As much as you wanted to mope and moan and move halfway across the world to leave your stupid emotions and stupid feelings and stupid everything behind, life went on.

You still went to work everyday, still went to lunch with friends. You were sad, of course, to put it lightly, but there was still rent to pay, work to do, deadlines to meet. You pushed down all your heavy, cloying, want-to-wrap-yourself-in-a-vlanket-and-give-up-on-life emotions deep enough where they didn't bother yoy, and although you knew you'd have to deal with them at some point, future you could deal with that. Totally.

Then one day, a knock at the door.

It was mid-afternoon. Too late for it to be work-related, too early for it to be friends.

You caught a flash of the Academy uniform, heart leaping to your throat. You fumbled with the lock, opened the door and-

Jayce Talis barrelled into your apartment.

You barely had a second to adjust to your senses before he launched into a rant, pacing up and down your living room.

"Look," he started, gesturing avidly with his hands, "I don't know what happened between you two, but I just want you to know that Viktor's a really good guy. He's obviously really miserable and he's been super down-in-the-dumps these past few days, and at first I thought it was because of all the Hexgates business - because, honestly, I've been feeling the same way - but when that turned out well, I deduced that it was something else. But anyway. I just wanted to say that I think you should give him a second chance and-"

"Hello to you too," you interrupted, still standing dumbstruck by the open door. "Jayce, slow down... what?"

"What do you mean, 'what'?"

"I mean, 'what the hell'?"

"You and Viktor broke up, right? So I've come to, y'know, play matchmaler."

"Broke up?" you practically spluttered. Your face felt hot enough to spontaneously combust. "Jayce, me and Viktor- we never dated."

"No way. Really?"

"Really."

"Genuinely?"

"Genuinely."

"Truly?"

"Truly."

"Damn. Maybe I'm not the best matchmaker after all. If you two didn't break up, then what happened?"

You contemplated telling him everything, but the whole exchange had exhausted you. You opted for, "A lot. I was stubborn, he was probably a bit rash. It was neither of our faults, really."

"But no one got killed, right?"

"What? No, of course not."

"So, it was, like, a platonic... break up? Nothing too life-shatteringly awful?"

"Not to an extent, no."

"Huh. Well, either way, he's been moping around all week. I've been having to do all his work for him - it's been really annoying, honestly. So, I've come up with a solution. Hold on-" He dug around in his pockets and presented you with a scrap of paper.

You frowned. It was a newspaper clipping of- "Councillor Medarda?"

His eyes widened. "What? No- Oh no. Ignore that. It's - um - a case study. Politics." He hurriedly snatched it back and handed you another piece of paper. This time, it was an envelope.

You carefully tore the wax seal and pried the letter inside free. Skimming over the swirling letters, you picked out a few phrases. "'Cordially invited'... 'Unveiling of revolutionary technology'... 'A night marking the new era of Hexgates'." You blinked. "A ball?"

"Yeah."

"What's that got to do with anything?"

"It's the perfect spot to get you two back together. Platonically." The heavy emphasis he put on the word suggested that he thought strongly otherwise. "Y'know, do a bit of waltzing, socialising, and before you know it - shablam! - everything's fine again."

"A ball," you repeated, deadpan.

"Gala, actually. But yeah. Isn't it brilliant? I've thought this out all by myself."

"How did you even manage to get an invite for me?"

"I have my ways... and a plus-one to my invite."

"Jayce, you shouldn't waste it one me. Don't you have anyone else you'd want to invite?"

He waved a dismissive hand. "Yes, but don't worry. Counsellors have their own invites."

"Counsellors?" you echoed mischievously.

He coloured. "What? No. I didn't say that. Don't know what you mean. I mean- Anyway. Isn't it a great idea?"

You hummed skeptically. As much as you wanted to go, it sounded terrifying. You could hardly go to the shops without having multiple midlife crises, let alone a gods-damned ball.

Jayce saw your apprehensive look. "Don't worry," he said. "Everyone that's going will be stodgy dour politicians pretty much. They're harmless."

"And also extremely rich. And powerful." You had another thought. "Plus, I don't have anything to wear." The only somewhat formal clothes you owned were stuffed at the back of your wardrobe and most likely three sizes too small.

"I can sort that out," Jayce said.

He was frustratingly fueled with a solutions to absolutely any challenge you posed. Damn clever man.

"So I'm going to go to the gala..." You began slowly.

"Yes."

"And see Viktor- Does he know about this?"

"'Course not. That'd ruin the whole pizazz, you know?"

"I don't."

"So just come along, have a word (or two, or three) with the guy, then everything's fixed and I don't have to pull another all-nighter doing his boring math workSounds easy, right?"

"It sounds horrific."

"Psh, it'll be fine. So, are you in or what?"

You thought for a moment, then let out a defeated sigh. When else would you get invited to a ball? (Or gala, or whatever)

"Fine. I'm in. But if anything devastatingly embarrassing happens I'm wanting a one-way ticket straight out of Piltover."

"Deal."

Once he'd left you stood, clutching the invite for a moment, only just coming to terms with what you'd agreed to. A ball. With people. And dancing. And probably a little string quartet in the corner, and black-tie waiters with trays of diddy little glasses of bubbly stuff. And people.

Oh gods, you thought despairingly.