Chapter Text
Steb did not know much about romance. Or human courtship rituals for that matter. But your lingering gaze as you handed him a seaweed bap every morning made him want to try.
There are many ways to begin a romance according to the Piltover book of romantic poetry, and presenting someone with a bouquet of flowers is generally considered a safe choice for most. However, Steb , the athletic tall stoic enforcer with the bearing of a soldier and the physiology of a fish - was not most people.
Steb did not speak much, if at all. It wasn’t that he lacked the capacity as his gravelly deep voice could resonate when absolutely necessary to stop a burglar in his tracks or quickly diffuse a public order situation as necessary, but rather that to him words felt imprecise and inelegant.
He had since learned to let his actions speak for him. A stern blue eyed look, a nod or a drop of his third eyelid often spoke more than officer Nolan could achieve in half an hour of yapping.
As Steb carefully stooped down to find the flowers he had spotted on patrol once, he mused over the strange hold you had on him.Your little bakery on the very edge of Piltover’s busy district was a rare place of warmth and light amidst the cold, mechanical city, drawing him in like a cold sodden moth after his overstimulated days. It reminded him of his homeland.
Steb had first visited your bakery on a routine patrol, lured in not by hunger but by his curiosity, your frosted shopfront proudly displayed intricately designed fish shaped pastries and pasties arranged so artfully it was woeful to imagine them being disturbed by a purchase.
Your easily given smiles and constant chatter had been a balm to his pointed ears. You were an immigrant too. An outsider always looking in. You always gave him a spare biscuit for free.
He hated biscuits.
But he loved the way you blushed when his hand brushed yours, supposedly by accident as he took the brown paper bag. Unlike others, your eyes did not linger on his stature or his scaled skin, instead greeting him with genuine warmth that somehow made him feel… seen...
You didn't batter him with endless trite and sometimes borderline offensive questions like others did. You seemed more than content to speak for the both of you, which suited him just fine.
And so, after weeks of silently purchasing baps he didn’t particularly enjoy, Steb decided to express his gratitude the only way he knew how after meticulously consulting with books about human courtship and romantic poetry in the Piltover grand library - through a gift.
Unfortunately, his knowledge of Piltovean flora was lacking.
The flowers he selected on that night - though hauntingly beautiful, a cluster of strange, iridescent red and silver blooms he had now salvaged from the edges of Zaun’s polluted waterways were beautiful in a way he thought youd appreciate.... The red reminding him of your human blush. The soft petals shimmered like fish scales, catching the light in a manner that reminded him of home. To him, they were perfect. Iridescent silvery red tulips.
Steb entered the bakery as silently as always, helmet in webbed hand, his tall ramrod straight step confident yet stoic, the oversized brass bell above the door jingling to announce his arrival. Youd looked up from behind the counter, your face brightening instantly as your favourite customer stepped in, in his tall and brooding handsome glory.
“Steb!” you shouted, self conciously brushing a strand of hair from your face. “Here for your usual?”
Instead of answering, Steb stepped forward and extended the bouquet. His expression remained impassive, but his webbed fingers tightened slightly on the stems, betraying a flicker of nerves he was trying to keep under wraps.
Romance was tricky enough for humans. But for a Vastyian fish person to court a human, there was no rulebook for that.
Steb stood still. His tall enforcer posture ramroid straight as he held the bouquet for an awkward eternity.
You blinked slowly, taken aback, as you stepped forward to take the shimmering bouquet he extended toward you.
“For me?” you asked, your voice soft, almost disbelieving as a faint blush crossed your cheeks.
Steb nodded once, the motion deliberate, his eyes piercing yours with an oceanic blue that seemed too deep for human language, watching you carefully.
“Oh, Steb...” you murmured, your heart warming despite the awkwardness of the gesture. The flowers were beautiful, their metallic sheen catching the light, delicate petals curling at their edges like they had been crafted from molten silver.For a moment, he seemed to relax, the tension in his broad shoulders easing. Then, as your fingers brushed the petals, the flowers reacted, as if the heat of your human hand had activated something which in his cool hand was dormant.
A sharp sting bit into your skin, and you yelped, pulling your hand back instinctively. The petals trembled and curled inward, expelling a fine, silvery mist that swirled in the golden light of the bakery.
Your breath hitched as you stared at your hand. Tiny crimson droplets beaded along the shallow cuts the flowers had left behind.
“Um, Steb…” you began, your voice uneven as you held your injured hand out slightly. “What… exactly are these?”
Steb didn’t move for a moment, his glassy blue eyes fixed on the blood that marred your skin. Then his gills flared once, sharply, and before you could say another word, he was at your side.
He took your hand in his, his touch ice cool against your flushed skin, his movements deliberate yet gentle. For all his stoicism, there was something almost frantic in the way his webbed fingers traced over the small wounds, as if confirming the damage was not worse than it appeared.
Without a word, he lowered himself to one knee, retrieving a compact medical kit from his belt with practiced ease. His movements were swift yet careful, each action carried out with the precision of someone who had done this countless hundreds of times. His long, deft fingers, webbing barely hindering him, moved with the efficiency of a trained medic. Steb was a professional entirely in his element.
