Viktor met you at the lab fifteen minutes later - the longest fifteen minutes of your life.

The corridors were a stark contrast to the crowded hall, dark and cold, lacking in the stuffiness that comes with large crowds. You shivered and waited, arms folded across your chest, for what seemed like hours. You'd began to think you'd somehow gone to the wrong lab when you heard the familiar rhythmic tapping of his came against the polished tiles.

Perhaps it was from the relatively long walk there, but when he reached you, you swore he was out of breath, as if he, too, had hurried to get there.

"Sorry to keep you waiting," he said. "Heimerdinger wanted a very thorough account of the technology behind the Hexgates, although I found I couldn't think clearly, not with my thoughts being preoccupied with, uh..." He swallowed, eyes falling to the floor, and murmured the last word so quickly and quietly you thought you'd misheard him: "... you."

You suddenly found the atmosphere between the two of you awkward, filled with a kind of tension neither of you knew how to break. Your brain flatlined at an appropriate response, and you instead chose to meticulously study the pattern of the floor tiles underfoot.

"It's cold," Viktor said after a long moment, more, it seemed, to fill the silence than for anything else. "Are you cold? With what you're wearing, I imagine you might be feeling slightly..." He trailed off subconsciously as his eyes slipped from yours to your stature. He caught himself and shrugged off his suit jacket before offering it to you. "If you want, that is. I imagine- It was hot, back in the hall..."

You smiled and thanked him. It was a bit too large in you but did a good job in staving off the cold. Hugging it around you, you felt a variety of objects and belongings stored in its pockets. Suddenly the small favour felt incredibly intimate, almost intrusive.

"Shall we go, then?" he asked.

You frowned. "Go where?"

He gave a mischievous grin, one side of his mouth raising slightly, and tapped the side of his nose: secret.

You followed him as he lead you through the deserted corridors to a familiar stairwell.

"Up here?" you said, staring forlornly at the copious amount of steps you had to ascend.

"All the way up here," he confirmed. "I'd offer to carry you, but I'm afraid I wouldn't be much use myself."

"Maybe your and Jayce's next project should be the Hex-elevator." You waggled your fingers for effect.

He laughed, eyes crinkling at the edges.

You walked side by side up the spiralling staircase, the knuckles of your fingers brushing with each step. Neither of you made to move away. Every now and again your fingers would entwine, just for a second, as your arms swung with the rhythm of your walking.

Fueled perhaps by the foul drink you'd sipped earlier, or the buzz of liquid lightning that had been surging round your veins since what had happened on the balcony, you dated to slip your forefinger around his, the move just intentional enough to show... something.

He showed no obvious objection, although you thought you heard his breath hitch slightly. Slowly, tentatively, as if you might startle at any sudden movements, he interlaced his fingers with yours, one at a time, until by the time you reached the door at the top of the stairs, you were holding hands.

He glanced down at your joined hands, gave you a quick, shy grin and your hand a light squeeze before letting to go to retrieve his set of keys. Your skin felt cold without him, bare and empty.

The rest of you got even colder as the door swung open onto inky blackness. You blinked for a second, eyes adjusting, before gasping at the scene in front of you.

The view from the top of the highest tower at the Academy had been stunning enough during the day, but at night it was truly something out of a painting. Above and below you was pure darkness, speckled with silver stars above and specks of gold light from the city below. You were reminded of the dresses the women at the gala downstairs wore, bejewelled and dazzling and impossibly intricate.

This high up, even the sounds of the party below were reduced to a muted babble of voices punctuated by the tinkle of glassware. You shivered and pulled Viktor's jacket tighter around your shoulders.

Viktor had ambled over to the parapet and braced his arms against it. In the pearly light from the moon and stars he looked like a statue carved from silver, his skin glowing and eyes bright. He truly looked like the future; brilliant and revolutionary.

"It's ironic," he said softly. "I'm often awake at these hours, although never have I ever appreciated the beauty of the world at this time."

You hummed in agreement, taking in the view as you walked over to where he stood. When you snuck a glance at him, you saw he was looking at you. His eyes had trailed down to your attire, lips slightly parted. When he noticed you'd noticed him, he blinked rapidly, wrenching away his vision and clearing his throat.

You were grateful for the darkness; your face felt as if it may catch flames any moment.

"About back there," you said, attempting to lean against the stone parapet as casually as you could, as if you weren't hyperaware of your every single slight action. "Earlier. When... Um, If Heimerdinger hadn't interrupted us... would you have..."

