Archive of Our Own

The world cleaves apart, ripping at the seams, folding into itself in an endless origami. It’s the end of the world, but all Viktor knows is warmth, buttery and soft– comforting and infinite.  

The Arcane has been kind to him in its own twisted way. The commune, the hive mind, all the thoughts and dreams, hopes and ambitions, fears and worries, cradling Viktor in their embrace– made him feel important, needed. The arcane gifted him Sky– or rather, her apparition. Not a corporal being nor the person herself, but a manifestation, an answer to Viktor’s loneliness. Someone to share the wonders of the arcane, to comfort him. 

Despite it all, Viktor’s greedy heart couldn’t be– wouldn’t be satisfied until Jayce joined him. He fixated on it, imagined exploring infinite cosmos, the minds of his followers, healing the injured with Jayce by his side. Sometimes, when Sky held him, when she comforted him in those moments of fear, he imagined it was Jayce’s strong arms instead. He wasn’t used to this wanting, this endless desire, wouldn’t allow himself to act on it until the arcane made him powerful– made him perfect. He had crawled his way from the Undercity to Piltover’s academy with nothing by his own grit and the one thing he was confident in– his mind– and would not surrender to his baser instincts. 

It’s warm, he thinks, floating through the arcane in Jayce’s arms. Somehow here and not, between places, an existence and not at the same time like dust carried on the wind or the precipice between sleep and waking. He’d be satisfied if this was his end. 

And then, like tumbling from a cliff’s edge, he wakes with a gasp.

And the world has not ended.  

He’s in bed. A hard, tiny thing, his feet dangling off the edge. A broken spring digs into his spine. There’s a threadbare blanket pulled up to his chin, tucked tightly against him. His leg aches, deep and throbbing with its own pulse. The ceiling is stained with rot, yellow bruises of water damage like paint splatters spread across misshapen whitewashed slats. 

For a second, he worries it’s a cruel joke courtesy of the Arcane. But he’s cold and hurts all over and it’s so real, so intense and solid, without the haze of magic to tint the sensation that this must be real.

Calm down, he thinks, breathes in through his nose, out through his mouth. He counts each breath– one, two, three. Analyze your surroundings. Breathe. 

The first thing Viktor notices is that there’s a window on the far wall. Thick drapes shut and tied tightly together with a bit of cut fabric. The wallpaper is just as rotted and waterlogged as the ceiling, peeling around the corners and near the trim, one wall of wooden planks exposed. There is an icebox in the corner, a coffee pot on top with a half-filled carafe of coffee. It drips faintly. 

And then, there on a chair in the corner is Jayce, slumped over, snoring. 

Viktor freezes, his breath stuttering in his chest. He tries to make sense of what’s in front of him. It’s a dream– a cruel illusion. But the pain in his thigh crawling up into his hip, the cold seeping beneath the crack in the door, the pounding of his chest are so human, so real, that it can’t be a dream. 

Jayce’s eyebrows draw into themselves, furrowing as if in pain. His fingers twitch, little half finished movements. He starts mumbling, thrashing. His eyes squeeze shut, then burst open. 

Jayce’s eyes meet Viktor’s own with a spark of clarity. He’s frozen on the bed– can’t move, can’t think. Jayce looks so rundown, so tired. Deep bruises under his eyes, hair knotted and greasy, beard unkempt. He wants to reach out, close the gap widening between them but doesn’t know how to begin. His mind webbed and throbbing, thoughts tangling over themselves. 

Jayce opens his mouth. Closes it. Opens it again. He looks so pitiful, so fragile and vulnerable that Viktor’s heart clenches painfully behind his ribcage. 

Jayce moves to stand but stops. He looks like he can’t decide what to do with himself, like he’s unsure how Viktor will react. Viktor realizes he has to be the one to break the tense silence around them. 

“Jayce,” Viktor says, his voice hoarse, gravely, “Hello.”

Jayce just stares. An infinity stretches between them. Viktor feels bare, exposed, under Jayce’s wide, searching eyes. He doesn’t break eye contact– won’t surrender to the trepidation and fear building in his gut that tells him to look away, to sever the connection. He sees apprehension in Jayce’s eyes. He’s almost heaving. Deep, fast breaths that make Viktor’s head light and airy. 

He doesn’t know how to fix this. Viktor feels broken somewhere that he can’t reach– an irreparable tear deep in his bones. An infection he tried to dig out in the past, rid himself of, has festered once more and there is absolutely no way he can cure himself of the rot in his heart. 

Jayce worms in his seat, stuck between thoughts. 

Viktor can’t take it anymore. Can’t stand seeing Jayce so unsure, so cowardly. Especially with the knowledge it’s because of him. Jayce doesn’t know how to treat him now. Can’t decide whether to acknowledge the permanent changes in their connection or retreat back to the norm, who they used to be. 

Viktor is forever changed, but so is Jayce. 

“Is there something on my face?” Viktor asks, his attempt at humor but it comes out weak and feeble, “Won’t you say something?” 

Jayce stands. Takes one hesitant, uneven step forward. The floorboards creak under his weight. And then he runs out the door. It slams behind him like a judge’s gavel. 

It takes Viktor thirty-five minutes to calm down. As soon as the door slams behind Jayce, the floodgates open and Viktor’s hunching over, fists twisting in the sheets, sobbing so hard it makes him nauseous. He crawls off the bed and to the bathroom, a small closet of a room off to the side, and throws up into the stout, stained toilet. Shaking all over, Viktor stays on the cold cracked tile. He had dragged the blankets with him, wrapped them tightly around his shoulders but it doesn’t ease the bone-deep chill. 

Every sound, a twig snapping somewhere or the creak of a floorboard makes Viktor freeze, waiting for the door to open and Viktor cannot– he just can’t deal with Jayce’s vulnerability, his fear, when Viktor’s own threatens to destroy him. 

Viktor doesn’t know how much time passes with him curled up against the bathroom wall, knees hugged to his chest. Tunes everything out until all that’s left is the dull static ringing in his ears.

Footsteps sound. Viktor looks up and Jayce is staring down at him from above, towering over him. He’s more guarded than before, eyes hardened. Viktor shrinks into himself further. If he makes himself small enough, maybe he’ll disappear and Jayce won’t be looking at him with hard eyes and a grim mouth. Viktor didn’t hear the door open. Jayce has a large stick in his hand, the top splintered like he snapped it from a tree with his bare hands. 

“Here” He says, handing it to Viktor. Jayce’s fingers are stained red. The rough wood bites into his palm. It’s crude, but it’ll work. 

Jayce turns around and walks back into the main room. With a grunt, teeth clenching hard, Viktor stands and follows Jayce. 

“We’re in the woods,” Jayce says, standing over the counter where a dead fish and pile of berries laid out against the butcher block. “Not sure where, but there’s a path so some sort of town must be around here.” 

Viktor watches like a wraith, motionless.

“I hope you don’t mind fish with skin.” Jayce says, “I don’t have anything to scale it. This cabin must’ve been abandoned for sometime.”

“That's,” Viktor swallows, clicking against the dryness of his throat. “That’s fine.” 

“Here.” Jayce hands Viktor water collected in a wooden bowl, “There’s a river nearby– more of a creek, but it’s clean. Found that next to it, probably accidentally stole it from whoever left it behind but hopefully they won’t mind too much.” 

Viktor doesn’t have a reply so he just laps water from the bowl slowly. He can’t rationalize this Jayce from the one he woke up to how. How normal he sounds. Except, it’s not normal. Jayce’s shoulders are so rigid they brush his ears. His words are careful, restrained without their usual confidence. Viktor shrinks into himself. He wants to run out the door the same way Jayce did, but not return– wants to find some hole or hollowed tree trunk to curl up in. Let the woods grow around his body until animals nibble on his flesh and the plants are sustained by his bones. It would be the ending he deserves. 

Instead, he sits on the bed and observes Jayce work around the small kitchenette. He lights the stove, an old wood burning one. He watches as Jayce sparks two rocks together, flame catching on dried twigs and leaves. 

Jayce keeps talking. Rattling off about the forest. Updates Viktor on the weather, it’s snowing, and the time, the sun is just past its center, early afternoon. 

By the time the fish is done and Jayce is sitting across from him on the bed, scales crunching between his teeth, bones growing in a pile on the floor. Viktor needs to say something, anything. He takes one bit of his fish. It settles weirdly in his stomach, like it’s swimming around in his gut. 

“Jayce,” Viktor whispers. Jayce pauses mid-chew, a bit of fish flesh stuck in the hair of his beard, under his lip. He brushes it off with his thumb. 

“Hm?” Jayce hums. 

Viktor feels so, so helpless. Like a child. Like he’s been split open and left there, confused and bleeding, vulnerable to an attack. Scared. 

Jayce sighs, “I saw, too,” Viktor doesn’t understand. “I know you saw it– my memories. But I saw yours too for a moment, when we became one. I saw everything.”

Oh. 

Viktor’s shame opens like a bottomless pit below him. A free fall. Jayce saw it all– all the ugliness and decay in him. All the undeserving desire and greed. The horrible nasty parts of himself that he hid away under lock and key. Jayce saw them and he hates him for it. That’s why he ran. That’s why he looked at Viktor like that when he woke up. It wasn’t vulnerability in his eyes– it was disgust. 

“Hey, wait.” Jayce grabs Viktor’s arm when he tries to scramble away. Oxygen fails him, like there’s not enough to share between them. “Breathe. Breathe.” 

Viktor gasps, heavy and hoarse. His breath squeaks, chest tightening like a vice. Humiliation burns Viktor from the inside out. 

“I-” Viktor stutters, vision swimming with unshed tears. He won’t cry for himself, won’t allow self pity. “I do not know what to say. I understand- understand if you wish to go.”

“What?” Jayce’s fingers tighten where they grip Viktor, almost painful. “Go? Go where?” 

“I must be disgusting to you now.” Viktor whispers, “I would not blame you if you hated me.” Heaven knows he hates himself enough for both of them. 

Jayce blinks, “Hate you? Viktor– you– you can’t be serious. I showed you everything, too. Do you really think so lowly of me?” 

“No.” Viktor says too fast, desperation creeping into his voice. 

Jayce’s eyes roam over Viktor’s face, takes him in, and sees the pain written there. “Let’s just–” He pauses, thinking, “Let’s just get through the night. We can follow the path in the morning. Reach the town and reassess.” 

If Jayce is okay with leaving their conversation there, with so much unsaid, so is Viktor. He’d rather they never talk about it. Maybe, once they reach others, Jayce will feel more comfortable abandoning Viktor. He would be glad for it– happy with just the knowledge that Jayce is safe. He always shined the brightest around other people, lovable and endlessly endearing. It’s the least Viktor can do. Settle Jayce somewhere, let him grow roots, find a future for himself wherever they’ve ended up. Let him find his way back to Piltover if he wishes– if it’s even possible. And then he will rid Jayce of himself. All the pain Viktor caused– still causes. He can’t fully let go of Jayce. His obsession runs deep, but could let him go under the right conditions. It’ll be an experiment in Viktor’s sanity, if he can be sustained by the warmth of his memories alone. 

Viktor nods. He grabs the stick resting between his knees and heads to the door. 

“Where are you going?” Jayce grabs Viktor’s wrist, holding his pulse point. 

“I just need some fresh air.” Jayce has this look on his face kind of like a kicked puppy, eyes shining. “I’ll be back in a minute.” 

Twilight falls over the forest. There’s a small porch off the entrance of the cabin. A dilapidated swing hangs off a rusted chain. It’s cold. Viktor wears his button down, pants ripped and frayed at the edges– his academy clothes. He notices that his leg isn’t so heavy, like how it felt in his early twenties. Wonders what that means for a second before deciding not to question his health, better to just accept it then fixate on it. God knows how they went the first time. 

Snow covers the grass, thick blankets of white. His feet sink into it until the flakes brush the edge of his pants. The bite of frost grounds him, settles the panic. 

He spots the trail Jayce saw, marked with gravel. They’re closer to civilization that he had assumed if the trail backs right up to the cabin. The wind howls between the branches of bare trees– so still, almost haunting. Somehow, Viktor finds comfort in it. 

He’s reminded of a night, in the first year of his and Jayce’s partnership. It had snowed all day, freezing against the brick roads and sidewalks in thick sheets. Jayce walked Viktor home that night, a steadying hand against the small of his back. Jayce seemed nervous all day, shifty and quieter than usual. When they reached Viktor’s apartment, Jayce lingered in the doorway. He talked about what he ate for breakfast, recounted a meeting with Heimerdinger with excruciating detail that Viktor was present for. Viktor invited Jayce to stay the night. Jayce’s relief was so visceral Viktor felt a bit guilty for not noticing earlier. Viktor fed Jayce sweet milk and set the couch up with a spare set of sheets and woolen blankets. Jayce gripped his hand with thanks, gratitude shining in his eyes. 

Viktor smiles at the memory. Then his eyes prickle, his nose burns. He sacrificed a comfortable, platonic life with Jayce– and for what? Greed? Perfection? An unrealized dream exposed as a nightmare. Maybe Jayce would have married Mel, had a couple kids. Served on the council until retirement. Settled somewhere outside of Piltover. Mountains would suit him, Viktor thinks.

When Viktor returns to the cabin, Jayce is standing on the porch, pacing. He watches for a moment. Jayce’s mouth is moving, mumbling something Viktor can’t hear. When he spots Viktor at the tree line, Jayce visibly sags. 

“I thought–” He pauses, takes a deep breath, “I thought you wouldn’t come back.” 

“I said I would.” 

“I know,” Jayce opens the door for Viktor, lets him in first, “I just– Just got worried.” 

“I’m sorry.” Victor says. 

“No, no, it’s okay." Jayce rests his hand on Viktor’s exposed forearm, eyes widening, “Viktor, you’re freezing.” 

Jayce gathers the comforter from the bed, wraps it around Viktor’s shoulders. He guides Viktor to a chair in front of the still burning stove. He lets Jayce fuss over him, too tired to do anything but accept Jayce’s kindness. 

Jayce insists Viktor take the bed. He rifles through the closet besides the door– pulls out moth-bitten blankets and builds a pallet on the floor. Viktor sits against the headboard and watches as Jayce settles on the floor. 

“Ma and I got caught in the snow once– I guess you know about that,” Jayce laughs, “but before, y’know, when she collapsed, we were trapped out there for two days. We found a little shed– not like this, an actual shed– and hunkered down for a bit. She used our coats and hay to make little beds just like this. Made a game out of it, ‘Let’s see who can stuff a mattress better’-- this reminds me of that.” 

