Chapter Text
The glass clinked dully against the counter as Vander slid another drink forward, barely looking up. His other hand had already reached for the rag slung over his shoulder, absently wiping down a spot on the bar that had already been scrubbed clean twice over.
Slow night. Not unusual. It had been this way for a long time. The bar had never been busy after he left. A few regulars were scattered in the dim light, the heavy air thick with sweat, smoke, and the faintest trace of something bitter—regret, maybe.
Vander exhaled sharply through his nose. Nothing to think about.
“Mm.”
Benzo made a noise in the back of his throat, leaning onto the counter with his usual weight, like he was settling in for a lecture Vander didn’t ask for.
“I keep telling ya, Vand,” Benzo said, voice edged with exasperation. “You need to get back out there. Old fools like us? We need someone to keep us warm at night."
Vander didn't bother looking up. Instead, he grabbed a clean glass from the rack and wiped at it. "I like my quiet Benzo. Ain't nothin' wrong with that."
Benzo huffed, shaking his head. "Quiet ain't the same as happy."
Vander's hand stilled for half a second, jaw tightening. There it is. The one thing that Benzo couldn't let be. "...What the hell d'you know about it?"
Benzo leaned in, his eyes boring into the side of Vander's face, voice lowering just enough that the words carried weight.
"Vand, I know you, mate." He studied him. "You ain't had a real smile since you and Silco separated. You got loneliness and regrets hangin' off ya like a bad stench, and you think keepin' your head down runnin' this bar, playin' house with those pups O' yours—" Benzo flicked a hand toward the empty air, as if the kids were lingering just out of sight. "—is gonna make it all go away."
Vander finally looked at him, hand frozen on the glass.
"Ain't about Silco."
Benzo didn't look convinced. He raised a lone brow, unimpressed. "No? Then what else."
Vander grunted, dropped his gaze. He set the glass down on the damp wood, filling it from the tap until the beer foamed over the top. The scent of hops curled in the air. He lifted it to his mouth, downing a long swallow, the bitter tang sliding down his throat like an old habit.
Benzo just sighed, raising his hands in surrender. "Ya' ain't gotta talk about it. But, Vander, it ain't healthy." He stepped away, his belly shaking lightly as he moved. "Sooner or later, you're gonna have to do somethin' about it."
The words hung between them.
Benzo clapped Vander on the shoulder and turned back to the stockroom, entering in the swinging door without another word.
Vander let out a slow breath. Stared at the counter.
A sniffle.
Vander's brow furrowed. Someone crying? Here of all places? His head snapped to the side, and there slumped over the bar sat a man hunched over, arms covering his hair. His shoulders shook, and he was hiccuping, barely holding himself together. The man's fine coat, tailored vest—He was a Piltie, for sure.
Yet, here he was.
Vander's eyes flicked upwards, he saw a small group of men watching from the corner of the room, gaze lingering for far too long on the crying man. He probably didn't even notice. Just his luck.
Vander walked over, sighing deeply. His fingers curled around the bottle at the side of the drunken man's head. He could throw him out, but then he'd be at the mercy of Zaun, and with those men already marking him—he wouldn't last long.
"Up." Vander said gruffly.
The man didn't budge, arms still covering his head, face still smooshed against the wood.
"I said get up, lad."
A beat passed and the man slowly lifted his head. Vander tensed.
He was pretty.
Too pretty.
His eyes were red-rimmed but hazel, lips, swollen from crying, but still full. His skin was tanned, and he had dark features that matched, giving him a boyish charm. He was too pretty to be in the seedy underbelly of Zaun all alone and drunk off his ass.
Vander frowned. "What's your name?"
The man's lip trembled. "Uh-hm—It's J-Ja-yce." He slurred, blinking slowly. He paused for a moment, before tears welled up in his eyes. His breath hitched as they began to fall in streams down his reddened cheeks. "J-Jayce Talis."
God damn.
Vander rubbed the man's back. He was the man that the pups had robbed, causing the explosion at the academy. Last Vander heard, kid was expelled.
"C'mon. Get up, no use in going home like this." Vander ushered the man to the backroom, where the pups usually hung out. Vi and Powder slept over at Felicia's most nights and Mylo and Claggor only came around when they needed something to mooch from Vander. Nobody would be there tonight.
The man stumbled to his feet, falling into Vander's grasp without a hitch. That was dangerous. Piltie's were more naive than Vander thought. Even more of a reason for Vander to let him sleep his drunken stupor off before he'd be hearing about him in tomorrow's paper. Pretty boys like that never lasted long in Zaun. Not the trusting, oblivious ones.
"Where—where we going," The man sniffled, his words slurring slightly.
"Somewhere you can sleep." Vander muttered, "Where you ain't gotta be worried about being robbed or somethin'."
They got to the door and Vander let the man slump against the wall, holding himself up. He reached into his pocket, digging for the key to the door. He felt the cold touch of metal and pulled the key out, fumbling for the lock.
The man swallowed audibly. "Why would someone wanna do somethin' like that?"
