#my Melvik heart can’t take this anymore

[bichletmepickaname]

THIS COUNTS AS TOUCH RIGHT?! RIGHT!!???

[caspercryptid]

YOU WOULD WRITE MEL AND VIKTOR? YES? YES? YES? PLEASE. PLEASE OH MY GOD.

Okay so my requests *are* closed, but christ, I checked the melvik tag and your economy is absolutely TERRIBLE, huh? There is So Little. So have this!

CWs: Brief reference to an industrial accident, emotional hurt/comfort.

____

Mel is... having a bad day.

She doesn’t particularly enjoy admitting that she gets stressed to the degree of near-fracture, sometimes, especially because it happens so rarely. She is a figurehead, she is leading the way, a conductor of the orchestra, master of the chess game that is piltover politics. She cannot bend, she cannot break. There is the echo of her mother’s voice reminding her not to display weakness, and so after she very calmly plans out an emergency response for a factory collapse with an as-of-yet unreported death toll, she very calmly excuses herself, and she very calmly checks Heimerdinger’s schedule to ensure that he’s not in, and then she very calmly locks herself in his office and hides under his desk to cry.

She had...perhaps had better ideas.

That becomes clear when the door clicks open.

Mel freezes, her knees pulled to her chest, heart pounding. She feels the most intense wave of deeply ingrained fear– followed rapidly by shame. She wasn’t home anymore, had nothing to fear besides embarrassment if she was caught, but the fear of embarrassment was potent.

She tries to make her breathing quieter, but she’s been crying too much already, and she can’t help a traitorous little sniffle.

There’s a pause– long enough that it can’t be heimerdinger at the door, he would not have hesitated, and then the door clicks closed again.

For a second, Mel thinks she’s been spared, and then there are steps.

Odd... steps.

Something about the rhythm is off, and it takes Mel a moment to register that that’s because there are three clicks against the ground instead of two, and another second to register an oh before Viktor steps in front of the desk and blindly holds a hand out.

“You’ll have to help me down.”

Mel only hesitates a second before she does, reaching up to take his hand. His palms are cool, and he doesn’t hesitate to put his weight on her as he maneuvers himself down. He doesn’t look pitying or surprised, and Mel... doesn’t feel quite the rush of shame she expected to as he carefully extends his bad leg to the side, paying no attention whatsoever to her until he gets comfortable on the ground and gets a handkerchief out of his pocket.

She winces a little, realizing black and gold makeup is coming away against the handkerchief.

“Would physical contact help?” He asks, almost startling her when he finally speaks.

“–yes.” She admits, and he shifts a little closer, reaching out to wipe her eyes.

“I’m sorry, I must look–”

“You look perfectly alright.” He assures her, tone gentle, and she bites her lip, not sure how to challenge him.

He seems to hear the objection anyway and half-smiles at her.

“I believe the effect is smoky eye? I hear it’s all the rage at the academy.”

She snorts. “Ah, so I look like i’m– going to attend a concert down in the undercity.”

“Not in the slightest.” He says, mildly. “You’re radiant. Not that you couldn’t have your pick of– unsavory characters at a zaunite mosh pit–”

She laughs, and he smiles at her, continuing– “The gold has smudged, so you simply look like you’re glowing. I think it’s–” The handkerchief is on her cheek, and he’s looking at her, and he seems to get stuck looking at her for a moment.

Mel is stuck looking at him, too. She thinks she hasn’t really, before. His moles are peppered across his face like an artist flicked a brush at a white canvas. His lips quirk. He clears his throat, and she tries to shake herself out of it.

“–ah, i’ve forgotten what I was going to say.” Viktor admits. Mel’s forgotten the start of his sentence.

“–thank you.” She says, and he raises his eyebrows.

“For forgetting my sentences? You can’t possibly loathe the sound of my voice that powerfully.”

She laughs, a little. “Certainly not, no. Just... for being here.”

“Ah, well.” He shrugs, a little. “–Jayce was upset, earlier, and then he went to go volunteer to help. I assume most people aren’t... used to this.”

“I should be.” Mel says, quietly, putting her forehead against her knees.

There’s a tiny shift, and then Viktor reaches out, wrapping his arms around her shoulders. “Come out.” he murmurs. “This desk may be overlarge for heimerdinger, but I'm afraid there isn’t space enough under it to spare.”

She looks up at him, a question in her expression, and he adjusts back and holds out his arms.

“There is no reason-guided response,” he says. “If you’re upset, then there is no should. You just are. And if I can comfort you, then let me.”

She doesn’t ask any more questions, just leans into his arms, presses her face into his shoulder, and lets him.