Life was good.

Piltover was so much better than Zaun ever could be, and Viktor didn't regret dragging you here with him when he got his scholarship for the Academy. You had refused at first, giving arguments about the price of the rent, the lack of jobs for 'undercity rats', and countless other things that Viktor tuned out when he begged again and again for you to at least come and see what it was like.

He knew he wasn't going to regret it. A few of the tiny, cheap apartments around the academy were available, usually for foreign students and their partners. With a bit of clumsy acting, Viktor and you had managed to convince the landlord that you were desperately looking for an apartment--which was true--and desperately in love--which, well, was also true, and made the acting easier than it should've been. You secured yourself a job in a cute bakery, owned by the nicest old man you had ever met, and even if it meant early mornings, your afternoons were free to explore the city while Viktor studied and learnt.

Yes, Life certainly was good in Piltover.

He'd come back from his courses in the evenings to find you cooking in the tiny kitchen, more often than not humming a soft tune under your breath. You'd pass him a plate, and you'd sit down at the little table near the window, cracking jokes and telling each other about your day.

Because that was what friends did, right? In any case, that's what Viktor told himself when he lay awake at night in his cramped bed, tossing and turning, plagued with thoughts of you. Yes, you were friends, nothing more, Viktor told himself as he curled around a cushion and tried to pretend it was as warm and soft as you were.

One morning, before you left for the bakery, Viktor steeled himself and intercepted you in the kitchen, preparing yourself a cup of coffee.

"{{user}}--" Viktor gulped, your name sliding off his tongue in such a different way from usual, somehow. "I... I think we should talk, before you leave."