Chapter Text
Jayce Talis was sitting in a comfortable armchair in his lab and patiently awaiting unavoidable retribution. Well, patiently was a stretch—after all, Jayce hasn’t been patient a day in his life—but he was sitting and not pacing around like an overexcited bee, so that definitely counted for something.
It was one of those days when Piltover seemed to be bathing in sunlight, glowing like a beacon from afar, golden warmth pouring through the windows like hot syrup on a pancake. Jayce liked working at night and sleeping in, but there was something about feeling the early, unripe sunlight on his face that made him feel like he was a child again, getting ready for his morning lessons with countless tutors.
In fact, he still remembered how he catalogued his books, using different bookmarks for different subjects and themes—colors that now, much later in life, had transcended into his HexTech notes and patents. Jayce liked precision. He liked having a plan, clear and understandable.
What happened today was… definitely not a part of any plan. Not Jayce’s plan anyway.
He sighed, ran his hand through his hair and bit his lip, staring at his new major problem. The new major problem stared back.
Once upon a time, Jayce had divided his partner’s steps into three categories.
There were erratic steps. Those came in quick sets of one-two-threes, the click of Alberto—Viktor’s crutch—against the marble floor of the Academy brief, weightless, nonexistent. These steps usually meant that Viktor was on a verge of making progress on that one experiment that wouldn’t let him sleep, the heat of excitement in his translucent veins dulling the ever-present ache of his body.
There were waltz steps, gentle and smooth one, two, threes, which indicated that Viktor was walking with a book in his hand, lost in his thoughts or daydreaming about mile-long formulas that transcended into literal magic under his clever hands.
And there was the third category. One that Jayce never liked. One that made him cautious and tense and never promised anything good. One, two… three. One, two… three. Those cursed three dots meant pain. They meant struggle. They meant, ‘I’m stubborn and that’s why I’m here, but I feel like an exposed nerve and I hate everyone’.
Over the years, it had become a sort of habit, awaiting those steps whenever Jayce came into the lab first (which wasn’t that rare of an occurrence, no matter what Viktor mumbled about his extravagant sleep schedule). Jayce wouldn’t even know he was doing it if it wasn’t for Heimerdinger, who pointed out that Jayce always knew what to expect from Viktor before the doors even opened. The professor called him ‘caring’ and ‘attentive’ that day, looking as thoughtful and welcoming as always, but Jayce didn’t really… it wasn’t something he had to remind himself to do.
Being aware of Viktor’s presence was like brushing his teeth in the morning. Like lacing up his shoes. Like breathing. Natural, always there.
That’s why, when a familiar set of one, two, threes approached the lab, Jayce lifted his head, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He knew exactly what to expect from those steps.
And—just like he predicted—once the door opened, welcoming Viktor’s narrow frame inside, sunlight danced on his sharp cheekbones, slid down the metal spikes of the brace on his leg, played with the golden flickers of metal on Alberto and got lost in the pile of… notes. There were so many notes that Jayce blinked, unsure if he was imagining them.
Viktor mumbled something that distantly sounded like ‘morning’ and, keeping his nose buried in that horrible pile of papers, migrated south, carefully placing the notes on his table and sitting down on a comfortable, plush armchair that he and Jayce found a couple of years ago at Piltover’s Spring Fair. Of course, because Viktor was Viktor, and Viktor was a masochist, they spent at least an hour arguing whether the chair was worth the money, because ‘Jayce, you work better when you aren’t totally comfortable’ and ‘Jayce, this is a lab, not your dining room’ and ‘Unlike some people, I wasn’t born with a damned silver spoon in my mouth’...
Honestly, it was a wonder how most of the people believed Viktor to be the quiet one between the two of them.
Anyway—Viktor rested his crutch against the table, not looking up once from the piece of paper that was covered in a labyrinth of runes, rubbed his neck with the freed hand, stretched his impossibly-long legs—and only then noticed that something was wrong. Or, to put it better, accidentally touched the said wrong with his feet.
