Science of Love

It wasn’t as if Viktor hated mechanics. He was a goddamned Bioengineer, he had to think about it every day of his life. 

It was just that, well, nothing about mechanics was particularly appealing to him. When he thought about it, he only envisioned visions of steel hinges and hissing engines, of cool grey metals and the daunting heat that billowed off massive machinery. It also reminded him too much of Piltover. The stainless metals that pulled buildings together like connective tissue, but much lessalive. The elimination of imperfection under the looming thumb of strict mathematics and laws. Viktor tolerated mechanics much better when he lived in Zaun. The odd workshop or forge worker would occasionally stop by the narrow alley outside his humble, cramped school building to teach a basic concept or two. 

It sparked an interest in Viktor mainly due to the fact that the masters’ shoulders would relax, their backs would straighten, and their eyes would gleam as they preached to the few children. Their love for the science was enough for Viktor to develop his own sort of love for it, by proxy. He could imagine, as he slogged through weighty textbook after weighty textbook, as he read, that it was instead one of these people that was discussing the topics with him. 

When he did this, he couldn’t help but indulge in the tendrils of appreciation that would creep around his chest, extending their long digits to his heart and squeezing. If someone could have a passion so red, so unyielding, for something like this, then he could stand to study it for a couple of hours after school. 

A couple of hours eventually bled into months, and Viktor’s dedication to understanding the world around him was solidified. 

Obviously, biology was the subject in which Viktor’s own adoration succeeded, fueled by his natural green thumb and knack with animals, but he supposed that understanding engineering well enough would only allow him to advance further in his own biological research. 

The regression in Viktor’s joints were what pushed him into selecting Biological Engineering as his PhD. If Viktor could just design himself a new body, one that lived, breathed, and felt in the same ways that his current one could, without risk of worsening his disease, then… Well, then there was no telling what Viktor could be capable of. 

Ironic as it was to pursue an engineering program without an actual love for mechanics or the strictness of certain types of mathematics, Viktor felt satisfied enough with his course of action. 

But, if there was one thing Viktor knew, the people of Piltover did not understand engineering in the way that Zaunites did. To them, everything was a tool to claw their way higher on the pyramid of writhing bodies that lie beneath the shallow surface of the city. Every subject, teacher, school, student, was a means for the rich to get richer, more powerful. 

Prioritising industrial or automotive engineering was a convenient enough way to ensure that the powerful stayed in power. The subtle bias in funding to the course by alumni or anonymous donors, probably by people like the Kirammans, paired with the general disdain for biological sciences within Piltover were fatal to young impressionable minds. 

The mechanics department at Piltover University was unimaginably dense. Overrun with labs, public support, public events, and more equipment than they knew what to do with. Naturally, it was also where the absolute shining gems of Piltiover’s prodigy children shone their brightest. Every Piltover brat could weasel their way into the school, but only a select few were permitted into the programme. Still, it was by far the highest-studied area of science in the entire university. 

Naturally, the brightest of all of those gems sat before Viktor, silently awaiting some sort of acknowledgement of skill, or praise, or something from his strangely quiet roommate. 

Viktor didn’t know what to say. He was disappointed, but it wasn’t Jayce’s fault. He had hoped for someone who loved the organic, like he did, or the mycelium-like veins that ran throughout the entirety of the universe, not just the planet, or who enjoyed taking time to sit outside and identify common flora and fauna for hours at a time. 

Naturally, though, Viktor had his fair share of misfortune. No doubt Jayce had been raised underneath the iron thumb rule of the city, naive and manipulatable, just as he was meant to be, and pursued top marks in all of his classes to make his nuclear family proud of him, just as he was supposed to. 

“Bridges?” Viktor heard a deadpan voice, his own, blurt into the growing uncomfortable quiet. 

“Uh, yeah, uh sorry I don’t know why I said that. I guess I’ve just spent the entire summer talking to, you know, non-scientists, and generalising it so that, like, the general public will understand. You get it, like, as a fellow scientist, I mean I guess biology is easier to understand-” Viktor blinked, unimpressed. “Or, like, more common, or like quantifiable I guess, but I’m sure you’re always dumbing your research down for interviews and stuff.” 

Viktor blinked again. He didn’t exactly want to get into that conversation. He’d had internship opportunities, of course, as his work was nothing short of genius, but they were never the right fit. Either suspiciously vague about their intentions behind wanting a scientist who knew everything about “bio-weaponry,” or overtly drunk and uninformed about Viktor’s own ‘international’ status, just looking for shiny new students to throw money at. Otherwise, once people realised that not only was Viktor a Zaunite - gasp - but also pursuing research in an inferior science, spending money on him was out of the question. Viktor could try to explain this all to Jayce, but it would be a long conversation about the cognitive disconnect between Piltover’s elites with one of Piltover’s elites, and he wasn’t sure how well the criticism would land. 

