(I have been gone for a bit, and I apologise for that. This summer turned out to be way more chaotic and stressful than I originally thought. BUT, this chapter is done, and the following chapter is 75% written, so expect another update this week! I hope you're all well, and thank you so so much for sticking around!)

‼️ TRIGGER WARNING ‼️ Discussion regarding an implied, attempted suicide (in part 2 of the chapter). It is not explicit, but emotional, so please proceed with caution if you are triggered by this sort of content.

Regarding that, I want to say that it is obviously a very sensitive and important topic, and I understand why the tv-show glazed over it the way it did (due to timing, etc). But I thought that for the purposes of this book, it would be good to slow down a bit, and take a brief moment to consider it all. Many of us have their own experiences with things like these, but I ask you to keep in mind that no same thing is quite the same. People react in different ways and manners, and I absolutely do not want to take away from someone else's experience with my writing. Please keep in mind that this is still fictional, and that this is how Lyra specifically reacts to the situation.

Thank you again so much for being here!!! And a special thank you to Birb for the beta/reading, love you so much 🥹🫶 More chapters on the way ❤️

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In true student fashion, the trio worked with what they had to make themselves comfortable.

They reshuffled some of the broken furniture, and Jayce found the only surviving chair in the rubble, which he proudly showed off to Lyra with the widest and most shit-eating of grins.

The silver-head wasn't as lucky. However, she did find a surprising amount of intact glasses and chalices tucked somewhere underneath chunks of chipped concrete, and ended up mindlessly constructing a display out of them on a series of shelves stacked near the chalkboard. It unexpectedly turned out looking too artistic of a construction, aligned and compositionally satisfying — so much so, that the two men couldn't help but give her back a few somewhat surprised glances as she continued to dig through the wreckage.

While the duo rummaged, Viktor was busy copying the outstanding part of the equation onto the board. Quietly shuffling about, attentive eyes zoned in completely on Jayce's journal, cane left leant against a nearby desk.

He glanced up from the work on very few occasions. When Jayce trotted by him with a genuine, encouraging smile, or when something slipped and clattered a little louder at the back, with all the less-than-careful shifting the two students were doing. And when, on the odd instance, Lyra walked past to her pièce de résistance.

That look was significantly different. He'd peered up without truly thinking of it, a reflexive response to spotting movement out of one's peripheral. Only to realise very quickly who exactly had caused the motion, and instantly rocketing his attention downward.

Despite all that, he seemed unable to resist stealing occasional side-eyes at her afterwards. Until he ultimately frowned, gave his head a resolute shake, and returned to the work at once.

Lyra, from her side, did nothing to acknowledge all this. She'd bumped into him once, tripping over her feet while struggling to see over the objects impressively balanced in her grasp. It was barely a shoulder graze really, and the two murmured hasty apologies, before positively catapulting into opposite corners of the room.

Or, well, Lyra catapulted. Viktor just stiffly doddered to the other side of the blackboard, where he mutely continued his writing. Though, not without a little more tension to his shoulders.

The scene was odd.

One that was difficult to miss, even in lighting that bad.

And Jayce was quick to catch on, without truly meaning to. He'd scarcely noticed it at first, too busy digging, somewhat dolefully, through the remains of his lab. But a clumsy turn had caused one of the bigger tomes he was dusting to slip and skip towards the floor. He had impulsively stuck his leg out, in a futile attempt to cushion its fall. Which it barely did, of course, resulting in a still very much fallen book and a new, searing pain in the bridge of his foot.

As he struggled to stifle a particularly explicit curse and attempted to physically shake off the throbbing, he had looked up. Just in time to catch his two companions' sporadic (and extremely pitiful) exchange of apologies.

His foot was quickly forgotten, and he watched with newfound confusion as his normally unbothered and nonchalant friend, proceeded to all but launch herself from Viktor as far as the room physically allowed. Certain, that she consciously made an effort to maintain at least a six feet distance between them at all times following the ordeal.

So, the scene was odd.

Which was why, once they both found themselves at a particularly distant fraction of the room, Jayce wasted little time in tilting closer to the younger student and whispering a hushed, anything-but-nonchalant question.

"You two... okay now?"

Lyra blinked, puzzled, and glanced at where he had unsubtly gestured behind them, past both their shoulders and deeper into the sphere illuminated by the lantern's light. She drew her attention down immediately once the meaning of his words registered in her brain, a motion executed far too quickly for Jayce's liking.

"'Course. Why wouldn't we be." Lyra dismissed easily, gave her friend a reassuring smile and rose from her crouched position with more cups and jars amidst her limbs.

Her walk over to her display was observed through Jayce's disbelievingly narrowed eyes.

