Disclaimer:: I do not own the beautiful wonder that is League of Legends. I do not own the sexually attractive characters of League of Legends. It all belongs to Riot games. Kill all them admins and take the company ! :D AND THEN UN-NERF RIVEN ! 0.o
If you want to follow my tumblr; it's rainasynesthesia. I blog a lot of League stuffs. And a lot of non-leagues stuff.
And if Twitter is more your thing, my username is thehappyguppy. I only update once or twice a month, and it's usually just a tweet to my best friend, about noodlecups.
After the night's last battle, Malzahar was laying in his bed, his body at full health and yet exhausted. He didn't know whether he should close his eyes and sleep, or if he should get up and make tea to wake himself up. He let his eyelids slip shut, and was drifting off to sleep, when there was a sharp knock on the door. It was too strong to be Annie's little tap, and his heart leapt to his throat. What if it was Garen, coming to take revenge for harassing him so much earlier? Garen was pretty vengeful about stuff like this. Malzahar's head filled with visions of Garen hitting Rammus with the flat of his blade when Rammus had taunted him beyond all belief in a previous match. The knock sounded again, startling him, and he jumped up, throwing the end of his scarf over his shoulder.
"Oh," he said, upon seeing Kassadin standing in the doorway. Kassadin had his mask off, and his eyes were heavy-lidded. Malzahar could tell that he was as exhausted as Malzahar himself was, and his eyebrows scrunched together. Kassadin looked really awkward and uncomfortable.
"What's wrong?" he asked. Kassadin shook his head sleepily.
"My guild house caught on fire… And no one else is answering their doors… I hate to do this… You know I would never ask a favor from you…"
"Yeah, you can sleep here," Malzahar said, grabbing Kassadin's arm. He pulled the taller man into his house and shut the door, sliding the bolt in place. The problem of furniture presented itself, as Malzahar only had one bed, two wooden chairs, and a table.
"You can have the bed," he offered, "I can just float."
"What?" Kassadin asked. Malzahar raised an eyebrow.
"I don't walk, do I?" he asked. Kassadin shook his head, still not understanding.
"I don't walk," Malzahar explained patiently," my feet don't touch the ground. I float above it. I can just float above the floor."
"You can do that?" Kassadin asked, looking surprised. His eyes widened for a moment, before he seemed to remember that he was supposed to be a stern man.
"Yeah, of course," Malzahar reassured him.
"Thank you. I owe you," Kassadin said, tight-lipped. Malzahar knew it must be killing Kassadin to humble himself enough to come to his house and ask for lodgings. He was probably humiliated. As Kassadin arranged himself stiffly on the very edge of Malzahar's small bed, Malzahar leaned back in the air, as though leaning against a wall, and watched, a tiny smile dancing on the corners of his lips.
Malzahar wasn't going to sleep on the floor, or above the floor. He was going to sleep in his own bed.
He just had to wait for Kassadin to fall asleep, first.