Oh. Sweetheart.
Vander didn't bother answering that. "That's why you're sleepin' here tonight." He muttered.
Vander flicked the lights and the room was bathed in a low ambient glow. The room wasn't neat at all, the pups hadn't bother to make their bunk beds and their sheets were all over the place. Even powder had left some of her stray pieces of junk out, her toy monkey sitting on the edge of her bed.
He huffed, rubbing his beard before he picked a loose sheet from from the floor, tossing it on the couch. The man staggered inside, blinking.
"This where you sleep?"
"Stop askin' questions, sweetheart." Vander clenched his fingers. Didn't mean to let that word slip. He bit back another sigh. "Just...go to bed. Here's safe."
The man's brow furrowed and he sat down with a huff, lifting his feet to lay flat on the couch.
"I'm cold." He added lowly, shyly glancing up at Vander with those hypnotic hazel eyes.
Vander pressed his lips.
"That's what I got the cover for, kid." Vander lifted the stray comforter, placing it gently—more gently than intended—over the kid's shoulders. He stuffed in the sides and pointedly ignored the kid's stares. The kid's gaze was deadly.
Vander stood, heading for the door, his hand reaching for the light—
"Can you tell me good night?" A voice called out.
Vander froze.
He turned back, brows knitted. What?
The kid was still laying on the couch, but his lips were pressed in what Vander could only describe as a solemn pout. Tears lingered at the edge of his eyes, and he was shivering—even under the two covers.
"My Mami—" He huffed, breath wet, bottom lip wobbling. "She always tells me good night. I can't sleep without it." His eyes flicked away, and a flush settled on his cheeks, it went all the way up to his ears turning them a rouge red.
Vander stared for a moment. He couldn't do this. Not this. He wasn't the kid's 'Mommy' or whatever. He wasn't gonna tell him good night and kiss his forehead. Vander was an adult man. Not some flowery mother.
The kid stared longer, blinking faster, hiccups starting, his frown deepening the longer the silence extended.
God. He needed to do or say something. Anything.
Something strong. Boundary setting. He'd let him sleep here but he wasn't gonna baby the poor thing. He hadn't babied Mylo, Claggor, or Vi. Hell, he barely babied Powder.
"Are you gonna say it?"
Vander rubbed his beard. Thinking it over.
No. No, he wasn't gonna say it.
Then, he saw those eyes.
They were alluring, drawing him in. So pitiful, so needy and helpless at the same time. Kid was harmless. All alone in Zaun, expelled from his home and away from his mother. Vander couldn't knock him for wanting a bit of home.
"Uh—good night." Vander exhaled sharply, rubbing his temples. He couldn't believe this.
Vander didn't wait for the kid's reaction, instead, he hit the lights, something thrumming in his chest as he left the room to go back to the floor. He needed to work and handle his patrons. This was just his daily good deed. It's nothing. Tomorrow, Vander would feed the kid and send him on his way. He wasn't a stray since Vander had given up on strays.
He paused, his steps freezing in the space behind the bar wall.
Nothing at all special about the way he looked at Vander. Vander would just pour drinks and close as usual, his mind focused on nothing but work.
A clatter echoed from the floor.
"Hey, boss! Need another drink!"
His head snapped up, steps resuming.
He'd serve his customers, centered on providing drinks and not on things that didn't matter, people that didn't matter.
Especially not on pretty boys with hazel eyes.
The next morning Vander entered The Last Drop, his boots creaking against the floorboards, keys jingling against his waist. He hummed as he moved from room-to-room, checking the bottles, glasses, and if anything near the floor was out of order. Kid might be a Piltie but Vander wasn't stupid. Anyone could pretend to be nice.
"That's all of 'em." Vander grunted, moving to his feet.
All that was left was to wake the kid.
When he entered the room, he nearly stopped in his tracks at the sound of the snoring. Vander nearly thought he'd returned to find a dying bear in the place of him.
He stared, concerned. The kid was still sleeping, but his body was wrapped oddly in the sheets that surrounded him. Almost tangled. But he looked fine. Maybe that 'Good night' helped him more than Vander thought.
Vander dropped to his knees, his fingers curling around the kid's shoulders.
"Wake up."
The kid murmured in his sleep, something unintelligible but he didn't wake. It reminded Vander of Vi as a kid, refusing to be forced into the land of the living. It was adorable.
He tensed.
It was adorable, meaning that Vi was adorable. Not that this man was adorable. He was a man, a grown man. He just had similar habits to his niece. No similarities on the adorable meter.
Vander shook the boy harder, trying not to linger at the boy's flushed cheeks. At this point he was almost worried. Then the twitching started. His eyes fluttered.
Then, after a moment, the boy jerked, wrenching himself from Vander's grip and scrambling back against the couch, his eyes darting wildly.
"What the—?" His voice was hoarse, and he grabbed at his belt and paled. "Hey! What—what did you do to me! Where am I?!
Vander stood up, frowning, and crossed his arms. He let the silence stretch as the boy finally caught his bearings. When his shoulders began to slump, Vander finally spoke.
