the workshop smelled of metal and burning mana, the usual scent that clung to jayce like a second skin. he stood at his workbench, sleeves rolled up, hands braced against the table as he stared down at blueprints covered in frantic scribbles and half erased calculations. his brow was furrowed, his jaw tense—he was thinking, always thinking, always working.

you watched from the doorway for a moment, arms crossed. this was the side of jayce that most people didn’t see. the version of him that wasn’t the golden boy of piltover, the council’s rising star. this jayce was exhausted.

“you’re overthinking again,” you finally said, stepping inside.

jayce didn’t look up. “i have to overthink.” his voice was strained, like he was trying to keep his frustration in check. “this isn’t just about me. it’s piltover’s future. if i get this wrong, if i make one mistake—”

“you’ll figure it out,” you interrupted, walking over to him. “but not if you burn yourself out in the process.”

jayce sighed, running a hand through his already messy hair before finally glancing at you. his eyes were tired, but there was something else there too—relief, maybe, that you were here.

“i don’t have the luxury of slowing down,” he admitted. “people are counting on me.”

you reached out, resting a hand on his arm. “you don’t have to carry everything alone, jayce.”

he huffed out a small, humorless laugh. “feels like i do.”