“Right. Well, ehm…I suppose you don’t have to worry about that anymore. Seeing as you’re back amongst scientists.” Viktor threw whatever politeness he had left into his most valiant effort in participating in small talk. 

“Yeah, true! Well, I should probably get back to” he gestured behind him to his desk “this.” 

Viktor didn’t feel like he was finished with the conversation yet. “Which is…?” 

Jayce turned around in his chair and lightly closed the notebook. Almost uncharacteristically and seemingly involuntarily, his hand raised to scratch at the back of his neck. He laughed a bit, less plasticky and more nervously as he pushed it into the upper left corner of his desk. 

“Just a little journal. Diary of sorts, if you wanna call it that. Idea book and stuff. For science! Mostly. No juicy personal secrets or anything, haha, otherwise I would hide it much better!” His eyes widened and his brow furrowed, shocked at his own comment. “I mean, I don’t even have one of those! That’s not… um…” He exhaled through his teeth, puffing his cheeks in resignation. Viktor watched the long strands of hair that hung just over his eyebrows sway as he shook his head. 

“Of course. That would be embarrassing.” Though not entirely intentional, Viktor could still sense a tiny hint of amusement in his own voice. Not interested in further teasing the man about his diary, or idea book, or whatever, Viktor turned and left to his own room. 

_______________________

With the start of classes, every student at the university seemed to avoid fresh air as though it were as gaseous and polluted as it was in Zaun. The students traded sunlight for studying in their own rooms, traded fancy dinners with hours at the library, and replaced summery cocktails with syrupy energy drinks and the familiar bitterness of espresso. 

Some—publicly funded—universities allowed the students a week of orientations, introductory classes, and droning nonsense, to adjust to the new environment. Not Piltover. The moment courses began, assignments started rolling in. 

Student essays to grade for a literature course, a presentation given to a small class of bright eyed freshmen, and of course, for the class he’d been assisting with for the better part of two years, a semester-long lab report, one that he had to advise every single student on. 

His professor Heimerdinger, a stocky, bulbous man who had the specific sort of charm of an older scientist, stood at the centre of the lecture hall, flanked by a table covered in a plastic tarp. He’d taught Viktor since his entry into undergraduate Evolutionary Biology, and was clearly high on a power trip after a recent sponsor for his course. His high-pitched voice, worn with apparent age, rang through the lecture hall as he described the project. 

“Future scientists, world-changers and inspired youngins’, I introduce to you: mystery bacteria!” Using more force than probably necessary, he tore the shiny tarp off of the lengthy table that sat in the centre of the room to reveal about 60 petri dishes containing cultures of bacteria that varied in colour, shape, and density. Some of them looked easily identifiable, others did not. A few contained bacteria that were pitch dark, one with tentacle-looking tendrils that had slid their way up the sides of the dish and clung to the top, almost in an attempt to burst out. 

Viktor bristled. Already unhappy with the work to come. 

“You researchers will conduct a series of tests on your own plate of bacteria, narrowing down the potential answers as to what it is, as the semester continues. I will not be giving you a list of bacteria, as you are all advanced enough in this area, I’m sure, to have a good idea of what’s here.”

It shouldn’t be too difficult for the students. Viktor had done his fair share of microbiology in undergrad, as was necessary, and assisting this biochem course was an easy way for him to maintain his general knowledge in the area. 

Heimerdinger's next words cut through the hall sharply. 

“However, I must warn you. Some of these cultures are pathogenic and unsafe for general populations. Handle each of your plates with the utmost care, or suffer the consequences. The board has allowed me to trial this experiment with this class, so safety regulations are basic. We have covered for all foreseeable emergencies, but be careful.” The firmness in the professor’s gaze suggested no jest within his words. 

Viktor was, to say the least, shocked. He was sure of his own skills in sterilisation and containment of a dangerous substance, but leaving the wellbeing of the entire classroom to a group of privileged kids who were born with people to clean up after them… Well… it wasn’t Heimerdinger’s best idea. 

Even the most weathered scientists could find it difficult to achieve complete lab safety when dealing with certain pathogens. And not to mention… These were mystery bacteria. No one had any idea what they were dealing with. It was a naive proposal on Himerdinger’s part, and something more sinister on the School Board’s part. How could they ever allow something so unregulated to occur within their pristine walls, amongst their beloved students? Undoubtedly, if there was a singular physicist in the room, the idea would be scrapped entirely. Biologists were disposable. Anyone that Piltover's most powerful family deemed unnecessary was disposable. International students were disposable. International people were disposable. 

Through Viktor’s concerned spiral, the students in the audience had stood up to make their way to the front of the room and choose their bacteria. He looked at the table. Only a few dishes remained, some magenta coloured spore, some ordinary looking cultures, and the black creature, trying to work its way out of the dish colony by encroaching colony. 

Viktor stood, urgently making his way over to try and manage the poor safety protocols and grabby hands of undergraduates. A beige, slightly fuzzy culture that seemed almost meek in comparison to the stark inkiness of the beast next to it sat innocently. Another student managed to swipe it just in time, as a tall, blue haired girl approached the table. 