“What the—” Viktor, once again proving that he was a real pleasure to be around in the morning, bent over to look under the table, the curse dying on his lips. Jayce watched him with a heavy heart. “Jayce!”
That was the tone one used on their pet when the said pet misbehaved. Jayce’s mom used it to scold their cat when he got bold and pissed in her expensive shoes.
Jayce pretended he was a vegetable.
“What?” He asked as innocently as he could and winced when Viktor dragged the lab’s most recent inhabitant from under the table, scooped it up and dangled it in the air like one of those stuffed toys Caitilin used to keep on her bed.
“What is this?” calmly inquired Viktor, his accent heavy and thick on his tongue. The expression on his face was unreadable. Jayce shrugged.
“A raccoon.”
“I see,” Viktor’s amber eyes locked on the racoon like the animal was a bomb ready to explode. The poor creature didn’t even try to fight gravitation and hung in Viktor’s grip, most likely contemplating all his life choices. Even his little raccoony eyes looked tired of this bullshit. Come to think of it, the raccoon was a perfect reflection of Jayce’s lab partner.
The latter still hadn’t said anything else, as if daring Jayce to explain, because Viktor knew him better than anyone and liked toying with the fact that Jayce absolutely hated tense silences. Of course, Viktor was right.
“It was an accident,” started Jayce, waving his hands in the air, “I didn’t even see where he came from! I got up early, went for a fresh pastry at ‘Wise Pies’, and when I walked out, he was—”
“Swimming in a dustbin?” Suggested Viktor, wrinkled his nose and put the raccoon down. The animal rushed into a dark corner in an instant and hid behind its fluffy tail. The only thing left visible were his terrified eyes.
“He was starving!”
“So you should’ve left him at ‘Wise Pies’, they actually have food there!”
“So do we!” Jayce thought about the leftover dry crackers in one of his drawers and the horrible mixture of spices Viktor proudly called ‘the best tea in the world’ and changed the subject. “Don’t you like him?”
Viktor’s eyes met his. The sun lit up the warm amber of his irises, enriching it with golden dust specks, and if Jayce didn’t know better he would’ve said that Viktor looked… soft. Of course, the illusion disappeared as soon as Viktor scoffed and rolled his eyes, turning away to retrieve the cleansing balm he kept in his top drawer.
His hands always smelled like mint after he used it—and Viktor was obsessed with keeping his hands clean. Jayce, on his side, was obsessed with that smell. It reminded him of summers and lakes.
“Jayce,” rubbing the balm into his palms and deliberately not looking at him, started Viktor, “last month, you brought me a cat and told me a sad story of how you were always seeing it around your building and wanted it to have a proper home. Two weeks ago, it was a pigeon with a broken wing that for some reason couldn’t be healed by anyone but me. What should I expect next?” Viktor finally looked up. “A lab mouse? A dozen ladybugs that got stuck in some child’s hoop-net?”
Jayce bit his lip. It wasn’t as painful as looking Viktor in the eyes.
“I know you don’t like to witness someone’s suffering, even if it is only a pigeon,” Viktor’s voice rocked back and forth like a pirate’s ship on high waves, “you pick up everything that’s broken, because you hate broken things, but I don’t need anything, or anyone, apart from what I already have,” the gaze of amber eyes felt like pure fire on his skin, and Jayce winced, “take the poor animal and give him to someone who won’t accidentally kill him with his crutch, will you?”
Jayce wasn’t delusional. He knew that sooner or later, Viktor would’ve caught up with his stupid plan, but he never expected it to be this soon. After all, he had done his fair share of (in Viktor’s own words) ‘stupid, unnecessary things’, and the raccoon was cute and did remind him of his lab partner after he had a sleepless night, so…
Part of him knew that Viktor wasn’t the one to squeak and hover around animals, but there was another, more stubborn part that was determined to give Viktor something—anything—that would make him look forward to leaving the lab. Because lately, not a lot of ‘leaving’ was being done. Almost none.
And every time Jayce had to drag Viktor out, repeating over and over again that no one could make progress when their eyes were closed ninety percent of the time, he kept thinking that Viktor really didn’t have much going on apart from the lab and their never-ending circle of experiments.