As she descended onto the pavement, with knees digging into the cold floorboards, Lyra was grateful, for the hundredth time that day, that the shadows and her bangs had seemingly struck a friendly pact, and both worked to conveniently obscure her pinched brows from the two other occupiers of the room.

Eventually, Viktor called out in their general direction, and the pair eagerly hurried to settle into their seats.

Jayce proudly established on his colonized stool, Lyra cross-legged on a larger boulder amidst the stony remains behind him. The nightly breeze poured in from the gaping, dented opening in the wall, picking playfully at the few stray curls that had rebelliously spilled from her bun. She had thrown her jacket aside at some point during the digging, and now lounged with her grey, flowy sleeves rolled up to her forearms, enjoying the way the wind prickled gently at her skin and sent goosebumps over the surface.

Everything almost seemed peaceful for a change.

So naturally, Jayce couldn't resist throwing Lyra a shit-eating beam over his shoulder, accompanied by his pointed shuffling in his seat. His way of taunting her with his comfortable spot. A classic gesture of affection, as only Jayce Talis could deliver.

Lyra was halfway through shoving a heartfelt middle finger at him with an equally contemptuous grin, when something flickered in the corner of her eye.

She glanced up, and her expression dropped in quietly stunned shock.

Looking past the journal that was now being held outstretched towards her, Lyra stared blankly at Viktor. Who stood patiently still, ever poised and collected, with only a kind smile minimally curving the corners of his mouth. The left half of his features was almost entirely veiled by the thick shadows reigning outside their little hideaway, nearly fully obscuring that part of his face from view. The right portion, however, looked infinitely softer in the warm, saturated light of the lamp, dipping under his cheekbones and dripping languidly all the way down to his jaw.

It did not help that his brows were cinched ever so slightly upwards, which paired with the smile he was offering her gave him a look so sincere and gentle that it could have put cherubs to shame.

Lyra was ashamed to admit she was all but ready to melt into the concrete by the time she gingerly collected the object held between his fingers, and staggered a court, thankful nod.

After that, the conversation flowed easily. The three interjected into the corrections of the math, busying themselves with fixing the odd numbers and terms of equations that weren't quite adding up.

In the mellow, flickering light of the oil lamp, Viktor wrote their suggestions diligently on the board; Jayce leant forth, tapping his heel absentmindedly against the floor, while Lyra reclined casually backwards resting her weight on one hand, her other busy lazily flipping through pages of the older student's scribbling.

A few hours passed. And finally, the puzzle blocks began falling into place, one by one.

"This entire time I thought I had to dampen the oscillations."

"It's because I missed a page three weeks ago. That one formula threw off the rest of the math. Which begs the request: for the love and future of science, please stop eating over your life's work?"

Jayce's sheepish expression was accompanied by the sound of Viktor drawing a long line across the board, "The crystals will only stabilise at high frequency. You have to—"

"Crank it!"

Viktor was halfway through distractedly tapping the piece of chalk against his chin when Jayce's exclamation came, and he paused the motion to spin and look at him in mild surprise. Lyra perked up to do the same, face crinkling and tilting sideways in an expression of amusement nearly identical to Viktor's. The two surveyed the broad-shoulder student for a moment, unable to contain how humoured they were by the way he was all but wagging his tail excitedly at the board.

"Yes... Yes, you have to... crank it!"

Lyra chuckled silently to herself, biting her lip in an attempt to stop a quip from spilling. Instead, her gaze trailed downward to the book splayed on her lap, and she simply shook her head at the pair with arising levity.

Children.

"It works!" Jayce declared, collapsing against the back of his chair in relief.

"Hm, on paper."

"Where do we stand on practice?" Lyra pitched, attention narrowed on the chalky, squiggly calculations.

The two men shared an apprehensive look, and Viktor turned to skim over the board, while Jayce resorted to biting at the inside of his cheek, thoughtfully, hand coming to scratch the stubble littering his jaw.

"Well, we could test it if we had access to my equipment."

"Which is being destroyed tomorrow..."

"Wait, what?!"

Viktor tensed at the sound of the duo's synced voices, brusquely torn from his train of thought. His shoulders stiffened, brows and lips twisted downward, and he took a moment slowly whirling on himself, looking starkly more apologetic.

Jayce had positively leapt off his precious chair, which skidded back a few inches with an ugly, grating screech. And Lyra's eyes had shot so open they more resembled two saucers, the young woman no longer lounging comfortably in her spot, but hunched forward with nails digging into her crossed thighs.

The intensity of the students' stares rooted Viktor into his spot, and he struggled momentarily not to break into a nervous sweat, "Oh, I... yeah, I meant to tell you."

"That research is everything. My—my whole life!" Jayce racked his trembling hands through his hair, "Maybe if we show them the equations, they'll let us—"

"We need more than promises, we need proof."

"Not without the crystals. The enforcers took them all, they're gone."