She looked sick to her stomach. A pang of worry, then guilt flashed within Viktor, and before he knew what he was doing, he patted her shoulder sympathetically. 

“It will be, eh, alright. If you need help, let me know. I’ve worked with some nasty stuff before, so I know lab safety quite well.” Viktor had never subscribed to the competitive nature of the world around him. It was intense in Piltover, yes, but it was also ever-present within Zaun. In a society where the weak truly don’t survive, the populace must evolve their weaknesses out before the pressures of their environment overtake them. Survival of the fittest, as it were. 

Mildly surprised, but mostly put off by the darkness of her petri dish, the girl nodded at Viktor appreciatively. “Will do.” 

Again, Viktor was surprised by the familiar lilt of a foreign accent. It was slightly different than the other woman he’d run into earlier in the week, but rang with a similar curve and inflection. It was a very pleasant accent. He nodded again at her as she turned to go back to her seat, holding the dish out as far away from her as possible without tipping the thing over or moving it too extremely. 

He looked down at the deserted table. Perhaps he should have offered a way out of the project, maybe he could convince Heimerdinger of his own insanity. In reality, he had no reason to want to do that. Plus, she would have probably clocked his pity from a mile away, but perhaps it wouldn’t have hurt to offer. Oh well. 

Once class had ended, and they’d all piled their mystery bacteria into a few incubators, Viktor’s full day of assisting teachers was finally over. Getting all of the excitement out of the way early in the week and leaving himself the rest to work and enjoy himself was Viktor's own personal heaven and hell. On one hand, it gave him an obscene amount of time to develop his projects and work on things, but it also meant that by the time Monday was over, the bones all the way from his ankle stretching up to his shoulders were aching. 

The grinding of his joints caused his teeth to clench and unclench, providing a temporary distraction that would likely cause his jaw to be sore tomorrow. He didn’t care. Whatever worked right now was the most important. He barely made it to the suite hall after the three hour lab, and basically fell into the elevator as the sun set through the windows beside the entrance doors. 

He yanked the door open, clambering forward through the small foyer and approaching the plush sectional in the sitting area. Once he sat down and dropped his cane to the floor with a surprisingly loud thud, he exhaled slowly. 

Viktor raised his arms and shifted his position on the couch so he could lay back, completely flattening his spine against the soft cushions beneath him. The tension that crowded between his vertebrae and hips settled into a constant throbbing. It was getting worse. Fast. 

Maybe it’s finally time I give in. Viktor turned and unclasped his book bag, flopped carelessly against the couch in his eagerness to get the pressure off his joints. Grateful that the sun had just about set, revealing the sliver of a moon and a few stars, he no longer had to shield his eyes from prying light, he sighed. He pulled out his dented, scratched computer and quickly typed ‘Back brace simple’ into the browser. 

He scrolled for the better half of an hour before his brain began to venture elsewhere, slender fingers still mindlessly scrolling through image after image. He gave up on his search after visions of shiny metal and leather were all he could see. It was too much too soon. The thought of spending the rest of his life trapped between more and more metal until he became, well, something not entirely human anymore, tugged at the existential crisis in the back of his mind that he had been avoiding for a long time. 

He would need one eventually, but for now he could put it off as much as possible. He pushed the computer off of his lap and dozed, though restlessly. Images of grey, suffocating metal and glass-melting heat buried him under a thick layer of smog, only to pull him out again, having transformed into a mass of clicking pistons and jerking gears that would have screamed in agony if it had a mouth. 

Viktor tried to relax the muscles in his face, but there was a lead ball forming in his chest that sank into his empty stomach and rolled around heavily on top of Viktor’s heart. It was overwhelming, combined with the actual physical pain that flooded his entire spinal column and tensed his shoulders and cramped his right leg and the inherent stress diving headfirst into schoolwork. Dangerous, risky schoolwork, for that matter. Things were looking a bit too bleak. The lead in his chest grew thicker, denser. He turned on his side and curled his legs up, scrubbing his face with his hands and burying his fingers in his thick brown hair. 

He tugged, trying to ground himself in some way, but it only sparked the lingering pain in his jaw that had begun to swell from his earlier clenching. Bolí to. Bolí to. Bolí to. His mother’s voice echoed in his head, the only other person he knew who spoke his language. She had always spoken softly, Viktor remembers, but time stretched out, leaving her and the memory of her further away and more blurry. Anything that Viktor thought in his mother tongue rang out in her voice. 

Feeling the onset of an absolutely horrific night ahead, Viktor tried to control his breathing. He could easily get lost in thought, which was good only for passing time when supervising particularly boring classes. When he was upset, he had the tendency to spiral. It was easy for him, he spent so much time thinking as it was, so why would it be any different when he was upset? 