The silence between you was heavy, filled only by the faint rustle of the bandages as he tore them free. He worked quickly, cleaning the cuts with antiseptic and wrapping your admittedly very superficial wounds with steady hands. The sting of the solution was sharp, but you barely noticed it, your attention fixed instead on him.
The way the golden light of the bakery caught the subtle iridescence of his skin. The sharp angles of his chiselled face softened slightly in concentration. The way his broad frame, so often intimidating, seemed to fold itself carefully around this moment, protecting it.
“Steb...” you whispered, your voice breaking the silence. “I’m fine...really.”
He didn’t respond, his gaze flicking up to meet yours for only a moment before returning to his task.
When he finished, he stayed where he was, his hand lingering against yours as though he wasn’t entirely convinced you were telling the truth. His silence stretched on, but it wasn’t empty. It was charged and heavy, weighted with something you couldn’t quite name, and weren't entirely sure you wanted to.
“You didn’t have to do all this...” you said softly, offering a faint smile. “It’s just a scratch.”
His head tilted slightly, his blue eyes narrowing. No not in anger, but in disbelief, as if your words had offended some deeply held principle of his.
“You’re not half as scary as you look, you know,” you added, hoping to lighten the tension.
At that, his lips twitched faintly with the barest hint of what might have been a smile. His gills fluttered once more, slower this time, almost as though they were calming down.
“Thank you.” you said, your voice quieter now.
For a moment, he hesitated. Then, in a voice so low and deep it seemed to resonate in the air around you, he spoke.
“You’re welcome.”
The words, simple as they were, sent a shiver through you. You had never heard him speak before. Never imagined what it would sound like. He had always communicated through nods and looks, and at most pointing at a baked good he wanted.
There was something deeply intimate about hearing his voice, as though he had broken a sacred silence just for you.
Before you could think better of it, you reached out, your uninjured hand brushing against his. His skin was cool, textured with the faint ridges of fish scales that shimmered like blue green silver under the golden light. He froze at the contact, his webbed fingers twitching faintly where they cradled your other hand. His head tilted just slightly, the sharp lines of his jaw catching the light, and his gills flared once, the movement both deliberate and uncertain.
His deep blue eyes snapped to yours, their glassy surface glimmering with something you couldn’t quite name. They were striking, too large and too vivid to be entirely human, and for a moment, the space between you seemed impossibly small, an expanse of thin ice.
Your heart thudded in your chest. He didn’t move, didn’t breathe, as though waiting for you to pull away, to break the moment. Waiting for you to reject him. Instead, you leaned in.
The first touch of his lips was startling. Cool, smooth, and faintly textured, they felt utterly alien, and yet there was a strange softness to them, a gentle delicacy that belied his imposing frame. The kiss was tentative, unhurried, like the gentle lap of waves against the shore as he took his time exploring the surface of yours. His breath mingled with your breath, cold and briny like the sea, a reminder of the otherworldly nature of the man before you.
His hand, still cradling yours, tightened slightly, anchoring you as though afraid you might slip away. His webbed fingers trembled faintly against your skin, and the motion sent a shiver up your spine. You felt the cool, almost slick texture of his scaled knuckles brush against your wrist, a sensation so unfamiliar it made your head spin.
His frame, so often rigid and controlled, leaned into you just slightly, and the air seemed to shift between you...thickening, warming, as though the kiss had created its own fragile world. His gills fluttered rhythmically against his neck, their faint, whispering sound the only indication of the emotions he refused to show.
When you finally pulled back, your breath hitched, and you realized your hands were trembling. His lips lingered for a moment, ghosting yours, as if reluctant to break the connection, and when he opened his eyes, those deep, glassy blues bore into yours with an intensity that made the air catch in your lungs.
Your cheeks flushed under his gaze, and you couldn’t help the small, breathless laugh that escaped you. “Well...” you murmured, your voice softer than you intended, “I think you’ve more than redeemed yourself.”
His gills fluttered again, slower this time, their movement oddly hypnotic. Though his expression remained as stoic as ever, there was a warmth in his eyes now, a quiet depth that seemed to speak louder than words ever could.
His other hand, the one not holding yours, flexed briefly at his side, the subtle motion drawing your attention to the sleek, muscular lines of his forearm. Every part of him felt otherworldly, his cool touch, the faint luminescence of his scaled skin, the quiet strength in his movements ...and yet there was something deeply grounding in the way he looked at you, as though you were the only solid thing in a world that had always been shifting.
For a long moment, neither of you moved, the air between you heavy with unspoken words and unacknowledged emotion. His blue eyes flickered to your lips, lingering for a heartbeat before returning to your gaze. Though he didn’t speak, the tension in his frame as he gently cupped the back of your head and leaned in said everything.
You were his.
/--Epilogue--/
The narrator, with all the cynicism of someone who has seen one too many fleeting moments end in ruin, feels duty-bound to remind you that love, like the sea, is an indifferent and cruel force of nature.
For now, you and Steb linger in this fragile kiss, a brief reprieve in a world that will not hesitate to grind you both to dust, either through the passage of time or more violent means.
The scent of the bouquet clings to the air, a sweet naive metallic promise of how even beauty can wound. Enjoy this moment while you can.
A storm is always ahead, and the sea will claim back everything, eventually. It will render both flesh and love from your bones.
But for now enjoy your seaweed bap.