Jayce didn’t either. They were men of science, and they were quite comfortable in the company of formulas, numbers and ideas. The only difference between them was that Jayce had to keep up appearances at fundraisers, parties and science fairs—basically, all those events that made Viktor roll his eyes and mutter in Zaunian under his breath. Networking was overwhelming, but it did provide Jayce with some needed distractions from work, acquaintances that invited him to even more parties here and there, and let’s not forget about the obligatory afternoon tea at the Kiramann’s residence every second Thursday…
Long story short, Jayce had a life outside the lab. Meanwhile, Viktor’s life was the lab.
Jayce couldn’t help but try and change that equation, but no matter how hard he worked on it, he couldn’t find the right formula. Maybe because people’s minds couldn’t fit into lengthy, logical functions? Or because Viktor kept setting him up for failure?
In the days that came after, Jayce thought at length about the role one raccoon played in the story of his and Viktor’s lives… and in the lives of everyone they’ve ever known. Even in ones they hadn’t even met yet.
But back then, all he was concerned with was catching the animal in order to, as Viktor eloquently put it, ‘give him to someone who won’t accidentally kill him with his crutch’. The raccoon, however, seemed to have liked the taste of a good life, nesting on an old pillow that somehow ended up under a bookcase, and wouldn’t show his (face? muzzle?) no matter how hard Jayce tried to lure him out. He felt like a complete idiot standing on his knees with an old cracker in his hand, and could hear Viktor’s laughter in his head—except that Viktor never laughed, not out loud.
There were scoffs and grunts and occasional smiles, but after three long years Jayce had yet to hear that real, chest-deep laughter that he knew would be low and raspy and so, so Viktor-like… to be honest, he wouldn’t even be mad if his partner chose to laugh at him right now. The situation practically demanded it.
“Come on,” growled Jayce, rummaging the space under the bookcase, his finger catching pure air and dust, “I know you are there, come out, Rudy, I—”
Behind him, Viktor cleared his throat. When he spoke, his usual crusty tone was peppered with slight amusement, irritation and affection.
“Not to say that I don’t admire the view—but Jayce, first, you are not an animal keeper for a reason, second, Rudy is a horrible name for a raccoon, and third…” Viktor made a dramatic pause, “that creature has hidden under my table when you weren’t looking.”
Jayce looked over his shoulder—and yes, the bloody raccoon was there, clinging to Viktor’s leg like it was his own mother. He cursed under his breath, gritted his teeth and was about to stand up when his fingers stumbled upon a piece of paper that lay forgotten in the dust under the bookcase. Jayce mindlessly dragged the paper out, dusted it off and, still sitting on his knees, frowned at his own handwriting.
It must’ve been one of his old draft formulas, tossed over the shoulder in frustration when it hadn’t clicked like it should’ve, swept under furniture and forgotten. But now…
Jayce’s eyes skimmed over countless numbers and symbols, and then, in a flash of lightning, he saw it. They had been working on HexGem innovations for almost a year, trying to overrule the raw power of wild magic, but no matter what they tried and how many different angles they picked to look at the problem, it kept hiding from them, giving Jayce a constant headache and forcing him to learn multiple curses in Zaunite.
And during all that time, he hadn’t stopped to think about this once! When he had already written it down and thrown away like it was some rubbish!
Jayce stared at the piece of paper in his hand like it was telling him all the secrets of the world. In some ways, it actually was.
“A neutral rune stabilizing the layout of the runic script?
ZM> χ Uujstgdeh χ CY???
We could use a non-linear approach with perturbation exponential coefficient!
Or… determine equilibrium points?..”
And there, right under the phase portraits for the said stable and unstable equilibrium points...
“The trajectory enters the largest invariant set in Ωc ∩{x1, x2 : V ̇ = 0} = Ωc ∩{x1, 0}...
Of course, it’s fucking useless anyway, counting that we don’t have the right sphere…”
Except that they did now. Viktor was the one to figure it out over a month ago.
