The Importance of Being Ezreal

Chapter 2

"What was he doing here?" Ezreal asked sharply. The words of the General were still fresh in his mind.

Unfazed, Draven motioned for the Piltovian to remove himself from the cold. His efforts were left unnoticed by the stubborn boy. Impatient, he opted to drag him in himself. "Just came over to talk about brotherly things, like Noxus and Noxus. Typical family stuff. You wouldn't want know," he replied, locking the door.

Ezreal scowled at him.

"Come on, let's go practice. Or spar," Draven pushed with a wild grin. "I'm itching for a good fight."

"No, I don't want to," Ezreal muttered. "Just came back from a match." Draven mock pouted at him, but only received a deeper scowl in return. He straightened up, face relaxing.

"Fine, what do you want to do instead?"

Ezreal shook his head slowly.

"Eat?" Silence. "Come on, work with me here," Draven pleaded. "We can go out for dinner. Piltovian food."

"You hate Piltovian food," Ezreal pointed out.

"I do, but you don't. What do you say?"

Ezreal thought it over, looking down at his gauntlet. It was true it had been a while since he had a bite of any homely foods. Draven had been showing off his cooking skills recently, it was better than his own, a whole lot better, though he would never ever admit that to the already egotistical man.

"Sounds good."

Draven grinned. "Great. Now go shower up because I'm not dragging around a bloody kid."

Ezreal allowed a corner of his lips to quirk. "Care to join me?"

Draven raised a brow. "If you insist."

"I don't understand how you could just let him go like that," Caitlyn muttered, taking apart her gun. Vi grunted and joined her at the kitchen table.

"Are we still on this topic? He's a smart kid," she replied. "I trust him to know what he's doing." Caitlyn shook her head.

"He's too young," she protested. "Way too young." She fell silent and rubbed a damp cloth over the pieces. Vi watched her, scratching her pink locks. "And it's not Ezreal I don't trust, it's him." Vi began pulling off her hextech gauntlets with a sigh and placed them on the table. Caitlyn shot her a warning glance. Vi quickly replaced the dirty gloves onto the floor.

"We've been over this, Cupcake," she said, straightening up. "Draven may be annoying, loud, and absolutely aggravating, but the kid sees something in him that we don't see." She paused and bent down again to flick specks of dirt off her gloves. "I'm willing to give him a chance. I mean, look at us. What did people say about us?"

"We were already a team," Caitlyn huffed.

"An ex-criminal and a goody two shoes sheriff of the police force?" Vi added. "That difference can't be less significant than a Piltovian and a Noxian."

"And I also wasn't nearly 20 years your junior," Caitlyn countered, wiping down her scopes. Vi shrugged.

"They're both adults."

"He's 17," Caitlyn pointed out.

"18. His birthday is this week. Did you forget, Cait?" Vi teased. Caitlyn looked up, concerned.

"This week," she repeated softly. She began to rub at her gun. Then she paused. "We didn't get a gift," she said with realization.

Vi looked away, feigning heavy duty brainstorming as she already knew what she wanted. "Let's have a party?" Vi suggested.

"Of course," Caitlyn said absentmindedly. She resumed cleaning, her brows furrowed. Vi watched with victory as she carefully folded the pieces back.

"I doubt Ezreal remembered," Vi said with a smile, thinking of the Piltovian explorer. He was always running around, scouting out new areas, ruins, or tunnels. Doing his explorer stuff with maps and old things. Vi wasn't too interested in the ancient, mouldy things. But Ezreal was.

"I doubt Draven even knows," Caitlyn said coldly.

"Hm," Vi grunted. "We should tell him. Plan a surprise party. Or something." Caitlyn shot her a glare. "I don't know!" The sheriff began putting her gun together, the pieces sliding together flawlessly. Vi watched cautiously, unsure if she should start running now.

"I don't want him around," Caitlyn said stiffly, getting up from her chair. She turned away from her partner.