The ambience of the night seemed to quiet for a minute as your question hung unfinished in the cold night air. The whole world seemed to be still, listening.

"Kissed you?" he finished hesitantly, the words coming out in a breath, so quiet you almost thought you'd imagined hearing them, confused then with the low croon of the breeze.

You felt you could no longer manage words, the ache in your chest was so strong. You nodded without looking at him, scared you may burst alight if you dared to do so.

"Did you want me to?" he asked, each word slow and cautious as if he were deliberating each one on his tongue. His voice was lower than a murmur, barely legible if you hadn't been standing so close together.

You found that when you spoke, your voice, too, had been reduced to a whisper. "Yes."

You heard him take a breath - you still hadn't worked up the courage to look at him, in case the emotion in his face have any hint of rejection. You turned your head to face him, mouth opening to speak, but then-

He kissed you.

Just for a second. It was no more than a peck, light and soft and quick. You both reeled back, blinking in surprise. His hand flew to his mouth.

"I'm so sorry- I didn't mean to-" he stammered through his fingers. "I only intended to - you know - kiss your cheek, but then you turned and I- We-" He made a helpless sound, face sinking further into his hand. "I should've asked first. I'm sorry."

You couldn't help smiling, smothering a soft, relieved laugh.

"Viktor," you said gently, and he looked up. Hope and fear mingled in his eyes. "Can I..." you began, but the words caught in your throat. You'd waited so long, wanted so much to say those words; why couldn't you finally force them out?

He seemed to understand your silent question. He stepped ever so closer, hand moving from his face to hover cautiously over your waist, waiting for your confirmation. His eyes darted over your face, from your mouth to your eyes to your cheek to your nose.

"Can I kiss you?"

For a moment, you thought you'd horribly misjudged the whole situation. You saw his Adam's apple bob up and down as he swallowed. A flicker of apprehension crossed his features, before, at last, he gave a slight nod of his head.

"Please," he said, voice low and hoarse and tinted with a hint something that made your whole body flutter:

Desperation.

You snaked a hand into his hair, drawing him closer. For a tiny, long moment, all that existed in the world was him and you and the miniscule space that kept you apart. His eyes flickered to your lips, your eyes to his, as if you were both in a dream, too scared to move in case it shattered the illusion and brought you back to reality.

But when you closed the hair's-width of a distance between the two of you, the world did not disappear. It got brighter.

You heard him inhale sharply as your lips met and let out a small, relieved sound, like a lost traveller having his first sip of water after weeks in a desert.

He was sweet and scared and clumsy, often missing your mouth and instead peppering kisses across your cheeks, your chin, the corner of your lips. The way his brow was creased slightly told you that he was overthinking it all. You brought your other hand up to cup his face, running your thumb along his cheek, and felt his features soften as he relaxed.

Your thoughts were a blur, stuck somewhere between radio-silence and a frantic jumble of a thousand unintelligible exclamations. You wondered absently how you'd gone so long without this, without him. It was like you'd found a piece of yourself you'd never knew was missing in the safe warmth of his touch.

You pulled back for a moment, breaking the kiss to catch your breath. He moved forwards, eyes still shut, attempting to find your lips with his. You moved your thumb down to cover his lips, laughing softly, and rested your forehead against his.

"Hey, hey," your murmured, smiling. "I've got to breathe, give me a second."

"Ah," he said bashfully, his voice edged with a roughness that made something flutter in your chest. You felt his eyelashes brush against your skin as he studied you with the awe that you first saw in his eyes the night he and Jayce first broke into Heimerdinger's lab, when Hextech was first created.

"Am I..?" he asked after a moment, question trailing off into shy anticipation. He laughed, the sound tinged with a hint of self-consciousness. "Am I... alright? I've never... done this before."

You smiled and gently pressed a kiss to his cheek. "You're perfect."

When he kissed you again, his lips left yours after only a second. You made a low sound of disappointment. You felt him instead lightly kiss your right cheek, then your left. He kissed your forehead, down to your nose, across to each closed eyelid, then the space in front of your ear, your chin. He was slow and careful, moving how you imagined an adoring disciple would worship their god; an act of silent reverence. It was as if each kiss was both sacred and sinful, a blessing not meant for mortals to indulge in.

You felt him hesitate as he hovered over your mouth. You tilted your heads forwards to meet him, but he pressed his lips to the corner of your mouth instead, before pressing kisses across your cheek, your jaw, to the swath of smooth skin below your ear. You gasped at the sensation, and he instantly pulled back, concern creasing his features.

