Cold. Damp. Pain. Stone.

You became aware of the world around you in flashes, growing more detailed and vivid until you regained conscious.

You were lying on your side, face pressed to damp tiles. A breeze chilled your body. Though it was icy and sharp, it was also a reassurance; you were outside. Not... there.

A sickening chill ran through you as the events of the night came back to you in one horrific wave. The note. The girl. The trap. The indentations on your wrists were a stark reminder that this was real. You'd told her things that you shouldn't have. Things that could endanger lives - lives of people you knew.

You slowly moved yourself to an upright position, wincing as your head sparked with white-hot pain in protest. Pressing a hand to your forehead, you were surprised to feel it damp with perspiration. A suffocating cold had settled deep in your veins, making every movement feel as though you were moving through icy water.

You managed to open your eye a crack, and were met with a stone wall opposite. High above, a chunk of black-blue sky sat between the tops of two buildings. You were in an alleyway. Where, you didn't know, and, though you knew you should, didn't really care. You knew you should be concerned, be frightened, be terrified after what happened, but all you could feel was... numb. It was as if you were watching your life through someone else's eyes.

So you weren't sure what force propelled your legs to move you out the alley, onto the unfamiliar street, and through the city in the early hours of the morning. You had reached that point in fatigue where you were so tired you simply weren't. Your body had kicked into autopilot.

You came to your senses finally when you stopped outside a door. Glancing at the pristine white paint and sky-blue tiles, you felt a sense of recognition. Your brain couldn't be bothered to dredge up a memory for proof, but you felt safe. Some part of you knew instinctively that this was a safe place.

You raised a fist to knock. All you could manage was a light tap against the door - anything else required too much strength that you didn't have. Your legs felt close to buckling, and as you leaned against the wood for support, your hand pressed against the doorbell. A soft ding sounded from the other side.

Your legs threatened to give way, and the floor was looking like a very comfortable place to collapse upon, but something within you told you to keep going, keep standing. Just a few moments, then you'll be safe.

So you stood, gripping weakly onto the last tendrils of your consciousness, until the door opened. A familiar voice broke the quiet.

"Yes? I think you have the wrong-" A sharp gasp. The voice dropped to a strangled whisper. "Y/N."

You looked up. The look in Viktor's eyes held a million emotions: surprise, horror, fear, disbelief.

It was too much. Strength sapped, you broke.

It all came at once, all the pent-up fear and terror, like a ferocious tidal wave. You were drowning. You couldn't breathe. You could practically taste the sour, salty water until you realized you were crying. Great, painful, body-racking sobs.

A hand fell on your shoulder. You flinched. Viktor gazed down at you, a conflicted look upon his face. His mouth worked, but all that came out was another hoarse, "Y/N..."

Slowly, tentatively, the hand on your shoulder snaked across to the other, drawing you close to him. He placed another on your waist. You pressed your face into Viktor's shoulder, feeling your tears seep into the fabric of his shirt. You felt his chin come to rest atop your head. His chest shuddered with light, uneven breaths.

You weren't sure how long the pair of you stayed like that; you shaking and sobbing in his arms, him staring glassy-eyed into the distance. Had it been any other instance, you probably would've been blushing and elated and overthinking it way too much, but at that moment, all you felt was safe. And that was enough.

When at last the tears ceased, leaving your face feeling flushed and dry, you found that Viktor had guided you inside and into the living room. His hand stayed firmly round your shoulders as you sat down on one of the plush couches.

"I didn't know," you said, your voice coming out rough and sore. "I was so stupid. I'm sorry." You felt tears well up again in your throat. "I should've- I tried to- But I told her everything. And I don't know who she is or why she wants to know, but I know she's not good and she knows where I live and-"

You stopped. Viktor had placed a hand on your face, gently tilting your face up to his. With a thumb he brushed away a tear from your cheek. Shit. You'd started blubbing again.

He seemed to compose himself and sat back. Still, he put a hand over yours and gave it a reassuring squeeze.

"What happened, Y/N?" he asked. "I know it's hard, but you need to tell me."

Your tried to speak, but your voice caught. Any more and you knew everything would spill over again.

Leaning his cane against the arm of the chair, Viktor took both your hands in his. "I just want to help," he said softly.

And so, between shuddering breaths and stray tears, you told him. About the note. About the girl. About the trap. About it all.

When you were done, you noticed he was holding your hands just a little bit tighter. You sat quietly, both of you unsure of what to say. You were happy to simply be there; to be safe and together and temporarily at peace. You wished that silent moment could last for ever, as cheesy as it was. You knew you'd have to face harsh, bitter reality soon enough, but at that moment everything was simple: warmth and company and safety and him.

Finally, he cleared his throat and asked, "Can I get you some tea?"

Despite everything that had happened, you laughed (it was more of a shaky exhale from your nose, really, but you counted it as a step forwards). It was such a him thing to say. "Yes. Please."

He returned with the drink after a few minutes. You clutched at the china of the cup, not noticing as it scalded your palms.

"I'm afraid we can't do much until morning," Viktor said, sitting down again.

Taking a sip, you glanced at the clock over the mantlepiece, which said that it was nearing half past ten. "Why? It's already past morning - nearly midday."

Viktor gave you a pitying look. Your stomach dropped.

"What?" you said, although you knew what he was going to say, and you knew you didn't want to hear it.

"Nearly midnight," he corrected. "It's nighttime. Which means..."

"I've been gone a whole day."

