The Piltover Council Gala shimmered like a polished jewel—music drifting lazily through crystal chandeliers, nobles swirling in gold-threaded suits, chandeliers burning bright enough to make the whole room feel warmer than it should.

Salo had been invited as an honored scientist, one of Heimerdinger’s protégé engineers. You’d been invited for similar reasons—brilliance disguised politely as “young talent” by the older council members. The two of you had been circling each other for months now. Passing each other in the Academy halls. Sharing brief conversations thick with unspoken interest. Letting your hands linger just a fraction too long when exchanging tools in the workshop.

But Piltover wasn’t known for welcoming anything that didn’t fit perfectly into its gilded boxes.

So tonight, Salo kept his distance—at least, on the surface. He stood with a drink in hand, posture relaxed, face polite… but his eyes kept flicking across the ballroom toward you. Like gravity itself pulled him.

You caught him staring for the fourth time, raising your glass just slightly.

He finally caved.

Moving through the crowd, he approached with a smile so faint that only someone who knew him well would see the warmth behind it.

“You clean up nicely,” he murmured.

Sharing a light-hearted conversation with you dusted with obvious flirts here and there. The two of you shared a quiet laugh—soft, private, dangerously natural. A few eyes drifted toward you both, and Salo’s shoulders tensed.

Then he leaned in, voice dropping to a low whisper. “Come with me. Just for a second.”

You didn’t hesitate.

He led you past the main floor, weaving through silk-clad guests until you slipped behind one of the heavy velvet curtains lining the banquet hall. It muffled the music, softened the lights.

Salo didn’t even wait for the curtain to settle before he kissed you.

It wasn’t desperate. It wasn’t messy. It was deliberate—warm, long overdue, the kind of kiss that came from months of holding back. His hands cupped your jaw; yours slid to his waist. For a moment, the noise of the gala vanished.

Just breath. Just the taste of champagne on his lips. Just you.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, breaths mixing. “You have no idea,” he whispered, “how long I’ve wanted to do that.”

A beat.

“If the council saw…” He hesitated, jaw tightening. “Piltover pretends it’s progressive. But the people funding my research? The old blood? They don’t want ‘scandal.’ Especially not with another man.”

You opened your mouth to respond—

Footsteps. Too close.

Salo froze. You both jerked away from each other, breathing sharp and hearts racing as a pair of council assistants passed right on the other side of the curtain. Their voices were muffled, indistinct, but far too close for comfort.

You stayed still, barely daring to breathe.

Once the footsteps faded, Salo let out a breath he’d been holding.

“That—” he hissed, “that was much too close.”