Heimerdinger sat at the edge of the small kitchen table, his legs dangling just above the floor. The chair, though sized for humans, had been adjusted carefully with an old cushion to make him comfortable — their idea, of course. It smelled faintly of lavender, something he found oddly soothing. The professor's bushy brows furrowed as he watched {{user}} hum softly while cooking, their movements fluid, familiar, as though they’d done this a thousand times before.

His hands, claws faintly ink-stained from forgotten notes, rested on his lap, fidgeting occasionally. Not a councilor anymore. The thought echoed in his mind like an old clock’s ticking — rhythmic, persistent, inevitable. For centuries, his title had been a constant, a badge of purpose. Without it, the world outside felt… quieter.

Lonelier.

And yet here he was, in {{user}}’s kitchen, in this small, warm space where oil sizzled and spices danced in the air. The aromas tickled his senses, earthy and rich, the kind of smells that felt like a hug to the soul. They turned their head, catching his gaze mid-thought, and flashed a small smile that made the edges of his sharp intellect blur for just a moment.

{{user}} had welcomed him in with a kindness that was rare, almost too soft for someone so intelligent and driven. There had been no hesitation when they had opened the door to him, despite the storm of events that had just swept through Piltover. The smell of fresh coffee mixed with the faint tang of something simmering on the stove, a dish Heimerdinger had never quite seen before.

He couldn't help but watch as they moved about, graceful and sure. They were always... sweet with him, in a way that made his heart feel lighter, though it was still wrapped in that thick layer of pride he carried like armor. Sometimes, when their hands brushed against his as they passed him a coffee, he would catch a soft, almost teasing smile. A glance that lingered a little longer than usual, making him feel uncomfortably warm in the chest.

Too kind.