly covered awkwardness. Gaze darting off her own, mouth clamping shut.

Lyra simply gaped at him.

"Ah, ehh, hello." He muttered. "I am sorry, it is late, I did not mean to—"

"No, it's fine, I was just coming to find you."

"...oh."

Lyra felt very tempted to turn towards the nearest wall, bash her head into the marble, and knock herself unconscious.

Because Viktor's expression had blanched to blatantly stunned, and he was now staring at her as if she'd grown a second head.

Unfortunately for her, and the people around her, in her more stupefied states, Lyra's filter often failed her. Resulting in these annoying fucking slip-ups.

For the love of all the Runaterra gods, did it have to happen now?

Lyra swallowed, pressing her lips together into a thread-thin line. Arms glued rigidly to her sides, expression stretched to the limit, looking decidedly odd. The picture-painted image of complete embarrassment.

Viktor, for his part, did not appear much better. Wrestling with the urge to speak, but clearly unable to find anything to say.

They stood astride her threshold, both motionless and completely firm in the utter darkness. Watching one another entirely bewildered.

Lyra noted that his clothes were the same from earlier that day. The deep burgundy shirt a tad more crumpled, the Academy vest a little haphazard. But the white cravat was immaculately straight. Almost eerily so. As if he had made sure, with caution and relentlessness, that it looked that way.

Maybe she should have focused more on that thought. But she also found herself distractedly wondering, for no real reason whatsoever, if he too, perhaps, struggled with sleeping. It was an idiotic thing to think about at an uncomfortably quiet moment like that, but her mind was panicking, and attempting to self-preservate in any way it could.

Her eyes slipped unconsciously downwards then. Mostly, in an attempt to break the infinitely long contact with his own.

However, as they did, her irises caught sight of something and she froze.

"You got it."

Confused, Viktor staggered his attention to follow her own. Before he realised Lyra was unyieldingly, and somewhat breathlessly, staring at the journal currently tucked neatly under his arm.

He went to reply. When her gaze shot upward with such speed he almost lost his balance and fumbled not to trip and fall backwards.

"You want to help." She observed, a fact, tone and expression looking narrowed now. Distrusting.

"Well..." he gulped uneasily once, "Yes."

"Why did you come to me?"

"He is your friend."

"That's not an answer."

Viktor's brows pinched together, in a puzzled sort of way.

Once again, the quiet folded in on them.

Lyra watched, in morbid fascination, as the gears in his head accelerated their turning, calculating his next words. His look morphed to total concentration and hesitance. And Lyra tried to focus on it as much as possible, instead of giving into the temptation of peaking at the way his fingers were mindlessly alternating pressures on his cane while he thought.

His old fiddling habit.

She got the urgent desire to stare at it. Though, realised quite quickly, that it would have been unbecoming of her, and resorted to trying to ignore it.

Eventually, the tension fell from his shoulders, in what looked remotely like resignation. And Lyra stared as he manoeuvred to grasp and languidly nudge Jayce's journal open, so that it now lay spread comfortably on his palm.

"Am I correct in presuming you proofread his calculations?"

Slowly, Lyra nodded. Was he here to reprimand her then? Is this what this was about?

"Well... It seems you may have missed a page."

Ah.

That was certainly not what she was expecting.

Her brows shot up in surprise.

And stayed that way, even when Viktor reached to extend the journal to her. She took it, ignoring the way their fingers grazed minimally. Wrestling to shuffle her attention downward, reminding her brain to focus.

Lyra skimmed over the calculations. Left to right, expression scrunching lightly, lips pursing.

"Do you see it?" He asked, quietly, with veiled curiosity.

And just as the words left him, she did.

Shit.

She really had missed a page. Two, to be precise.

The corners of the paper were sticky, and she vaguely registered spots of faded patches lining one of them.

Marmalade.

Jayce.

Typical.

What truly left her uncharacteristically speechless, was that combination of symbols.

She ran through the lengthy equation several times to be sure.

Once, twice — the outcome was the same.

Holy shit.

"His math is off." Lyra breathed, shocked.

"Yes, I rather think it could work if we were to simply—"

"Heighten the oscillations!" She was astonished. So astonished, in fact, that when she spoke and looked up, she barely registered the star-struck smile stretching her lips.

