out. I don't know. do you think everyone feels this way and they just don't tell anyone?
im bored of lots of things, I guess, and I do them anyway or do nothing.
hey, I was thinking earlier, I want a little device, where all I can do is write. that's it. It's all it has, no wifi no extra apps no messaging that's it. cuz I always start swiping on something or another and that's beyond old.
you mean a typewriter?
no, not that. I want it in my hand.
you mean a phone?
no, please no. I mean I want to run off. I think if I drive far enough I can feel like there's something to do, right? I can't think of anything to do, or anything I even want to.
...
is it true that if you're old enough and fast enough you owe nothing to nobody? im worried I'll never be fast enough and I'll always stammer and look too fifteen. how bad do you think any of this is, actually?
I think if I hit my head hard enough I'll see the stars again. or get a concussion and take another nap.
Summary: Despite the long work days, you have trouble sleeping at night. On some restless nights you head over to a river bridge in the undercity to smoke and clear your head. Little did you know that this river was of particular significance to an intimidating and stoic man with a glowing black and red eye.
Note: yeeeeeeeeET here’s chapter two. hooooooweeeE am I outta breath ;___; Hope ya’ll enjoy!
Chapter Two
You didn’t see him again for weeks.
You've been staying home, keeping your head down, as enforcers patrolled the neighborhood day and night. Topside was agitated and angry over an explosion that left four of theirs injured, and now their council was looking for someone from the undercity to blame.
Most days you went straight home from the factory to avoid getting stopped and harassed by the enforcers. At night, you huddled over the map of the ruins to study each room and its layout by candlelight, committing every detail to memory. When you didn't study, you read whatever you could get your hands on — history books, romances, Piltover spy thrillers — until your eyes closed shut and you were finally able to sleep.
From your window, you eyed a pair of enforcers walking past on the street below. No one had even died in the explosion topside, you thought. What would they do if something much worse had happened?
It didn’t feel like Piltover and its undercity were one single city, though on maps that’s how it was depicted. Worse things happened here in the undercity every day and you had grown up believing that was just how life was. But, you thought, that's not what life topside is like. And topsiders fought hard to keep things the way they were.
You chewed on your thoughts. It was already past midnight but you knew you weren't getting any sleep anytime soon. So you grabbed your coat, your cigarettes, and your knife and stepped out of your apartment.
You took your usual well-worn path through the city, turning through alleys, avoiding enforcers and shady groups waiting for a mark. You walked up stone steps until finally you reached the river. Already, as soon as you stepped onto the river walkway, you could see a lone figure standing at the bridge you usually smoked at. He faced away from you to watch the water, but you could see from the outline of his coat and his hair that it was the same man from weeks before.
Your heart quickened just a bit, and you hesitated. Maybe you should let him be? You could always find another spot.
Yet. There was a part of you that itched to know this stranger, even something as little as a name or a smile.
Questions prickled at the back of your mind. Why was a well dressed man like him doing here at the odd hours of the night?
You made your choice and walked towards the bridge.
“May I use your light?,” you joked loudly as you approached him, making sure you didn’t get stabbed in surprise.
It was almost imperceptible but you caught how the man stiffened before turning to look at you with a blue eye, his face set in a neutral expression.
“I would ask you the same,” he said, his voice even. “The lighter I have never seems to work when I want it to.”
You stood next to him at a polite distance.
“Here,” you said, pulling the lighter out of your pocket and rolling the sparkwheel in one smooth motion to ignite the flame. This time you chose to look openly as the man craned his head to light his cigar. You drank in the sight of the man’s long lashes, the way his cheeks and lips pulled at the cigar as he took his first inhale.
“Thank you,” he said.
You lit your own cigarette. “What’s your name?”
“Are names necessary?,” he said as he blew a ring of smoke over the water.
“I think they’re interesting, they say a lot about the person.”
A blue eye looked coolly in your direction. “And if I don’t want to be known? At least not yet.”
The edge of his mouth pulled into what you realized to be a smirk. “Stay a stranger then,” you said, shrugging. You tried not to show your disappointment.