The other woman breathed in relief. "Oh, come on now, Cupcake," Vi pressed. She turned in her chair as Caitlyn left. "Ezreal wants him around. Draven makes him happy. Let's just give him a chance. Just one." Vi heard rustling then the telltale clang of her gun being placed on the rack. The sheriff entered the kitchen again and placed a kettle on the stove. She turned around, chewing on her lip. She shook her head,

"No, I don't– "

"Come on," Vi pouted. Caitlyn looked at her, arms crossed, a hard look on her face as she weighed the pros and cons.

She really didn't want to face the man when she didn't have to. It was bad enough to face him on the Fields of Justice, with his arrogant mug and flaunts of skill. Now it came with the added discomfort about the harassment the collected Piltovians' had brought to him. Even Heimerdinger had something to say.

It was to be expected. Their relationship was not.

Caitlyn had revelled at the sudden improvements Ezreal had shown on the Fields. She had concluded he had finally spent some time practicing and that he was finally taking his role as a Champion more seriously.

Ezreal wasn't formally selected as a Champion, but in Caitlyn's opinion, that didn't mean he couldn't act like one.

Imagine her surprise when he had proudly told her yes, he did spend some time practicing, with a certain mentor.

Out of all the marksmen or markswomen in the League, Ezreal had chosen Draven. The Glorious Executioner. The boy didn't even begin by asking her first!

But the most surprising thing was not that Ezreal was being trained by Draven, but that Draven had agreed to train Ezreal.

She looked away from Vi and at her reflection in the kettle. Draven. Agreed to train some Piltovian child? Unbelievable.

The next was the worst. It was, again, surprising, but it was more disturbing than anything else.

She blinked then frowned down at her face. She was starting to get wrinkles from all the worrying. She lifted a hand to gently prod at it.

Disturbing was that the Noxian had the gall to court the young man. What would the boy know? He's too young! Taking advantage of him like that!

She had been an officer and the sheriff of Piltover for many years. She had seen men like this before. Being on the job meant seeing the worst of humanity at times. She was not naive. She looked over to Vi, who was still waiting on a reply. Vi, too, has seen people like him. Both as a police officer and as a former criminal herself.

But Ezreal did not have hurt or empty eyes when he had visited her to playfully boast about his most recent victories. It was happiness. And in his eyes, it was genuine. She has seen happiness before, as well. From recovering stolen goods to administering right justice, seeing happiness is also part of the job. It made life worth living. It was a part of the best of humanity. Would this do the same?

"Just this once," she said tentatively. Vi jumped up, surprising her, and wrapped the smaller woman in her arms, holding her tightly. Vi was right.

"That's the spirit!" she said, resting her chin on her head. Draven does make Ezreal happy, Caitlyn mused. "I'm sure he'll appreciate your efforts, Cait."

"He'd better," she said sourly with a small smile, the words muffled against Vi.

Draven hoped his brother could deal with his predicament, because at the moment, he could not.

Ezreal sat across from him in the car seat booth, eating his food slowly. Draven had poked at his plate for a bit, stirring the bits around, but decided to watch the Piltovian eat instead.

Ezreal eyed Draven's plate. "Told you," he said, gesturing at it with his fork. "You don't like Piltovian food."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Draven waved him off. "This is for you, not for me."

It was not like Draven had intended to back out of it, really, he was a man of his words. Ezreal's favourite meal, favourite person, his last supper. Then bye bye.

But it was hard.

But Draven liked a challenge.

"I'll walk you home."

The words rang in Ezreal's mind, shivering and refusing to dull into silence. Something about Draven's tone, his voice, or the current rare thoughtful silence, shook something in his senses. Perhaps it was the whole night in general, but Ezreal was quite sure the alarm was the loudest when Draven had offered to walk him home.

Home.

He had never offered that before. Most likely from Ezreal never having to return to home or wanting to return home, but still. Something in the back of his mind was troubling him, like a tiny voice of doubt, squeaking Darius' words like a prayer with its tiny hands clasped together. He caught Draven's watchful gaze washing over him before his hands reached out sideways and trailed down his arm, fingers feathering his wrist bone, smoothing over the curves of his knuckles, and finally curling Ezreal's smaller hand into his.