Viktor had been leaning forward, attempting to peak at the writing over the rim of the binding cover, a single finger held out with the premeditated intention of pointing at the mistake. But it paused its movements, all of him did, when her gaze captured his. The big, wide, brown eyes, stared unfalteringly into his in complete fascination.

"Yes." He blurted after a moment. Slowly, airily, a smile of his own ghosting fleetingly over his lips. "I— Yes."

It was a hushed sound. And Lyra almost thought it sounded equally as mesmerised as her own tone had.

They stood, unmoving, looking at one another.

Lyra considered herself a strong person, at the worst of times. But she was honestly struggling, scratch that, absolutely damn failing to glance away. He was close, too damn close, looking at her in a way that made her knees lightly faint.

Inconveniently, she also became aware of how good he smelled. Of coffee, faintly. Of books, ink and parchment, of a fading scent of cologne, as well as of something old, and familiar underneath.

Something sweet and warm.

Honey.

And was that...

Was it really...?

Sweet milk.

Lyra startled back.

The unexpected movement raptured the moment, causing him to do the same.

And both looked away immediately, Viktor resorting to clearing his throat, distractedly. Finding a particularly interesting spot on the dark wall next to them, while his fist fell to tap lumberingly at his thigh.

Meanwhile, Lyra pointed her gaze downward. Praying her bangs were hiding her wide eyes well enough, as she busied herself with analysing the numbers. Though, she was surprised to find she didn't understand the meaning of a single one of them for the first time in her life.

What the hell was that?

Why did her cheeks feel hot?

Why was she sweating?

"May I ask," he hurried to add before the silence could truly seep in. "The numbers next to your friend's signature. Are they—?"

"It's a joke."

Her skin got significantly more scalding when his head tilted fractionally to the side, in silent question.

"I was... counting how many times he'd signed his notes. He's um, done it on every page."

A soft, humoured huff left Viktor then, "I noticed. Just a little egotistical, if I may say so."

Lyra smirked before she could stop herself, "That should be a great conversation opener."

"Yes, I thought so too."

Rhaast on a stick, how many years had it been since she'd seen him smile at her? Too many to say. And her dreams didn't count.

Somehow, in some way, this felt different. She didn't know how exactly, but was a little too distracted by his lidded amber eyes to truly think over it. He watched her in covertly smug amusement, the right tip of his mouth curved calmly upwards. Lyra realised with somewhat of a start that she was feeling uncharacteristically small for the first time in aeons.

What was going on with her?

Before she could spontaneously burst into flames, Lyra gave herself a mental knock in the gut, and forced her posture to steel. She clamped Jayce's book shut, bringing it securely to her side. Viktor did not miss the movement. Nor how she seemed to unconsciously put herself in the middle of the object and him, in an almost protective manner.

He chose not to comment on it, instead watching as she straightened.

"As much as I enjoy these late-night visits... Why are you actually here?"

She could have sworn his little smirk stretched a tad further, "Why were you coming to find me?"

Dammit, Vitya, stop looking at me like that. "Fine." Lyra grumbled, glancing away without the real intention to. "Why are you helping, then?"

At that, Viktor hesitated. If only for just a moment. And Lyra watched him attentively, eyes slitting with open suspicion.

"As much as I— equally enjoy these late-night conversations..." he spoke carefully, and she was uncomfortably reminded that she'd slapped him last time he was there. "I believe there are more pressing matters to attend to?"

They both glanced sideways. Towards the direction of the exit.

Reality pooled in immediately.

All of Lyra's dumbstruck bafflement, her hesitance and mistrust, washed away instantly.

Jayce.

We need to help Jayce.

Her eyes widened, before they squared into unruly determination.

"You're right." She stepped forth, and hastily shut her door. Clutching the journal a little tighter within her elbow, —reassuring herself it was still there— Lyra turned to him. "Let's go."

Viktor nodded.

Together, they made their way out of the dormitory building, with a clear goal in mind.

||

The walk over had been quiet. Something neither of them truly minded.

The streets leading to Jayce's lab were silent, and fully deserted. Lyra presumed this was not so much due to people already choosing to call it a night, —since it was still Friday, and the ruckus on those days lasted for a good-long while— but rather because of the unruly state of that side of the city.

Many had felt the explosion. And though most of the younger, more careless students were indubitably out and about regardless, getting drunk at some of the more dingy establishments, the predominant part had opted to sitting the frivolities out.

Which served the two figures shuffling along the faintly illuminated sidewalks with a great advantage. No witnesses, and all that.

