Chapter Text
Piltover is silent at night in a way Zaun never was.
You’re halfway through a book when you hear the soft scrape of metal against stone. Not loud. Careful. As if whoever made the sound knew exactly how much noise they could afford to make.
Your gaze drifts to the balcony.
Another sound. A breath. Then....nothing.
You stand slowly, your heart picking up pace, and cross the room. When you open the balcony gate, it unlocks with a whisper.
She’s already there.
Leaning against the railing like she belongs in the shadows. Older, now with broader shoulders, sharper edges, and confidence worn like armor, her eyes lift the second she sees you.
Sevika.
“You took your time,” she says.
“You broke in,” you reply. “Again.”
She shrugs, then holds something out.
A single rose. Dark red. Petals crumpled slightly, like it’s traveled a long way to get here.
You blink. “That’s... unexpected.”
“Didn’t steal it,” she adds immediately. “Bought it. Fair and square.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
A beat passes. The city hums far below.
You take the rose anyway.
For a moment, neither of you speak. This is how it always is....familiar, but without being named. Close, without being acknowledged. Too many almost-questions left hanging between visits that come and go without warning.
“You look different,” she says finally.
“So do you.”
You lean against the doorframe, studying her. “You could’ve knocked.”
“Could’ve,” she agrees. “Didn’t want guards.”
“Or explanations.”
That earns you a look-sharp, knowing. She knows you dodge things. Always have.
“So,” Sevika says, glancing past you into your room, then back at you. “You gonna invite me in? Or is this another one of those moments where we pretend this doesn’t mean anything?”
The words hang there, not heavy, not light. Just honest.
You don’t answer right away.
Instead, you step aside, just enough to leave the choice open.
Her eyes flicker. Not quite a smile, but not quite surprised either.
“Huh,” she mutters. “Still like that.”
“Like what?”
“Complicated.”
She steps forward, past the threshold, rose petals brushing your sleeve as she passes.
And once again, Piltover and Zaun share the same space. Quietly. Carefully. Like neither of you are ready to say what this really is.
You don’t remember who moves first.
One moment you’re standing near the balcony door, the city humming outside. The next, you’re both sitting on the edge of your bed, close enough that the mattress dips slightly under your combined weights.
Sevika leans back on her arms, eyes scanning the ceiling like she’s cataloguing exits out of habit. You sit cross-legged, rose resting beside you, stem poking into the sheets.
Your fingers shift.
By accident-at least that’s what you tell yourself-they brush against hers.
It’s barely anything. A graze, skin against skin but both of you freeze.
Then, almost at the same time, you both pull back.
You clear your throat. She adjusts her posture. The air goes tight, awkward in a way that feels painfully familiar.
“So,” you say, a little too quickly. “How… have things been?”
Sevika chuckles. “You mean Zaun still being a mess?”
“Fair point.”
She glances at you. “Piltover still pretending it isn’t?”
You smile faintly. “Always.”
That breaks the tension just enough.
She starts talking about jobs, about people you don’t know, about places you definitely shouldn’t ask about. You listen, nodding, filling in with small updates about your life that feel strangely insignificant next to hers.
As she shifts, the fabric of her crop top rides up slightly.
And that’s when you see it.
A dark bruise along her lower abdomen. Not fresh, but not old either. Just visible enough to notice...like it wasn’t meant to be seen.
Your words trail off.
Sevika notices the pause immediately. “What?”
You hesitate. Then, gently, “you’re hurt.”
Her gaze drops. She tugs the fabric down without much urgency.
“It’s nothing.”
“That’s what you said last time,” you reply quietly.
Your gaze lingers where the fabric of her top doesn’t quite hide the bruise.
You don’t mean to say it out loud. It just slips.
“…Was it your old man again?”
The room goes quiet.
Sevika’s head snaps up, eyes sharp. For a second, you think she might stand....might leave. Instead, she exhales slowly through her nose and looks away.
“Don’t,” she says.
You swallow. “Sevika”
“I said DON'T.”
But you’ve already crossed the line, and you know it. You speak anyway, softer this time.
“You don’t have to keep doing this alone. I could tell my family. They have reach, influence. They could”
She laughs. It’s short. Bitter.
“Your family?” she cuts in.