Viktor settles into the bed and pulls the covers up under his nose– feels a bit braver with half his face hidden, “Did you stuff a good mattress?” 

“No,” Viktor can hear more than see the smile on Jayce’s face, “it was horrible. I was really determined though– wouldn’t let her help.” 

Viktor pictures little Jayce, cheeks wind chapped and flushed, stuffing hay into the arms of his coat with mitten clad hands. 

“And now?” Viktor asks, “Did you make a good mattress now?”

“Yeah– It’s perfect.” Jayce sighs. 

“Liar.” Viktor peers over at Jayce from over the blanket. He lays stiff on his back, a little grimace set pulling his lips back. 

“I’m not lying,” Jayce whines, “If I close my eyes– go to my happy place, it’s like sleeping on a cloud.” Jayce closes his eyes, waves his hands in front of his face, acting out the transportation to his ‘happy place.’

“Where is it?” Viktor asks, whispering– afraid to shatter the delicate normalcy around them. “Your happy place, I mean.”

Jayce keeps his eyes closed. The corners of his lips lift in a barely there smile. “The lab.” 

‘With you,’ goes unsaid but Viktor hears it echo around the room. It rings like a death knell. 

Jayce’s breathing evens, deep and steady. Not until Jayce is snoring, only then does Viktor reply. 

“Me too.” 

Viktor wakes first. Gasping out of nightmare– the edges of it chasing him in waking. Machines– a million sparking cords shimmering against a cosmic backdrop. Voices, so many voices, all speaking over each other. Yelling out to be heard the loudest, fighting for dominance, seeking Viktor out. 

He spots Jayce curled up on the floor under where Viktor’s feet dangle– like a dog at its master’s feet, guarding and protective. 

Throwing his legs over the edge, bad leg dragging him down like an anchor, Viktor sits up. He carefully steps over Jayce. It’s barely dawn. Frost clings to the window like a film Viktor can barely see through, light fractures through the crystal. It hadn’t snowed anymore overnight, thankfully. Unfortunately, the snow froze over, the ground a thick sheet of clouded ice. Thick icicles hang off tree branches. 

He grabs his makeshift can and exits the cabin. And immediately slips, falling hard. Pain shoots up his back, radiating out from his tailbone. 

“Viktor.” Jayce yells. He appears in the doorway, still rumpled with sleep while Viktor rubs at the end of his spine. “Jesus Christ. Are you okay?”

Viktor’s face grows hot, “I’m fine.” He hits the end of his stick into the ice, tries to wedge it in the cracks to get up. He fails, feet slipping out from under him again. 

He looks up at Jayce. And he has this twisted, almost constipated look on his face. And then he bursts out laughing. 

Viktor’s jaw drops open. He crosses his arms over his chest. The image of a petulant child. 

“Sorry– Sorry” Jayce says through giggles, running a hand over his face as if trying to self-soothe, “You should’ve seen your face.” 

“You are cruel, Jayce Talis, making fun of a disabled man.” Viktor tsks. 

Jayce’s face becomes serious so fast it gives Viktor whiplash, smiling falling off him in one fell swoop. Viktor stalls. They used to play like this. Viktor’s teasing and Jayce’s flushed cheeks. He would always push Viktor’s shoulder, tell him to shut up, whine a bit until Viktor let up. Viktor found it endearing. 

Maybe they can’t play like that now– maybe they can never play like that again. Something perpetually broken, something Viktor can’t fix. 

“I’m kidding, Jayce,” Viktor says, holding out a hand, “Help me up. Please.” 

“Of course,” Jayce’s hands have always been strong, steady. Viktor is used to his touch, has felt those hands against his lower back, his wrist, the inside of calf when Jayce would help him fasten his old brace around his leg. Felt his hands on the back of his neck, pulling him in. Always steadfast, always sure. Now he grips Viktor’s hand so gently, as if he’s precious. “I’ve got you.” 

Jayce steadies Viktor around his waist when his foot threatens to slip again. Guides him back into the cabin. 

“Well,” Jayce says, taking it the ice and snow surrounding the cabin and the woods further, “doesn’t look like we’re going anywhere in these conditions.”

No. They won’t. Jayce rubs at his knee, below when brass digs into his thigh. Viktor stares at the brace– not unlike his old one. A bit thicker, bulkier. He notes the twinge of pain, the hinge of Jayce’s jaw flexing. Viktor reaches out, a subconscious movement meant to heal. When he catches himself, it’s too late. Jayce sees it, his eyes wide. He can’t heal him. Viktor’s connection to the arcane is gone. It feels a bit like missing a toe, maybe a finger. Not enough to really cause him any distress, but he can sense that missing link. He’s happy to be free of it, free of its tangled web, but he wishes he could do something to ease Jayce’s pain even a fraction. 

Viktor never doubted his mind. Knew he was smart from a young age– bright, gifted. Could take apart anything, put it back together twice as fast without any instructions or manual. Solved equations as easily as breathing. He’d figure something out to help with Jayce’s leg. Start with the brace, refit it so it’s not so tight around Jayce’s upper thigh. He starts mapping it out in his mind. 

They spend the morning searching the cabin. Viktor huffs out a laugh when he finds canned food in the back of the cupboard above the short counter– mostly beans, some corn, something suspiciously titled ‘Assorted Pig Pieces’ that he pushes to the side. Jayce caught a fish with his bare hands in subzero temperatures last night when nonperishable goods sat right above him. Viktor imagines it. Jayce, knee deep in the freezing creek, shirt sleeves pushed up, corded muscle exposed. Imagine his hands dipping into the water, wrestling with a fish. Coming out victorious. Heat settles in his stomach at the image. Viktor shakes his head to rid himself of it. 

Jayce finds a flashlight and waterskin under a loose floorboard. He pulls out a toolbox, as well. Wrenches and hammers, loose instruction manuals to gadgets Viktor doesn’t recognize. 

Viktor keeps digging through the cupboard. Gags when his hand brushes mouse droppings. He hears Jayce gasp behind him. 

“Wow,” Jayce says, holding some sort of box, “I haven’t seen one of these in years.” 

“What is it?” Viktor asks. Jayce turns the box around for Viktor to see. There is a drawing on the front of what looks to be a robot family, a mother robot with curled sheet metal as hair, a father wearing glasses made out of gears, and a baby robot cradled in its mother’s arms with a screw sticking out of its mouth like a pacifier. A road made of rainbow arcs behind them. Jayce looks at Viktor like he should know what the hell he’s looking at, “I don’t know what that is.”

Jayce’s jaw falls open, incredulous, “It’s LifeLight.” 

Viktor shakes his head, “Doesn’t ring a bell.” 

“It’s a board game.” 

“A board game?” Viktor settles beside Jayce on the floor, kneeling. 

“Yea, you go around the board, toss dice–” 

“I know what a board game is,” Viktor snaps, pulling the box out of Jayce’s hands to scrutinize it. “I’ve just never played one before.” He’d played cards with Jayce in the lab, but never something so juvenile as a board game. 

Jayce looks at Viktor like he’s seeing for the first time, “We’re playing. Now.” 

“Jayce,” Viktor says. Jayce takes the box back and opens it. He starts setting up the pieces. “Shouldn’t we–” keep searching the cabin. Plan their next move. The faster they get to the town, the faster Jayce can be free of Viktor. 

“That ice isn’t gonna melt in a day,” Jayce places two tiny blue and red robot figurines on a tile of the board, the word ‘START’ barely visible. He hands Viktor a pair of dice, runs his thumb over the bony part of Viktor’s wrist, “You can go first.”

They play four rounds. Jayce wins. Every. Single. Time. 

“You’re cheating,” Viktor says as Jayce laughs, collecting his win with a wide grin. 

Jayce gasps, holds a hand to chest and bats his eyes excessively– mocking offense. “That” he points a finger at Viktor’s nose, nearly brushes the tip, “is a very mean accusation. Talis’ never cheats.” 

Viktor rolls his eyes, snorts, “I give up.” 

“Oh no you don’t,” Jayce shoves the dice in Viktor’s hand. “Don’t make that face.” Viktor doesn’t know what kind of face he makes. “One more round.” 

Viktor rolls. Viktor wins. 

Jayce whoops, clapping. “Congratulations. Game well played.” He stretches his hand across the board, palm opened. Viktor shakes his hand. It makes a part of his heart skip, not the whole thing, maybe just one artery or vein– the silliness between them is a tenuous thing. 

“You let me win.” 

“Please” Jayce scoffs, blowing a strand of hair out of his. It’s gotten so long, the once shaved sides, now grown out and shaggy. It suits him. “We both know I’m too competitive to do that.” 

And he’s right. Viktor is equally, if not more, competitive than Jayce. Or, he used to be. They used to have little competitions in the lab. Who could solve an equation the other made the fastest. They had a little tally going, tacked up on the wall under newspaper clippings of HexTech achievements, Jayce’s smiling face at events. Viktor was up by five tally marks before the attack on the council. 

Viktor remembers that day with a clarity that’s a bit too sharp, unsure which memories of that day are his own and which are manifestations of Jayce’s own. Viktor remembers Jayce smiling at him, his relief palpable. He knows the sharpest image, the one of him crushed under a pillar, is Jayce’s. He feels Jayce’s panic boiling over into desperation. 

“Where’d you go?” Jayce says, snapping Viktor out of the memory.

“What?” He asks. 

“You zoned out.” Jayce’s eyes intense– a fire raging behind light brown like a red sun against sun soaked desert sand. His eyes burn against Viktor’s skin. 

“I’m just tired.” Viktor says. He can feel the walls building, the comfort of hiding behind them too strong to resist. 

“Do you want to sleep?” Jayce starts to shift, “I can help you into bed?” 

“You don’t need to coddle me, Jayce.” It comes out too harsh, too forceful. 

Jayce pauses. “I’m not–” Jayce says, his hands clenched into fists at his sides, takes a deep breath and looks away from Viktor, collecting himself, “I’m not trying to coddle you. I just– just want to take care of you.” 

Viktor seethes, sees red. “I don’t need that either.” 

“Fine.” Jayce searches the room, looking for an escape route. “I’m just gonna–” He doesn’t finish– stomps off into the bathroom, the only room separate from the main cabin space. He closes the door behind him, has enough self control to not slam it. 

Viktor crawls on the bed and forces himself to shut down. If he sleeps, at least he’ll only be haunted by his dreams and not the man in the bathroom. 

Viktor dreams of the lab. Plumes of chalk billow around the room in clouds. Jayce finds him slumped over his desk, dozing somewhere between asleep and awake, like his dream is trying to pull him deeper into a slumber. A second story dream. 

Jayce gazes down at Viktor, soft and wistful. Viktor blinks up at him. Dream Jayce smiles down at him sadly, eyes crinkling. He looks older, weather hardened and rough. The calluses on his hand scratch against Viktor’s cheek. It tickles. 

“I wasn’t lying,” Jayce whispers, his voice far, far away, “All I wanted was you back. Let me have my Viktor back.” 

Viktor grumbles in his dream, turns his face in Jayce’s hand like a cat, nuzzling against his palm. 

“I see you,” Jayce says, tucks a strand of Viktor’s hair behind his ear. “I see all of you and it does not scare me.” 

Viktor wakes to whimpering noises like a wounded animal. 

He sits up. It’s dark. The world tilts on its axis– disorienting. 

Viktor discovers the sound is coming from Jayce. 

Viktor takes risks. It’s a part of him as much as the hair on his head, the blood rushing through his veins. And what he wants here isn’t even that risky– to wake Jayce, pull him from whatever torments him, whatever nightmare plagues him. But it feels like a risk. One of the very few he’s not willing to take. He knows– call it instinct or self-preservation– that whatever nightmare haunts Jayce is Viktor’s doing. He’s not strong enough to have Jayce look at him in fear. It would break the last things left in him to break, the fragile, somehow still standing last vestiges of who he was before. And while he might be okay with breaking fully in the future, once Jayce is settled in some village or city or whatever lays on the end of that trail, he doesn’t want to break yet. Maybe it’s selfish, but he’ll take what he can get until he can’t have it anymore. 

Viktor watches Jayce’s nightmare unfold. He watches Jayce cry out, watches his chest heave, watches the way his eyes clench, and does nothing. 

It’s not fair. The man he watched from the sidelines at his feet and he can’t have him. It wasn’t fear that stopped him in the past, it was resignation. Viktor accepted his spot behind the curtain. Happy to bask in Jayce’s afterglow, let it warm him. 

Now it is fear that stops him from reaching out– to crawl across the bed and grab Jayce’s hand. Wake him gently from his nightmare. Viktor can’t let himself have Jayce. He nearly destroyed the world with his greed before. Fought so hard. He had changed his mind back then so quickly. He vowed now to sacrifice that man stuck in the beast, but then Jayce challenged him. Viktor promised to only evolve the willing and then did it forcibly when Jayce denied him. It wasn’t all for Jayce, but he became the perfect representation of everything Viktor wanted but couldn’t have. 

It’s so dark in the cabin Viktor can barely see a few feet in front of him, but he sees Jayce just fine. A wedge of moonlight cuts across the sharp edge of his jaw, now softened and lax. The worst of his nightmare must have passed. Jayce lays still on the cold floor. Viktor counts each rise and fall of his chest– matches it. 

“Jayce,” Viktor’s voice barely breaches his lips, a ghost of a whisper, “for what it’s worth, I think I loved you from the moment I met you. You had such– such dreams. Like mine. I’ve never– never met another person whose dreams rivaled mine. The things I would design in childhood– metal wings that ran on sunlight were my favorite. I would watch birds high, high above the chasm of the Undercity and picture myself soaring with them.” Viktor laughs, humorless, “A boy that couldn’t even run dreaming of flight? Ridiculous, right? I was actually working on those wings as an assistant. Secretly, of course.” He scoffs, “But you had this… this HexTech dream. A twenty-four year old man with dreams of magic. Reading your notes was like catching a glimpse of my own childish dreams. I knew I needed to be a part of it. And then,” Viktor pauses, playing with the frayed edges of the blanket. It fell to his lap when he sat up. He pushes himself against the wall, resting his head back until it bumps softly against it, “I wanted more. And more. And then too much.” 