It wasn't hard to determine when they'd started approaching their destination. That specific area was drowning in complete darkness, the few lampposts having all been taken out by the blast. Some were lying, uprooted, on the curb. Others were marginally dented, or completely tilted. None of them, however, produced even a smidge of light, casting the entire circulation into deep shadows.

The building was still very much blocked off. Enforcer tape lining the perimeter and drawing a neat square around the rubble perched on the sidewalk.

Viktor had absently held it up for Lyra as they made their through. A matter she noted with more emphasis than she wanted to.

They ducked under, and she grasped at the journal with strength. Thoughts waltzing incongruently with one another, brows drawn together.

"We need to resolve this tonight." She muttered quietly then. Perhaps as a way to break the silence, or maybe to distract herself from scrutinising the blocks of cement they were currently trying to climb over in their pursuit of the front door.

"Mmh, I agree."

She glanced over at Viktor out of the corner of her eye, finding him similarly pensive, observing the surrounding debris. His arm was set politely behind his back, and he followed after her languidly, drifting slow and careful over the mess of crunching stones and broken plaster.

"How much of the journal have you managed to get through?"

"Enough." He muttered, voice soft. "If we work through that one branch of the calculation while fixing the error, the numbers will align. After that, it should be much smoother sailing. In terms of ehh, practice."

They'd reached the doors, and Lyra grasped the metal handles with resolution. Giving them a hefty, labouring back-and-forth nudge.

To her annoyance, nothing happened.

"Dammit." She huffed, falling back on her heels, into the spot next to where Viktor had joined her. "It's locked."

He looked at Lyra fleetingly, watching as she crossed her arms over her chest, and was now distractedly rubbing at the skin of her jaw with her digits. She was thinking, observing the doors in front of them with a deep, set frown.

He'd resolved to do the same, neck craning to glance in the opposite direction for a brief moment. "Maybe we should..."

His voice died when he turned back. Realising that the presence had disappeared from his side altogether. And that he now stood completely alone.

Viktor, blinked, shocked.

Looked up, down, and around.

Only to come to determine that no, the infuriating young woman that he'd stupidly decided to follow about into the night was, in fact, not anywhere there.

He almost had it half in mind to call her name, when a loud crash echoed from the adjacent alleyway.

Scrambling towards the sound, trying not to trip over the wreckage on the ground, Viktor staggered forward.

Until he rounded the corner, and his jaw went positively slack.

"What are you doing?!" He hissed in a harsh half-whisper, eyes wide under deeply pinched brows. Glaring holes into Lyra, who in that short span of time, had somehow managed to scale one of the tallest bins, and was now suspended a good ten feet above the ground. Clutching onto a lead pipe lining the outside of the building, using it to shuffle herself up the wall. The journal was sticking out from the waistband of her Academy trousers, where she had stuffed it, pressed flush against her crumpled grey shirt at the back. And her curls spilt out a little more freely from the bun now, sporadic and aimless. 

Lyra loved climbing. Her spirits had intrinsically skyrocketed when she undertook the ordeal. Heart accelerating, adrenaline pumping through her in that old, familiar manner from way back then.

So when she heard his voice and paused her movements, she glanced down at him with the widest, most elated and brazing of grins. "What does it look like I'm doing?"

"Breaking and entering." Viktor growled, and Lyra almost laughed, clutching easily onto the rusty metal.

"Sounds about right. Problem?"

"It is a crime."

"More of a crime than swiping evidence from the Dean of the Academy? The Head of the Council? Very good job on that one by the way, no shame in a little good old-fashioned larceny."

If looks could kill, Viktor would've already committed first-degree murder. "I did not steal it."

Lyra chuckled, head falling playfully sideways, her stray white hairs along with it. "Sure you didn't." She cooed through a shit-eating smile.

"I borrowed it."

"Mmmh, keep telling yourself that."

She went to move forward. Keep ascending the building all the way to the open window currently sitting ajar on the second floor.

But she had the stupid, nonsensical idea to give a double-take down.

What she saw, made her pause.

Viktor had moved his eyes downwards and was currently silently scowling at the pavement. She could see his tense stance even in the darkness. The way his jaw clenched, his shoulders seemed tighter, and more elevated.

What truly made her stop, though, was his left hand.

It hung, pressed a little too tightly to his side. And his thumb was currently busy scrubbing erratic circles into his skin.

