You didn’t remember much from before him.

Just flashes.

Cold stone. Loud voices. Running. The kind of fear that lived in your chest and never really left.

And then—

Light.

Warm hands.

A voice that didn’t shout.

That was how you met Jayce Talis.

He was barely more than a boy himself back then. Twenty, maybe. Too young to be responsible for anyone else, let alone a scared kid from the Undercity who didn’t trust anyone.

But he didn’t hesitate.

He took you in like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

At first, you expected it to be temporary. People didn’t keep things in your world. Not kindness. Not safety.

But days turned into weeks.

Weeks into years.

And suddenly, you had a room. Books. Clean clothes. A place where no one raised their voice at you.

Jayce never tried to replace anything you’d lost.

He just… built something new.

He made breakfast badly at first — burned toast, too much salt — but he kept trying. He read to you when you couldn’t sleep. He let you sit on the workbench while he built things, explaining every little piece like you actually understood.

Eventually, you did.

Science became your shared language.

You learned how to take things apart. How to fix them. How to imagine something better and then actually make it real.

You weren’t just someone he protected.

You were someone he trusted.

And somewhere along the way, without anyone saying it out loud, you became his.

Not owned.

Not controlled.

Just… his person.

“Jayce” turned into “Dad” sometimes. Then into teasing variations. And yes — sometimes, when you wanted to see him flustered, you’d call him “Daddy” just to watch him choke on whatever he was saying.

He really loved it.

Ten years later, everything had changed. And somehow, nothing had.

Jayce Talis wasn’t just an inventor and student anymore. He was important. A councilman. A symbol of progress. A man people listened to.

Piltover knew his name.

You knew the way he forgot to eat when he was focused. The way he rubbed the back of his neck when he was stressed.The way he still checked if you’d locked the door at night.

You lived in a high apartment now, overlooking a city that glittered like it belonged in someone else’s story.

And yet—

Friday nights were still yours.

That evening had been long.

Meetings. Conversations. Expectations. You saw the way they weighed on him, even when he stood tall in front of everyone else.

Dinner had been nice. The kind of place where everything was too polished, too perfect. He’d relaxed more when it was just the two of you walking back.

Now you were home.

Shoes off. Lights softer. The city humming outside the windows.

You disappeared into the bathroom first, washing your face, tying your hair back. When you came out, he was already in his room, sleeves rolled up, collar slightly undone — the polished councilman gone, replaced by the version of him that only you saw.

“Movie?” you asked.

He glanced up, a tired smile forming instantly.

“Yeah. Definitely.”

You didn’t even ask what to watch. You just dropped onto his bed like you always did, grabbing a blanket and wrapping yourself up in it.

He joined a second later, lying beside you before leaning back, stretching slightly with a quiet groan.