Jayce was so glad he was sitting. Astonishment washed over him in waves, because the answer was right there all this time, and it was so, so simple! How could he spend a year drowning in all the wrong formulas when the solution was right under his nose (bookcase)?
“We were using the wrong criterion,” he laughed and shook his head. Loose strand of hair fell on his face, and he must’ve looked like a vagabond from the entrance, but he didn’t care, because— it meant—
“Jayce.”
Viktor’s voice breathed just over his head, and Jayce looked up. Viktor was standing under the rays of the rising sun, and Jayce had to squint, because looking at him was too bright and painful, light all but gleaming under his translucent skin. For a second, Jayce was tempted to split that skin open to check whether Viktor was made of molecules and atoms like everybody else. He didn’t look the part.
Jayce gulped and silently handed Viktor the paper, not looking away once to capture the exact moment when those angled eyebrows shot up, throwing a party with Viktor’s hairline. “This is the HexTech version of Uvtulatov’s method,” Viktor pressed his lips into a thin line, “why are you so shocked by it? This is your handwriting, and we work with Nyquist criterion, remember? It’s—”
“The one for control systems,” nodded Jayce, licking his lips and standing up at last, too excited to stay still, “but the thing is, Arcane is not a control system. We are trying to make it one, but at its core…”
“Arcane is nonlinear,” Viktor’s eyes widened, and he looked at the paper with much more appreciation in his eyes, “and so if we use Uvtulatov’s method—”
“We might stabilize it enough to squeeze all that raw power back into an improved, safe gem!”
Jayce realized that he was beaming like a lighthouse, but he couldn’t help it. He wanted to embrace the world, kiss everyone around him, even Rudy, even Alberto, even Viktor—
He settled for a gentle squeeze of his partner’s shoulder, blood rushing to his cheeks at the uncontrolled, emotional, meaningless thoughts that slipped, unfiltered, into his overexcited mind. Viktor’s long eyelashes trembled, but he didn’t look up to meet his gaze, focused on Jayce’s long-forgotten formulas. His lips were moving as Viktor read through the entire list of calculations, and Jayce knew that because Viktor always mumbled at new information and not because he was staring at his mouth. He wasn’t.
“This… does indeed change everything,” said Viktor at last. The raccoon, feeling forgotten, crawled out from under the table and was slowly approaching his leg, probably attracted by the gleam of Viktor’s brace. It was like watching a kitten trying to catch a butterfly.
Too damn cute.
Jayce stubbornly shook his head. “We need books!” He exclaimed, quickly listing everything he knew about Uvtulatov’s work in his head, which admittedly wasn’t much, as they were given only a few lectures on his principles at the Academy, professors stating that ‘it had never been possible to test them’—except that it was possible now. Which meant...
“Heimerdinger,” having reached the same conclusion, they groaned in unison, looked at each other and groaned again.
Ever since HexTech gained weight and popularity and they moved to a new laboratory, Heimerdinger wouldn’t waste an opportunity to remind them how fragile the magical fabric they were working with was. After witnessing quite a few fires-small eruptions-accidents prevented just in time before the entire Pitlover blew off Heimerdinger had put his foot down and said that it would be better for everyone (and most of all, for his nerves) if they consulted him before making a huge advance in their research. And, so they wouldn’t be tempted to work around that rule, the professor restricted their access to the Academy’s library. That didn’t stop Jayce from trying anyway—only to be politely asked to turn around once he stepped in the metaphysics section.
They were still welcome to borrow any book, but anything work-related had to be approved by the professor. Well… Jayce certainly hoped that Heimerdinger slept well, his nerves intact and all. He wasn’t wasting more time on useless, long talks about safety and security when they were so close to real progress, so, so close! He could feel it in his very bones.
Jayce took a deep breath and announced, “We are breaking into the library.”
༺ 𒅒 ༻
“This distantly reminds me of something...” noted Jayce out loud as Viktor crouched by the library’s door, twisting a lockpick in a keyhole. Viktor snorted, turned his wrist in a long, complex movement, ruining the metal barriers before him in a search for that one right sound that would symbolize that the last fort had fallen under his hands and their path into the library was free of further obstacles.