“Yes. They could actually do something.”
She turns fully towardS you now, eyes burning. “Do what, exactly? Lock him up? Toss me somewhere ‘safe’ and call it justice?”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“That’s exactly what it would be.”
You shake your head. “It wouldn’t be charity. It would be helpful.”
Her jaw tightens. “Same thing.”
She stands abruptly, pacing like a wild creature that's been caged. “You think I want to live off of Piltover’s mercy? Be their problem to solve? Their example of how generous they are?”
“That’s not fair.”
“I would rather DIE,” she says quietly, fiercely, “than live as a charity case for the Pilties. For topsiders who don’t even know my name unless it’s on a report!”
The words hit hard.
You stand too, voice low. “I’m not trying to own your life. I just don’t want you hurt.”
For a moment, the anger drains from her face, leaving something raw underneath.
“I know,” she says. “That’s the problem.”
You stand first.
Not abruptly, but just enough to break the weight of the moment. You turn away from her, giving her space, staring at the far wall as you speak.
“At least let me help you fix it up,” you say. “Meds. Proper ones.”
Silence.
Then, behind you, the faintest sound of fabric shifting.
You glance back.
Sevika doesn’t say anything. She just gives a small nod that's barely there. Like she already knows how this ends.
Because no matter what she says, you’re going to do it anyway.
You cross the room and pull a compact medical box from the corner—neat, organized, very Piltover. You set it down on the carpet and sit, folding your legs beneath you.
The room feels smaller like this. Quieter.
Sevika moves closer, stopping just in front of you. She hesitates, then sits too, knees bent, posture guarded but not closed off.
You open the box slowly. Antiseptic. Gauze. Salve.
Your hands pause.
You look up at her. “Can I?”
Your gaze flicks not to her face, but to the place where the bruise hides beneath fabric.
She exhales through her nose. Another nod. This one steadier.
You carefully adjust the fabric just enough to see...nothing more than necessary. The bruise looks painful, but you don’t react. You’ve learned better than that.
“Cold,” you warn quietly, before applying the medicine.
She tenses for half a second and then relaxes..
Neither of you speak.
The tension is there but it isn’t awkward. It’s familiar. Like this is something you’ve done before, even if the setting is different. Your movements are gentle, deliberate while hers are still. Trusting.
“You’re always prepared,” she mutters eventually.
You huff softly. “You’re always hurt.”
That almost earns you a smile.
When you finish, you sit back, giving her space again. You don’t rush. You don’t ask questions you already know the answers to.
Sevika adjusts her clothes and looks at you, not sharp, not guarded.
Just quiet.
“…Thanks,” she says.
It’s enough.
And for once, neither of you feel the need to pretend otherwise.
Pins and needles shoot through your feet, balance slipping. You barely have time to register it before you’re tipping forward
Sevika moves on instinct.
A hand catches your arm. The other steadies your waist. Suddenly you’re close. Too close.
Your momentum stopped you inches from her chest.
Neither of you let go.
You can feel her breath, warm, steady. Her grip is firm but careful, like she’s afraid of holding you too tightly or not tightly enough.
“You good?” she murmurs.
Your heart is pounding far louder than the question deserves.
“Yeah,” you lie.
Your faces are still close. Close enough that the space between you feels loud. Your gaze flicks to her lips before you can stop yourself and she notices.
Everything in you screams to not do it.
Every sensible thought tells you that this will complicate things beyond repair.
But you’ve never been good at ignoring the pull between you.
So you steel yourself and lean in.
It’s quick. Just a small peck. Barely there.
But it lands like a match struck in dry air.
Sevika stills. For a split second, you think you’ve ruined everything.
Then…her grip tightens.
Her other hand comes up to your jaw, firm, certain, like she’s done pretending not to want this. She doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t ask. She kisses you back with an intensity that steals the air from your lungs.
It’s not careful, not gentle.
It’s been waiting. For far too long.
When she finally breaks away, her forehead rests against yours, breathing uneven, eyes dark and searching your face like she’s making sure you’re real.
“…You don’t do things halfway, do you?” she murmurs.
Your heart is hammering. “Neither do you.”
She huffs a quiet laugh, dangerously close to a smile.
And for the first time, the tension between you isn’t unspoken.
It’s undeniable.