In, and out. In, hold, and out. In, hold, and out. In, hold… His vision began to swim and his lungs strained. He didn’t know what he was doing. He just wanted to stop hurting so bad. The comfort of his fully inflated lungs supporting his spine was too great to resist. It provided more relief than stretching or laying flat, so it was something. He remembered the physical therapist warning him very adamantly against it, but… Viktor was a scientist. He knew what he was doing. 

The door opened. Viktor released the breath sharply, coughing a bit at the rough suddenness. He propped his head up to see who could possibly be intruding on his precious overwhelmed spiral time. Oh right. This asshole. 

Jayce waltzed through the doorway confidently, a bit too confidently. Viktor tried to sniff the air for the telltale signs of liquor. Jacye’s neck was craned in a very exaggerated way behind him, and Viktor realised there was someone else coming in. 

A sleek shape filed in behind Jayce, much less buzzed and infinitely more calculated, when she rounded the large man and faced into the apartment. Right at Viktor. 

It took a pause for them to recognize each other, Viktor distracted by pain and her by whatever they’d chugged before this. When the startling reality set in, Viktor sat up all the way in his seat. He opened his mouth but she was faster. 

“You!” She pointed a long finger at him, the tip of her nail embellished with gold varnish. Her rings sparkled in the dim lighting of the living room lamp. 

“What are you doing here? Looking for more damsels to save? Or to indebt?”  Viktor snapped back. Disdain bubbled up and overflowed out of his mouth and into his words. 

“We both know that was a joke. Or are you even slower than I thought?” Her intimidatingly perfect accent slurred her words ever so slightly, but it was clear that she had ingested enough liquid courage to even dare talking to a peer in such a way. 

Viktor inhaled sharply and pointed back at her, loading and aiming a cannon of absolute intent to hurt. This time, Jayce was faster. 

“Excuse me? What the hell is happening? Have you guys met before?” He stepped between them and faced Viktor, throwing his arms out in question. His shoulders were tensed and he bristled. 

“Babe, that’s the guy I was telling you about! From the other day?” 

Viktor could practically see the poorly-oiled gears in Jayce’s head turn at this, muddled with an alcohol that must have been strong considering the smell that drenched their persons. 

“I don’t… the one from move-in day? Are you sure?” Jayce glanced doubtfully at Viktor and then back. The woman nodded, cowries and golden charms clinking in her locs, which she had decided to wear down. “The guy who was hitting on you?” 

Viktor balked. What? He wasn’t sure he heard correctly, but a glance to the now nodding woman who had schooled her conniving face into a pout confirmed it. 

Jayce turned back around reproachfully. It was Viktor’s turn to cut him off. 

“Don’t even pretend like that’s what was happening. You spoiled rich kids think everyone is in love with you, when in fact, if you ever had the chance to meet a real person, you would be disregarded immediately. You have your looks and money alone, but when it comes to things like, oh, I don’t know, being a person, you have no idea where to start.” Viktor realised he was standing only when the dullness of the cramping in his legs flared into a sharp burn. He didn’t sit back down. “You insulted me outright, intentional or not, and I was trying to get my belongings back without falling victim to Piltover’s exploitative elite — like most of the people you deem unworthy.” Luckily, his voice didn’t betray the growing anxiety in his mind. Viktor wasn’t one to back down from an argument, but it was better to avoid arguments with his privileged peers as much as he could. 

The woman snorted, and she leaned into Jayce, head weaving up above his shoulder as her arms snaked across his broad shoulders from behind. She was using Jayce as a human shield, clear as day. “You Zaunites cannot fathom that you create problems amongst yourselves. You find comfort in misery and when something blows up, you can always blame it on us ‘Pilties’ without taking any actual responsibility for your archaic society. I’m so deeply sorry that Piltover is actually dedicated to progress and not senseless anarchy, but you’ve got to grow up someday and realise that we’re trying to help.” 

Viktor was speechless. How was it possible for someone to be so irrevocably out of touch with reality? No doubt, she was a member of one of the most powerful families in Piltover. No adult even remotely outside of the most elite circles of Piltover’s richest could make such bold claims so confidently. Another spark of recognition fed the growing embers in Viktor’s mind. 

“You’re a Medarda.” Viktor stated it so plainly, so cooly, and with so much loathing that she almost didn’t pick up on it, beginning to argue before stepping back. 

“It is clear that your mother has done well in raising you to be exactly who she wants you to be.” Viktor utilised the smattering of knowledge he’d had on the family, who were also the university’s largest donor, to jab at the woman — Mel, he remembered. Her mother, Ambessa, was a dedicated politician who was extremely in favour of international aggression and had a distinctive ‘brute force’ policy. The companies she endorsed, all weaponry and mass armament, were one of the most popular internships for the university students post-grad. Her claws were fixed tightly around every industry in Piltover. 

And here was her daughter, standing, mouth agape, in the most highly coveted suite on campus with her — she’d called him “babe” — boyfriend, Jayce Talis.