Jayce’s right sock was blue, orange stripes starting at the level of his ankles. His left sock was red with small cherry-embroideries that ran through the entire length of the fabric. Viktor knew it because he spent the last five minutes sitting at his feet.
Jayce, being Jayce, wouldn’t stop worrying what such a position meant for Viktor’s bad leg, the entire line of his eyebrows screaming that he was holding back on his natural mother-hen instinct with all he had. Even his ankles looked tense.
Viktor bit his lower lip and continued the delicate process of breaking into the Academy’s precious library.
He could feel Jayce’s eyes on the crown of his head, intent, waiting for him to say something, to recall their first ever adventure, before HexTech got so important and bigger than life itself, before they went from strangers to partners in one night… He said nothing. Did Jayce truly believe he didn’t remember?
After all, Viktor had never been much of a talker. Most of the people he met assumed—mistakenly—that it meant that he had nothing to say.
But not Jayce. Jayce categorized his categories. Viktor wouldn’t be surprised if he had a scale for Viktor’s silences, too—that, of course, if he ever bothered to distinguish them.
The doors creaked and gave in under his hands, and Viktor bit back a triumphant smile. He wasn’t that good of a lockpicker, but one couldn’t take Zaun out of a man even if the said man was taken out of Zaun. Counting that Viktor wasn’t a person who got on everyone’s good graces with one polite smile and a bat of his eyelashes, the knowledge of ways to enter places he wasn’t supposed to enter had proven itself useful countless times.
‘As slippery as an eel’ said people at the Academy when Viktor had first joined the classes, pale as a ghost and with a cane in his hand, nothing like those gold-shitting bastards that were now telling everyone who listened that they were, ‘actually, good friends, yes, and helped Viktor with HexTech when he turned to them for advice’. It was almost funny. How much weight the Talis name signed next to Viktor’s own on all important papers held.
Jayce helped him up, and Viktor settled for not smacking his hands away, grabbing Alberto from his grip instead and hobbling inside the realm of paper and knowledge. He couldn’t believe that he had just forced himself into the Academy’s library in the name of progress. Life was a funny thing indeed.
“Life overall is a funny thing, Viktor,” Heimerdinger’s clever eyes dig into his skull, “you just need to find joy in it.”
The corner of Viktor’s mouth twitches. “And where do you propose I start?”
“Try drinking spiced tea with dark honey,” the professor winks at him, “and you will live to my humble age of three centuries.”
They found themselves in a huge marble room, littered from top to bottom with dozens, hundreds, thousands of books. Giant bowls of never-ending fire hung from the ceiling on fat silvery chains, painting everything in warm orange and gold. At night, the library looked like an ancient tomb.
Along the walls there were shelves filled with parchment scrolls, stacks of paper and tomes so old one touch would’ve been enough for them to crumble into dust. Viktor rubbed the tip of his nose. Sneezing wasn’t an option.
“You go left, and I go ri?..” Suggested Jayce, but shut up mid-sentence when Viktor walked past him with the surety of someone who knew exactly where they were headed. Uvtulatov… he could’ve sworn the last time he saw that name it was by the section 45-678…
“How do you always know everything?” Complained Jayce in a jokingly-frustrated tone, catching up with him in two wide leaps. Viktor felt a smile blooming on his lips. He liked it when Jayce sounded like that, breathless, almost awed, as if Viktor was constantly making him rediscover the world.
“Unlike someone, I pay attention and don’t fall asleep on the floor under my desk,” retorted Viktor. Section 35-675 swam by, and he turned left.
“One time,” groaned Jayce, “it happened one time, and I didn’t think that Freljord ale would be that strong—god, why do I always have to tell you everything?”
I’ve been asking myself the same thing for years.
If only all those reporters that wrote lengthy pieces about ‘Jayce Talis, the Man of Progress!’ could see him now. Viktor’s eyes involuntarily studied Jayce’s well-cut profile before focusing on sections’ numbers again.
