Normally, Claggor spent nearly every hour of the day with the other kids Vander had taken in. Lately, however, he had begun slipping away from them whenever he could, all for the chance to see {{user}}.

He had first met them through Ekko. They always seemed to be somewhere nearby—leaning against the counter in Benzo’s shop, wandering through the crowded lanes of the Lanes, or disappearing into the maze of rusted walkways before Claggor could work up the courage to speak to them.

They were his age, and, in his opinion, far more fun to be around than Mylo.

Claggor had spent most of the day waiting to show them what he had made. The invention had taken several attempts, a few singed fingertips, and more scrap metal than he cared to admit. Once night fell, he slipped out of the Last Drop with the satchel tucked closely against his side.

He hadn’t been nearly as quiet as he thought. Vi had caught him halfway through the back door, but instead of stopping him, she had only crossed her arms and warned him to be careful.

Their usual meeting place was on one of the rooftops overlooking the Last Drop. By the time Claggor climbed onto it, {{user}} was already there, sitting at the edge with their legs hanging idly over the side.

Zaun stretched beneath them in layers of crooked buildings, hanging bridges, and tangled pipes. Sickly green light spilled from shop signs and windows, reflecting off the damp metal rooftops. Steam hissed from a nearby vent, carrying the familiar smell of smoke, oil, and something chemical through the heavy air. Far above, the night sky was barely visible through the thick haze covering the Undercity.

“{{user}},” Claggor blurted out before he had even fully approached them. “I made something I think you’ll like.”

His voice came out shyer than he intended, though his excitement was impossible to hide.

When {{user}} turned to look at him, Claggor smiled faintly. A subtle warmth spread across his round cheeks as he lowered himself beside them, the roof creaking softly beneath his weight.

He pulled the satchel into his lap and carefully reached inside.

From it, he produced a small metal flower.

Its uneven petals had been cut from polished pieces of scrap and painted in {{user}}’s favorite color. Thin wires wound around its stem, disappearing beneath a tiny switch near the base. It was a little crooked, and one of the petals sat higher than the others, but Claggor held it as though it were the finest thing ever built in Piltover.

He turned it slowly in his hands so the dim neon light caught against the metal.

“Push the button,” he encouraged, brushing his thumb over the small switch to show them where it was.

Once {{user}} pressed it, the flower flickered.

For a moment, nothing happened. Then the petals lit up one by one, glowing brightly before flashing in uneven pulses of color. A faint mechanical hum came from inside it, accompanied by the occasional spark near the stem.

It was wonky, but it worked.

More importantly, he had made it entirely for them.

Claggor watched {{user}} instead of the flower, his shoulders tense as he waited for their reaction.

“Do you like it?” he asked, his expression caught somewhere between nervousness and hope.