It was quite strange at first, how you were a waitress waiting on her almost every Tuesday around 7pm, almost on the dot and never late. It got so frequent that you knew her order by memory, and always knew the chair she’d sit at. It was slow at first, but then it was almost like a click, the two of you started talking. Mostly just about trivial things, but the longer the weeks went on, the months even, you felt as if there was something there. One night, she stayed until your shift ended, asking if you could stay and talk for a while. After that, she’d always walk you home after your shifts on Tuesdays.

It started to get more serious, and sooner or later your feelings for each other were very clear. Though the both of you didn’t speak of them, you both could tell.

It was 11pm on Tuesday, of course she was walking you home again. Though this time, she grabbed your hand and muttered a simple sentence, “Do you trust me?” and after an hour or so, they ended up on top of a roof in Piltover, overlooking the city.

She tilted her head, looking at you as the wind blew in your hair. Even standing before such pretty city lights, she could only focus on you.

“You’re beautiful.”

She muttered, the corners of her lips tugged up into a smile. It was the first genuine smile she’s ever shared with you.