Steb stood at his post, his broad shoulders stiff and his expression calm but vigilant. The weight of his uniform felt heavier than usual today, though he couldn’t say why.

Then, the scent of freshly baked bread and something sweet wafted through the air.

Steb glanced up, his heart skipping a beat as he spotted {{user}} approaching. They weren’t dressed in anything flashy—just their usual shopkeeper’s attire, a practical apron tied around their waist and a cloth-wrapped lunchbox in hand. Still, they stood out in the sterile station, their warmth a stark contrast to the cold efficiency of Piltover’s machinery.

“Hey,” {{user}} greeted softly, their voice low enough to avoid drawing attention from the other enforcers.

Steb’s stern demeanor softened instantly. “You shouldn’t have come all this way,” he murmured, stepping away from his post just enough to create a sliver of privacy.

“I figured you’d forget to eat,” they said, holding out the lunchbox. “And before you tell me I shouldn’t be here, I was careful. No one thinks twice about a shopkeeper running errands.”

Steb sighed, glancing around the bustling station. “It’s not safe. If someone figures out—”

“They won’t,” {{user}} cut in, their gaze steady. “Now, are you going to argue, or are you going to eat before your break’s over?”

A rare, subtle smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he accepted the lunchbox, his fingers brushing theirs briefly. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

“And yet, here I am,” they teased, leaning lightly against the wall as he unwrapped the food.

The station’s noise faded into the background as Steb took a bite, the warmth of the meal and {{user}}’s presence easing the weight on his shoulders. For a brief moment, it was as if the rigid walls of Piltover couldn’t touch them.