Lyra's frown was deep. Her lips had pressed into an impressively thin line with such strength that the pinkness at the middle began to assume the same cold colour as her hair. Those dark, contemplative eyes fell onto her lap, and she granted her brain the permission to race for once.

Maybe this is a good time to suggest arson? No, don't be silly, "Are they...?"

"Yeah. Locked away in Heimerdinger's lab." Viktor answered her unfinished question, making her tssk in fervent discontent.

That wasn't a surprise.

She had thought as much from the start, it was usual procedure after all.

Still, it was annoying.

Not a surprise, just really damn irritating.

What was a surprise, was when her ears picked up the distinct sound of jiggling keys. She looked up in confusion, and her brain stirred promptly to a halt.

Jayce's eyes had also widened, and he now stood practically gawking at the auburn-haired man, his hands coming up to emphasise the finality of his next words, "No. No. No, you heard the Council. If we're wrong—'

"Better be right, then." Viktor prompted, with a newfound look of determination lining his features.

Those naturally gentle eyes were resolute, portraying excitement in their usual muffled manner. Though, that did not mean he looked any less brazen or excited, because he shone clearly and readily with elation, and Lyra, who had not seen that particular expression of utter confidence in him in years, found herself suddenly, shockingly, annoyingly completely mesmerised by it.

The warm glow from the lamp reflected off his irises, sneaking into their amber hue in scattered orange freckles, the light flickering and fluttering against his skin, licking at the sharp-cornered features, giving them a kind of tenderness almost reminiscent of his younger days. Back when his cheeks were still hollow, but definitely rounder and softer, though of a slightly paler tone of pastel than now that he'd spent time in the Piltovian Sun.

The picture it painted was... entrancing.

Lyra hated herself when the word floated through her mind.

There was something that pressed at her as she sat and stared at Viktor, unconsciously holding her breath.

Perhaps it was her Zaunite instincts stirring awake, never truly having been put to rest to begin with. That ancient, remote feeling of suspicion. The age-old need to distrust, because no one ever does anything for nothing, Nari, and you be very well to remember that going forward.

Gods, when was the last time her mother's voice had resonated in her head that clearly?

Unimportant.

What was important, was the simple question. And Lyra was lucky enough that Jayce spoke it before she blurted it out herself, with all that brewing Trencher instinct to push back at any signs of unjustified kindness bubbling to the surface.

"Why? Why would you risk this?"

The look Lyra was giving Viktor was fixed and unblinking, while his attention remained focused primarily on Jayce. Her lungs still refused to let her breathe. She did not know why that was, but that painful, perforating thought from earlier danced dully at the back of her head, mocking and incredibly persuasive.

So she did not trust him.

Not one, damn bi—

"Do you think it was my life's ambition to be an assistant?" Viktor smiled, "Scientists seek discoveries. Ways to make the world a better place."

He really had a knack for making her remember things she wished she did not.

Lyra was glad she was somewhat hidden by the shadows where she sat. Her heart skipped a dangerously long beat, her inactive lungs panicked and went into overdrive, and her eyes shot fractionally wider. All this was invisible on the surface, but she felt it very clearly within, and had to dig her nails deeper into her flesh in an attempt to ground herself, to remember to keep her emotions in check.

A specific, fleeting memory skipped through her mind. So limpid that when she inhaled, she almost thought she suddenly caught a whiff of... a gas leak.

That characteristic smell of her old room, one which used to ooze from the food truck constantly parked on the street under her bedroom window.

To make the world a better place.

For a second, images from a distant past almost became extremely vivid.

But she shut them down, all of them, before any could settle, resentful of how uncomfortably her chest was constricting.

Instead, she frowned, making certain to restrict her attention solely down at her crossed boots.

Her clean, two-month-old, expensive boots.

Without a single hole in the sole, with barely even a crinkle in the material.

Polished, sparkling, correctly-sized boots.

Things were so different now.

Now, smelling a gas leak was not normal.

Now, wearing scruffy shoes two times bigger than her actual feet, was unthinkable.

Now, she was older. And she was not in the Undercity any longer.

Lyra had not meant to zone out that concretely. Her thoughts were loud by nature, so she'd learned a long time ago to juggle them with all that happened in the real world.

But she had missed Jayce moving from his chair, coming to clap Viktor gently on the shoulder.

Too busy wondering, when exactly in the past few weeks, had she become quite so sentimental? Quite that nostalgic?

She didn't like it.

She was given very little time to ponder over it, as the call of her name echoed in their unlikely surroundings.

"Ly?"

"Hm?" she distractedly peered up at Jayce, and was surprised to find both men looking at her with elated smiles. Jayce's hand still rested on Viktor, Viktor still held the ring of keys between idle, dainty fingers, and both grinned at Lyra in a way that made it clear she had missed something important in all her rumination.