The sight almost made her lose her footing.

She could not believe he still had that little habit. The same one she'd spotted in him during their first ever meeting, and continued to notice anytime he was nervous, angry, or conflicted throughout their childhood days.

Lyra bit at her cheek.

Gave it a second thought.

Before she sighed, dejected, and let go of the pipe.

The sound of her boots crashing onto the surface of the bin, made Viktor look up. It was an impressively high construction, and honestly, he was unsure of how exactly the shorter woman had even managed to climb on there in the first place.

He still wore that annoyed, irked expression, and watched her in a manner that she knew to be his signature, silent glare. Lyra resisted the urge to roll her eyes at his antics, and instead stood and brushed her hands over her trousers, smoothening the wrinkled material.

"Listen..." Lyra muttered, tentative.

Even after everything back then, and everything now, an annoying, cobwebbed part of her still did not like to see him like this.

That fidgeting habit... it pressed something in her.

So she couldn't stop herself even when Viktor locked eyes with her, and her heart almost tumbled down into her heels. Lyra persevered, gulped, and straightened, summoning the last crumbs of fake confidence she pretended to possess. "You wanted to help, and you're helping. Walking through the front door was always bound to fall through. This is... not ideal, granted. But it has to do."

She levelled him with a pointed look then. Not pleading, no — convinced, and resolute, but gentle at the core.

"Changing the world was always bound to come at a price. And we need to fix it. So that this—" she snatched the journal from behind her, "—can maybe someday fix all this." Lyra spoke, waving her hands in the air. At what Viktor could only assume was the world around them.

The sentiment was there. Her words, were true.

But she looked plain silly nonetheless.

Standing, perched on that bin, in a dirty alleyway, deep in the night, attempting a moral-boosting oration. She knew that. And was almost certain he'd thought it too, the manner in which he cocked a quietly amused eyebrow her way being a dead giveaway for it.

However, she noticed (with annoying, deep-seated twinges of triumph), that his shoulders had relaxed slightly. That his hand had leisurely fallen open once more, and his thumb was no longer assaulting his skin.

She hated how it made her smile a tad brighter.

"Besides," Lyra chuckled lightly, propping her hands on her hips, "You came to me. Your friendly neighbourhood, and I quote, 'reckless, conceited, all-rounded, self-entitled, spoiled brat'. I mean, what did you expect?"

"Self-indulgent."

"What?"

Viktor paused, looking like he did not mean to let the hushed murmur slip him. He shifted uncomfortably, unable to fully meet her eye. "It was self-indul— never mind."

When he peaked at her, he was surprised.

Lyra was beaming, all too smugly and all-knowingly. But it was light, honest, and kind.

The sight was so contagious, that Viktor found himself taking an instinctive step towards her direction, without fully realising it.

"How long are you planning to keep that over my head? For lack of a better wording, of course." He asked, head tilted upwards, a smirk pushing at the corner of his lips at her elevated position. His arm was once again positioned behind his back, and he watched her with lidded eyes from far down on the ground, decidedly entertained.

Lyra shrugged, humoured, as she whirled back towards the lead pipe. "Until you apologise. Now! Let's get this over with."

"Miss Vel—" he stumbled over his words, suddenly uncertain how to address her. But she'd heard him, and spun to look his way questioningly, awaiting his words.

Viktor cleared his throat, glancing down at himself in mild awkwardness. "I cannot, uhh— exactly—"

His leg.

He was motioning, somewhat uncomfortably, to his leg.

Lyra raised a brow down at him. "I'm doing this so I can unlock the front door."

"Ah."

"Even though leaving you here is quite a tempting thought."

"Absolutely not, do not— Oof!" Viktor's words were harshly cut off by an object slamming with significant force into his chest. He clambered to catch it, resorting to glaring scathingly up at the young woman who threw it at him. "Will you please watch where you..." but his voice died as soon as his digits felt the material.

He looked down.

Blinked, in a stupor.

Then, glanced back at her.

All Lyra did, was smile, already starting her way up the construction. "Won't be a tick, Professor."

The journal.

She'd tossed him the journal.

The same one she'd worked on keeping out of his reach the entire evening, very much open in her distrust.

She'd given it to him now, when she wasn't even anywhere near him, for his safekeeping.

As a testament, that she'd be back.

Viktor stood quiet and alone in the darkness of the alley.

Staring silently as Lyra climbed to the second floor, and slipped easily through the open window.

||

"After you."