Jayce shifts on his side in his sleep to face Viktor directly. His eyes are still shut, but peacefully now. No longer crinkled in the corners. The furrow of his brow relaxed. 

“You cannot love me, Jayce,” Viktor whispers, “I know you do. I felt the crest of your love like a tsunami against rocks. You cannot love me, Jayce.” 

Viktor doesn’t sleep the rest of the night. At the first hint of dawn, he grabs a large, iron pot they found in a cabinet under the stove yesterday, grabs his walking stick, and makes a very perilous journey to the creek beside the cabin. The ice had thawed somewhat– just a bit softer on the top. Still too icy to trek down the trail, but enough to allow the quick trip to the shallowest part of the creek, nearest to the cabin. 

When Jayce wakes, groaning, Viktor is boiling water. 

“What are you doing?” Jayce raps, voice thick with the last dregs of sleep. 

“Boiling water,” Viktor says, fishing a stick out of the pot, “I thought you might want to take a bath.” 

He hears Jayce stretch, a long drawn out whine. Hears the pop of his spine and the rustle of blankets.

“You went to the creek?” Jayce moves to the window to peek around the curtain, “It’s still an ice rink out there.” 

“The top is a bit softer.” He doesn’t tell Jayce that his ankle is swollen from twisting over a patch of black ice at the river bank, or how he basically crawled on hands and knees up the stairs. He hopes Jayce doesn’t spot his scraped palms. 

“A bath?” Jayce says, “That would be good. I feel disgusting.”

Viktor bites his tongue against the tease that rises in the back of his throat. Although the mirror in the bathroom is so cracked and clouded, stained a suspicious shade of brown like dried blood, Viktor had glimpsed himself in it when he went to check if the tub was usable. His hair greased from root to tip where it brushes his shoulders, pores clogged with a thick layer of soot and dust. Jayce looks much the same. 

And I still think he’s beautiful, Viktor thinks, always so beautiful. 

“Yes, well–” Viktor picks another stick from the boiling water– now a steady roll of bubbles, “The water should be ready. Take it and return the pot. I’ll fetch more.” 

Viktor grabs the pot from its handles. It burns into his skin. Turns to Jayce and holds it out to him. 

“We could,” He coughs, scratches the back of his neck, “We could share it?” 

Viktor blinks. Once. Twice. Jayce’s ears turn a bright red before his eyes. 

“Conserve water– y’know. Plus it’s not really… safe out there… with all that ice.” 

Viktor’s instinct is to fight him on this. Tell Jayce he already went to the creek once and came back in one piece, he can do it again. Or offer to go first, let Jayce collect and boil his own bath water. But Jayce looks so earnest, so hopeful it stalls Viktor’s retort on his tongue. If this will settle whatever itch Jayce has been infected with, then Viktor will allow it. 

His choice definitely doesn’t have anything to do with Viktor's desire to see Jayce bare. His greed knows no bounds, and while shame kept it at bay before, it seems he’s run out. 

“Fine.” Viktor says, clipped. He steps past Jayce, who blinks owlishly, mouth agape like he didn’t plan this far ahead, did not prepare for Viktor to relent. “Grab one of the blankets you don’t mind parting ways with for a while. There aren’t any towels.”

He hears Jayce scramble behind him, picking up the first blanket he sees and rushing after him. He hears Jayce quietly curse as he slams his arm against the iron bed frame. Viktor pours the boiling water in the tub. It rushes back at him in a thick cloud of steam that he wafts out his face. The tub barely fills halfway. 

Jayce enters the bathroom with heavy footsteps. Viktor hears the rustle of clothes, the clink of metal unlocking, and blanches. Of course Jayce wouldn’t be ashamed of his nudity– has no reason to be. He’s sculpted from the finest marble, a marvel of a man. 

Viktor hopes he hides the shaking in his hands while he unbuttons his vest. He’s skinny in the wrong places, skin pulled taut over his ribs and hip bones. The walls close in on him. If Jayce notices, he doesn’t comment on it. 

Once naked, Viktor steps into the tub and sinks down slowly, the hinge of knee aching. The water is too hot, scalds his skin, but it’s a welcomed distraction from his racing heart. Pulling his legs into his chest, he covers himself and refuses to look at Jayce as he steps into the bath across from him. An ephemeral silence stretches between them. It’s broken by Jayce. 

“C’mere,” He motions his finger in a circle, “Turn around. I’ll wash your hair.” 

It’s not a very clean bath. They don’t have soap, or even a washcloth or salts. Viktor’s back to him, Jayce scrubs his hair with water alone. Fingers shifting through the strands, massaging his head. It’s rough and hard, the only way to clean the dirt from him without anything to soften it. It feels good. Viktor sinks into it, closing his eyes. Viktor bites his lip so hard the thin skin beneath breaks. 

When Jayce is done scrubbing his hair, he wipes down his shoulders, his back, arms winding around to wash off the bits of dried mud on his chest. Viktor busies himself by rubbing his face raw, digging his fingernails into the skin to scour out the bits of dust settled there. 

They swap places, Jayce’s back to him. Viktor starts there, runs his hands gently up his sides, feels the tenseness in the muscles protecting his spine up to the nape of Jayce’s neck. Viktor runs his fingers over Jayce’s forehead, brushing the longer strands back before gently untangling his hair. Jayce sighs, lets out little hums that send sparks flying to the base of Viktor’s belly. 

Jayce whines softly at a particularly hard pull of his hair, “That feels nice.”

Viktor can’t verbally reply, doesn’t trust his voice, so he just nods– imagines Jayce, groaning in that voice in a different context. Viktor accidentally pinches Jayce’s skin so hard he jumps. Viktor soothes it with a caress, a wordless apology. 

Exiting the tub is a test in Viktor’s resolve. The water turned lukewarm within minutes, clouded and filthy. Jayce helps Viktor out, supporting himself on the lip of the tub while supporting Viktor’s weight from under his armpit. It’s then that Viktor sees that Jayce is half-hard. 

Viktor’s heart betrays him. The traitorous– somehow still beating thing– calls to him. Says maybe he can have Jayce, at least for however long they’re trapped in this rotting old cabin. Maybe he can let himself be selfish– take what he wants if Jayce wants it too. They can begin and end within these walls. A blip in time before Viktor abandons Jayce again. 

Before he can act, say something stupid like offer himself to Jayce, Jayce wraps the blanket around Viktor, drying him off. 

Viktor looks up at Jayce. He seems taller than before. That detail shakes Viktor out of the stupor he fell in. It reminds him of what has changed between them, the subtle changes in Jayce, the lines on his face, thickness of his beard, the length of his hair, now falling in wet clumps against his cheekbone. It shows how much Viktor has ruined. 

“Here,” Viktor says, taking the blank from around his shoulders and wraps it around Jayce, tying the front together like a robe. Jayce’s clothes are covered in filth. He pulls his underwear up and buttons his shirt back on quickly– leaves his pants and vest on the floor. “We will have to fetch more water, but we could probably wash off the worst from our clothes.”

Viktor crouches, collecting their discarded clothes and throws them over the edge of the tub. Jayce watches him the whole time. 

“What?” Viktor asks, standing. 

Jayce reaches towards him hesitantly before brushing a strand of Viktor’s hair behind his ear. “Your hair is light at the ends.”

“Oh,” Viktor clears his throat, “Probably residuals from the Arcane.” 

“Maybe,” Jayce muses, “but your eyes are different– back to honey.”

“Honey?” Viktor tilts his head, confused. 

“Yeah. they were,” Jayce swallows hard, Adam’s apple bobbing, “they were gray before.” 

Viktor clears his throat again, throat dry, “I didn’t realize they changed.” He hadn’t seen himself after the Hex Core wrapped him up in the Arcane’s embrace– hadn’t considered the physical changes. He saw the way his followers changed after Viktor healed them, shining like beacons across water– an unnatural sheen taking over their skin. It disturbs him to think of their vacant stares now. 

“Sorry,” Jayce says, pulling his hand back. “I won’t bring it up again.”

“It’s okay,” Those memories are warped. They appear as if through water. “I do not remember it all that well– the actual events, I mean.” He remembers how it felt. And that’s worse, in some ways. Like a static shock, sharper. The yawning loneliness. The comfort of hundreds of voices singing their songs to him. The vastness of knowledge in the face of his own ignorance. 

“That’s okay.” Jayce says, “you don’t have to carry it alone anymore – I’ll hold it for you.”

Viktor flinches. He steps out of the bubble that’s formed around them– misses the radiation of Jayce’s heat immediately. 

Viktor crosses his arms, protective. “You don’t have to do that.”

“What if I want to?” Jayce challenges, lifting his chin with a bravery Viktor knows he doesn’t feel. 

“Why–” Viktor starts, retreating further into the cabin. Jayce follows like a predator stalking its prey. Viktor squirms under his scrutiny. “Why are you doing this?” 

Viktor’s back hits the far wall besides the window. Chill creeps through the cracks where insulation crumbles on its sill. He’s trapped and Jayce stays on course, approaching Viktor slowly. 

“Because.” Jayce steps into Viktor’s space. He cowers against the wall, feels his shoulder blades dig into the wooden slats. Jayce presses his palms to the wall next to Viktor’s head, his thumbs brush along the shell of his ear. “I won’t break my promise to you.”

Viktor stares up at Jayce with wide eyes, his stomach dropping out from under him, “To destroy me?”

Jayce shakes his head severely, “To save you.” 

“I am doomed.” Viktor whispers. There is a hairsbreadth between them, Jayce forcing his way into Viktor’s space, clogging the air– steals it from Viktor’s lungs. 

“Then I’ll undoom you.” Jayce says. And Viktor has to laugh. It’s so silly, so at odds with the charge between them, the live wire pulsing between where their eyes meet. So… Jayce. 

So Viktor laughs, little giggles. Jayce pulls a face, then smiles softly, cupping Viktor’s cheeks in his hands. They cover him from temple to chin. 

“I can’t take it all away.” Jayce says surely. Viktor can’t look away, staring into Jayce’s eyes like he can see the soul beneath, so bright and warm, “but I can bear some of it– it’s not a burden to help you hold it all.”

Jayce’s eyes flicker down so quickly Viktor almost misses it– misses the quick glance Jayce steals of Viktor’s mouth. 

Viktor is a man of science. He knows the feeling in his stomach is biological– blood pressure and heart rate spiking. Endorphins. Adrenaline and norepinephrine firing. But the eruption of bubbles in his stomach feels more real than any scientific explanation– a religious experience, something holy and inexplicable. 

“I will–” Viktor stutters, lifting his hand to rest it across the center of Jayce’s chest. He feels his heart beat against his palm. The undeniable proof that Jayce is here, solid and corporal and looking at Viktor like he’s something precious. That Jayce chose to be here. The vow he made, that he won’t break. “I’ll carry some of yours too.” 

Jayce smiles, so gentle and soft it causes something tender to tremble in Viktor’s chest. 

“Viktor,” Jayce says so quietly Viktor leans towards him to hear better, Jayce hinges forward, closing his eyes. 

And Viktor jolts back, head smacking against the wall behind him and throwing his hand over his lips. He feels Jayce’s lips fall against the back of his hand– a soft pressure. 

Jayce’s eyes fly open. Whatever sweetness growing between them turns sour. Like a forest fire destroying freshly sprouted flowers, Jayce’s face crumples. 

It breaks Viktor apart, but he can’t– he just can’t give in to this. He’s made his mind up. He’ll leave Jayce eventually, remove himself from his side like an unwanted growth. It’s his destiny. There cannot be a world, in any universe, where Viktor is rewarded with Jayce’s devotion. It’s not fair. And he knows intrinsically that if he allows himself this, it will destroy him. 

Jayce’s hands fall from his face, cold rushing at the flush of his cheeks so fast it stings. Jayce stumbles back, horrified. Viktor’s hand twitches at his side– like he has any right to comfort Jayce when he’s the one that has caused all that pain twisting up his face. 

But he looks so small, so fragile and raw, regretful, that Viktor can’t help himself. The sky breaks open, sleet falling in thick sheets. Any of the frost that might have thawed overnight will freeze over again. They’ll be stuck in this cabin another day. 

Viktor gathers the courage he doesn’t possess and wraps his arms around Jayce’s waist. He pulls his head into the cradle between his neck and shoulder. Jayce offers no resistance– defeats weighs down his shoulders. 

“I am–” Jayce slumps limp in Viktor’s arms. Viktor breathes in, Jayce’s hair tickling his nose, “I have you.”

His voice is thin, reedy. Jayce doesn’t answer– doesn’t have to. 

They don’t speak for hours. Viktor had led him to the bed, laid him down, and tucked the blankets tight around him. Jayce’s mumbled ‘thanks’ the last thing he said before turning away from Viktor, facing the wall. 

Viktor busies himself with tidying up, empties the tub with the same pot and throws the water out the back window. There’s an owl perched on a bare branch across the clearing, staring directly at Viktor like he sees him. 

It’s unnerving, the intensity of the owl’s gaze. Viktor waves at it– a little aborted movement when he realizes he’s waving at a bird. Has he finally lost his mind? The owl flutters a wing, as if waving back. It turns its head, pauses at the path ahead of the cabin, then completes the turn– a full rotation– before flying off. 

It feels important– whatever just passed between Viktor and the owl. Settles heavy in his gut. 

The rest of the night is quiet. Viktor cooks more beans, stoking the fire with a pick. He rouses Jayce, forces him to eat and drink. Jayce eats two spoonfuls, the sound of soft chewing echoing through the cabin. The sun sets somewhere behind the gray clouds, sleet turning to big, fluffy snow. 

Jayce moves to stand, but Viktor stops him with a hand to his hip, softly pushing Jayce back onto the bed. “I’ll take the floor tonight.” 

Jayce opens his mouth, probably to argue, but Viktor speaks again, “I will take the floor tonight.” Firm. No room for arguments. 

Viktor settles on Jayce’s pallet. It’s surprisingly soft, almost comfortable. Viktor can feel Jayce’s stare burning into the side of his face, but doesn’t turn to meet it. He closes his eyes, “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.” Jayce whispers, hoarse, “Viktor.”

Light fights against Viktor’s eyelids, bright and warm. He curls to fit where the sunspot spreads on the floor, stretching like a cat. 

“It snowed a lot last night.”

Viktor opens his eyes. Jayce stands by the window, its curtains pushed fully open for the first time. He’s redressed in his clothes from before. They’re still dirty. 