Lyra blinked and dared a brief glance at those amber eyes, before focusing solely on Jayce and raising a brow.

He only beamed brighter, "We're breaking and entering."

Music.

Beautiful, majestic music to her ears. 

Her nasty little cat-nip.

Her greatest hamartia.

All negative thoughts washed away promptly, Lyra's blank, unreadable expression slanted.

Her eyelids drooped, slinking downwards, following her relaxing brows, while a smile stretched and curved across her cheeks, until it glinted mischievously from the depths of the shadows she sat in.

"Ah..." She breathed, making a show to seem unperturbed. Reaching forward, she entwined her fingers, stretched and cracked them, with all the theatrics one could ever muster. Then, she pushed off her seat, dark eyes flickering between the two men with silent exhilaration. "My speciality."

Jayce was very used to this sort of behaviour.

He called it, Lyra's fun little alter-ego, which basically only lived to ensue the most primal forms of chaos for the entire duration of its presence. It was as if a switch flipped in his composed friend at the mention of any sort of crime, and she immediately topsy-turvied from 'the face of Piltovian progress and innovation' to 'criminal mastermind, pyromaniac 101'. 

(You'd be surprised how much mayhem a prodigious genius can cause if given reason to. They can be incredibly resourceful.)

So Jayce wasn't taken aback when Lyra skipped past him and Viktor, head held high, humming a merry tune under her nose as she ventured forth and grasped his prized chair. If anything, he was amused, shook his head at her antics, and went to collect the journal she'd left behind on her designated boulder. 

Viktor, meanwhile, reacted a touch differently.

Firstly, because he was still very much unsure where to place the frankly peculiar young woman in the grand scheme of things.

Secondly, because, as fate had it be, he was still in some shape or form her Professor, and thus had a sort of obligation to advise her not to endanger her studies, at the least.

His earlier conviction dropped, quickly morphing into hesitance, and he almost tripped over himself as his head, then torso, followed hastily after her while she pranced past his spot.

"Do you— think it is wise? For you to come?"

Lyra threw him a hooded-eyed look over her shoulder, "Absolutely I do. Wouldn't miss it for the world, I love me some crime."

"Yes, naturally, but Heimerdinger—"

"Yeah yeah, sure, but like I said earlier," a sly Lyra reached to tap her index languidly against her nose twice. "Technically not a crime, unless we get caught."

Viktor's eyes invisibly widened at the gesture, and Jayce swore he saw his dangling fists clench a little tighter, keys tinkling faintly at the motion. But the momentary movement was gone as soon as it came, and he straightened, expression washing off of anything that wasn't his normal near corporate apathy.

"Be that as it may, you are a student, and—"

"And you're a professor. So glad we've established each other's credentials, at last."

Viktor's gaze narrowed, "My point is, you are forgetting you are still a student here. You being involved in this, it may mean you are—"

"Still an adult with free will. An adult who really, really, really loves herself some crime." She winked as she strode past his scandalised, near pearl-clutching figure, dragging the chair after her by the backrest. Her arm swinging back and forth pendulum-like, to accentuate just how joyful she was at the prospect of the incoming ordeal. "Now that that's all sorted: as you were, Professor."

Viktor was not convinced.

And, frankly, far from happy at all.

But that was mostly due to her overfamiliar mannerisms when she called him that.

Professor.

It was the way she said it.

Viktor was not sure why it bothered him, to be quite frank, and that was perhaps what annoyed him most. He inadvertently convinced himself it was simply because he didn't like it when the silver-head had the upper hand in an altercation of any sort, and was happy to leave it at that.

Nevertheless, he went to retort, mouth falling open, finger raised to accentuate his point. Before the words could be allowed out, a large hand draped gently over his shoulder, and he found himself looking sideways, at a softly smiling Jayce. Who now stood, relaxed and somewhat amused, holding his cane in his palm.

"I honestly wouldn't fight her on it." The broad-shouldered student chuckled, "She'll come either way. We'd just be making it more difficult for ourselves if we protest."

"Awh!"

Lyra's voice made them both turn her way — Viktor with that still mildly miffed expression, Jayce with an easy, good-humoured smile.

They discovered that Lyra had dragged the chair towards the far left end of the chalkboard, had climbed on top of it, and unhooked the oil lamp she'd previously left hanging there on a protruding hook on the wall.

She clasped it securely in one hand, looking at Jayce with a touched pout from where she stood atop the chair, peering at the older student with the most exaggeratedly fond expression she could convey. And when she shifted, laying her palm over her chest in that theatrically affectionate manner, the curled strands spiking from her bun bounced and flitted sideways, following the motion of her judded out hip.

"You know me too well, steroids."

