Although it was late, the kitchen of the house still smelled of warm bread and fresh herbs. Traces of labour could still be found and you remembered telling Albert to stop making the servants work so long.

Compared to other rich houses in Piltover, you paid well and the staff liked their work, but there were hours when you wanted to be alone.

Completely undisturbed.

Warm, golden light flickered on and bathed the grey stone floor in a sunset. Old wood and brass bowls were revealed.

If one looked at the room as an uninformed person, they might have thought the kitchen was old-fashioned. You, on the other hand, knew that your mother had personally set it up as this house had been built.

Every Friday evening until Monday morning, she gave the cook and his kitchen helpers the day off and took care of the food herself.

Your father had made her an incredibly rich lady, but she had never forgotten who she was: a woman who loved to do what made her and others happy.

Sometimes you could still smell the tartness of freshly squeezed lemons that she used to make cakes with icing. But these were just memories from days gone by.

Lost in thought, you let your fingers wander over the oiled wooden worktop. A little flour nestled against your fingertips and lightened the (S/C) skin.

"Please.", you gestured to a row of stools where the servants usually enjoyed their breakfast after the early hours of the morning.

Bread toasted in a pan with garlic rubbed on it and an egg on top, the yolk still slightly runny. You looked around at the thought.

"Are you thirsty?", you asked and were already at the cupboard, which was filled with food.

Carafes made of crystal glass were lined up close together in the doors cupboard, filled with sliced berries and fruit. Mint and rosemary leaves floated in some of them.

Your gaze travelled on to a carafe filled with dark liquid. Coffee or chocolate, it was hard to tell. You liked both for breakfast. Warm and chilled, depending on the temperature of the day.

"Coffee, if it's no trouble.", Viktor leant his crutch against the edge of the table.

You looked out of the window. Although the oven was still slightly warm, the kitchen was already chilly at night. You would have to bridge the time until the coal heaters generated warmth again.

Make coffee, then.

With a nod, you close the fridge again and turn your attention to the many tins resting on more wooden shelves above the gas cooker.

"Strong?", you asked as the smell of roasted beans hit you.

"With milk.", Viktor confirmed.

"For me... Please don't.", a tiny hint of shame sparkled red on the man's cheeks. "I prefer drinks sweet."

"And snacks.", Viktor added with a grin.

A thin smile curved your lips as you heated water in one of the brass pots over the stove. The vapour kissed your cheeks.

Only now did you realise that you were quite cold. Upstairs in the lounge it was warm, the heaters had heated the entire room in preparation. Downstairs in the kitchen was only pleasant when people were cooking.

Again, you had to silently scold yourself how bad your planning had been. The food and snacks were all upstairs.

Albert had probably interpreted your order to leave as meaning that he could call it a day. Either he had gone home or was enjoying a few glasses of wine with your father.

Whatever it was, you didn't want to steal his free time. And it would take an embarrassingly long time to get everything alone.

Your eyes watched the water in the pot as small bubbles formed and the surface began to boil. It had been a while since you had cooked for anyone.

Since the death of your mother, to be precise. After that you had to look after your father, he had refused to eat the dishes the cook had made for him. Your cooking was nowhere near as perfect as hers had been, but it was the next best thing.

After he had dealt with her passing, he ate normally again and you had no reason to continue cooking yourself.

Lost in thought, you poured the boiling water into a filter in which a heap of coffee powder was waiting. The aroma made Viktor inhale deeply.

"Apologies, but it's going to take a moment.", you turned to Jayce with a smile this time.

He had been watching you, mesmerised. As if this simple task took him by surprise. Or you him. Your eyes met and with raised eyebrows he shook his head slightly.

"I have tea.", you said with a nod of your head at the remaining water. "It tastes really good with sliced peaches and some Noxian honey."

As if he had woken up from a dream, he looked at you.

"Huh?", he finally asked.

You could literally see it working in his head. A slightly reddish glow burned on his cheeks.

"Tea.", you repeated calmly. "Would you like some? It's better than coffee. Otherwise I only have cold drinks that are sweet."

You looked round.

In the kitchen of your house, or your father's house, there was never a shortage of anything. Colourful vegetables were lined up close together in wooden crates. Potatoes were grouped together in kilo sacks. Bundles of herbs hung from the wooden ceiling beams so that they could dry in the warm air.

All you needed was meat.

"Tea.", Jayce repeated, snapping you out of his thoughts. "Yes, tea would be... nice."

When you tried to look at him again, he suddenly averted his eyes. Viktor didn't seem to notice, so you didn't mention it.

Perhaps the new council member first had to get used to the fact that he would now be dining with very loaded people whose kitchens were bigger than anything he had ever known before.

Although that couldn't be entirely true. After the Hexgates had been completed, he had earned a lot of money from them. He was not a rich councillor, but he was no longer an ordinary working citizen of Piltover.

"Tea, then.", you muttered to yourself, gathering everything together.