As silence fell on you both, you turned back to the water, your hands fidgeting with the lighter. You wanted to hear his voice again, that low deep drawl, so you spat out the first thing you thought of.
“Ever hear of Kha’zhun?"
A pause. “The old city of Kha’zhun?” he asked with a raised brow. Inwardly, you smiled to see the man’s wariness lighten with interest.
“Mhm,” you said, turning around to lean your back against the bridge railing. You crossed your arms as you mulled over what you knew.
“It was an old port city, the biggest in the continent. Before Piltover and the undercity were built over its remains, people from every culture and metropolis intersected at Kha’zhun. They met, they traded. It must’ve been amazing — all that different food, all those languages, intermingling in one place.”
You let your mind wander a little bit. You couldn’t help your small, wistful smile.
“I think about it a lot. It’s like a dream, I think, to wonder about what this place was like before it became the undercity,” you said as you waved at the polluted river and factories around you. “All of this was something different. It wasn’t always like this. It wasn’t always so bad, maybe.”
When the man next to you remained silent and instead puffed on his cigar, your face flushed.
“Ah, apologies,” you said, turning back to the water. You rubbed the back of your head.
“I’m rambling.”
A cerulean blue eye glanced at you, lingering, before the man gave an amused huff.
“I’ll be honest,” he drawled. “I didn’t expect someone like you to know what metropolis means.”
His comment rankled you. “I read,” you grumbled. “Just because I look like every undercity grunt, doesn’t mean I can’t learn stuff on my own time.”
You turned back to the water to sulk, but in the corner of your eye you could see a smirk on the man’s face.
You stayed quiet, unwilling to break the peaceful moment, and you wondered if a man as stoic and guarded as him ever had comfortable moments like this. Not many, you guessed.
What he said next blindsided you.
He hummed as he puffed on his cigar. “Your image of Kha’zhun is compelling,” he said, not looking at you.
“But ultimately, dreams like that are a waste of your energy.”
His tone was matter-of-fact and sharp. You furrowed your brow and shook your head. “I don’t understand."
“You were born here, correct? In the undercity?”
You nodded.
He turned to fully face you now, and you could see both eyes, one blue and the other a fiery, unsettling red. You tried not to flinch as he stepped closer until he was only inches away from you. You met his firm gaze and didn’t look away.
“Then you know there’s only the future,” he said, slowly. “Only the next meal, the next day when you get paid. Wondering when in the future, an enforcer will decide that they don’t like the way you walk before beating you within an inch of your life.”
There was anger burning in this man, you realized. Deep seated rage underlined his words and reminded you of when you were younger, when you were newly grieving.
“The future is what we need to focus on,” he said, pulling the cigar from his mouth and exhaling. The smoke curled around you as he spoke.
“And taking control of our future is how we stop this." He motioned towards the city, miming what you had done earlier. “That is how we stop our suffering. Those who don’t understand that don’t know how to take control of their life and instead just want to run.”
You frowned. “I can choose to think about both.”
“But do you think enough about the future to do something about it?”
You grew quiet. “You make it seem easy to forget the past,” you said, your mind flashing to your sister’s smile. “But it's always there. Like a ghost.”
At your words, the man furrowed his brow. You had caught him off guard somehow. He broke away from you to glance at the river.
“Ghosts?," he scoffed softly before falling silent. His blue eye searched the river.
“There’s no such thing as ghosts,” he said finally. He stubbed his cigar out on the railing of the bridge.
He turned away from the black spot of ash on the railing. You could see that whatever emotion he was feeling before was now carefully hidden, tucked away.
“Hm. Good luck dreaming then,” he said as he passed you. You turned to watch him, his back getting smaller with every step until he faded into the shadows of the undercity.
Letting out the breath you were holding, you looked at your hands to see them shaking. You clenched them into fists, your knuckles turning white, and you let out a deep, tired sigh.
i sold my soul to youtube last week after my speedpaints racked up enough views. i am proud of announce as of today i’ve made a grand total of 2 dollaroos from paid advertising xp