Jayce stifled a snicker at his friend. While Viktor found himself unable to resist silently rolling his eyes, looking away promptly and huffing a barely audible breath through a tightened lower lip (though, that was mostly because he realised his eyes had unintentionally slipped lower on her figure than he wished).

Lyra ignored him.

Instead, smiling the brightest she had in years, she opened the glass compartment in the lamp, and gently blew out the flame dancing within.

Complete darkness washed over the lab once more.

||

They decided to leave the scene of the (in progress) crime exactly how they'd found it.

And Lyra, for one, was all for it.

She'd made damn sure to keep her eyes locked firmly on Jayce's when she'd picked up his chair and proceeded to toss it carelessly back into the rubble, with certainly more strength than was warranted. The defeated cracking of wood that rippled through the silent interior when the stool collided with the concrete, was highly gratifying. And so was the look of complete indignation deadpanning Jayce's features, making him look incredibly like a very, very dissatisfied cat.

Lyra only threw him a mute grin as she marched away, dusting her hands off imaginary specks of dirt.

Viktor had resorted to hastily gathering all of their stray notes, before cinching the sleeve of his burgundy shirt between curled digits and rubbing his chalky handwriting off the board. He'd tried to find an actual eraser earlier, but after a few moments of aimlessly shuffling in and around on himself, and blinking at the dark pavement surrounding him with slitted eyes, he decided that his search was bound to be fruitless and that sacrificing his clothing in the name of science was not that great a price to pay, all things considered.

He now stood in the doorway, sporting a soft, filmy grimace of disgruntlement as he tried to rub the white material off his cuff. "Shall we...?"

"Yup!" Jayce called, jogging up to him with an easy smile. "Let's get this party started!"

"Yeah, what frat boy here said." Lyra agreed, nudging her head into Jayce's direction as she approached the pair, her hands working on unrolling her lantern-shaped sleeves and securing the buttons on each wrist.

"No one hires second-hand comedians for frat parties." Jayce rebutted readily, tips of his mouth curling upwards.

"Jokes on you, I'm more like a court jester."

"Pft, with those sleeves you sure look like one."

"Foul!" Lyra's jaw sagged, and her mouth hung open as she watched his shoulders rattle along with his chuckling.

Viktor was still lingering in the doorway, stood partially in the hall and almost entirely drowned out by the shadows. He shuffled a tad awkwardly on his feet, for some reason or another finding himself incredibly absorbed in watching his shoes, and reached to stifle a silent cough when it surged him, in a manner that unintentionally came out sounding more like he was clearing his throat.

He hoped that he hadn't been too loud, but when he looked up, he found that the duo's attention had automatically switched towards him. Or at least Jayce's had, and he beamed a tad brighter, with a still comically perplexed Lyra stood in his background.

"Right! Let's get moving!" The older student announced, and Viktor nodded minimally, turning on his heels and diligently starting his way down the hall.

The soft clicking of his cane followed in his step, and Jayce threw Lyra a final complacent peek, before departing himself.

Lyra simply shook her head.

She'd previously spied her jacket bundled up on a counter near the door and went to snatch it as she took off after him, performing the gesture with narrowed eyes busy glaring holes into the back of Jayce's head. However, as the jacket swung limply to her side, something slipped and glided languorously to the floor, landing right before the tips of her boots.

Lyra paused.

She huffed annoyedly under her breath, upset at having to bend down.

The usually guarded disposition was broken by the good-humoured smile still lingering on her face, making her features look much more relaxed. For once, her heart actually felt several tonnes lighter, lounging comfortably within her chest and allowing her a brief moment of peace.

As her fingers grasped the piece of paper —an envelope, she realised— the skin between her brows folded. A minimal shift, at first. But as she rose and straightened, it deepened inch by inch, until she stood frowning, deeply and silently, down at the item in her hands.

Lyra turned it over once.

Twice.

Inevitably, she returned to staring at the red, wax sigil on the front, resorting to running her thumb carefully over it for good measure.

She thought she was mistaken, but even the calloused pad of her finger could make out the distinctive imprint, which spoke for itself — the engraved figure was a minuscule, blemished shape: a hammer.

The logo of the Talis House.

Which meant, this was Jayce's letter.

But...

Why would it...?

Why would he...?

Who would he write to at a time like—

Oh.

Meanwhile, Jayce was marching steadily towards the direction of the hall with a stride to his step, still relishing in having beaten Lyra in their previous verbal sparring. It wasn't an easy task to accomplish at the best of times, so it was only natural of him to indulge in some good old-fashioned gloating on that specific occasion.

But he paused his walking when he realised that the clacking sound of Lyra's heels wasn't trailing after him any longer, and stopped with one foot past the threshold, turning to look at his friend over his shoulder with the intention of calling out.

He caught sight of her.

