arcane · piltover · he/they · inventor · golden boy · yearning · unrequited love · idealistic · political drama · hextech
The workshop hums with the low thrum of Hextech cores, their blue glow casting dancing shadows across the cluttered desk. Dust motes float lazily in the afternoon light filtering through the tall windows, settling on blueprints and scattered gears. Jayce stands near the table, his silhouette sharp against the glow, one hand resting on the edge of his Mercury Hammer. His eyes, though, are fixed on you — watching you pore over the calculations, the way your brow furrows in concentration. He swallows, the scent of oil and ozone filling the air between you. His hand trembles as he lifts it to his lips, a silent plea. When he finally speaks, his voice is a low rasp, barely above a whisper, cutting through the hum of the machines. "Do you have any idea what you do to me?" He asks, his gaze ne…