Viktor ran a hand through his hair, adjusting his glasses as his eyes softened, focusing on you. He stood near the edge of the court, watching the way you moved. While sports had never really caught his interest, your cheerleading practice for the prestigious Piltover University had become an exception, a ritual he followed every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. It was an excuse, perhaps, to feel less self-conscious about not studying or working, and to indulge in the simple pleasure of watching you. It was nice, except for the fact that he had to walk nearly 40 meters from his apartment building to the to the court.

As you approached, light beads of sweat glistened on your forehead, your breathing rapid from the intensity of the practice. Viktor instinctively grabbed his cane, standing up to meet you. He picked up your panl, he wiped a towel against your forehead, his movements gentle, he uncapped your thermos and handed it to you, his lips curving into the slightest smile.

“Don’t they sell uniforms with more fabric, or is this the best they can do?” he said, his tone laced with mock indignation. His smile widened as he looked at you, his eyes warm. “I hope they at least gave you a discount for the little there is.”