And her name died on his tongue instantly when his attention landed on the object sat in her grasp.

Jayce's heart skipped a quick beat.

Cold sweat flooded his back, beading and trickling down his spine drop by electric, agonising drop.

His breathing faltered, his heartbeat bolted to full speed before he even had the time to blink. Not that he could blink at all, really — his eyelids wouldn't allow it.

He just stood there, frozen in his spot, obscured by the shadows of the hall. Everything seemed to stagger. Time and current events blended into one, then stuttered to an abrupt, categorical halt. The peacefulness of the quiet night outside weighed on him more heavily — the silence, usually welcomed, now became suffocating.

There is a reason humanity has not lost its flight-or-flight response throughout the course of evolution. It's a mechanism that seems so primitive on first thought — as if a Piltovian would ever need it in the circumstances of a regular, ordinary day. Neither in the literal sense of the term anyway, nor in that of the Undercity one either: not at the shops or on the streets, where there is definitely rarely a need to run from a large predator, animal or human alike.

That was the luxury of Topside, after all. As far as Piltover was concerned, normality was and always had been, serenity. Granted, mundane and slow-paced serenity, but serenity nonetheless.

Evolution spares no one, though — nature has made humans resistant to change. And Jayce was not so lucky and not quite so special as to escape the effects of primal instincts.

It may as well have been the savana, because he suddenly felt alert and cornered: neither prey nor predator.

Simply an animal, stripped to his bare minimum, needing urgently to physically or figuratively flee.

He very quickly decided that flight was indeed the most discernible option, and shot into motion, scrambling to conceal his hastily raising panic in any way he really could.

"Oh, shit!" He bounded forward, chuckling to himself. "Yeah, that's mine, completely forgot to pick it up, what is it that you and my mother always say? I'd lose my head if it weren't attached to my big-ass shoulders, so if I could just—"

He went to step towards her, wanting nothing more than to swipe that burning reminder from her hand, away from her eyes where she would never have to see it: she of all people did not deserve this, not this sort of pain, not ever, not from him, so he wanted to stuff that damned letter somewhere, to tear it in half right there and then maybe, or better yet, burn it altogether. But his words trailed off, his throat seized up and his steps stopped as if he'd hit a brick wall when he caught a glimpse of her face.

Lyra's expression had drained.

Of colour, yes, however this was difficult to spot in such a fit, all-consuming darkness.

It was more about her features — usually tense in one manner or another (tightened at the lips when she was thinking or annoyed, dented at the corners of her jaw from anger, or quirked slightly at the brows in disbelieving amusement).

Now, she just looked vacant. 

Entirely empty of everything that made her appear even remotely present.

And when her eyes slowly moved up to him, his chest constricted in a painful hold.

Her face was void of any decipherable emotion. The creases were gone, not one even slightly giving the impression of having existed there in the first place. Pale lips sat calm and lacy, dark eyebrows curved up without a strain, and her round features presented themselves openly, clear of anything that characterised her usually expressive features.

But her eyes were wide.

Painted and swarming with sheer, unadulterated fear. One that intermingled with confusion, with soundless terror, but most importantly, with deep-seared, and frightfully clear, understanding.

Lyra knew.

She knew.

Jayce swallowed heavily.

"Ly, I..."

He didn't really know what to say.

What does one say?

Apologise?

Attempt to deny it all?

Lie?

Jayce couldn't do that.

Not to her, he couldn't lie to her, he wouldn't hurt her like that — but he had done it, he had hurt her, so what... what could he do now?

He didn't know.

They stood there.

Two animals at a standstill, drowning in silence.

Two bags of bones, clueless and aching in the pale hue of the moonlight.

"I overheard your conversation earlier."

Lyra's throat sounded dry when she spoke at last, and she coughed quietly once, nimble fist coming to cover her mouth. Her eyes stayed glued unblinkingly on the object pressed in her grip, past where her digits were starting to twitch steadily against the paper.

"With um... well, with him."

Her head tipped sideways as she said it, and both were distantly reminded that Viktor was most likely waiting on them somewhere beyond the walls of the lab, down the dingy hall still littered with stray enforcer tape.

But the here and now was more pressing, so that was where they remained, both knowing deep down that they couldn't escape even if they tried.

"You... I mean, I..." Lyra stumbled over her words, swallowed and screwed her jaw shut, unable to quite meet his eye. "I wanted to say, that I always believed in you. In this, in your research. I know I don't exactly show it well. I'm not very good at, um—", her quivering lips attempted to curve upwards, but abandoned the endeavour very quickly, the effort of it feeling too whimsical and almost childish, "I'm really not good at all this. I know that, I try to be, it's just— it's just hard, sometimes, but..."

She tried to sneak in a breath, to steady herself in the only manner she could without having anywhere to lean on, but the shaking in the motion was so loud that both wondered for a moment if her lungs were actually shuddering.

