The sun woke you up the following morning. Watery golden light sifting into the curtains, shining directly onto your face and making you wince. You sat up, rubbing your eyes. A blanket had been placed over you, along with a pillow propping up your head. Apart form you, the room was empty.

You frowned, flashing snippets of memories from the past night coming back to you. An arm around you waist. A head resting atop yours. The sound of soft, sleepy breathing. You were surprised to find yourself alone, and a little disorientated. Could it have all been a dream? You weren't sure.

You couldn't tell if you were relieved or disappointed at the thought.

It took you a minute or two to stretch the stiffness from your joints. The thought of merely moving seemed unappealing. You wished for sleep again, feeling that even existing required too much effort.

Your head gave a dizzying throb as you stood, and you grimaced, a hand pressing to your temple. You balked yet again as you caught sight of the time: two-thirty (in the afternoon, you presumed). Your sleep schedule would not be recovering from this anytime soon.

Once you'd padded downstairs, relying on the banister more than you'd liked to have done, you found the kitchen empty and quiet. Upon further exploration, the living room was devoid of anyone, too.

Despite the sun streaming in through the wide windows, you shivered, the marble tiling cold underfoot. A wave of dread shuddered through you. Could he have been taken by the same Undercity thugs that kidnapped you? Had you lead them straight to his whereabouts? The blue-hair girl had certainly seemed interested in the goings-on of Hextech. If she got to Viktor...

But after inspecting the entrance, you saw his coat and shoes were gone. You relaxed. He'd gone to work - of course; It was well past midday, and he'd spoken about being close to an important breakthrough the night before.

You couldn't help feeling hurt at the face that he'd chosen work over you, even though you knew it was a petty worry. He'd obviously choose revolutionary technology and groundbreaking science over some broke, needy artist. Ouch. A bit far, brain.

Still, just to be sure, you called out a hesitant, "Viktor?"

The only response was your own voice, echoing back to you.

Midway through a yawn, you caught sight of your reflection in a mirror, and were shocked at the dishevelled figure that stared back at you. You decided if you were going to mope around all day, you might as well clean up first.

You discovered that the guest bedroom you'd been lent had an adjoining ensuite that you hadn't noticed the previous night. It was all marble and brass, with a shower in one corner and a long mirror that spanned the length of the small room.

After searching through the rooms upstairs, you came across a towel and a bar of soap. You fiddled with the taps for longer than you'd liked to admit (why did everything he owned have to be so complicated?), but finally, after accidentally turning the water on at full-blast whilst freezing cold, you got it to a bearable temperature and stepped in.

For the first time in nearly two days, you felt yourself finally untense as the hot water met your skin. You turned your face up to the faucet, eye closed, and appreciated the burning sensation on your face, only just on the edge of tolerable. You stood like that for a while, until you were practically on the edge of sleep and nearly lost your footing.

Once you were out, hair washed, body scrubbed raw, you felt for the first time truly better. It was as if you'd washed a part of the past away, letting it sluice down the drain and far, far away.

As you towelled your hair down, you remembered the mirror and wiped away a patch of condensation that had formed on the glass. You smiled at the reflection that met you. Bright eyes. Cheeks flushed by the heat. A smattering of bruises and fading cuts still dotted your face and upper body, but you found your newfound radiance drowned them out. Slowly but surely, you were recovering.

You set to work trying to brush your hair into some order with your fingers, having been unable to locate a brush or comb.

The sound of the shower, still running (you hadn't figured out how to turn it off), drowned out the thud of approaching footsteps.

All of a sudden, the door opened. You shrieked and yanked the towel around you, turning just in time to see it slam shut again.

Silence. No footsteps. You stood frozen, fresh panic rising in your chest. You hoped and prayed that it wasn't your blue-haired kidnapper, come back to try to carve more information from you. Of all the time in the day, why now, when you stood there vulnerable and completely unarmed, save for a sole towel?

You waited. It seemed the person on the other side of the door did so, too. Then, as you opened your mouth to call a hesitant hello?-

"Sorry!" came a shout from the other side. Viktor. Not a kidnapper. "It's me - Sorry!"

You were incredibly relieved you weren't about to be abducted again, but at the same time, fuck.

"I didn't know - Sorry," he continued. His voice was as pitchy as you'd ever heard it. For the first time since you'd met him, he completely and utterly fumbled over his words. "I should've knocked, but you weren't in the bedroom or downstairs and you didn't answer when I called and so I expected the worse, which was really stupid of me, and..." He trailed off into a mumble too quiet to hear, which ended in a groan. It seemed he was as mortified by the event as you were.

"Its fine, Viktor-" you called out, but we're promptly cut off

"I didn't see anything. Which is good. Not saying you're not good. I'm sure you are - good, I mean. Not in a weird way." A pause. "But that's entirely speculation because I didn't see anything. So don't worry. I'm sorry. I was literally just in, then out - barely a second, so I assure you-"

"Viktor," you said.

He stopped.

"It's fine," you repeated.

"It's really not."

Fair point. But you weren't in the mood for a debate. "Can we talk about this when I'm not naked, please?

He made a slight strangled noise before managing to speak, as if he had been reminded of the fact. You'd never seen - or head, really - him so flustered before. "Oh- I- Yes, of course. Um, I bought clothes," he said, as if it were a peace offering of some sorts. "I assumed you didn't want to rewear what you wore yesterday. I was going to leave them on the bed, but... I'll leave them outside. I'm sorry - again... yeah. I was out - shopping. I've got breakfast. Come down when you're ready."

"Thank you."

You lingered by the door, waiting until the tap tap of his footsteps and cane disappeared down the corridor, before resting your forehead - still hot with embarrassment - against the wall, groaning.