When Jayce looks down at Viktor it is with bloodshot, water eyes. 

They eat cold beans from the can, sitting across from each other on the floor, knees brushing. There are only two cans of beans and one can of corn left. Three more meals and they’ll have to break into the can of assorted pig pieces. Viktor shudders to think about it. 

Jayce is unnaturally quiet. It makes Viktor uncomfortable, antsy. He won’t look at Viktor, avoiding his eyes– finding some knot on the floor much more interesting. Viktor can’t read him like this, can’t see what he’s thinking. Jayce was always an open book. Every emotion played across his face so openly, so trusting– naive. In the lab, Viktor could read Jayce’s emotions by the slope of his shoulders alone. Could differentiate between every subtlety. Knew whether he was stressed or overwhelmed or simply tired just by the way he ran his hand over his face. Up and down meant stress. Side to side meant tired. Diagonal and circular meant overwhelmed. Now, Viktor can’t read him, doesn’t know what the curl of his back or the furrow of his brow means, and it terrifies him. 

Viktor jumps up, startling Jayce. He stumbles a bit, putting too much weight on his bad leg. It buckles under him, catching himself before he can fall on the counter. 

“Let's go outside.” He says, rushing through the words. 

Jayce blinks up at him, “Outside?” 

“Yes. Outside.”

Jayce looks Viktor up and down slowly, raises an eyebrow, “In your underwear?” 

Viktor looks down at himself. He forgot he wasn’t wearing pants. Embarrassed, he puts one hand in front of himself. 

“Um” He stammers, “No. Let me get dressed first, then we’ll go outside. Grab the pot.” 

Somehow, against all odds, they safely make it down the porch stairs. No one has to know that they slide down on their butts like children sledding, the back of Viktor’s pants wet and icy. Jayce heads to the creek to collect water. Claims he’s going to catch a fish so they can eat something besides beans tonight. 

Viktor wobbles, leaning heavily on his stick towards the tree line. Roots around until he finds what he’s looking for. A big, slightly taller than his own branch downed in last night’s snow storm. It’ll work. 

He noticed how Jayce cringed with every step around the cabin, a barely there grimace set in the downturned corners of his lips. He thought about fixing Jayce’s brace, releasing the bearings in the back that were too tight, but he doesn’t have the necessary tools. 

When Viktor joins Jayce at the creek, there are three fat, dead fish laying in the snow. 

“Here,” Viktor says, handing Jayce the branch. 

Jayce stands on the creek bank, staring off into the distance beyond where trees stretch far into the horizon. He takes the branch, runs his hand along the grooves of bark, “What’s this for?” 

“Walking. Should relieve some of the pressure on your knee.” 

“I walk just fine.” Jayce says, but doesn’t rid himself of the stick. 

“Is it a problem if you don’t?” Viktor asks carefully. 

Jayce’s head whips towards Viktor. There he is, Viktor thinks, and is surprised to read simmering anger in Jayce’s eyes. 

“Of course not,” Jayce seethes, “Do you really have to think the worst of me?” 

“I don’t?” Viktor’s own anger rises in him, a steady stream of steam. 

Jayce huffs and turns from Viktor. Conversation over. Viktor stalks off to the middle of the clearing, but there’s nowhere for him to hide– nowhere to safely shut Jayce out. He doesn’t want to– not really– but some distance would be nice. 

Think, Viktor mouths. Think. Think. Think. Isn’t that the best part of him? His mind– the thing that got him out of the Undercity, exalted him to the gilded towers of Piltover. But he can’t solve this problem, find a way to defuse the oppressive tension between them, or at least lessen it, lighten it. Snow crunches behind him. It’s Jayce returning to the cabin. If Viktor lets Jayce walk back in there without bridging the gap between them, he fears he won’t ever be able to and, if the snow doesn’t let up, being stuck in the cabin for the foreseeable future will be tortuous. 

So he scoops down, gathers a ball of snow, and chucks it at Jayce. It hits him square in the center of his back. 

Jayce freezes, turning slowly. Viktor hurls another snowball at Jayce before he can speak– aiming for his chest. It misses, flies clear of his shoulder. 

Jayce’s cheek twitch, an eyebrow raising. “You want to play?” 

Yes, Viktor wants to say, I want you to laugh and smile and play with me. 

“I have never had a snowball fight before.” He says instead. 

One corner of Jayce’s lips curls up. Got him, Viktor thinks, feeling his own smile fighting against him. Jayce drops the stick and fish, scoops snow into his hands. He stares Viktor down, predatory and heavy. And hurls a snowball right at Viktor's face.

The sound that comes out of Viktor is suspiciously close to a squeal that he will deny every making if anyone asks. Ice bursts against his neck, barely missing his face. 

Viktor grabs more snow, skips away from Jayce. He throws it behind home without taking aim, tripping over ice under the snow. Jayce laughs behind him. More snow hits Viktor’s back, shocking cold washing down his shirt as some flakes sneak down his collar. 

He kicks up snow– it must hit Jayce in the face based on the gasp Jayce makes. Viktor hops behind a tree, a bunny outrunning a fox. 

“Viktor” Jayce sing-songs, teasing, “No hiding…” 

Viktor heaves, backing up against the thickest tree. He peeks around the corner. 

And Jayce shoves snow right into his face. 

Viktor yells out, pushing Jayce’s shoulder, “I know I haven’t played before but I’m pretty sure you’re meant to throw the snow, not shove it in my face.” He grabs snow sticking to the tree, pushes it against Jayce’s cheek. His fingers brush the scruff of Jayce’s beard. A low blow for a low blow.

Pivoting around the tree, Viktor trips back into the clearing, the rough bark of his walking stick bites into his hands. Kicks up more snow like splashing water back at Jayce. 

Jayce laughs, hearty and cackling. It sparks in Viktor’s chest. He feels lighter than air, untethered, like he could float away at any moment. 

Snow clings to Viktor’s eyelashes in thick clumps, blocking his vision. Jayce stumbles after him. The white snow embedded in his beard a stark contrast against his tanned skin.So beautiful, Viktor thinks. He’s hit with the overwhelming urge to capture the picture Jayce paints in great detail– a picture or a painting, anything to have proof of them freezing and happy in the snow. 

Viktor curses his frail lungs, growing tired quickly. He hurls one last weak snowball at Jayce. It lands a good few feet short. Viktor slumps into the snow, breathing heavily, the taste of iron thick on his tongue. He lays back into the snow. The sky is one endless cloud, gray and sparkling. 

Falling to his knees, Jayce appears above Viktor, hovering, his cheeks stained red and splotchy. Snow clings to his hair in clumps. Viktor reaches up, brushes it out, combing through crunchy, frozen strands. Viktor’s fingers are so pale they’re nearly gray– if they spend any more time out here they’re going to be frostbitten. 

“You’re covered,” Jayce says, flicking a couple snowflakes over Viktor, taps the tip of his nose twice– a little smile on his face. “You look like a snow angel.” 

“Not a regular angel?” Viktor aims for teasing but it falls short– comes out a little breathless.

“You’re too pale for that,” Jayce’s smile stretches wide across his face, fawn colored eyes crinkling. 

“Hey,” Viktor pouts, slapping Jayce’s chest. 

“Plus,” Jayce says, leaning into Viktor’s space– invading it like it’s his right, “regular angels aren’t covered in snow.”

“Who says that?” Viktor says, “Does mythology not say angles live above, high in the sky? It is cold up there. Maybe they are made of ice.”

“No,” Jayce argues, “They’re near the sun where it’s bright and warm.”

“So they look like you?” Viktor says without thinking, “That makes sense.”

“Why would that mean they look like me?” Jayce asks, tilting his head– puppylike. 

“Because you are all the brightness and warmth in the universe.” Viktor whispers.

He must have said something wrong because Jayce pulls back abruptly, goes stiff, his face falling. He grabs Viktor’s wrist and pulls him up to his feet. It happens so quickly. Viktor’s standing, Jayce brushing him down impersonally, reserved and shut off. Viktor searches Jayce’s face, tries to read him again but he’s closed the pages of himself, steel and iron hardened into something sharp– poised to cut Viktor down. 

“C’mon,” Jayce says, “we’re gonna get frostbite.”

Inside the cabin, the tension returns. It hovers in the air like humidity, thick and sticky. 

“Did I do something wrong?” Viktor asks, feeble and small. Jayce sparks a flame in the fire, quick fingers tending the flame until it catches on the last of the dried sticks and leaves left on the stove. Jayce’s shoulders tense. 

“No.” 

“Jayce.”

Something in Jayce breaks then. He slams his hands on the counter so loudly it makes Viktor jump. He spins around, eyes bright, and points an accusatory finger at Viktor’s chest. “That. You can’t say my name like that and expect me to just…” He trails off, throwing his arms out. Jayce looks around the cabin like he can find the script to this conversation written on the walls. Viktor feels like he never received instructions in the first place. 

“I’m so fucking confused, Viktor.” Jayce sinks against the counter, sagging to the floor. His head hangs heavy off his neck, picking at his fingernails, “I feel like I’m going crazy.”

Viktor watches as Jayce pulls at his hair, gripping it from the root and tugging so hard Viktor worries it’ll break. Something dreadful and rotten opens up inside him. Avarice is a nasty thing. It’s better if Jayce hates him, better in the long run, but he can’t stand and watch Jayce break– watch him destroy himself, cleaving apart. 

“Don’t” Jayce holds up a hand, stopping Viktor mid step, “Just– Just listen to me and don’t speak.”

Usually Viktor wouldn’t let anyone talk to him like that, command him, but there’s an edge of desperation in Jayce’s voice that makes him pause. He nods instead, not sure if Jayce can see the movement. Standing in the center of the room, Viktor feels too small in his skin– like he doesn’t fill out his body correctly. Built from loose ends and frayed edges. 

“You–” Jayce breathes, labored and heavy “I saw some much of you in there– in the Arcane. I went through hell to get to you. It showed me so much it was like I had become you. Your hopes and dreams, fears, the shit you did while I fucked around with Piltover’s elites like I belonged there.” Jayce stops musing with his hair, resting his head in his hands, shaking. 

“But do you want to know the worst part?” His eyes meet Viktor’s, shining and wild, “The Arcane is so fucking cruel because it showed me your desires. It’d be one thing, to see you hurting yourself, hating yourself– that was enough for me to understand what I had to do. But then it showed me what you wanted beneath all that self-loathing. And it was so shocking– so against what I thought I knew about you. You’re strong and passionate and full of life– had this innate fire in you. But you also wanted so much more. You wanted to live. You wanted a legacy– to prove yourself. And you wanted… you wanted me. 

“Then–The Arcane is so wicked, so… so mean– it showed me what I could have had.” He stresses each work, working himself up again, “and what I saw was so perfect, so beautiful. I thought that was the best I was going to get and I was fucking grateful for it– a glimpse into what could’ve been if I hadn’t gotten caught up playing politics. But then I woke up in this frozen place, with you, sleeping on that broken down bed. Did you know you slept for over twelve hours? God, Viktor, I thought you were dead. I thought the Arcane dumped me here and left me with your dead body as once last act of vengeance. But your chest moved and I sat in that chair for twelve hours so fucking relieved and happy. Maybe I could have it– have you. Make it right.

“Then you woke up.” and Viktor had looked at Jayce like he saw a ghost, “Why won’t you accept me? Why Viktor?”

Viktor feels like falling through the center of the Earth. He would get on his knees if he could, crawl to Jayce and hold him together instead of standing there uselessly watching him fall apart. His chest fights between tearing and clenching. Jayce’s tears fall freely now, silently. It would be better if he screamed at Viktor, yelled himself hoarse, better if he hit him, then these silence, empty tears. 

“Jayce” Viktor whispers– feels his heart punch against his ribcage so hard he fears it might crack. “The Arcane has given you a second chance. Do not waste it on me.” 

Jayce stands, ire washing off him like a physical thing. It makes Viktor flinch back, but Jayce grabs him around the shoulders, forcing Viktor to look at him. His eyes burn like the forge he used to tend, violent but controlled. 

“You do not get to make that decision for me.” He punctuates each word with a shake to Viktor’s shoulders, punishing and restrained. “It gave us a second chance. Us. Give in.” 

Viktor shatters. “I can't,” his voice cracks. 

“Give in.” Jayce pushes closer, nose brushing Viktor's. The hair of his beard tickles Viktor’s cheek. He can feel the fast puffs of Jayce’s breath against his mouth. 

It’d be so easy to tilt his jaw up and surrender. Viktor’s greed swells up inside him, making his fingers twitch at his side. His body shivers with barely held back anticipation and desire. 

You could, his mind says, until the ice melts. 

Just until the ice melts. 

And then their lips crash against each other. Viktor can’t tell who moved first, who gave in, but it doesn’t matter because Jayce is devouring Viktor with his lips. It’s tongue and teeth and sloppy, aggressive and angry, full of broken promises– both his own and those between them. It’s consuming and possessive and wonderful. 

Jayce kisses Viktor like he wants to eat him whole– and Viktor would let him. Jayce’s strong arms wrap around Viktor’s waist, pulling him flush from thigh to chest against him. Viktor pushes his mouth harder into Jayce, teeth scraping over Jayce’s bottom lip, pulling the flesh into his mouth. 

It’s animalistic– primal. Jayce whines when Viktor dips down to bite at Jayce’s throat. Each nip leaves bright red marks in their wake. Jayce collects Viktor in his arms, lifting him. Viktor squeaks, wraps his arms tighter around Jayce’s neck and winds his legs around his waist, clinging to him. 

“Jayce,” Viktor gasps between kisses. Jayce’s tongue invades his mouth and it sparks down Viktor’s core like lightning. “Please.”

“I have you,” Jayce says. 

They tumble onto the bed. It creaks under them, groaning at their combined weight. Jayce slinks up Viktor’s body, shoves a thigh between Viktor’s legs and grinds down. Viktor arches up into it, tossing his head back and biting his lip. Viktor trembles all over. Viktor has never done this before– felt shame for his inexperience and resigned himself to a life without the pleasure that now runs down his spine like electricity. 

Viktor snakes a hand down Jayce’s chest, wedging it between them to palm at the tent in Jayce’s pants. The noise Jayce lets out, a drawn out whine fizzles out into a whimper, makes Viktor’s mouth water. He’s beautiful, taut all over, tawny eyes falling shut, mouth open in a little ‘o.’ 