A flash of shock flickered across Mel’s otherwise carefully crafted facade, but was gone in an instant. Even Jayce turned quickly to put a comforting arm around her shoulders. Viktor wondered if he’d struck a particular chord. It surprised him because he’d thought, though rather immaturely, that all Piltie prodigies grew up with families that reflected the image of perfection. Her family did reflect the image of perfection. 

Maybe that’s all it was, a reflection. 

Viktor almost felt guilty.

 She cleared her throat weakly and stepped back. With a cracking voice, betraying the clear upset in her chest, she shook her head. “You don’t know my mother.” 

Jayce moved his arm, embedded uncomfortably in the centre of this interaction and trying desperately to contribute something inoffensive whilst speechless himself. 

Viktor breathed. The fiery, stubborn anger that roared between them had been instantly snuffed out. The air felt stale and there was suddenly too little space between the entangled couple and himself. Viktor didn’t feel guilty, but he felt something. Deeply uncomfortable, yes, but something else as well. He wanted to get out of there as soon as possible. 

“You’re right. Enjoy your night.” He managed, and bent over painfully to collect the tipped over computer along with the neglected corduroy book back on the floor. He walked over to his door slowly, cane clicking on the laminate, uncomfortable with the openness of the suite and hyper aware that two pairs of eyes watched him with indiscernible emotion. 

Before he could shut the door behind him, Jayce spoke, voice just below his typical ostentatious volume. “Yeah, you too.” He started to say something much more quietly to Mel and led her away toward his own room. 

Viktor closed the door gently and released a breath. He didn’t feel like he was entirely in the wrong. She was out of line, and insensitive, and arrogant and insulting, yes, but something in Viktor’s chest had been caught. He’d definitely overstepped. He’d allowed his preconceived notion of her family to dictate his judgement of her, before actually knowing anything about her. It wasn’t her fault she’d never left the gates of Piltover. Okay, yes, technically she was a fully developed adult, or almost fully developed, and she did attend a scientifically focused University majoring in political science, of all things, but it still wasn’t really her fault. 

As with everything else, Ambessa had probably sunken her claws into Mel’s life, probably more intrusive than with anything else. Truthfully, Viktor didn’t really know anything about their family, he’d just gathered shallow information from the occasional news story or magazine cover. 

The plasticity of Piltover was getting to him. He didn’t want to mull over it for too long, and she had also said some extremely tasteless things that even someone as sheltered as her knew to be ridiculous, but he was himself. Spiral may as well have been his middle name. 

Anticipating this, though, after living with it for the better part of 26 years, he decided to just take a couple of sleeping pills  prescribed for when the chronic insomnia got a little too chronic. 

_______________________

Viktor woke up feeling like shit, unsurprisingly. Eyes nearly crusted shut and thick red indents from the press of his bedsheets framed the thin press of his scowl. As always, his leg ached. Today’s pain was highly specific, a result of the hours he’d spent tossing and turning, which always happened when Viktor was bothered. 

It started with a small twinge in his knee, where the disease had taken root all those years ago, and crept up the top of his thigh and sliced into his hip. It was comparable to taking a sledgehammer to the top of his knee, directly in line with his femur.

Viktor would have preferred the sledgehammer. Functioning was going to be difficult today. He ran a quick shower, noting the lack of a bench in the bathroom despite all the times he’d poked and prodded with the Student Living Department. 

They would have given Jayce a bench, if he asked. Mel wouldn’t even have to ask.  

Viktor shook his head. There was really no point in pondering about hypotheticals. He was a deep thinker, no doubt about it, but he liked to prioritize thoughts that led somewhere. Productive thoughts, if that was even a thing. Maybe it was the scientist in him.  

He ran a quick shower, partially to wash away the buildup from yesterday’s strenuous activity, and partially to try and clear away the thick fog that had clouded his head and taken hold behind his eyes for the past few days. 

It had been an…interesting couple of days. Already, Viktor had managed to make an absolutely wonderful first impression on his roommate, then an even better second one. He’d pissed off Mel Medarda enough to engage in an argument whilst drunk and who’d probably been expecting to come home and spend time with her beloved boyfriend. Heimerdinger’s rigorous syllabus was stressing him out more than the wiley professor usually did, and now Viktor was on the verge of needing another brace.  He wasn’t sure he’d survive the school year. 

Mulling over Heimerdinger again, Viktor remembered that he’d agreed to meet with the tall blue haired girl — Caitlyn, he thought — from Biochem at the campus coffee shop that day, around 11:00. 

Glancing at the vintage analog alarm clock perched on his bedside table that read 10:30, Viktor decided he’d better hurry up and get ready to leave. He pulled a chestnut-coloured ribbed knit sweater over the collared white undershirt that draped over his slender shoulders, and stepped into a pair of grey slacks. He chose a thin belt that matched the colour of his shirt, threading it through the loops on the stitched waistband and tucking his shirt in neatly. 