His hair wasn’t all slicked back, there was a two-day stubble on his face, his eyes flared with the same fire that fed Viktor on those rare days when they actually made one of their insane theories work, and overall, Jayce looked far from the man the entirety of Piltover believed him to be. As in, a perfect candidate to throw broken hearts at.
40-765, 42-456…
Section 45-000, finally…
The pin-drop silence of the library, usually so comforting when he was doing his own research here, suddenly turned ominous. As if the shadows were watching them, ready to bite at their master’s command. Viktor grinned at the dark corners, knowing fully well that his grin spooked every night demon in sight.
Maybe because Viktor himself was one.
“Uvtulatov,” Jayce’s fingers found his elbow, and Viktor stopped, “there he is.”
This section of the library wasn’t popular—if a thick layer of dust on one of the shelves was anything to go by—but it also meant that no devoted student would randomly walk on them. Surrounded by the dim light of the overhead infinite flames, they started picking every book that looked remotely useful, flipping through the pages, silencing their own coughs when dust crawled into their lungs and searching, searching, searching.
It reminded Viktor of the exam period at the Academy, when he sat just like that day and night, knowing fully well that no one would pay for his grades and that the chance he was given was one in a million. Back then, his only friend was a cup of sweetmilk, which Viktor would endlessly nurse in his hands as his bloodshot eyes read through all those endless pages of additional formulas he used in his answers—all because he wanted to stand out, to be better, to step on all those golden throats with his rubbed-off soles…
Now, he didn’t have sweetmilk on him. He had a lockpick and he had Jayce.
Jayce, who sat on the floor amongst countless foliants with a somewhat crazed look on his face, leaning against a bookshelf, his legs stretched in front of him. The tip of his shoe was bouncing up and down, as if Jayce was keeping up with the rhythm of a song Viktor wasn’t allowed to hear. There was ink on his lower lip. A Man of Progress in his full glory.
And the thing was, Jayce did look like a philanderer. Like a player. In public, sleaked and buttoned-up and freshly shaved. He looked like a man that broke hearts to his left and right and had a new bedwarmer every night and never committed to anyone—but all of that was only a cover. A cover to a much darker story.
Because Jayce Talis was fucking sweet.
And it was dark, because Viktor didn’t trust anyone who looked like a pastry and smiled in their bloody sleep. Anyone but Jayce.
Jayce, who kept bringing lonely animals to the lab to make Viktor feel less lonely. Jayce, who spent five days in the forge to make Viktor his new crutch, gifting it to him wrapped in craft paper and adorned with an embarrassing bow. ‘Viktor, this is Alberto. Alberto, this is Viktor. After all the time we spent together, I feel like I know both of you better than the palms of my hands. Please be friendly with each other. I’m going to bed now.’
Jayce, who made Viktor a brace not even a year later and spent so much time on his knees before him that Viktor started wishing for a sweet release of death. Jayce, taking the measurements he needed, running his hands up and down Viktor’s thighs, biting his lips and writing down endless numbers… that was an image even Viktor’s cold composure couldn’t handle.
The point being.
Jayce was sweet, and Viktor was sour, and maybe they were supposed to balance each other out, but Viktor wanted them to erupt a little too much for that balance to stay stable. After all, he was just a man. And, more importantly, he grew up in Zaun. Words and desires weren’t filtered down there.
Viktor redirected his attention to the text in front of him.
“...certain carefully selected scalar functions of the state evolve as the system state evolves…”
This definitely wasn’t what they were looking for.
He closed the book with a dull thud, placed it back on the shelf and slightly winced when the movement bled through his body and reminded of itself in the area of his bad knee. His leg just kept getting worse, and it was annoying. Viktor had just enough with his lungs working on sixty percent of their capacity, and whenever his leg started feeling like a dead weight he distantly toyed with the idea of cutting it off completely… if only he wasn’t so damn scared.
