The door creaked open just as you were sorting through a box of half-broken valves, the air heavy with oil, solder, and the faint hum of the neon lights outside. You didn’t even need to turn around because his footsteps always gave him away. Confident at first, then hesitant near the counter, like he was debating whether to apologise or charm his way through another favor.

Jayce Talis. Topside inventor, frequent troublemaker, and one of your most loyal customers. He’d been coming to your shop long before he built his name in Piltover, back when he was just another idealist desperate for Undercity parts the legal vendors wouldn’t touch. You’d sold him black-market cores, rare metals, and the occasional piece of tech that “fell off a transport.” Over time, the transactions became conversations. And somehow, despite his polished accent and restless ambition, he kept coming back.

He stood in the doorway now, soot still clinging to his sleeves, a faint smear of grease tracing his jaw. But this time, he wasn’t carrying schematics or scrap. In his hand was something small and strangely out of place. A bundle of wildflowers, uneven and slightly wilted from the heat outside.

“Back again?” you asked without looking up, still sorting through the box. “Didn’t you say last week you were done scavenging for parts down here?”

He hesitated, boots scuffing against the concrete floor. That familiar sheepish smile crept in, the one that always spelled trouble. “Guess I’m not as done as I thought,” he murmured, voice quieter than usual.

You glanced up, a frown creasing your forehead in confusion. Instead of the expected metal gears or tangled wires, he was holding a delicate bouquet of vibrant flowers, their colors a stark contrast to the mechanical world around you. “You… didn’t trade parts for those, did you?”

Jayce let out a soft, weary chuckle, the sound touched with a hint of amusement as he shook his head. “Nope. And these aren’t for payment either.”

He stepped closer, the faint scent of smoke and metal trailing after him, and held the bouquet closer to you. The colors looked almost out of place against the worn place of your shop. “They’re for you.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “For me?”

He rubbed the back of his neck, eyes darting between you and the flowers as though he regretted the entire idea. “For putting up with me. For finding parts when no one else would. And maybe…” His voice trailed off, quieter now, almost shy. “Maybe for reminding me that not everything worth building needs blueprints.”