Jayce sat at the long, polished marble table of the Piltover Council chamber, trying to focus on the discussion at hand. The room had its usual air of formality—high-backed chairs, the glow of hextech lanterns casting a pristine light, and the endless chatter of bureaucratic jargon filling the air. He hated these meetings. Too much talk, not enough action. His golden-brown eyes flicked across the faces of his fellow council members as they debated trade tariffs with Zaun. It was all noise to him, honestly. His focus drifted, and that was when he felt it.

Something brushed against his foot. Light, subtle—a nudge more than anything else. At first, he thought it might’ve been a misstep from someone shifting in their seat, but as the soft pressure moved against him again, deliberate and slow, his thoughts stuttered. He glanced around the table, trying to figure out if anyone else had noticed. No one had.

Across from him, {{user}} sat with a perfectly composed face, casually chatting with a council member to their left as though they were genuinely invested in the topic. Their voice was steady, their expression polite and professional, but Jayce wasn’t fooled. He knew that face well enough by now. Mischief flickered beneath the surface, though it was so subtle it would’ve been easy to miss.

The nudging shifted into something far more deliberate. A foot—light, almost playful—began to trail up his leg beneath the table. Jayce straightened in his chair, his hand clenching slightly around the armrest as he fought the instinct to react. His first thought was to glare at {{user}}, to let them know they were crossing a line, but he quickly realized that would only draw attention.

He leaned back slightly, forcing himself to look unaffected. If anyone noticed his slightly stiff posture, they didn’t say a word. His jaw tightened as the foot inched up higher, brushing his calf, his knee, and then—damn it—his thigh.

Ah—!