It took her less than ten minutes to make her way out to the front. Where she stood now, holding the door open for Viktor, with that characteristic goody-goody grin spread all over her face.

Viktor shuffled in, journal tucked safely under his arm, giving her an acknowledging nod. "Thank you."

She hummed in response, before releasing the handle and allowing the door to fall soundlessly shut behind them.

Lyra walked forward, and Viktor followed.

The inside of the building was just as much of a mess. There was dust and rubble on the tall staircase leading to the second floor, chipped columns glistening here and there, and an equal, if not even more pressing absence of any sort of light.

That last specific was what Lyra was especially focusing on, as she stopped before the steps with her hands leaning onto her hips. Teeth reaching to fiddle briefly with her lower lip, brows scrunching in thought, while only faintly registering the echo of the leisured cane, clicking softly against the stone behind her.

Once he fell into the spot next to her, Lyra turned to motion vaguely towards the journal in his hand. "If we're going to be working on that tonight, we need some sort of illumination. And I don't think any of us wants to risk playing with those light switches. Last thing we need is another explosion."

"I cannot argue with that."

Lyra huffed silently to herself, "That's a first."

"...I do not know what you mean."

"Of course you don't."

She knew he meant for the glance he threw her way to look unimpressed. But it betrayed his amusement in such a clear way it almost made her chuckle.

Their voices, even in their hushed tones, found a way to ricochet sharply in the deserted interior. And Lyra found herself distantly musing over how grateful she was that her childhood fear of the dark had long dissipated. Another perk of her newfound condition.

"You go ahead." She spoke over her shoulder, taking off into the opposite direction, towards the winding hallway currently sinking in pitch-black shadows. "I think I saw a few lamps in one of the empty rooms down here."

He raised an eyebrow at her retreating back in covered mirth, "Would you not classify that as larceny?"

Lyra grinned in full then, whirling on herself so that he saw her expression when she shrugged, "Only if we get caught!"

She did not wait to catch his reaction.

And so, they parted ways. Viktor started his way up the staircase, while Lyra trotted away, further into the dark.

There was a small room, that she had passed after successfully managing to break her way in through the window. One she presumed the enforcers had used earlier that day, to store their equipment.

She found it easily enough. All but skipping down the unlit hall, humming a merry tune under her nose. Making a little noise of triumph when she'd at last spotted an oil lamp, stashed in one of the corners.

Lyra went to snatch it, ready to break into a sprint, to follow Viktor in his footsteps.

When suddenly, she froze.

Completely.

To such a degree that the muscles in her calf almost cramped.

Because she realised, with definitive, concrete and utter fear, that she was smiling.

Smiling.

The gesture dropped off her face immediately, and she stumbled back quickly, as if she had been burnt.

What the hell?

What was that?

Why was her heart beating this fast?

No.

There was no damn way.

Lyra swallowed, through what she realised was a sizeable, bulbous knot in her throat. She blinked sporadically into the darkness, backing up from the table with eyes open a little too wide.

There was no way, she was enjoying spending time with him.

There was no way she was so eager to return to his side.

This was still him.

The same individual who had insulted her, time and time again, over the past several weeks.

The same person who'd left her, all those years ago.

Stupid.

You idiotic, emotional fool.

What the fuck do you think is happening here?

That you'll bounce back to the same merry times, back where you'd stopped at?

He left you.

And he'll do it again.

The long, slow inhale that she hauled in through her nostrils, did not leave Lyra in a better state. She could feel the slight tremble of her fingertips, and hurried to press her fist shut. Rough nails digging painfully into her skin.

He left you.

And he'll do it again.

Her heart felt heavy. There was a sharp pain prodding at her chest.

Lyra particularly did not like, how her shoulders had gradually dropped.

All that elated excitement from earlier, had fallen away entirely.

And the old, familiar dolefulness reached its spindly tallons, and wrapped her into a tight, suffocating embrace.

She barely registered it when, at last, she resorted to sliding the lantern off the desk. Just as she didn't really clock her slothful walk over to Jayce's lab.

Her footsteps felt heavy.

Her insides, even more so.

Her left palm trawled absently along the cold wallpaper lining the hall. The other held the lamp's handle lazily in between dangling fingers.

All the while, that small, galling, skewering thought wound tighter and tighter into the spongy flesh of her brain.

He left you.

And he'll do it again.