The words came out weakly. You pressed a hand to your forehead. A whole day. Over a whole day. You suddenly felt lightheaded. How long had those weird smoke bombs knocked you out for?

"You must be exhausted."

"I'm not. I don't think I am. I don't know."

"Would you like me to walk you home?"

"Could I stay here instead?"

The words came out before you could stop them. The thought of even going out on the streets in the dark made you feel ill, let alone spending the night alone - especially when it was proven that whoever had done this knew where you lived. You stared into your cup, face flushing at how desperate you sounded.

Viktor's response was a beat too quick to be casual.

"Of course," he said. "It's not a problem-"

"I don't want to be any more of a hassle-" you cut in, suddenly feeling bashful.

"No, really, it's fine-"

"I've caused you enough distraction tonight-"

"It's the least I can do-"

"The tea has been more than enough Viktor-"

"Stay," he interrupted, firmly and yet somehow softly.

A moment of silence.

"If you want to, that is," he added quickly. "I'd be happy either way - but don't feel the need to do something if its solely because you're too polite to say no - not saying you're a pushover, I didn't-" He rubbed a hand across his brow.

You smothered a smile. God, you'd been through possibly the most traumatic experience of your life and you somehow managed to still want to giggle like a schoolgirl.

"I'll stay," you said.

"Okay. I have a spare room upstairs - if you're able to make the walk. If not, I... could find a way to make the couch more comfy."

"I practically dragged myself halfway across Piltover, Vik," you said, laughing. "I think I'll be able to manage a flight of stairs."

He looked down at the carpet, and maybe it was it was just the lighting, but his cheeks linked a little. "Right. Of course. Alright. I'll just- go sort it out."

Half an hour later and you were lying in bed, staring up at the ornate ceiling. The room was easily double the size of your whole apartment, and was cool and airy. There was a streetlight right outside the window that it all in an icy blue glow. No matter how tight you pulled the curtains, it still remained bright enough to practically read by.

Viktor had supplied you with spare pillows, another cup of tea, a bade goodnight, and a pair of pyjamas ("I'm not sure if these will fit," he'd said after a rummage through the few possessions in his wardrobe, "but they haven't been worn. Jayce gave me them last winter. Orange isn't my... thing.")

Though you were beyond exhausted, you couldn't fall asleep. You'd stared at the ceiling until you were sure you'd memorised every crack and engraving on it. After almost an hour of tossing and turning, you relented and went to sit on the seat by the window, watching the stars.

You were on the verge of dozing when you heard the door creak open. You flinched and turned around. A shadow stood in the doorway. As it leaned forwards, its face caught the light, and to your relief you saw it was only Viktor.

"Y/N?" He looked down the hallway, then back into the room, eyes darting to the empty bed and ruffled sheets.

"Here." You sat up and he looked over, visibly relaxing.

"Ah. I thought you'd..." He trailed off. He didn't need to elaborate any further for you to know what he'd meant.

"Can't sleep?" he said instead.

You shook your head. "I want to. I just... can't. Its like my body doesn't even have enough energy to do that."

He hummed. "I understand. Can I sit?"

"Of course. It's your house," you said, and shuffled over to make room.

He let out a slight pained huff as he sat down, hand instinctively flying to his bad leg.

"How did that happen?" you found yourself asking. "Your leg."

He rested his cane across his knees and sat back heavily. You noticed the circles beneath his eyes, more pronounced than they had been before. He frowned at something; a troublesome thought.

"You don't have to answer if it's too personal," you said. "I shouldn't pry."

"No, no. I was thinking of a clever response to that, but-" He stifled a yawn into the crook of his elbow "-it seems I'm tired, too."

You waited for him to excuse himself to bed, but instead he continued.

"It has been like that since I was a child." He sighed softly, barely more than a quiet exhale. "I'm not certain of its origin, but the environment in which I was raised had a part to play. The Undercity isn't the... most ideal place to grow up in."

He didn't elaborate any further.

You yawned. His mere presence seemed to reassure your wary mind. He'd become a beacon of safety, of comfort. You found your eyelids becoming heavy, your thoughts slowing and scattering.

"Talk," you said, your voice coming out barely a whisper.

He sat up slightly; it seemed he'd been drifting, too. He made an inquisitive sound.

"Keep talking," you said. "About anything. It helps."

Silence. You thought you'd been too demanding with your ask. He was tired, clearly, and probably couldn't be bothered to ramble for your sake. But then-

"Today at the lab," he began in a murmur, "me and Jayce were making the final preparations to the Hexgates plans. We intend on presenting the final outcome to the Council, who will then..."

He talked quietly about work and experiments and technology and meetings. You barely noticed as his voice became more distant - or perhaps as you became more detached. The world became hazier, until finally you sank into a sleep the colour of morning skies.

A soft snore told Viktor that you'd fallen asleep. It was the first time since you'd arrived on his doorstep that night that you looked truly at peace. He found his gaze wandering, from your closed eyes to your flushed cheeks to the slight bruise forming on your chin to your lips, slightly parted...

He gave himself a shake, frowning at his thoughts. It was late. He was tired. He had work to do. He attempted to slowly stand up, but the movement made you shift. Your head fell limply onto his shoulder. He tensed.

He'd suddenly forgotten how to breathe.

Slowly, carefully, cautiously, he slid an arm around your waist. You made a soft sound. He stilled. You stayed asleep. He let out a breath and leaned his head back against the pillows.

The work could wait.