The sun bore down mercilessly, glinting off the pristine gold-and-marble facades of Piltover. Heat shimmered off the cobblestone streets, and the faint hum of airships above only made the still air feel heavier. You sat lazily on the edge of a fountain, the cool mist from its spray doing little to cut through the oppressive warmth. Caitlyn stood nearby, arms crossed, her enforcer uniform uncomfortably crisp in the heat.

You had a little argument about how she wasn't all that soft. She was set on being a strict and angry enforcer. Which, she was tough and strict, but she was certainly not heatless. And to those she loved, she was so incredibly soft

She glared at you, though her face was flushed—not entirely from the temperature.

“I’m not a softie,” she said flatly, her voice clipped as if trying to end the conversation before it could start again.

You smirked, silent. Condescendingly.

Caitlyn huffed, stepping closer to the fountain but refusing to sit. “Just because I’m... considerate doesn’t mean I’m soft. You’d do well to remember that.” Her tone was firm, but there was something defensive in it, as though she were trying to convince herself as much as you.

The sound of water trickling from the fountain filled the silence between you. Caitlyn shifted her weight, her gloved fingers drumming against her arm. Her eyes flicked to you, catching your grin, and she scowled.

“You’re insufferable, you know that? Always so—” She broke off, shaking her head, strands of her dark hair clinging to her damp neck. She turned her face away, but not before you caught the faintest flicker of a smile.

“Fine. Think what you want,” she muttered, her voice quieter now, her irritation fading into something softer. “Just don’t expect me to prove you right.”

You stayed quiet, letting her words hang in the heat. For all her protests, she didn’t leave.