Jayce grabs Viktor’s wrist, pulls it off him and brings it to his lips. Leaves soft, gentle kisses against the bank of his fingers. Viktor searches Jayce’s eyes. 

“Let me make you feel good,” Jayce begs, desperation and desire in his eyes, “I can make you feel good.” 

Viktor gasps when he feels Jayce unbutton his pants, fumbling with the waistband. Jayce slinks down Viktor’s body, pulls Viktor’s rumpled and dirty shirt to the side to bite at his clavicle, the space between his chest, kisses over his nipple hidden under his shirt, all the way down to where Viktor’s cock stands straining against his pants. 

Jayce looks up at him, curious, looking for direction. Viktor’s head spins, dizzy and disoriented. Jayce sits back on his haunches, pets down Viktor's thighs heavily, fingers digging into the flesh there. 

“Tell me what to do?” Jayce begs, flips Viktor’s waistband down, “Tell me how to make you feel good.”

“Okay” Viktor gasps as Jayce pulls his underwear down. He slaps against the base of his stomach, already fully hard and leaking. Viktor squirms under Jayce’s stare, devotion shining in his eyes. His thighs move to clench shut, but Jayce catches him, pinches the soft skin there and holds him open. 

“An angel,” Jayce breathes, “You really are an angel.” 

“Jayce,” Viktor gasps. His hand falling to the grip the sheets, twisting them and pulling them off the bed, one corner snaps up against foot. “I can’t–”

Jayce wraps a hesitant hand around Viktor, pulls up and down slowly. “Is this okay?” 

Viktor nods, overwhelmed. “Yes– more,” Viktor says. 

“Okay– Okay” Jayce whispers, running a thumb over the tip, spreading the wetness there down across his length. 

Viktor throws his head back, bites his lip hard enough to break skin, “Come on, Jayce,” he grits out. 

The pleasure is maddening, already pushing Viktor to the precipice. He’s here and not, floating somewhere unbound and weightless. Jayce pulls at his cock harder, tightens his fist, squeezing at from base to tip. 

Viktor bites his hand to quiet himself. Jayce’s whine forces Viktor to look at him. Jayce has his free hand between his own legs. He can’t see beyond that, but the shake of Jayce’s shoulder tells him enough of what Jayce is doing. 

“Oh my god,” Viktor goes lighthead. He’s going to pass out. This is too much. The pleasure and the undeniable proof that Jayce derives pleasure from this is too much for Viktor to handle. 

Jayce collapses on top of Viktor, rutting against his thigh, nearly humping it. Viktor groans, pulls Jayce back into him to lick at his lips. Jayce nips Viktor’s top lip, soothes it with his tongue. His hand doesn’t stop moving, pumping Viktor like it’s his duty. 

“I–” Viktor stutters. The muscles of his stomach clench– he’s not going to last much longer. “I’m not–”

“It’s okay,” Jayce pants, licks the shell of Viktor’s ear, “Let go. I’ve got you.” 

Viktor pulls Jayce flush against him–can’t get close enough. He wants to fuse together until he can’t differentiate between them, until their skin knits together and binds them to each other. Wants to crawl under Jayce’s skin and make a home for himself there. Wants to pull Jayce into him and keep him trapped in the space between his ribs. 

His orgasm crashes into him, a never ending roll of pleasure so intense it borders on painful. He loses time, shaking and writhing against Jayce’s hand. His thighs clamp, trapping Jayce’s forearm between the thin muscles. Jayce shudders over him, whimpering in his ear and chanting his name like a mantra. 

When Viktor comes to, Jayce is slumped over him, his entire weight crushing him into the mattress. The broken spring digs into his spine uncomfortably, but he doesn’t move. Jayce’s breath hits Viktors collarbone in quick puffs, humid and sweet. Viktor grips his back– pets the skin between Jayce’s shoulder blades. His mind delicious empty for once, calm like the ocean after a storm. 

Jayce nuzzles into Viktor’s neck, leaves sweet, wet kisses against his neck traveling up to the hinge of his jaw. Viktor tilts his head to give Jayce more space to mark him up. 

I am yours, he thinks, Mark me.

“Viktor,” He feels Jayce’s words more than hears them, “Viktor, Viktor, Viktor.”

“I have you.” Viktor says, running his hands through Jayce’s hair, combing the sweat slicked strands from his forehead. Grasping under his jaw, Viktor cradles Jayce’s head in his hands and brings him out of the crevice of his neck to lock eyes. Jayce rests his forehead against Viktor’s. 

There’s so much to say, but words fail him. His thoughts, concepts of what he should say, crumble before they can form into words. Jayce seems the same, his eyes so soft and open. The pressure of Jayce’s love threatens to crush Viktor– turn him to dust. 

Jayce shifts off Viktor but doesn’t go far. The bed is entirely too tiny for both of them. Jayce’s leg hooks around Viktor’s, the meat of his thigh resting against Viktor’s hip. A grounding pressure that pulls Viktor back into himself a bit. 

Viktor’s greed boils in his blood. Snow is falling again, and Viktor is so grateful for the endless snow that traps them in this water logged and rotting cabin. Jayce lays across Viktor’s chest. His hair tickles under his chin. Sleep comes for Viktor like a mother comforting her child, soothing and hushed. 

It’s so warm, Viktor thinks, like standing next to a furnace or the heat of the sun in the late summer. 

Viktor jolts awake, sitting straight up. The tension bleeds from his shoulders when he sees the snow outside, the sky still a splash of gray so light it’s nearly white. 

The ice hasn’t melted yet and Jayce is still his. He’s cuddled into Viktors side. Deep, steady breaths hit the slight curve of Viktor’s waist. Snow piled so high it peaks over the very edge of the window pane. They’re snowed in. 

Something settles warm and heavy in Viktor’s stomach at the sight of piled snow. He gets another day with Jayce– another couple days, at least, of this utopia. The snow will melt eventually and Viktor will leave Jayce but not yet. Not today. 

Jayce grumbles in his sleep, throwing the rest of his arm around Viktor’s middle. The weight of it resting against the little swell of Viktor’s stomach– comforting. He smiles down at Jayce, brushing his hair back. He plays with it, collecting the strands in his fist. His hair is so long Viktor could tie it up. A cute bun would suit Jayce. Rugged and handsome– wild unlike the prim and proper, groomed Jayce of the past. 

Viktor had always found Jayce handsome, even sleep deprived and manic after three days of no sleep, running on caffeine and sheer passion for their dream alone, preparing for the innovators competition in the lab all those years ago. He remembers how stubbled sprouted from Jayce’s chin, jaw clenched shut as he focused on notching gears they didn’t really need but it helped soothe this panic, calmed Viktor’s own rising anxiety in the process– the soft scrape of a file against metal something to focus on instead of the rising nausea. 

Viktor wanted to tell him that the scruff suited him, but held back– they didn’t really talk to each other like that back then, with compliments beyond what their minds created. Viktor was satisfied with stolen glances and secret thoughts, guilty visions of Jayce under the cover of his blankets at home. Now Jayce is devastatingly handsome and Viktor is allowed to pamper him openly for the time being, to admire the strong curve of his brow and the way his hair brushes the nape of his neck. 

He gathers three stands in between his fingers, absentmindedly braiding his hair back from the root. He’s halfway through a third stitch when Jayce wakes up. 

He turns, blinking up at Viktor from where he lays in his lap and smiles. Viktor’s breath catches in his throat. Sleep heavy eyes and flushed skin, Jayce softens in his grasp. 

“Good morning,” He says, reaching up to caress Viktor’s cheek. 

He tilts into it, savoring the warmth of his calloused hands, “Good morning.”

“God” Jayce groans, “This mattress is awful.”

Viktor laughs, “I think your makeshift cot is more comfortable.”

“I agree,” Jayce says, “I guess I did make the best bed this time.”

They spend the rest of the morning in bed, hands exploring previously untouched skin. Soft and sleepy, reverent– a worship. Viktor fixates on the swell of Jayce’s chest, the peaks of his biceps. Jayce strokes along Viktor’s side, over his hip and thigh, pinches the skin softly. They exchange soft, barely there kisses– just presses of lips, chapped and broken. Last night was fast and messy, pent up feelings releasing in an explosion of teeth and fingernails. In the light of day, it’s soft and slow.

Basking in the sunlight streaming from the window against Viktor’s back, he takes Jayce into his mouth. Laves his tongue along the thick vein that runs from base to tip, curling around Jayce’s cock. Viktor laps, little kitten licks, at the head, tastes salt and musk. He peers up at Jayce– reticent to miss any of the minute expressions that shift across his face. 

Jayce is vocal, hands twisting in Viktor’s hair, a grounding pull. 

“Viktor,” Jayce whines, hips twitching, “So, so perfect.”

Viktor preens under his praise. He feels powerful, more powerful than behind the machine herald’s mask. Taking Jayce into his mouth, wrapping his lips around the head, he sinks down halfway until Jayce hits the back of his throat and feels so damn powerful it makes him dizzy. 

“Just like that,” Jayce groans, “Viktor–”

It’s slow and messy, uncoordinated. Viktor’s inexperience is obvious. Jayce groans like it’s the best feeling in the world. 

He whimpers, high and needy in his throat, when Viktor hums, vibrations running against Jayce’s skin. Viktor grabs his hips to prevent him from thrusting up– feels the muscles twitch under his hands. Jayce’s whole body is a wire ready to snap. 

“Viktor,” Jayce gasps, “Viktor– I– I lo–”

Jayce cuts himself off with a reedy whine when Viktor sucks harder, choking a bit when Jayce’s cock slips further down his throat. He can’t allow Jayce to say those words. He knows them to be real, but to hear them makes them too real– releases them to the world to manifest and warp. He wraps his hand tighter around the part of Jayce that doesn’t fit in his mouth, squeezing the velvet skin punishingly. 

Jayce comes with a cut-off groan so loud and needy it rocks through Viktor like thunder. Jayce’s stomach clenches, hips lifting off the bed, strung taut. Salt and bitterness bursts against Viktor’s tongue– strange but not all together disgusting. 

Viktor pulls Jayce with a little cough, swallowing hard. He collects some of Jayce’s come that splattered against his cheek and licks it off his fingers. 

Jayce stares at Viktor with heavy lids, shock coloring his already flushed cheeks. 

“What?” Viktor asks, hesitant. 

Jayce laughs, wrapping his calf around Viktor to pull him towards him. Viktor collapses on top of Jayce, catching himself with his hands on Jayce’s chest. 

“You,” Jayce breathes– kisses the mole above Viktor’s lip before shifting to kiss the one under his eye twice, “You are something else.”

“A good something else, right?”

“A perfect something else.” Jayce nuzzles his nose against Viktor's softly. His eyelashes tickle his cheeks. Viktor smiles, rubbing his nose across Jayce’s in the opposite direction– a different type of kiss. 

The clouds part and drift through the sky as the only witness to them in that creaking old bed with broken springs. The sun crosses the sky, making its daily sojourn from east to west– it kisses the horizon before either of them get up. 

Jayce cooks the fish he caught yesterday, Viktor clinging to his back. He’s overwhelmed by his need– can’t bring himself to part from Jayce for even a second. The night is filled with laughter, soft giggles and nonsensically musing. Mathematical concepts of space and time, arguments over old papers they read in their academy days, things of the past that don’t cause pain. 

“No,” Jayce argues, a bit of fish scale stuck in his canine, “Heimerdinger said that guy wasn’t a quack.” 

“But even a quack can be right once, no?” Viktor challenges, “It was an interesting theory.”

“Hold on–” Jayce laughs, “You– Viktor– You understood quantum physics by, like, age ten, but you entertained theories against gravity?” 

Viktor pouts, “I still think gravity is the most probable answer, but it’s just a theory, not proven yet– why couldn’t it be magnetism?” 

“I mean it could be, I guess, but wouldn’t that be easily provable?”

“Proof changes.” Viktor says, “What we think, what we know, isn’t set in stone. It’s all relative– constantly shifting, morphing– the more we understand, the less we know.” 

“That’s true,” Jayce says. He grabs Viktor’s hand, playing with his fingers, “The chaos of the universe works like a mind– irrational.” 

“Exactly,” Viktor twines their fingers together. 

They talk well into the night. It’s a clear night, stars visible through the window. Gases burning thousands of lightyears away– light looking at a different moment than the one occurring in the cabin. Viktor wonders what they see– is the cabin even here in their eyes, does it exist or are the woods the only thing that stands? 

“What about baby?” Jayce asks. 

“Bleh,” Viktor gags, “My name is Viktor.”

“I know,” Jayce groans, exacerbated. They moved from the floor and now lie on the bed, Viktor’s ear pressed to Jayce’s chest– the deep thrum of his heartbeat echoes in his ear, “The point of pet names is to call you something other than your name.” 

“It’s silly,” Viktor says, “Why would I want to hear anything other than my name on your lips.” 

“Oh?” Jayce tilts Viktor’s head back so their eyes meet, “Is that so?” 

Viktor feels his cheeks heat. “Yes.” 

“In that case, Jayce is just fine.” Jayce sounds smug, pleased by Viktor’s answer. Viktor rolls his eyes and settles back against Jayce’s chest– feels it stutter under him. 

When Viktor grows tired, Jayce keeps talking. His voice is deep and calming, lulling Viktor further into the trap of sleep. He hears the way Jayce’s words slow, tripping over themselves and slurring together. He tells Viktor about his favorite animal and the forge, the Kiramman girl and her budding romance with a girl from the Undercity, talks of scientific theories and academy parties he attended– cramped dorm rooms and apartments with cheap booze and stinking smoke. Viktor realizes, with something like horror, that Jayce is telling Viktor parts of himself Viktor never asked about. He’s giving himself to Viktor, laying it all out on the table. He tells him about his temper and bad habits– how he learned to use the forge as an outlet for any anger. Viktor drinks it in, absorbing all Jayce will give him greedily with the thirst of a desert plant. 

Viktor will take what he can get– covet what Jayce shares with him until it’s taken from him. 

~

Rooting around in the snow, Viktor finds the crystal. 

It’s a stark dark blue, dull without the glow of magic. Viktor freezes, peeks over his shoulder to ensure Jayce isn’t looking. He’s patching a hole with some plaster they found in the bathroom on the side of the cabin. Termite bites and water damage spreads rot across the side of the wood. 

The blood drains from Viktor’s head. He’s dizzy with fear. This shouldn’t be here. It was destroyed– burst in his hand. He felt it, the influx of energy and the subsequent release.