"I'm sorry," he said, brows knitted with worry. "Did I hurt you?"

"Viktor, apologise for something that doesn't need apologising for one more time and I swear on my life that I will kiss you until you shut up."

His eyebrows shot up, cheeks taking on a pinkish tint, but after a moment of surprise he grinned, eyelids low.

"I am," he began slowly. "Horribly and terribly and incredibly sorry. I beg of you for your forgiveness." With each apology, he moved closer and closer, until his lips, still twisted into a smirk, brushed yours with each word. "I offer my most sincerest, my most profound and my utmost-"

You cut him off with a kiss. He made a short, surprised sound, but slowly eased into it, bringing his hand up to rest against your waist. His lips, still shaped in the shadow of a smile, moved steadily against yours.

This time, he was slower, less desperate and more sure of himself, like he'd finally realised you weren't going to disappear the moment he looked away. His hand traced up your back, over the ridges of your spine, to rest just below the nape of your neck, and pushed you closer against him. His other hand, holding his cane, pressed against your waist.

You dared to tug slightly at his hair, and he made a soft sound somewhere between a gasp and a groan. You pushed him towards further you, deepening the kiss, until your teeth clicked.

At some point, the avid kisses morphed slowly into tired carasses, both of you lazily pressing lips to cheeks and foreheads, anywhere that you could reach with eyes barely open. You felt his smile, rather than saw it.

He rested his forehead against yours. You could feel the light rise and fall of his chest against yours, his breath coming slightly ragged at times.

"I don't think I realised," he murmured, voice rough and tinted with a newfound confidence, "how much I needed you. Or perhaps I was just too scared to acknowledge it."

You raised your eyebrows. "Scared?"

He chuckled, slightly embarrassed. "Yes." Subconsciously his finger traced spirals on the blade of your shoulder. "I..." he began slowly, gathering his thoughts. "I... like to understand things, to know how they work and why they do so, and often I am able to relatively easily. So you can imagine it... unnerved me when I didn't - couldn't - understand the feelings you invoked in me."

"So that's why you kept indebting me with your umbrella and my sketchbook and all that?" you asked. "So you could 'figure me out'?"

"I suppose so," he said. He paused, then cleared his throat, and smiled shyly. "That, and I liked you - liked being around you. Ever since that first evening, when we first met, there was... something about you. I couldn't explain it, but whatever it was, it was almost... magnetic."

You scoffed. "Really? I thought I came across more along the lines of 'suicidal artist' than 'attractive stranger'."

"Well," he chuckled lightly, "perhaps that's my type."

You sighed in mock exasperation and leaned your head against his shoulder, fitting neatly into the crook of his neck. As if by instinct, his arm wrapped around you waist, other hand coming to stroke your hair.

"I suppose I'm no better," you said.

"Hm?"

"I'm into sleep-deprived scientists that have a penchant for breaking into government buildings and roping innocent civilians into his treacherous schemes."

He gently kissed the top of your head. "I'll take that as a compliment."

You smiled and turned so that you leaned into him, head on his shoulder and facing the view.

From this high up, you could imagine the tinkle of glasses all those floors down came not from below you, but from above, from the stars, like a fanciful applause of seom sorts. Though dawn was still a few hours away, the first early signs of its imminent arrival sulked patiently along the thin border between city and sky, swirls of deep emerald and rich navy slowly ebbing into the velvety black.

You felt that it was symbolic somehow. A new beginning dawning on the horizon; for you, for Viktor, for Piltover. But right then, there were still a few hours until you had to face a new day - a personal, private few hours, neither at the end nor beginning; in between.

"Should we go back?" you suggested after a few minutes if quiet, comfortable complatence. "People might be starting to wonder where you are."

Viktor thought for a moment, then shrugged. "Eh, I'm sure no one would miss us for a few more minutes."

He turned you so that you were flush against his chest, noses brushing. His eyes glinted, creased at the edges with a hint of a content, mischievous grin. You reached up and cupped his face in your hands, unable to refrain yourself from beaming. You were happy. So unconditionally, wholeheartedly happy.

And your hands, which once, at the beginning of this all, were stained with the colour of a not-so-long-ago dusk, now held the the dawn of a new era, forged from ink and ashes.

The End :)

nine months Damn.

My corruption arc has begun.

it's overrrrrrrrr.