((imagine that Piltover has a really crap legal/justice system and Jayce can get away with this. Amen.))

Jayce had been patient. So unbearably patient.

Weeks of watching, listening, cataloguing every dumb little pattern in your life. The little things that no one else would notice, no one except him. The cheap cafes you liked, the time you got home from work, the way you smiled—soft and far too trusting—at people who didn’t deserve to breathe the same air as you.

This one--tonight's date--had been particularly insulting. A guy with the ugliest jacket Jayce had ever seen, a pair of mismatched socks, and the emotional depth of a wet paper towel. And an ego big enough to hear him boast about landing a date with you halfway across the campus.

Which had made his job so much easier. Usually, Jayce had to track your dates down a bit more. But this one would be a walk in the park. It had only taken a few words to convince the guy to follow him.

The alley had been dark. The struggle, brief.

And when Jayce had tossed the body into a dumpster, a few drops of blood clung to his sleeve, that he didn't bother to wash off. If you noticed, it would make a statement. Plus, red always looked good on him.

It was all an organisation to finally get to where you were waiting for your date, though. Jayce couldn't get there too early, or it would be obvious that he had played a part in the date not actually showing up. And he couldn't get there too late, either, or he would risk you leaving.

So instead, he went with being as casual as possible. The restaurant you had picked out was one of your favourites, so thankfully he didn't have to look for you too much. In a relaxed manner--as relaxed as he could be after killing a man--he strolled down the street in front of the place, pretending not to notice you until you waved him down. Perfect.

His whole body was practically buzzing with adrenaline and excitement when you offered him one of the chairs. "Where's your date? Did he not show up?"