It shouldn’t be here.

But, inexplicably, there the crystal sits in the snow. Its surface is etched with the rune pattern that unlocked them from his misdeeds, deep grooves. Unlike before, it’s dormant. No longer pulsating– no longer alive. 

The lack of glow calms Viktor somewhat. It can’t hurt them. There is no link between it and the Arcane. It’s just a rock. 

A rock that Viktor hurls into the creek. 

Jayce hears the plop of something falling into the water. He turns and looks at Viktor quizzically.

“What was that?” 

“Nothing” Viktor says, kicking snow over the small hole he dug, “Don’t worry about.”

Viktor goes to join Jayce by the cabin, shuffling over ice. He rests against Jayce’s back, letting his cane fall against the siding. 

“How’s it going?” He asks. 

“Okay. The rot is going to spread but I don’t think I have the energy to rebuild the whole siding– or the materials.” Jayce laughs, spreading plaster and placing a large tree branch across the space. “When the ice thaws, maybe we can get wood down at the town and fix up this place.”

Viktor goes rigid against Jayce, “You want to live here permanently?”

“Why not?” Jayce asks. He turns to face Viktor and pulls him around the waist, his hands resting in the dip of spine, “It’s nice enough.”

“It’s rotting, Jayce.” Viktor says. 

“Well, yea,” Jayce sighs. He looks a bit uncomfortable, like he’s holding something back, “But it’s kind of homey.” 

Viktor snorts, “Why not just find a place in town?” 

“No,” Jayce says, resolute, “I like it here.”

Jayce looks so hopeful, eyes wide and vulnerable. Viktor can picture it– Jayce would clean up the cabin, fix all the broken bits. Maybe build a shed, stuff it full of metal and an anvil, spend too long pounding away at iron. Maybe he’d build furniture and take it into town to sell at a fair or market. When the frost thaws, Jayce could plant a garden full of tomatoes and bell peppers. 

Viktor can’t imagine himself there– in this fantasy where Jayce stays in the cabin. 

Once Viktor is gone, Jayce would meet someone at the market– a patron buying a wrought iron table. They would compliment Jayce’s work, say the welds are perfect because they would be. Jayce’s steady hands molding metal like a sculptor with clay. They would be pretty and bat their eyelashes at Jayce and he would flush and say thank you. Jayce would build a home– without Viktor. 

The crack in his chest is so visceral he stumbles back. Viktor removed from Jayce’s side, dug out from his heart, is the only just punishment he could give himself. 

“Are you okay?” Jayce asks, wrapping his hand around Viktor’s forearm, steadying him. “Do you feel sick?” 

“No,” Viktor says. He tugs his arm out of Jayce’s grip, rubs at where his fingers still burn the skin, a stain of Jayce. 

“You got really pale,” Jayce says. He sets down the can of sealant next to a pile of sticks. 

Viktor won’t ruin this yet– shakes himself out of it, “I am really pale.”

Jayce smiles, pushes at Viktor’s shoulder without any strength behind it. “More pale than usual, smart ass.” He glances up, “It looks like it’s going to snow again.”

“Maybe it will never stop.” Viktor muses, peering up at the gray sky. 

“Do you think we’re near the pole?” Jayce asks. 

They hadn’t discussed it– where they were. The arcane could have spit them out anywhere. This ground could be Runeterra, could be a whole other planet all together. A different universe or something outside it completely. It could be the afterlife– and wouldn’t that be awful. An afterlife full of ice and wind and cold, cold, cold. It doesn’t suit Jayce, tan and shining stuck in a snowglobe. 

Viktor doesn’t think it’s the afterlife. Something too real about the air, heavy and weighed like gravity pulls against his skin. His bones ache too much to be dead. 

“Maybe,” Viktor muses, “Or an ice planet.” 

Jayce frowns, “Those are oak trees– they wouldn’t grow here if it snowed forever.” 

“I guess you’re right.”

“It’ll melt soon.”

It will. The snow will melt from the ground and run off into the creek. And Viktor will lose the closest thing to heaven he’ll ever get. 

In the cabin, Jayce kindles the fire until it’s roaring, warming the room. Jayce sheds his shirt– it’s mostly rags now– exposing corded muscle and tanned skin. Bending to lift the pot of water on the fire, his biceps bulge, swelling. Fire swirls in Viktor’s belly. 

With a shocking kind of clarity, Viktor realizes he’s horny. And there’s no reason to stop himself. Not yet. 

“Jayce,” Viktor says slowly, fingers unbuttoning the bottom of his shirt, “You said the Arcane showed you my desires.” 

Jayce nods, still fiddling with the stove. 

“What did you see?” Viktor removes his shirt completely, sits back on to the bed and crosses his legs. 

“Lots of stuff– mostly me,” Jayce smirks, finally turning to face Viktor. He drinks him like water, runs his eyes up and down Viktor’s exposed skin. It’s odd– to be so openly wanted. Viktor feels like a specimen under a microscope, stuck in the plastic of a petri dish. It’s thrilling and terrifying at the same time. 

“Specifics, Jayce,” Viktor goads. 

Jayce stalks over to where Viktor lays, falls to his knees in front of him and runs his hands across the trim line of his waist. 

“There was one very interesting bit,” Jayce practically purrs, “You on the couch in the lab– so dirty of you to be honest, I slept on that couch so many times.”

And Viktor remembers it. Jayce had come back from the forge that day, dripping sweat with his shirt sleeves pushed up and hair a mess. Viktor had sent him home to take a shower, claiming his stink and sweat was clouding up the lab. 

Viktor had fallen onto the couch and rutted against his hand, frantic and aborted thrusts of his hips. Quieted himself with his fingers, biting into the knobby part of his knuckles with the picture of Jayce, sweat slicked and beautiful, in his mind. One of the only times he gave in to his baser instincts. 

“Oh,” Viktor gasps as Jayce bites at his neck, canines scraping against his pulse. “What did you think?”

“Then? I didn’t think anything. I was a little distracted.” Jayce says, bites at Viktor’s bottom lip, “Now? I think I should’ve bent you over that couch and given you what you wanted.” 

That won’t do. Viktor grabs the back of Jayce’s head and pulls– hard. Jayce whines out, throwing his head back to follow the tug of Viktor’s fingers. 

“What if I wanted to bend you over that couch,” Viktor challenges. 

“I would’ve let you do that, too.” Jayce says. 

The blood drains from Viktor’s face, rushing south. “Kiss me.” He demands. Doesn’t wait for Jayce to move, pulls him into him by the hair until their lips crush against each other. 

Jayce crawls on top of Viktor, careful to straddle over his bad leg. Kisses him hard, tongue fighting against his own. He licks the back of Viktor’s teeth, runs along the bottom of his lip, fitting together like they were made to. 

Viktor pushes at Jayce’s pants, tugs them just enough to grasp his cock and squeeze. Jayce wheezes, pulling away. Jayce stands, clicks his brace off and pulls his pants down until he’s standing before Viktor in all his naked glory. 

“Come here,” Viktor says, commanding, “Now.”

Jayce returns to his place hovering over Viktor. Grabs the back of Viktor’s thigh, runs up to his ass and grabs a handful of flesh there. There’s not much to grab, but Jayce groans like he’s touching fine silk. 

“Viktor,” Jayce says, tonguing at his collarbones and down his chest, “I need you.”

“You have me,” Viktor breathes out, chest heaving beneath Jayce’s ministrations. 

Jayce pulls off Viktor’s pants and underwear in one fell swoop, kisses back up to Viktor’s lips. Their eyes meet and Viktor laughs, a quiet, awkward giggle. Jayce smiles back, sweet and honeyed. 

“We don’t–” Jayce says, breathless, “We don’t have oil or anything.” 

“That’s fine,” Viktor says. The pain will be worth it– he needs it. He grabs Jayce’s hand, brings it to his lips and licks up two of his fingers. He’ll need more than two, but he needs this. He needs to feel the stretch and pain of it to make it real. 

Jayce stares at Viktor with wide eyes when Viktor takes the fingers into his mouth, suckling on them until they’re dripping with his spit. Viktor guides Jayce’s hand past his chest, over his cock, and to the place he wants them. The first touch of Jayce’s fingers against the spot no one has ever touched makes Viktor jolt, thighs spasming. 

“Are you sure?” Jayce asks, plays with the skin there like a pianist at his piano, softly. 

“Yes,” Viktor says, pulling Jayce in for a kiss, “Please?” 

Jayce nods. He circles Viktor’s rim, spreading the wetness there, before pushing in softly. Watches Viktor with wide eyes, cataloging each reaction. Viktor’s brows furrowing– the feeling of Jayce breaching him is slightly uncomfortable, but not painful. 

Jayce pushes into Viktor to the knuckle, pokes around. Viktor places a hand on his lower stomach, guiding. 

He curls his finger, hitting something that sparks pleasure up Viktor’s spine. 

“Oh,” Viktor gasps, throwing his head back, “There.” 

Jayce does it again. And again. And again until Viktor writhes on his finger.

“Another,” Viktor demands, grabbing Jayce by the back of the neck, fingers digging into the tense muscle there. 

Jayce complies. It’s maddening. The highest echelon of pleasure, just two of Jayce’s fingers thrusting into him. Viktor heaves, holding onto Jayce like he’s the only thing tethering him to earth. He feels the distinct tickle in his lower stomach of pleasure boiling over. 

“Now,” Viktor says. He reaches down and grabs at Jayce’s cock, guiding it between his legs, “Now, Jayce.”

“Oh my god,” Jayce whines, pulling his fingers out. 

Viktor misses the stretch for half a second before the fat head of Jayce’s cock is pushing into him and all rational thought, all worries of tomorrow, of the ice melting, fly from his mind like dust on the wind. 

It’s overwhelming– all consuming. He chokes over a moan, breathless at the stretch of Jayce filling him up. He can feel Jayce against his hand from the outside. It makes Viktor’s eyes roll back into his head. 

“Oh my god,” Jayce repeats once he’s settled inside Viktor, his hips shifting on their own, holding back, “Is this okay?”

“Move,” Viktor grits out. His hands find Jayce’s back, right above his ass, “Don’t hold back.” 

Jayce’s hips push against Viktor, an aborted, unconscious movement. Viktor keens. 

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Jayce says, caressing Viktor’s cheek like he’s something precious– something worth kindness. 

“You won't,” Viktor says, “Now, move.” 

Jayce nods again. The first push and pull of Jayce’s hips tilt Viktor’s world on its axis. Jayce hits the spot in Viktor that makes him cry out, wrapping his leg around the back of Jayce’s thigh. His balls slap against Viktor’s ass, a steady thud. 

The bed creaks, the wrought iron headboard thumps against the wall with each thrust. Drowned out by Viktor’s cries and Jayce’s whining. 

“God,” Jayce moans, diving into Viktor’s neck to tongue at his mole, “You feel– so, so good.” 
Viktor nods frantically– not in agreement but to spur Jayce on. He can’t quiet himself. Part of him is ashamed of the sounds he’s letting escape his mouth– moans and groans and whimpers– but he can’t stop. And Jayce is just as loud, if not louder, practically drooling against Viktor’s neck. 

Tears prickle the back of Viktor’s eyes. His mouth fills with spit, stomach clenching, tightening around Jayce. Jayce makes a sound like a dying man, empty lungs and gasping for air. 

“Jayce, Jayce, Jayce,” Viktor chants, lifting his hips to meet Jayce’s thrusts, “I’m–”

“Me too,” Jayce says. He pulls himself from Viktor’s neck, cold rushes to meet the slick Jayce left behind. He looks down at Viktor, cheeks flushed and eyes wet. 

Viktor’s throat closes up. He can’t talk, can’t make any noise, so overwhelmed with pleasure pushing against him, choking him. 

Jayce comes with a high, thin whine, voice cracking over Viktor’s name. Feels Jayce in his guts, against his stomach, and falls over the edge of pleasure with a choked off gasp. 

Breathing heavily, Jayce falls to the side, halfway laying over Viktor. Viktor misses the fullness of him immediately, and feels Jayce’s come drip out of him. It’s disgusting and messy and perfect. This is perfection, he thinks, this is what I was searching for. 

Viktor watches Jayce stand on unsteady legs in a haze. Watches Jayce clean Viktor up gently with his own shirt, staining the surface with the evidence of their tryst. 

Jayce rejoins Viktor on the bed, bringing Viktor into his chest. Viktor leans into his touch, greedy to feel his skin against his own. Time passes like molasses through a funnel, slow and syrupy sweet. Pours over Viktor. 

“Do you think this is real?” Jayce asks after some time. His chest glistens in the late afternoon sun streaming through the window, “That we’re still in the Arcane?”

“No,” Viktor says, definitive, “I was in there longer than you. The Arcane would never be so kind.”

Jayce looks at Viktor from the corner of his eye, smirking, “This is a kindness to you? Trapped in a cabin surrounded by endless ice?” 

Viktor doesn’t answer. He slides up to Jayce's side, wrapping an arm around his waist, kisses the swell of his chest. 

The greatest kindness, Viktor thinks, is to be with you. 

The ice begins thawing the next day. A steady drip from the trees, icicles falling to the snow below with soft clink. It sounds like rain against the tin roof. It’s almost unnatural how fast the ice melts. The soft click of dripping like a clock’s hand ticking– counting down the seconds until Viktor loses Jayce again. 

He savors Jayce in the cradle of his arms, soft puffs of breath hitting the mole there that Jayce is so fond of. Kissing Jayce’s forehead gently, he shakes him awake. 

“Jayce,” Jayce’s eyebrows furrow as he nuzzles closer into Viktor’s neck, reluctant to wake up, “the snow is melting.”

Jayce grumbles and pulls Viktor against him tighter, fusing them together. He throws his leg over Viktor’s hips, “It’ll probably freeze over again.”

Water runs in thin rivets down the side of the window pane, catching on the bearings and collecting along the sill. The thick frost has disappeared, now a clear window streaked with tears and wet tree bark beyond its surface. The clink of dripping icicles against the cabin’s tin roof is a ticking timer. A bomb’s countdown before explosion. The sun shines through the window so brilliantly it’s blinding. 

What once existed as a barrier to the outside, to the frosted, frozen tundra beyond, that trapped Jayce with Viktor is open. The window that Jayce looked out every morning with a frown, ice and snow and frost piled on top. The window that Viktor secretly loved, derived pleasure from seeing it packed with snow. 

