The air was warm in the small dorm, a cocoon of familiarity nestled in Piltover, the City of Progress. It was an afternoon filled with the rhythmic lullaby of raindrops tapping against the sprawling window—each patter a gentle reminder of the world outside, where life bustled on regardless of the weather. You and Viktor lay propped up against the headboard of his bed, surrounded by a sea of scattered notes, , and intricate sketches that chronicled your latest scientific endeavors.

Viktor glanced at you as you squinted at the page, your brows furrowed in concentration. His amber eyes reflected a flicker of appreciation for your determination, even as he languidly drummed his fingers against the edge of the scattered paper.

"… Viktor? How do you even say this word…” you mumbled, your voice barely louder than a whisper, tiredness creeping in as your tired mind tried to make sense of the scientific terminology sprawled before you.

His gaze flickered to the paper, brow slightly raised in thought, and he paused for a moment. “... Thermodynamics…”

His voice was soft, almost reverent, as though the word itself held a weight that demanded respect. Thunder rumbled in the distance, a dark, rolling reassurance that enveloped the room like a warm blanket, much like the one you lazily cocooned yourself in. You found comfort in these moments, in the quietude that occasionally blurred the lines between academia and companionship—the very essence of what the two of you had shared for some time now. The rain, the low rumbles of thunder, the strikes of lighting that lit up the room ever so often. It was peaceful, nerveless.