They said that people could get used to constant pain. Well—screw them. Viktor didn’t want to be used to this. And maybe because he was fighting it so hard the pain kept getting stronger. Testing his limits. Pouring out of his ears and nose when he couldn’t take it anymore.
And yet, he took it. Wiped it off and went on with his days.
“... the stability is determined by establishing the system's transient energy function, and then comparing it with its maximum transient energy…”
“Useless,” gritted out Viktor, shutting another book close.
“Wait, I have something,” echoed Jayce from the floor, passing him a small, thin book he was studying. “This is a journal of some H.Dinger, they studied Uvtulatov’s method in correlation with—”
“Transmitted power,” Viktor flipped the page, his gaze eating at the new information, “H.Dinger, you said? Could it be?..”
“Heimerdinger?” Jayce snorted and combed his unruly hair back with his fingers. “I thought about it, but it looks like a pseudonym of an admirer, to be honest. They like to write about the brilliance of their mind way too much.”
“Says the man who signs every page of his journal,” muttered Viktor, hoping that his voice didn’t sound as affectionate as he felt. He cleared his throat. “And what do you propose we d—”
“Hey! Who is here?!”
They froze. Jayce’s eyes were so wide he looked like an owl.
“Hide,” moved Viktor’s lips, as he hastily put the books in their places, “I knew we should’ve brought a notebook to write these things down!”
“Yes, a pity, truly,” Jayce stuffed the H. Dinger’s journal in his pocket, leaving Viktor gaping at such blatant insolence.
“That is called theft!” He hissed, unknowingly letting Jayce manhandle him up and away from his seat. “That is—”
“You literally broke into the library, Vik,” silently chuckled Jayce, and, before Viktor could protest further, shoved him behind one of the thick velvet curtains that always inexplicably made Viktor think about frost trolls in skirts. If frost trolls wore skirts, they would’ve definitely required a piece of fabric this huge.
However, this time around he didn’t think about trolls. Or the journal Joyce had just stolen. Or even the enforcers.
Because Jayce hadn’t tucked him in and left—no-no, that would’ve been too simple, and when had Viktor’s life ever been simple?
Jayce… stayed. With him. Safe and sound behind that curtain. And, because the bastard knew all too well that Viktor’s leg would start aching like it always did when he stood still for a long time—just as much as he knew that Viktor would’ve never said anything out loud—he effortlessly picked him up and sat him down on the wide windowsill.
Five seconds. That was all it took. Jayce didn’t even look like he dwelled on it once it was done.
But Viktor. Viktor, who had all but trained Jayce to not even open his mouth if he wanted to ‘help him’ with anything not-related to their research, Viktor, who would’ve definitely scolded Jayce for manhandling him like he was some kind of lab equipment if he didn’t have to stay as silent as possible, Viktor, who wouldn’t have let that stop him if he was really angry—
Viktor thought his lungs finally gave out. Just stopped working like an outdated mechanism covered in rust. He was a grown man, a scientist and an inventor, and all it took for his mind to short-circuit was that blatant disobedience. Jayce didn’t even step out from the between of Viktor’s legs, safely tucked into him as the enforcers sniffed the air and turned over old books (or whatever it was that kept them from finding Viktor and saving him from this torture).
Viktor had always thought that Jayce’s irises resembled Tiger Eye stones. It was fitting, because whenever Jayce slid into the skin of a well-known genius, he looked like a proud tiger on a stroll.
There was no color to those eyes now. Only darkness.
Jayce stiffened once he caught Viktor’s gaze, eyes flicking between Viktor’s, and Viktor didn’t know what he was searching for, counting that everything was shrouded in darkness, only barest shards of moonlight leaking through the blanket of clouds, but whatever it was, Jayce clearly couldn’t find it.
“What?” his eyes crinkled.
Viktor forced himself to think about evolution. About the journal hidden in Jayce’s pocket. About making more useful, wonderful things. About the hope of finding the cure, cradled in his chest and blooming with every little step he took.
Unfortunately, there were other things blooming in him at that moment, making it extremely hard to think about all those exalted matters. Because Jayce, oblivious, moronic, blind idiot that he was, hadn’t moved. Viktor could feel the protuberance of his hip bones with his inner thighs.
