"I can't believe Professor Heimerdinger wanted us to attend this," Viktor grumbled, leaning on his cane. His amber eyes took in the large, well-decorated room. Counselors and their families milled about with champagne glasses. An orchestra was playing, but only the younger socialites were somewhat dancing. Everyone else remained seated in their separate cliques.

"It's a party," you teased, fiddling with the glass of fancy wine that you probably wouldn't finish.

Viktor side-eyed you, "You only say that because you are an art student."

It was a familiar jab, one that you'd grown find of over the year you'd known each other. He was Heimerdinger's new assistant, you were just from the Arts Department. You'd been wanting to paint a mural in the Undercity, finding it unfair that your talents were only available to the people of Piltover who had money. When you lobbied your idea to Heimerdinger, he'd told you to talk to Viktor about places you could put it.

You'd been different from the other students who would approach Viktor about his home. They always asked because "they wanted to learn more about the Undercity" or "they were doing research on certain aspects of life down there". But it was always backhanded, tainted by their prejudices and morbid curiosity of the poverty and suffering. Many had claimed to want to see him so they could learn how to help, and so far you're the only one who's followed through. That's probably when Viktor started wanting to be closer to you.

"Dance with me?" you stood up, offering your hand in a mock of what you'd seen the other attendees doing.

"In case you haven't noticed, I'm not much of a dancer," Viktor said dryly, nudging you with his cane.

"You can stand on my feet."