And Ezreal sighed contently squeezing their hands closer as his thoughts of doubt evaporated.

He hit himself over the head mentally for being on the edge still. This man went through thick and thin and Ezreal felt that trust was to be awarded. A tinge of annoyance struck a nerve, his brow twitching in remembrance. His dear friends.

Of course, he loved them. More than anything. They were kind and fun to be around. They reminded him of home as they share their beginnings in Piltover as well. Together, they have collected and told stories, stories that none other than Piltovians could truly appreciate and understand. The exclusive nature of their city-state made for a tight group of friends. A fierce, protective, tight group of friends.

Draven. They saw him as a threat, as a predator, as an enemy to be eliminated.

Caitlyn was the most enraged, her normally placid demeanour had flared up to furiously murderous. Ezreal attributed it to her vigilant motherly tendencies. It was frightening to watch her eyes narrow and darken with her stance straightening to a full posture of intimidation. Her years as an officer of the state had taught her a few moves, though Ezreal had wondered if it was the other way around.

Vi, he found, was angry as well. Her already edged words were slick with venom when she spoke to or about Draven. And Jayce seemed to have a say, though he seemed more apprehensive than the rest.

After a while, Ezreal found himself agreeing with them.

Because it was true, what they had said.

It was true Noxians didn't exactly have the best reputation, especially socially.

And it was true Piltovians, as longstanding allies of Demacia, did not take Noxian presence lightly.

And yes. Draven was old. Very old. But Ezreal had later concluded that he wasn't quite old enough to be his father, which he found to be oddly calming.

All these ate away at Ezreal's trust. Because yes, they were in a mentor-student relationship and clearly Draven somehow twisted the situation to benefit from it. In some way. That's what they said. And it was true, right?

And halfway through it all, Ezreal was sure the Noxian would leave. Absolutely, positively. He wanted to say he had hoped Draven would make the decision and never look back. But he can't. Because deep down, his insides were all knotted up for weeks, dreading the day Draven would decide that he has had enough.

Because Draven had become the world to him. He found himself attracted to his face, his body, and his goofy, egotistical mindset. And his confidence on and off the battlefield. His touches. His words. Every movement he made. His willingness to be attacked with glares and scowls, to be pelted with threatening words, just to stick around. Ezreal found himself in love.

They stopped in front of Ezreal's home, the evening breeze chilling them. The Piltovian gazed up at the Noxian, chest warm in the cool night, though beating rapidly in anticipation. I love you, he said in his mind. I love you, I love you, I love you. He wanted to repeat it aloud, without the stumbling of his tongue or clipping by his teeth. He wanted it loud, he wanted it clear, he wanted it heard.

Draven let go of his hand and gave him an apologetic look. "Hey Ez—er, Ezreal. I think we ought to go our separate ways. See other people. You know." He rubbed the back of his head, turning his gaze to a nearby street lamp.

The world stood still as Ezreal held back his words and cursed his luck. He struggled to keep his lips from shaking as his heart sank deeper into the pit of his stomach. "Yeah, sure." He nodded and hoped the lack of light revealed none of his dejected features or glassy eyes or how his hands trembled. Draven was still preoccupied with the street lamp, his hands now stuffed into the pockets of his coat.

Ezreal wavered from thoughts of "look at me" to "don't look at me", eyes threatening to blink and threatening to spill. He settled with the first and began to climb the short steps to the front door.

"Good night." He fumbled with his keys as his vision blurred. It had been a while since he had needed to unlock his own door. The cut metal felt foreign in his cold hands. "Thanks for walking me home," he mumbled thickly. He closed the door behind him, using every last inch of his willpower to not collapse in a tired and sad heap against the door. As he did so, he thought he heard a faint "no problem" from the other side.

Author's Note: I've rewritten the first chapter as I wasn't too happy with it. Here is the second chapter. Thank you for the reviews. Zjol.