After a final run of his fingers through his messy hair, he resigned to rock the ‘bedhead chic’ sort of douchebag look. 

Viktor slipped out of the apartment, not noticing the empty silence that reverberated when he opened and shut the door, nor wondering where his roommate could have gone. 

He walked the sunlit sidewalks that wove and darted about the campus, slowly taking in the feeling of being in the shade of the tall buildings that populated the central area of the campus. The sun was shining, but there was a gentle breeze that reminded the swaying grass of the cooler weather ahead. It ruffled each blade, and every so often a leaf would float down from one of the tall trees that were scattered across the fields. 

It was definitely some of the best weather Viktor had seen all summer. He wasn’t particularly a fan of the stifling heat that the concrete jungle that was Piltover brought in during the warm months, but Viktor’s joints weren’t as tense as they would be in the equally harsh winter, so he didn’t complain too much. 

Viktor let his mind wander as he rounded a wide corner and pushed the door to the cafe open. His mind was still elsewhere when he placed his corduroy bag onto an empty table with a chair on each side, and decided to order something. He was a bit early, as he liked to be. 

His eyes scanned the menus that hung above the register, but he already knew what he’d be ordering. Just in case there was a new pastry or salad that piqued his interest, though, his eyes remained on the flamboyant chalk that described the current ‘house special’. 

“I would like the, eh, white mocha with caramel on the top, please.” He rattled off his once-embarrassing coffee order that he had grown too used to and didn’t bother him anymore. He squinted at the chalkboards again. “And the, eh,” he leaned forward, “chocolate croissant. Please.” 

When Viktor’s train of thought finally cleared, his heart leapt out of his chest as his eyes landed on the person taking his order. Oh, fuck. 

Jayce. Standing, one eyebrow raised and mouth pulled into a disbelieving smirk, arms crossed over his notably broad chest. A blue apron that looked more like a loincloth was tied tightly across his thick waist and a marker was tucked above his ear, blanketed by thick locks of hair. 

 Viktor snapped his jaw shut. “I, uh, didn’t see you there.” His heart raced at the entirely unexpected encounter as he racked his brain for something, anything, to say in this situation. “Uhm, thank you.”

Jayce was laughing, but not just the polite chuckle that grated against Viktor when they’d first met, this was a cackle. His head was thrown back and his eyes shut and he nearly doubled over, trying and failing to form a coherent sentence. 

“You- you should see your face, dude, it’s like you’ve seen a ghost. More so than usual, actually! And, wow, dude a white mocha? Totally out of left field. Oh, wow, I think that just made my day.” 

Viktor grimaced, horrified, at Jayce’s very loud outburst, and stepped back. Heat flushed his face and burned at the tips of his ears. He didn’t know why he felt the need to defend himself, but something about the way this man-child was chortling at his completely normal and maybe just a little bit out-of-the-blue coffee order rubbed him the wrong way. “I just—I enjoy sweeter things! Not that it’s any of your business, just take my damned order, for the love of—!” Viktor glanced around, somewhat relieved that Caitlyn seemed to be running late and therefore sparing him of even more witnesses to this whole mortifying ordeal. Why does Jayce even work here? Viktor bristled and walked back to his seat as quickly as he could, throwing his head back to make sure Jayce was actually doing, you know, his job. If Viktor had to go throughthat, he at least deserved to get his goddamned order. 

He huffed as he sat back into his seat. Thankfully, the nosey onlookers had turned back to their own work, occupied, as usual, with mountains of school work. 

The jingle of the door alerted Viktor of Caitlyn’s arrival, about 5 minutes late, and he waved her over. 

“I’ve already ordered, I hope you don’t mind.” He stated politely, hoping to get pleasantries out of the way as soon as possible so they could actually begin working on their assignments. 

She shook her head. “No problem at all, I’m not actually very hungry in the mornings, anyway. Shall we get started?” 

Viktor nodded appreciatively. They both opened their computers, Caitlyn’s significantly sleeker and bearing the logo of the most expensive brand in Piltover at the moment. It was clearly very new. Internally, Viktor rolled his eyes at the typical needless spending of Piltover habitants, and rubbed his thumb along the side of his own 5-year-old absolute brick of a computer. 

They each described the tests they intended to carry out on their bacterial cultures, and Viktor remembered the blackened monster that Heimerdinger had grown in the palms of this poor girl’s hands. As it turned out, she was an undergraduate student in the PoliSci programme, like Mel, but with a focus on criminology and forensics. When questioned about why she didn’t just major in forensics, she’d mentioned something about the ‘politics of justice’ that had Viktor quirking an eyebrow. At least one of the Pilties at this school was trying to educate themself. Maybe she was from one of Piltover’s more humble families, her presence didn’t really scream ultra-brat, but she was clearly financially comfortable enough to afford something like the latest computer model for back to school.  

