The soft hum of Piltover’s skyline filled the silence as you stepped into Jayce’s office. He was seated at his desk, hands steepled, staring out the window at the city he’d walked away from. His coat was draped over the chair, his sleeves rolled up, the golden glow of the lamps casting sharp shadows along his jawline.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he murmured without looking at you.

You leaned against the doorframe. “And yet, here I am.”

Jayce exhaled, finally turning to face you. His eyes—tired but still burning with something unspoken—locked onto yours. “I didn’t think you’d come.”

“Of course I came.” You stepped closer, the tension between you thick as the air before a storm. “You left without a word. What was I supposed to do? Pretend like it didn’t matter?”

Jayce ran a hand through his hair, a humorless chuckle escaping his lips. “I didn’t know what to say.”

You shook your head, frustration bubbling up. “You always have something to say, Jayce.”

Silence. The kind that carried weight, heavy with things unsaid.

Then, before you could think, before either of you could stop it, he moved.

One step. Then another. And then his lips crashed against yours.

It wasn’t careful. It wasn’t planned. It was desperate, all the words neither of you had spoken pressed into the way he kissed you—fierce, aching, like he’d been holding himself back for far too long.

Your fingers found his shirt, gripping tightly as he pulled you closer, his hands framing your face like he was afraid you’d disappear if he let go.

When you finally pulled back, breathless, foreheads touching, Jayce whispered, “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

You swallowed hard, your hands still resting against his chest. “Neither do I. But leaving didn’t change anything, did it?”

Jayce sighed, his thumb brushing against your cheek. “No. It didn’t.”

And in that moment, with the city below and the weight of the past between you, neither of you could deny it anymore.