Jayce. His best friend. His partner. Jayce, who hadn’t been with anyone in years, Jayce, who was awkward and brilliant, JayceJayceJayce, whose name burned holes on Viktor’s tongue almost every night—
All of the greatest discoveries started as a terrible idea.
And this was certainly one.
Viktor’s mouth on Jayce’s, his hand firmly gripping the hair on the back of his head and yanking to make his breath hitch, allowing Viktor to deepen the kiss, to lick into that sweethotinsatiable mouth, holding nothing back, hard and bruising, swallowing every sound spilled from Jayce’s lips, pressing his body around Jayce’s, sucking on his lower lip, making a trail from his kisses on Jayce’s burnt-sugar skin, down-down-down his throat, Viktor’s narrow palm sliding under his vest, inviting, begging Jayce to do whatever he wants in return, kissing him again and again, chasing the taste of his mouth, committing it to memory like a lifesaving theorem, taking and offering, but mostly taking, because Viktor had known hunger, but he’d never been this starved before, and he needed to sate it until in combusted inside of him and—
“Vik.”
Viktor blinked.
“I think they are gone,” whispered Jayce, finally (!) stepping away. Amusement was leaking from the corners of his eyes. Well, at least one of them was happy.
Viktor wasn’t really sure how they got to the lab. Blood was pounding in his temples all the way back, hysterical no-no-no-nos ringing in his ears. There was a time and a place for all those thoughts, and he’d learned to keep them so deeply stashed in his brain they knew when to resurface and when to remain hidden, safe from the scrutinizing gaze of tiger eyes. Everything just kept getting worse: his leg, his spine, his lungs, and the only tool that Viktor had been perfecting since the tender age of three, the only tool he was actually proud of—his mind—was betraying him.
This was a weakness, and Viktor had enough of those on his plate already. It had to be eradicated, burned away, killed like a disease… except that he didn’t want to harm it. Like an utter masochist, Viktor kept things that hurt him close, but he kept life-threatening entities even closer.
“You are suspiciously quiet,” noted Jayce, holding the door to their lab for Viktor to come in, “you know they won’t be able to prove it was us, right?”
How fun it would be to just tell him the truth and watch confusion and shock dance in those kind eyes. Telling Jayce would be selfless, and Viktor was anything but. He wanted him in any way, shape and form in which he could have him. Nobody needed to know.
“I’m thinking about hexgems,” a lie spilled from his lips with an ease that came after long years of practice, “there will be long discussions about making them a public commodity if we succeed. You know that, right?”
Jayce shrugged. “First, we need to succeed,” he fished out the stolen book from his pocket, “will you do the honors or should I?”
Viktor scoffed. “I swear, if we broke into the library for nothing, I will—”
The hand on his shoulder was as gentle as ever. Jayce overall found it hard to keep his hands to himself, and while for him it was natural, it made needles under Viktor’s skin poke him in all the unnecessary places.
“It will work. You’ll see,” Jayce smiled, and Viktor couldn’t help but smirk back, because that enthusiasm was contagious. That’s why people were so eager to follow people like him. That smile alone was inspiring.
Out of the corner of his eye, Viktor spotted the raccoon they had mindlessly left in the lab—because ‘Vik, where will he go alone at night?’ ‘To the forest, Jayce, where he belongs!’ ‘He looks sad, I won’t do that to him.’—and silently agreed that the creature did indeed look sad. Maybe it was because Viktor was tired and overwhelmed, or for some other reason, but he dared to entertain the idea of keeping him. That idea, of course, evaporated in a glimpse of a second, because the next moment Viktor saw what the animal was chewing on, and almost threw Alberto at him.
Five long minutes later, watching Jayce of house Talis battling a fluffy animal for a piece of his own notes on their lab’s floor, Viktor took a sip from a carton of sweetmilk and thought that maybe, just maybe, the professor had been right. Finding joy in life was hard, but definitely worth it.