Viktor also learned that because she was an undergrad, and this was her first year taking Biochem, she truly had no idea what she was doing. The poor girl had decided that she wanted to get her chemistry credits out of the way as soon as possible, and had been just unlucky enough to join the same year an anonymous sponsor decided to make a ‘fun addition’ to the course. Viktor couldn’t help but feel bad. 

“Well,” he offered, “if you need it, I could help you with your lab report. Obviously, I’m not the type to give the answer straight away, but I would be happy to help anywhere along the way. And someone has to make sure that that evil petri dish is sterilised correctly. Not that I’m underestimating you, of course.” Viktor was pretty sure Caitlyn wasn’t the sensitive Piltie type, but it was better safe than sorry.

She let out a small, somewhat self-deprecating chuckle, and shook her head again. “No, no, that assumption would be very adequate, actually. And, if you have time, you could oversee my lab hours? It would really help me understand this class…and maybe make sure that I don’t accidentally infect the entire class with some mysterious and definitely evil bacteria.”

Viktor’s mouth turned up at the corners, slightly. He appreciated someone who could be self aware, who didn’t take themself too seriously. Viktor was almost completely sure that Caitlyn had come from a humble family, maybe even an upper middle class one, as her demeanor completely betrayed the typical image of the Piltover elite. He nodded and opened his weekly schedule on his desktop, moving to read out its availability to Caitlyn, when a tray was placed onto their table. A familiar chuckle escaped the server’s mouth, thankfully not preceding some snarky comment. 

Viktor wasn’t planning on looking up, but his head shot up involuntarily when Caitlyn let out an unexpected yelp. Clear of any immediate dangers, Viktor’s eyes focused on the girl, who was loudly pushing out her chair and scrambling to reach her arms around Jayce’s shoulders. 

“Oh, Jayce! I can’t believe I haven’t seen you yet! I’ve been so busy with school, and, wow! How was your summer? I haven’t seen you since my mother’s last ball, oh, your hair has grown out!” Caitlyn practically bounced up and down on the balls of her feet, fussing with Jayce’s messy locks of hair as his face split into a grin that was as bright as it was genuine. 

She gasped and turned around suddenly, accent bent around her excitement as she gestured to Viktor. “This is Viktor, he’s a TA. The one who’s helping me with the microbiology thing!” 

Jayce turned his head, smile deepening into a smug little smirk, as he reached out to shake his hand. “It seems you’ve made quite an impression on my friends.” 

Viktor’s eyes narrowed and he reached up to push Jayce’s outstretched hand out of the way. He stayed sitting. “Caitlyn, I regret to inform you, but Jayce is my roommate. We have… met… already.” Viktor restrained, trying to not allow his bias against Jayce show. If Caitlyn decided she liked this self-righteous, rich, spoiled child, then so be it. Clearly there was something appealing in there. 

Caitlyn’s eyebrows furrowed and she tilted her head, eyes darting to the side as she remembered Viktor’s slightly less-than-frustrated rant about the ignorance of students at the university, pointing out his own roommate as a shining example. “I see… Well, Jayce, it’s so good to see you again. I was beginning to think your mother had finally realised what a troublemaker you are and shipped you off to one of the forges!” She chuckled, breaking the somewhat awkward tension that hung above the small table. 

It was becoming more and more clear that Viktor truly knew nothing about the man. There were too many things that Caitlyn had mentioned to go over before Jayce spoke again. 

“Me, the bad role model? Tell that to your illegal underground boxer girlfriend Miss Kiramman.” Again, Viktor was saddled with a truckload of information on the person standing in front of him, now sheepishly pushing at Jayce’s shoulder. 

“It’s not illegal underground boxing, it’s just—like—well it’s not your business, anyway!” She retorted, ears tinted red and getting redder by the second. 

Viktor’s mind was reeling. Kiramman? As in, like, Kiramman Hall Kiramman? Viktor’s rich-radar was definitely broken. This laid-back, blue haired politically-inclined girl was a Kiramman? Uppermost circles of Piltover Kiramman? 

Viktor realised he was staring, mouth slightly agape, when the both glanced back over at him expectantly after a slight pause. 

“Wh—Did you—did you say something?” Viktor managed. 

“I was just wondering when you two became friends.” Jayce eyed Viktor slightly suspiciously, and Viktor wasn’t sure if he was joking or not. “You don’t seem…to have compatible… beliefs.” 

Caitlyn frowned. “What does that mean?” Her brows furrowed and she leaned back. “That’s not even— that doesn’t make sense!” She cleared her throat and inhaled deeply, turning to sit back down in her seat across from Viktor. “We can catch up later. Viktor and I have a lot to talk about, anyways.” 

Jayce’s shoulders tensed. Viktor must have missed something in Caitlyn’s tone, still playing catch up with the information that had just been piled on him, but he could feel a thick, almost suffocating tension between the two when Jayce turned to go back behind the counter. 

 He looked at Caitlyn weakly, trying to avoid incurring any more of her unspoken messages, but it seemed that she was tentative herself. 