"You done panicking?"
The kid glared, his hands clenching into fists in the sheets before his gaze flickered downward. His stomach gave a deep, gurgling growl.
A moment passed.
"...I don't suppose," he muttered, rubbing his face, "you have anything to eat?"
Vander sighed deeply.
"Come with me."
He headed back to the bar, not waiting for the kid to follow. It was all the same, wasn't it?
Vander entered the small stockroom that held the grill, it took him nothing but a few minutes. He wasn't making anything fancy—just something to fill the boy's belly. Ain't nothing some oats and jerky couldn't do. Though, Vander pointedly let the oats overcook and the jerky to get a little too tough, he didn't want the kid thinking that he'd enjoyed doing it.
He pushed through the door, eyeing the kid sitting on a table, before he pulled a chair, it screeching against the wood of the floor, and threw the bowl onto the table. The bowl spilled and wobbled before settling.
The kid scrunched his nose at the steaming food.
Vander raised a brow.
"You can't be serious." He made a face, picking up the spoon that was submerged in the runny oatmeal and stirring it slowly.
Vander blinked, "It's this or nothing."
The kid stared, his eyes narrowing.
A beat.
He scowled.
"Fine." He muttered, pulling the spoon to his lips, slurping.
Vander folded his arms, watching. If he thought about it for a second, the Piltie faintly reminded him of someone. Vi, after having ran away from home, covered in bruises, snarling at anyone who'd looked at her funny. Powder, all wide-eyed fear, clinging loyally to her sister's arm.
Now this one—this Piltie, of all things—hunched over a bowl like he expected someone to take it from him.
Vander sighed, running a hand down his face. He reminded himself not to get attached.
"...Name?"
The kid blinked up at him. Then, hesitantly, "Jayce."
"Jayce Talis?"
The spoon froze. His brow furrowed. "Yeah, how'd you know?"
Vander hummed. "You said something like it last night." He scratched at his beard. "Thought you'd been lying."
The kid sagged in his chair, his voice dropping. "Unfortunately not."
"So, you are the kid that blew up the Piltie academy..?"
Jayce huffed, whining. "It's wasn't my fault!" He dropped his spoon in favor of pressing his hand against his cheek. "It was those Zaunite kids that did it. I just...I just tried to stop them!"
Vander's jaw tightened.
Jayce's bottom lip jutted, and he slumped further, sniffling. "Then, they expelled me for it. I was working on something revolutionary...they destroyed all my research and expelled me from Piltover. They wouldn't even let me go with my mother." He rubbed at his nose.
God. It was kind of Vander's fault. He remembered that night. Vi and the rest of the pups were teeming with energy, unable to stay still. Vander should've known that they had found another mark, he'd just—didn't know that it would've been such an important person.
"Y'got coin?" Vander asked, his eyes flicking down at the table as if he could see the boy's pockets.
Jayce paused, his eyes trailing from place to place, before he pulled his hands down, "Yeah, I—" He paused, his brow furrowing. "Wait."
Jesus Christ. One day in Zaun and kid had already been robbed.
Vander rubbed his forehead.
"It's missing." Jayce frowned. "Somebody...robbed me?" His breath hitched as the realization dawned on him. "I—that was all I had. I don't have anywhere to go, I don't have any family down here." He dropped his head into his hands. "God, I'm so fucked." He gasped.
Vander licked his cracked lips. The words escaped him before he'd realized they'd even left his mouth.
"You can stay."
Jayce perked up, it didn't remind Vander of a puppy dog. Not a bit.
"Really?"
Vander nodded, "On one condition," He shifted in his chair. "No freeloading. It's my only rule. Even if you are just a kid."
Jayce frowned at that, muttering. "M'not a kid."
Vander ignored that, continuing. "You can sleep here at night, but only if you work here in the bar." He rubbed at his beard. "I'll pay you what I can." He studied the kid's expression, watching for any signs of hesitation. Anything that told Vander that he wasn't really onboard with this. Give him a reason to throw the kid out.
But he just blinked. "That's...fine."
Vander sighed internally. He stood, pushing the chair back underneath the table. "Then you can start tomorrow, for tonight, stick to the backroom. I'll feed you in-between shifts." He headed for the bar—
"Wait."
Vander froze.
"What?" He answered.
"Turn around. Let me see your face."
"Why?"
"Just...do it."
Vander sighed deeply, moving slowly back around to face the kid sitting at the table. His eyes immediately snapping to Jayce's face. He was just so...pretty. Vander's breath hitched. Those eyes watching Vander curiously, those plush lips, sharp cheekbones and all.
"Why are you helping me." Jayce studied him, searching.
Vander swallowed.
He didn't have to help. He could've let the kid walk out, let him learn the hard way what it meant to be alone in Zaun.
But then...
"I...don't know." Vander murmured, looking away. "I just want to."
Without another word, he headed back to the bar, silently prepping for the rest of the night.
And he doesn't watch Jayce eat.