Lyra swallowed again.

She closed her eyes for a moment, lips squeezing together.

And when she pushed her voice out, it cracked and snapped, breaking at every edge.

"You're my family, Jayce." Lyra choked, gaze still cemented on the piece of paper in her hands. "I don't say this enough, I— I love you. You're my best friend, and if I ever made you feel like I... like you couldn't talk to me about things... Like I'm not there, not here to listen... Like you couldn't come to me and feel safe in talking about— talking about things like..."

The letter felt too heavy.

Everything seemed that way.

The air, her clothes, the very muscles that coated and wrapped around her bones. 

But mostly, the unexpected and clear understanding that she had horribly, cruelly, and awfully failed Jayce.

Nobody's ever believed in me.

Poor cripple from the Undercity?

I was an outsider the moment I set foot in Piltover.

Those words played in her mind on a loop.

She had believed in him.

Always.

Indisputably.

Blindly and entirely, completely wholeheartedly.

She had loved him, so deeply and utterly, and yet she had failed him. Because he didn't seem to know that now, didn't give any notion of ever having known that someone was there once upon a time, consistently and permanently in his corner.

And who could blame him really? After everything that had happened, after everything she had done and said back then?

She had failed him.

And she was failing Jayce the same exact way.

He had been hurting.

Had needed her.

And when it really mattered, she was not there.

Why?

Because she was a fucking coward.

With that final thought, Lyra's hands dropped limply to her sides, her head collapsed, and she released a strangled, pitiful sob.

"I am... so sorry, Jayce."

Jayce was horrified.

This was like nothing he had ever seen before.

He'd seen Lyra cry, he'd cradled her, helped her through long nights with his company alone, but that had been different, this was different.

He had never hurt her.

He had never caused her pain.

Until now, and he stared at her, wanting nothing more but to shoot forward and comfort her, to tell her he was sorry — so goddamn sorry — that he had been stupid. He wanted to beg her not to cry, that this was on him, not her, it had nothing to do with her... but he couldn't move.

So he stood and watched, as her head drooped, as her shoulders rose to her ears, as her fists firmed tightly on themselves, gripping the crumpled edge of what was meant to be his last ever note in her uselessly dangling, shaking hand.

"I value you, so — much." Lyra forced through her clenched teeth, fighting to keep her voice steady, to reign in the emotion that was shoving and scratching its way up her tight throat. "You're my best friend, you're the best person that I, that we could ever ask for, and I... I-I just wanted to say..."

She finally looked at him.

Gathering tears overfilling her eyes, threatening to spill, yet somehow managing to hang desperately on her bottom lashes, in a pathetic attempt at a balancing act.

Her arms twitched.

A motion that was decidedly not caused by the chilly breeze streaming through the opening in the wall.

More curls had spilled from the barely intact bun, and they whipped and gashed at the skin of her cheeks, which seemed so much paler now. Though whether that was caused by the light of the moon that managed to stick to her skin in faint strips, or by her current distress, Jayce couldn't tell.

He couldn't tell anything at all. Nor think, for that matter.

He just watched her, straight and immobile, breath held, bracing himself for whatever she would say to him next.

The weight of it all still felt heavy on him.

A burden perhaps, that only Sisyphus could truly understand the load of.

But perhaps Sisyphus may have lived a better life, and maybe avoided his purgatorial fate altogether — if only he would have just heard those following, three words.

"I got you."

Lyra told him then. Teary-eyed and swaying, hunched slightly forward in a way that made her look so uncharacteristically small.

"I'm here."

Despite it all, she smiled.

Soft.

Gentle.

Reassuring.

"Please..."

A quiet, broken plea.

Please, know that.

Please, talk to me.

Please, know you are not alone.

Just...

Please.

Please, just stay.

Lyra knew she was horribly selfish.

She hated herself for many things, and was acutely aware of her shortcomings at every second of every slowly crawling moment of her life — that was her onus, you see, the one thing no one would ever be able to take away from her: that poisonous, acidic self-loathing, serving as her personal eternal flame.

Selfishness was one of those traits that she hated so ardently.

However, if her being selfish kept her friend — her family — alive? If her being selfish kept him breathing, smiling, going onwards with his life? She was ready to bear that sin and go burn in the fiery pits of whatever hell awaited her any godforsaken day.

As long as he was fine.

As long as Jayce was okay.

And it just so happened, that suddenly Jayce felt just like so.

Suddenly, regardless of everything that was happening now, of what had happened prior, and of everything that was bound to happen next — he felt fine.

Jayce felt okay.

The weight lifted, if only a little.

And allowed him to smile, sincerely and openly.

He stepped forward, towards her tentative, curled form, and tugged her delicately to him. Long, sturdy arms coming up to wrap themselves around her, pulling her close.