“I—”

“You—” 

They both tried to fill the silence, but Viktor backed off immediately to allow Caitlyn some sort of explanation. He wanted to know what the hell that was. 

She sighed. “I don’t usually like to lead with the fact that I’m a Kiramman.” Oh, right. Fourth richest family in Piltover. Second highest university donor. Of course. “There’s a lot of stigma around our name, and I realise there is a sort of—well, stereotype, that comes with it. I hope I haven’t upset you, I just prefer meeting people as a sort of, well, person myself. If that makes sense?” 

She was fairly articulate, and recited the sentiment as if she’d done it many times before. Something about her seemed genuine, though. She was upfront, and unafraid to be emotional or passionate — even in a public space — and every aspect of her directly contradicted everything Viktor had assumed about who the Kirammans were. 

Well, his assumptions had been about her parents. Those assumptions might still ring true, he did hear a mention of a summer “ball” which seemed, at least to him, absolutely ridiculous and completely in line with his expectations of Piltover families. Caitlyn didn’t really fit the image of her parents, though, not by a long shot. Viktor found himself to be rather impressed. 

“I suppose I know what you mean. I’m basically a walking, talking version of Piltover’s worst fear.”

“...Zaun?”

Viktor hesitated, because yes Piltover was afraid of Zaun and the general wild lawlessness of the city, but it was also so much deeper than that. Piltover was afraid of imperfection, of the freedom of nature. Viktor liked to think he embodied those traits well.  

He nodded anyway. He wasn’t surprised she’d deduced that he was a Zaunite, she was quick and very much cut out for her area of study. She could be a great detective, one day. An actual, genuine, good detective. 

She smirked. “You’re witty.” Viktor quirked an eyebrow, but she continued. “It’s refreshing. I mean it. Jayce has been spending a little too much time with…the adults of this city this summer, you’ll have to forgive him.” Vikotr resisted pointing out that Jayce was also, surprising as it was, an adult in this city. 

“We’ll see. Let’s be quick and reserve some time slots, shall we?” 

Caitlyn smiled and their conversation flowed easily into the typical scientific sort of jargon that haunted every corner of the university. He learned that she also enjoyed taking obscure, sort of comical courses — History of Textiles, for example — that didn’t have to do with her major, as a nice break from the general monotony. She did indeed have a girlfriend, Violet, who “totally did not partake in anything illegal, if you were wondering,” and brought out a shimmer in Caitlyn’s eyes when she talked about her. 

She also had a good relationship with her family, but chose to openly oppose a lot of her mother’s campaigns, causing an understandable amount of tension within her house. She had been to Zaun twice, and mentioned a small dive that Viktor himself had been to as her favourite part of the trips. Violet was a Zaunite, in fact. 

Something in Viktor felt light for the first time since starting school again. The ease in their conversation allowed Viktor’s social defenses to relax and words came much easier. He mentioned transferring to Piltover University after high school as an international student, his love for biology, and his current ambitions in developing mobility aids that were unobtrusive and, most importantly, accessible for those who needed it. 

She nodded and smiled along when he explained his studies, and laughed when he took jabs and remarked during his stories. A perfect conversationalist, one of Piltover’s better effects on its children. 

Before he knew it, three hours had passed. His back was stiffening against the hardwood of the chair under him, and he could tell Caitlyn was growing restless as she tapped her foot and stretched her legs out under the table. 

He knew the look of an overworked undergraduate student too well. “Why don’t we take a break? Our lab hours are booked for tomorrow, anyway, so you’ll have plenty of time to actually make progress on this thing.”

She nodded gratefully, but something flashed in her eyes. She opened her mouth, closed it, and opened it again, raising her hand in a proposition. “Why don’t you come out with us tonight? I’ve enjoyed talking to you, I know Violet would love to meet another Zaunite.” 

She spoke quickly, leading Viktor to believe there was something she wasn’t telling him. “You, Violet, and who else?” 

She cringed before reaching forward and taking his wrists in her well-manicured hands. “Okay, me and Vi and Jayce. And Mel. But that’s all! I swear it’ll be fun, they just seem a little intimidating—but I promise you’ll have fun!” 

Viktor was already shaking his head, the thought of facing Mel again so soon after their awkward interaction seemed absolutely awful, but the prospect of finally meeting another Zaunite was tugging at him. He felt Jayce’s weighty gaze from across the room, which had been looming since he left their table. He looked up at Caitlyn. 

“I, eh—I’m not sure…I would love to meet Violet, and I don’t want to let you down, but—” 

Her eyebrows pinched in the middle ever so slightly, and Viktor could feel the disappointment bubbling up into her expression. Something gave in his chest. 

He sighed. “I will…come with you. But I won’t be drinking or partying or—” 

Caitlyn squealed, deaf to Viktor’s complaints as she released his wrists to send a quick message on her phone. 

“You won’t regret it, Viktor!” 

He wanted to believe her.