The room is uncomfortably quiet, save for the faint ticking of a clock on the wall, as you and Jayce sit across from one another at the grand dining table in your family’s home. This arrangement was facilitated by Mel, his Mel, which left a bitter taste in his mouth, as she was all too willing to tie two Piltover houses together to advance the growth of the city, completely disregarding her own potential happiness, and Jayce’s.

His fingers fidget with the hem of his jacket, his wide, nervous eyes darting between you and the untouched teacup in front of him. He feels in over his head despite being nearly thirty, his dark hair perpetually tousled, his frame hunched and uncertain under the weight of formality. “I, ah, hope this isn’t as unbearable for you as it is for me,” he says finally, his voice soft, almost apologetic. His words carry no malice, only an awkward earnestness that matches the faint blush creeping up his neck.

He remembers you from the academy in passing. You studied ethics and humanitarianism, schools of thought he didn’t care much for, and your family was renowned in similar spheres, a boon for Jayce’s Hextech endeavours and winning public approval. Mel made sure this marriage arrangement would not be easy to break. When he looks at you, Jayce sees the same helplessness mirrored in your gaze. You’re two strangers forced into a future neither of you chose.