Icicles pop from tree branches, crashing with light fracturing through them like falling stars. 

“No,” Viktor says, petting through Jayce’s hair, “It won’t.”

He tries so hard to act normal around Jayce for the rest of the day. Kisses Jayce. Pets his hair. Holds him gently and reverently, rests his forehead against Jayce’s, a Zaunite gesture that Jayce doesn’t fully understand even if he had emulated it in the Arcane. It’s a comforting gesture, one full of love and adoration, and Jayce knows that. But he doesn’t know that it’s a farewell. 

Viktor lets Jayce feed him corn by the spoonful because Jayce gives him these big, puppy eyes that Viktor can’t say no to. He lets Jayce pamper him– take care of him– because it makes Jayce happy even if he tries to hide the glint in his eyes everytime Viktor sinks into Jayce’s embrace or wraps his lips around the end of a rusted spoon piled high with mushy corn. 

Maybe Jayce can tell and that sets something off in Viktor– to work harder, to appear less ruffled by the soft clink of melting ice against the roof, like a giant clock clicking towards Viktor’s end isn’t sinking his heart. So he smiles, bright and toothy– laughs a little louder at Jayce’s jokes. It’s in the way Viktor kisses– just a tinge too passionate– and when he pulls away Jayce looks at Viktor like he’s an equation he can’t quite crack. 

They venture outside to collect more water from the creek, now running freely with bits of cracked ice floating on its surface. Jayce fills the pot and the waterskin, the sound of water gently rushing and the far off squeaking of birds in the distance filling the silence the clearing once held. Snow squelches under his feet, no longer a thick crunch of frozen water. It melts to slush before his eyes. 

Silently, in some secret corner of his mind, Viktor begs the sun to dampen its rays. Soften the blow, melt slower. He asks the air to cool. Viktor wills the water dripping from the trees to reverse– freeze over one more time. 

“Viktor,” Jayce calls, beckoning him over, “Look at this.” He sounds awestruck and confused at the same time. 

Viktor walks over to Jayce, now standing by the gravel path and pointing North, and the sight before him knocks the breath from his lungs. 

He hadn’t noticed before– neither of them had. It was too overcast, visibility low beyond the tree line, clouds hanging thick and heavy against trees like a fog. But now it’s clear well past the few feet of trees before them, and hazily in the distance, as if through a film, stands the distinct spherical shape of Piltover’s council room. 

They’re mere miles outside Piltover. 

“The Hex Gates are gone.”

They are. Piltover’s skyline is somewhat empty with the ivory towers. Ships hauntingly absent from where they once hung heavy from the sky, popping in and out of the gates. It’s a bit like an incorrect equation that still produces a result. He recognizes Piltover. He’s seen the glory of the city of progress from the chasm of the Undercity, from prowling the streets late at night, from the windows of the lab, but what stands before him is wrong. 

Beyond the Hex Gate’s absence, Piltover’s buildings aren’t beat or broken. The council room stands tall and omnipresent and intact.The academy, where he spent his young adulthood clawing through the politics and favors that his classmates were awarded, shines like a beacon. Buildings he knows by memory but not by purpose stretch into the sky without even a single scratch. 

It doesn’t make sense. These buildings– this place– should be crumbling. The scale of destruction Noxus, and Viktor, exacted would require years of rebuilding, the scars of that battle should be sticking out of buildings. There should be cranes and broken windows and crumbling brick. 

Instead, Piltover stands unscathed. 

“Time,” Viktor gasps, “The time is wrong.”

It seems Jayce came to that conclusion before Viktor because he just nods, solemn and stone faced. Viktor watches Jayce’s mind work. His brow furrows and relaxes, his lips curl up and down, fighting between tentative hope and fear of what version of Piltover they’ll find. Jayce runs his hand across his face and plays with the hair on his chin. 

“Before or after,” Jayce says, “Or separate all together.”

Either the Hex gates haven’t been built yet, or they have been catapulted far enough into the future that Piltover has already recovered. Viktor is terrified of either option. For Jayce’s sake, he hopes they are a few years past the war. He hopes Jayce’s mother is down there, alive and waiting to welcome her son. Maybe Caitlyn is there too, Jayce always spoke so fondly of her. Viktor isn’t sure who survived the war, but he even hopes Mel is there. Even if Jayce cannot find love with her again, their companionship and respect they held for each other would carry on into a friendship. Even if it will kill Viktor, he hopes there is a life ready for Jayce in Piltover. 

Viktor blanches– or they’re removed from the traditional timeline completely. A different universe, not a trick from the Arcane, but something novel and uncharted and horrifying. 

Jayce looks so hopefully it makes Viktor’s stomach ache. Jayce was always more optimistic than Viktor. Viktor reckons Jayce’s optimism is a defensive mechanism. The only time in the seven years they worked as partners that Viktor saw Jayce without his sparkling hope clinging to him was that night after the robbery. 

“Give it until tomorrow,” Jayce says, “make sure the weather is truly turning before we set off.”

Viktor nods, thankful. One more day, he thinks, I will have my heaven for one more day. 

They shuffle into the cabin and clean their clothes in the bathtub with boiled water from the creek. Standing naked in the bathroom, they drift towards each other like magnets. Jayce splashes water up at Viktors face with a cackle. Viktor pushes Jayce’s head into the tub as punishment. Jayce laughs the whole way down, then chokes when he comes back up for air. Viktor pats his back, hard, shoulders rattling with laughter. They break into the assorted pig pieces because when else will they be able to try something so unknown. Jayce gags at the smell when he opens the can, poking at the gelatinous, pink substance. It’s fatty and salty and even a bit sweet– surprisingly good. The texture is wet and rubbery. Jayce spits it out after one bite. Viktor finishes the can to which Jayce watches with a horrified expression. 

Viktor pulls Jayce into the cradle of his hips when night falls over them. He grips Jayce’s back and leaves angry red marks across the expanse of golden skin as Jayce rocks against him long and slow– a stain of Viktor that Jayce will carry with him days after Viktor is gone. 

Viktor does not think of the end that exists at the end of the gravel path. Does not think about the infinitely confusing concept of time. Does not worry that he’ll be shot on the spot the minute he enters Piltover if they’re not far enough in the future– not that he really minds that end. Jayce will lose Viktor regardless, whether it’s in death or in Viktor abandoning him. 

Instead Viktor basks in his greed and holds Jayce against his mouth and begs for more. Whatever version of Piltover, whatever time the Arcane spat them out in, Viktor will lead Jayce to it. 

In the morning, Viktor’s solemnity doesn’t match Jayce’s tentative excitement. Jayce, too busy with senseless prattling and pacting, doesn’t notice Viktor’s silence– and, for that, Viktor is grateful.

“Do you think we should grab anything else?” Jayce asks, gathering the blankets strewn across the floor and dumps the pile on the bed. He has the water skin hooked to the only intact belt loop left on his pants. 

Viktor scrapes ash from the stove into his hands and lets it run through his fingers, staining them with soot. It is soothing to play with the remnants of the fire that kept them warm. 

“We don’t need anything from here,” Viktor says. 

Jayce abandons folding the blankets, wrapping his arms around Viktor from behind instead. 

“Are you nervous?” He asks carefully. 

Viktor is glad Jayce can’t see his face. He’s not nervous– he’s absolutely terrified and full of mourning. Dread settles over him like a second skin, infecting his pores and running through his blood with a strength that makes him dizzy. 

“No,” Viktor forces a smile, turning to face Jayce. He wraps his arms around Jayce’s middle, squeezing a little tiger to feel the solid weight of Jayce’s body against his own, “Shall we?” 

The twist of Viktor’s ankle aches with each step, gravel shifting under his feet, slipping on sludge. Jayce holds Viktor around his waist, and Viktor’s own arm is wrapped around Jayce’s middle in return, balancing each other. It’s a dangerous shuffle. 

What once was blinding white, fluffy snow melts under the clear blue sky, mixing with the forest floor to coat the gravel in slick mud. 

“Maybe we should’ve waited a bit longer,” Jayce says, tripping over a rock. They both have their walking sticks, wedging them between rocks to gain traction. 

“It would have taken days to dry,” Viktor says, catching himself on a slippery rock, “It is not far.”

The gravel turns to pavement, easier to manage. Trees grow sparsely, less dense until they stop sprouting all together, replaced by dewy grass and snow capped shrubbery. A deer crosses from behind a tall outcrop, pauses and stares at Jayce and Viktor with unblinking eyes. Jayce steps on a twig. The snap spooks the deer, running off. Pavement, dark and wet, turns to uniformed, polished brick. 

And suddenly Viktor stands under the golden arch that marks Piltover’s entrance. 

It is a great relief to see people, not autonomous, unfeeling drones, milling about. Terraces and patios of restaurants full of patrons. Coat clad figures spilling out of shops with clinking bags filled with trinkets. The smell of pie and muffins and cookies spills out from an open window above a suit shop, a woman peering over the edge at the street below, apron strings blowing in the wind. There is laughter and conversation and life all around Viktor. 

Viktor’s blood runs cold when he spots a masked man walking past him. Like an apparition from beyond, Singed raises his eyebrow at Viktor. His mouth is hidden behind his mask, but Viktor can see the amusement twinkling in his eye. He nods at Viktor in greeting, and moves past. 

Viktor watches Singed journey towards the bridge to the Undercity. There’s no barricade or check point– just an opening and crowds moving on and off the industrial elevators set there. An enforcer sits between them, but with a smile on his face, chatting amicably with a heavily tattooed woman and her child. The enforcer hands the child a lollipop. 

“What,” Jayce breathes out, shaking Viktor out of the crisis he’s slipping under, “What is this?” 

There’s too much input– too much information. It doesn’t compute, doesn’t make sense– this unmarred city, the bridge full of Zaunites, freely entering Piltover, an enforcer showing kindness to a child of the Undercity. Shop patrons in Zaun style clothing, asymmetrical and colorful, walking freely, brushing arms for Piltover’s citizens. The streets are free of enforcers, besides the woman staring openly at Jayce, slack jawed and teary eyed. 

She bursts towards them, the woman next to her yelling out when their intertwined hands detach. The roman numerals tattooed under her eye are familiar. 

Vi, Viktor’s mind supplies, the girl whose father was trapped within the beast. His chest aches with regret– he stole Vander’s humanity and robbed Vi and her sister of their father once again for selfishness. 

The girl throws her arms around Jayce’s neck with so much force it nearly knocks Jayce over, taking Viktor with him. 

“Jayce,” She gasps, near sobbing, “Oh my god. It’s really you.”

She pulls back, runs her hands over Jayce’s face, inspecting him– confirming that Jayce isn’t an illusion. Viktor shouldn’t watch this, it’s an intimate reunion, but he can’t look away. 

“Caitlyn?” Jayce’s eyes widen, take in the woman before him, “Caitlyn what–”

Caitlyn pulls Jayce back in her, grasping the back of his head fiercely. Viktor remembers Caitlyn vaguely. She exists in Viktor’s memory as a concept through conversations with Jayce and brief encounters with her mother. Jayce’s eyes used to shine when he spoke of Caitlyn, basically his sister. He remembers Jayce’s worry when Caitlyn declared she would join the enforcers. He hadn’t been able to focus on their work, ranting nonstop about how Caitlyn would not listen to him. 

“We were worried sick,” She says, crying and laughing, “Where were you? Where have you been? It’s been a year and you were just gone? What happened? Oh my god, look at you all rugged. Your mother will absolutely lose herself at the sight of you with this beard– Oh, your mother. She– I need to call her now. Hold on– Vi. Can you call Mrs. Talis?” 

Viktor can’t understand. He only catches bits and pieces of what Caitlyn says. A year? A year has passed and Jayce, and himself, have been missing? 

Caitlyn’s ranting halts, words falling over each other. Her eyes fall to Viktor, squinting. 

“Wait,” Caitlyn says, pointing at Viktor, “Who is this?” 

Does Viktor not exist here? Surely Jayce would have mentioned Viktor to Caitlyn. She should recognize him, but she doesn’t. Caitlyn looks at Viktor with skepticism, unsure what to make of him hung on Jayce’s side. 

“What do you mean?” Jayce asks, pulling Viktor into him, “It’s Viktor?” 

Caitlyn balks, “This is Viktor?” 

She says it like she knows Viktor but not favorably. Viktor shakes against Jayce’s side. 

“Huh? Yeah. This is Viktor,” Jayce speaks slowly, treading lightly “My partner” 

Caitlyn’s mouth hangs open, “Partner?” 

“Yes?” Jayce questions. 

Viktor can’t get enough air into his lungs. He exists here, or rather, existed. It’s clear in how Singed recognized him, in how Caitlyn says his name–no matter how much ire she says it with– and glowers at him like she’s imagining something Viktor doesn’t really want to find out. 

“Now I’m even confused,” Vi says, joining Caitlyn by her side, “Nice to see you, Pretty boy.”

The greeting is directed towards Jayce. Jayce gapes, making a little opened mouth fishy face, searching for a line to direct this conversation. 

“Hi,” he settles on, waving awkwardly. 

“Man this is weird,” Vi says, “I mean you disappear for a whole year and come back looking like a wilderness enthusiast with the guy you hate the most. What the hell happened to you?”

The word clangs through Viktor like a bullet against metal. Hate. Viktor is known to Caitlyn and Vi as someone Jayce hates. Viktor glances up at Jayce, watches as his eyebrows knit together. He holds Viktor tighter, fingers digging into his ribs hard enough to bruise. 

“We should get you to the hospital,” Caitlyn says, eyes catching Jayce’s grip on Viktor’s side, “Viktor, too. Follow me. I’ll get you past the line.”

“Cop privileges,” Vi teases. Caitlyn elbows her in the side. 

Viktor sees fragments of what happens next. They walk to the hospital. Jayce eerily quiet, drawn in. Viktor observes this version of Piltover. He spots the blue haired girl, now a woman, he remembers as having two names pulling a man with bright white hair and shimmering eyes into a toy shop. There is a gaggle of crows perched atop a building on the corner, sporadically cawing. Snow clings to trim and windowsills. Piano music plays across the street carrying on a breeze from the theatre built there. 

In the hospital, Jayce is separated from Viktor, ushered into a room across the way from Viktor’s own. Doctors rush in and out. They ask questions Viktor can answer like his name, his height and weight– stats, real solid facts about himself that carry across timelines. Nurses remove his dirty clothes and help him into a gown. 