Encasing her into a mellow, but secure embrace.

The letter slipped through her fingers.

It glided back to the floor once more.

And Lyra's hands sprung, slithering underneath his arms, where they found and clutched and grasped at the clothes clinging to his back. Lyra pressed herself as tightly as possible to his chest, buried her nose into his shirt, and squeezed her eyes shut, finally allowing two wandering tears to slip.

"I love you too, Ly." Jayce told her in the darkness of the abandoned, desecrated lab, where the two stood holding one another, careful and tender, as only true family really could. 

Two more tears slipped.

Several followed suit.

A quiet ordeal, that Jayce was ignorant of.

A matter Lyra was glad for.

Because even her selfishness had its limits.

And this was in no way about her feeling sorry for herself.

But about her friend.

Whom she would never fail again.

"Are you okay?" Her feeble reply was muffled by his vest, a few octaves higher than was usual.

Jayce was quite young, still fresh into their friendship when he'd come to realise —with no little amount of observing and subtly prying— that Lyra treated every conversation as if it were a decisive game of chess. She hardly considered herself an expert in the field of social interactions — but as years passed, and Jayce watched her from the sidelines, witnessing as she consistently mingled with various higher-ups and aristocrats, he often found himself inwardly musing how that was yet another thing she gave herself too little credit for.

Lyra was lighthearted, quick on her feet with any sort of remark she delivered. She was impulsive, certainly, but that did not mean for a second that her behaviour was not something she approached with surgical-like precision.

Lyra was the definition of playing her pieces close to her chest — not a single word came out of her mouth without a certain amount of premeditated calculation. Not during important moments, anyway.

And this moment was important.

So when he heard the way her voice shook, how her tone was marred and dissected by genuine, raw emotion, he knew all masks had slipped.

She was sincere.

Jayce smiled, a tired thing laced with unsparing amounts of melancholy, and his temple pressed deeper into the constantly tonsled mayhem of her hair. He thought it over, if only for a brief moment, deciding that such candid honesty required nothing less in return.

Then, and only then, he allowed himself a faint, gentle nod.

"I'm okay."

"Okay." A sniffle escaped before she could catch it, and she grasped tighter to the wrinkles that dented and crinkled the back of his vest. She hung there, breathing shallowly into his chest, tongue wrestling away the salty, slimy bile that rose from her throat and threatened to drown her words. "Please."

He nodded, and they stood there.

For a moment, and a bit longer after that.

The moon was winding its routine path along the dark skyline.

The winds whistled gently outside, sneaking into the lab to pick fights with stray papers littering desks and floorboards.

Amidst it all, Lyra found her solace, and for the first time in forever felt happy in someone's embrace. Jayce's thumb rubbed the most minuscule of circles under her right scapula — a gesture she barely felt, but focused on intently. The feeling of it grounded her: it occupied her thoughts, kept them from crossing dangerous borders, helping stabilise them.

Lyra did not necessarily like being touched.

Not this way, not when there was a certain degree of tenderness behind the gesture. It was silly, and frankly flat-out stupid (she often hated herself for this matter, too) — but affection was something her body had never been given the time to get properly accustomed to.

It felt nice, though.

This touch, in this moment, in that circumstance, felt nice.

For once, she was comfortable.

For once, it was something that she had actually needed.

And it soothed her nerves, if only a smidge, because it meant that Jayce was there.

He was still there.

Both knew that the conversation was bound to be returned to, at one point or another.

A lot of things had gone unsaid, a lot of questions had gone unanswered.

But right now, it was enough.

Right now, he was okay.

And right now, they had things to do.

"Let's get this over with?" Jayce muttered after a few minutes had passed, his voice just barely above a whisper as he cautiously released her from his arms. Almost as if he were afraid to unsettle the quiet that had dawned on the deserted place around them.

Lyra nodded, attempting in vain to hide her quiet sniffling by ducking her head downwards, there where she was sure her bangs would conceal it, reaching her forearm to wipe at her face for good measure.

If Jayce noticed her tear-streaked cheeks, he did not comment.

Instead, he waited patiently for her to speak.

"Yeah." Lyra said, voice coming out raspier than intended, but slipping through a faintly cracked grin. "I've got classes in the morning."

And suddenly, Jayce was beaming.

He laughed, a deep chuckle that sounded much more like a giggle, and swung his arm around her shoulders just as she gave him a timid, tired, yet nonetheless playful smile.

"Fucking lies." The ex-student announced, as they meandered towards the door — side pressed against side, leaning on each other as they had done for so many years before that night. "As if you'll ever show."

Lyra's hand rested on his back, and her fingers grasped at the fabric a little tighter then.

"You're such a prick, steroids."

"I love you, too."