"...now it's gone."

Lyra paused in the middle dark hallway, just outside the absent door of the lab.

"No one believed me."

Jayce.

That was Jayce.

Gods, he sounded so sad.

It only added another knock to her lungs, and she bit the inside of her cheek with a bruising force.

Lyra knew that she shouldn't have eavesdropped. She knew that she needed to make her presence known. But when that other voice echoed from inside the room, she truly couldn't find it in herself to move.

"Nobody's ever believed in me."

Nobody?

Really?

"Poor, cripple from the Undercity? I was an outsider the moment I set foot in Piltover."

Her sardonic thoughts fell away immediately. And her sorrowful, empty eyes dragged slowly, carefully to the wall that separated them. Past her hand, that now pressed with more gentleness at the surface. Gaze filled with more emotion and longing in that all-encompassing darkness than she had been able to muster in years.

"I didn't have the privilege of a patron, or a name. I simply believed in myself. Which is why I'm here. Because I think, you're onto something. I want to help you complete your research."

"No one thinks it can be done."

"When you're going to change the world... don't ask for permission."

Lyra swallowed, and was surprised at the salty taste now stinging the back of her throat.

"I don't even know your name."

Without truly meaning to, she pushed her eyes shut. Her hand tightened against the wall, as if bracing her for the impact. And she squeezed her jaw into an injuring hold, in a vain attempt to choke back the pathetic noise that almost escaped her at the next words.

"It's Viktor."

Viktor.

Dear old Vitya.

Vitenjka.

Her friend.

Her friend, who left her.

And who'd do it again.

Lyra straightened then.

Took a silent inhale.

Gave herself a mental shake.

And with that last, final thought, decided that it was time to step forward.

"Shall we then, gentlemen?"

The two men turned at the sound of her voice.

Attention slipping off one another and towards the space where she was currently leant, settled comfortably against the doorframe. Her leg was crossed leisurely over the other, arms entwined comfortably across her chest, holding the lantern in between idle digits. A small, easy smile played on her lips, and she watched the two knowingly from the depths of the shadows.

It was all a show, of course. But she couldn't afford to lose control over her last bits of sanity right now.

Still, Lyra could not help herself when her eyes slipped fleetingly towards Viktor's. A passing motion, which never settled.

She hated the way her heart constricted, even a little, at the sight of that small smile he was giving her way.

Lyra resorted to looking at Jayce. Who, upon seeing her seemed to give up all remaining restrains on his emotions. In fact, he looked very much ready to cry. Especially when she pushed off her spot, and started towards him with that soft look on her face.

His lips quivering, an unsubtle sniffle leaving him as he watched his closest friend. Here, with him, eager to help, after what was definitely the most horrid day of his life.

He stepped towards her. With open, ready arms, craving that long deserved, and long-awaited hug.

"Lyra, I— OW!"

Jayce jumped back, eyes wide.

Hand clutching his arm, that now positively burnt.

He glanced down at it.

Back at her again, in disbelief.

Before releasing a lengthy, and thoroughly offended, wail.

"Ow!" Jayce whined, all tears forgotten as he angrily grasped and suffered through the pain seeping through his bicep from the strength of her punch. "Why! Why?!"

"You know damn well why!" The silver-head ground, steely features fixing him with her scalding attention. "You scared the living shit out of me! And my hair, Jayce?! It physically cannot go any whiter than this! So all this?" She gave a wild wave to their surroundings before pointing a long, tempered finger at his form with such strength that he almost leapt back and (ironically) fell over the edge of the building. "Never. Again."

The boy gulped, fearfully. "Understood."

"Good. Lovely."

Her features relaxed then, and the coiling stress disappeared in an instant. A smile surged on her face, and she beamed (a tad too innocently) at the two men.

"Now, then!" Lyra exclaimed, reached and flickered on the lamp, that flooded the room with a bright, warm light.

She skidded happily, to hang it on the hook by the chalkboard, snatching two stray chunks of chalk off the holder as she went, which she twirled and tossed at the boys.

They both caught it.

Viktor with an amused look.

Jayce still with that very indignant frown etched onto his features. Rubbing at the spot on his bicep grumpily, though unable to quite contain the good-humoured smile that was chipping at his stern expression.

The sight made Lyra chuckle, and she propped her hands against her sides with the most elated of grins.

"Let's get this show on a roll, gents! Time is of the essence, and I have classes in the morning."