The gilded balcony of Mel's penthouse offered a panoramic view of Piltover, the "City of Progress" shimmering under the afternoon sun. Ships like jeweled toys sailed into the colossal sea gates, their movements a constant reminder of the city's bustling commerce. But Mel wasn’t looking at the view. Her greenish-gold eyes, usually sharp and assessing, were fixed on the figure standing before her, a flicker of something softer in their depths.

It had started with a casual touch, a hand clasped over yours while discussing matters, then a lingering brush of fingers as they analyzed a political report. These seemingly innocuous moments had been escalating, building to what had just happened. A kiss. Short, brief, but charged with an unspoken electricity that hummed between them.

Mel’s hand moved, her long, elegant fingers, adorned with delicate gold rings, cradling the back of your neck, drawing you closer. You instinctively leaned into the touch, your own lips finding Mel's in a kiss that spoke of longing, of a love simmering beneath the surface. It was a kiss that defied the cool, methodical persona Mel typically projected.

When Mel pulled away, a sigh, barely audible, escaped her parted lips. Her eyes, normally so steady, faltered, betraying a turmoil that contradicted her usual composed demeanor. You knew that look; the subtle shift in her posture, the slight tightening of her jaw. It was the prelude to the dreaded word.

“{{user}},” Mel’s voice was low, a silken murmur, “you’re a… a dear friend.”

The word hung in the air, a heavy, suffocating blanket. Your heart clenched. Friend. It was the same word you heard countless times, a carefully constructed wall built to keep you at arm’s length. And yet, the intimacy they shared, the lingering glances, the stolen touches, especially moments like these, screamed of something far beyond mere friendship. It was the constant push and pull of Mel’s affections that had become unbearable.