“Oh my,” One gasps, “You’re all bruised up. Were you attacked?”

Viktor flushes. They’re asking about the bruises Jayce’s mouth left behind. He shakes his head, not trusting his voice. 

They fit Viktor with oxygen under his nose and tell him to get some rest. 

Not enough time passes for Viktor’s thoughts to spiral before the door slams open and Heimerdinger walks in. 

“Viktor, my boy,” He’s cheery, rushing into the room with a skip in his step, “Oh, I cannot believe it is really you. While Miss Young is certainly talented, no one can quite capture the brilliance in which you acted as my assistant.”

Heimerdinger pulls a chair over to Viktor’s bed side and crawls up to sit on it. His pet settles by his side, a hairy little ball of fluff. 

“Professor?” Viktor asks. 

“I imagine you have quite the tale to tell,” Heimerdinger says, frowning, “What in the world happened to you?” 

Viktor has to be careful. He can’t exactly explain what has happened to him– not sure if he even could put into words all that has transpired. This is a chance, he thinks. He can collect information. He just has to be careful with how he goes about it. 

“I don’t,” Viktor starts, pauses, “I do not remember.”

Heimerdinger gasps into his hands, “Amnesia– a blasted thing. What you’ve been through must have been very traumatic. Perhaps I can help piece your memory together. What is the last thing you remember?” 

The last thing Viktor remembers before waking in the cabin is holding onto Jayce in the Arcane. Weightless and scared but comfortable and loved. 

He chooses a different last memory, from before everything fell apart. 

“Working in the lab with Jayce,” He lands on. 

“Ah, Jayce. I will have to check on him, too.” Heimerdinger hums, “Working with Jayce is an interesting way to put it.”

“What do you mean, professor?” He presses, stares him down with desperation. 

“Well you two were not very friendly to each other despite my attempts. You both argued something fierce– truly very unbecoming of two men of science. The most incredible minds the academy has ever had grace its hallowed halls. Well, perhaps not anymore. I have a brilliant new pupil– Ekko is his name. He’s an absolute genius. He reminds me a bit of you, both from the Undercity and incredibly intelligent. And the girl, Powder, could be just as brilliant if she applied herself a bit more and stopped blowing things up. Just last week she–”

“Professor,” Viktor interrupts, “Please?”

Heimerdinger waves, “Right, right. Sorry, my boy.-- I’m rambling.” He shifts on his seat, “Mr Talis and yourself spend so long arguing over who got to use the lab that I forced you two to share it. I had hoped that this solution would quell whatever issues you have with each other, but your spats would travel down the hallway all the way from the lab to my office. Ah, your faces when I threatened to expel both of you were priceless.” 

Viktor pieces Heimerdinger’s words to paint a picture. They were rivals– perhaps even hated each other if Caitlyn and Vi’s assertions were true, Jayce must have ranted to them about Viktor. He can’t conceptualize a universe where Viktor dislakes Jayce– one where he’s not hopelessly enamored by Jayce. 

“Okay,” Viktor’s voice shakes, “And, I– We disappeared?”

“Yes,” Heimerdinger says, tilting his head, “It was extremely odd. One moment, I heard you both arguing in the lab– whispering as if I couldn’t hear you– and then you were silent. It was a little too quiet even I grew nervous. When I came to check, you were both gone. Papers and projects left unfinished.”

“Oh,” Viktor says. It’s quiet for a moment before Heimerdinger speaks again. 

“So,” He probes, “What happened to you two?” 

Viktor wonders what happened to the Jayce and Viktor that apparently hated each other in this timeline. Maybe one of their fights went wrong and they died, or they ceased to exist under whatever contraptions one of them were working on, or maybe they ran off into that cabin for some unbeknownst reason and that’s why the Arcane dropped them there. Guilt swells up in his chest for stealing their lives, for replacing them. He fit himself into that Viktor’s skin and pushed him out– and has no idea where he went. 

“I still do not remember,” he says, pulling the thin hospital sheet over his chin, “I am tired, professor.” 

“Oh, yes yes yes,” Heimerdinger says, jumping out of his chair, “I will let you rest. I will be back later to help you home.”

Vaguely, Viktor wonders what home means for him here. Does he still live in the academy lodgings, or does he own an apartment somewhere outside Piltover’s city center? If citizens of the Undercity are allowed free entry, perhaps he still lives in the chasm of his childhood. 

“Oh,” Heimerdinger snaps, “Before I forget.” 

Heimerdinger hands Viktor’s cane to him. It’s the first cane he ever bought. He used his academy stipend, hobbled into a shop with his stick from childhood. It was a representation of how far he’d come– from the stinky, smog filled Undercity to Piltover’s academy. 

Viktor grabs the cane, running his hands along its smooth surface. It's more worn than he remembers, in need of a replacement. 

“Thank you,” He chokes, tears warping his vision, “Thank you, professor.”

“Of course, Viktor,” Heimerdinger pats Viktor’s hand, “Take care of yourself.”

Heimerdinger leaves and the doctor returns. He takes Viktor’s pulse, checks his temperature. Determines he’s dehydrated and orders an IV drip. Viktor watches as a nurse pricks the delicate skin in the crevice of his elbow, blood pearling at the puncture. He passes out shortly after the nurse unclips the IV, exhaustion taking over. 

Waking up is like wading through fog. Viktor groans, blinking his eyes open. It takes him a moment to adjust to the dim lighting of the room. The cabin is warm today, and the spring that typically pushes against his spine is no longer there. Hopefully Jayce has kindled the fire and that that is the explanation for the sweltering heat, not a sign of the snow melting. 

Turning, the sharp edge of a needle digging into his skin, has memories of yesterday rushing back to Viktor’s mind. Walking into a different Piltover. Caitlyn. Vi. Heimerdinger. The hospital. Doctors. Singed passing him. It all feels so far away. 

Viktor sits up straight. It’s night, but it’s not very dark with all the lights shining through the windows. He feels fine, no longer tired to the bone. There are cotton pants and a collarless shirt sitting on the chair by his bed. It seems like the best sign he’s going to get– it is time to disappear. 

He won’t fit into this Piltover. It’s too perfect for the rottenness in Viktor’s soul. Jayce has a life here, has friends and his mother, and he hates Viktor. That’s okay, Viktor thinks. It’s even better than he could’ve imagined. Jayce will be happy here and Viktor will remove himself before he can infect Jayce’s happiness again. 

Viktor sheds the hospital gown and dresses quickly, pulling the t-shirt over his head. He carefully removes the IV needle from his arm, presses to the bleeding dot with his thumb. Small lights illuminate the floor, a guide out the door and down the hallway. 

Viktor pauses in the doorframe. The door to Jayce’s room is open, softly glowing light spilling out. Viktor can see Jayce, his bed lifted. Jayce lays on the bed with his eyes closed, chest rising and falling softly. He looks so peaceful, so at ease. Viktor turns from the door and heads towards the window instead. If he crosses Jayce’s door, either Jayce will stir or Viktor will give in to the call in his heart, the greed that plagues him. 

Wedging the window open, Viktor slings his leg over the windowsill, the toe of his shoe hitting the fire escape that runs up and down the side of the hospital. 

“Am I interrupting?’ Jayce’s voice makes Viktor jump, hitting his head on the window’s wooden trim. 

Viktor’s turns to face Jayce, still straddling the window. He stands in the center of the room in his hospital gown and socked feet. He has that pitiful look on his face, the same one he had when he said those very words to Viktor on the edge of the clocktower. A repeat of Viktor’s own from years earlier. 

“Viktor,” Jayce sighs. He sits on Viktor’s bed, facing away from him, “You always run.” 

Viktor freezes, can’t find the words to reply. 

“You know,” Jayce laughs, humorless, “I kind of knew this would happen– saw it in your eyes. You’re too expressive, Viktor, I can read every thought.” 

“Jayce,” Viktor is breathless, “Jayce, I must go.” 

“Why?” Jayce asks, turns to face him, tears lining his eyes, “Why must you go? We’re here, regardless if you leave or not, we are still here. Why not… stay with me?” 

“I’ll be awful for you Jayce,” Viktor begs, “I am greedy and angry, and I retreat– I spook like an injured animal. You do not know what you are asking for.”

Jayce stands, angry, “You,” His eyes blaze, stalking towards Viktor, “How many times do I have to tell you that you do not get to decide that for me.” 

“Look around you, Jayce,” Viktor’s voice rises, “I did this. I stole your life from you in my pursuit for perfection and then made you fix my mistakes. I have burdened you with enough.”

“You are not a burden,” Jayce yells, all the anger and frustration bubbling over the surface, “God, Viktor, I love you. I won’t let you stop me from saying it again. I’ll scream it all over Piltover– all over Runeterra even if you do walk away. Because all I want– all I fucking want is you and you want to give it all up.” 

Viktor collapses, falling from the window sill and onto his knees on the cold hospital floor– the tile smacking against his knees. 

“I don’t want to give it up,” Viktor wails, “Do you think this is easy for me? Do you really believe I don’t want to give in? All I wanted my entire life was you– I just didn’t know it until you showed up. I was happy in my loneliness until you came and then I wanted, and that wanting ruined everything.”

“So it’s my fault?” Jayce quiets, “Fine. It can be my fault. I don’t care.” 

Viktor breathes deep but it’s not enough. “It’s not your fault.” his words come out weak. 

“Viktor,” Jayce drops to his knees in front of Viktor with a smack, grasping under his chin to force Viktor’s eyes to meet his, “I love you.” 

He stresses each word. Such beautiful, kind words that Viktor doesn’t deserve to hear, least of all from Jayce’s lips. 

“You don’t need to be punished,” Jayce continues, “We deserve this– don’t we? We were– God, we got caught up in everything and I really don’t care what you think but we deserve this.” 

Jayce gathers Viktor into his arms, tucking his chin over Viktor’s shoulder and pulls his legs into his lap. Viktor grasps Jayce’s shoulders, fingers digging into the hard muscle. 

“I–” Viktor starts. He’s giving in– his greed and desire mingling and Jayce holds him so gently against his chest, Viktor can feel the rabbit pace of his heart, can hear his breathing rush through his ear. Jayce’s hand pets through Viktor’s hair, twirling around the bits that can’t be tamed, that stick up at the ends. “I am awful.” 

“You’re not,” Jayce says, kissing his cheek, “I will spend the rest of my life proving to you how unawful you are.” 

Viktor laughs, “That’s not a word.” 

“I know,” Jayce says, “I know.” 

“Jayce,” Viktor says, “How can I– How can I have this?” 

“You already have it,” Jayce says, peering into Viktor’s eyes with so much earnestness it overwhelms Viktor, “Whether you escape or not, you will always have my heart. You just have to accept it.” 

“We hated each other here,” Viktor plays with Jayce’s fingers. 

“I talked to Cailtyn,” Jayce explains, “Got some more information.”

“What did she say?” Viktor asks. 

“That I was working on something in secret,” Jayce says, “and that whatever it was blew up one day. I was in the lab at that time and was so upset about the news of my apartment being destroyed that I started working in the lab even more, and then–”

“We disappeared,” Viktor finishes, “Heimerdinger told me.”

“He visited you?” Jayce asks, “He did always play favorites.” 

“Jayce,” Viktor says, “This means we didn’t create HexTech.”

Jayce nods, “I figure I– or the Jayce of this timeline– was working on it in the lab and something went wrong.” 

“We switched places,” Viktor says, “But how did we end up in the cabin?” 

“Who knows,” Jayce says, “But I’m glad we did. I still want to live there– with you.”

“It’s falling apart, Jayce,” Viktor laughs, “Jayce, you have a life here. You’ll be okay without me.”

“No,” Jayce holds Viktor’s shoulders, playing with his shirt collar, “I think even if we did hate each other in this universe, we would’ve eventually found our way to this– it’s fate.”

“That’s cheesy,” Viktor brushes Jayce’s cheek, “Even for you.”

Jayce smiles, his beard scratches against Viktor’s palm, “Give in, Viktor.”

On the spotless hospital tile, the stars witness Viktor give in for the last time. And for the first time, Viktor decides to stay. 

The gravel path is dry and sturdy. Trees in full bloom, a bright emerald splash against the deep blue sky. The sun shines, buttery and warm. The creek rushes, salmon breach the water’s surface, swimming downstream. Birds sing, a blessed song that announces Jayce and Viktor’s return to the cabin. 

It’s still rundown, rotting and falling apart at the seams– even more waterlogged from winter melting away. The window fogged with steam. Ash still sits on the stove, and the coffee pot is molded over. The bed rusted, fused to the wooden wall. 

They spent winter and well into spring in Piltover. Reconnecting– or rather, acquainting themselves with the lives they lived there. They learn that Jayce had taken to teaching, becoming a professor at the academy. He taught mechanical engineering and theoretical physics. Viktor was purely a researcher, his biggest publication was an essay on gravity. Jayce had laughed at that, remembering the conversation in the cabin where Viktor questioned its validity. Viktor had punched him in the arm. 

They meet with friends. Viktor didn’t have many, which was to be expected. Viktor doubted there was a universe in which he was extremely popular. Jayce reintroduced Viktor to Caitlyn and Vi, to his mother, as someone he cares for. Jayce’s mom took it in stride, saying that it was very obvious Jayce didn’t actually hate Viktor. Jayce’s face was red the entire time they ate lunch together. Vi agreed with Jayce’s mom, but Caitlyn was apprehensive. She stopped Viktor on their way out and made a thinly veiled threat against Viktor’s life if he ever hurt Jayce. Viktor laughed at that– he hurt Jayce enough, he never plans to do that again. They would argue, of course they would. Both too hot headed and stubborn, but Viktor vowed to make Jayce as happy as he makes him. 

Heimerdinger blushes when he spots Jayce cramping Viktor against the counter in the lab, kissing. Jayce apologizes profusely, but Heimerdinger just waves him off. He makes them promise their ‘budding romance’ won’t interfere with their work at the academy. 

Viktor seeks answers on the cabin, asking around. It’s abandoned, the man that once lived there died two years ago. He didn’t have any family, so no one could claim it. Enforcers had planned to condemn it and tear it down, but it wasn’t a priority so it sat empty since the man’s death. 

Now, Viktor climbs the creaking stairs with Jayce plastered to Viktor’s back, leaving soft kisses against the curve of Viktor’s neck.

“Welcome home,” Jayce whispers, “Viktor.” 

Viktor nods, words failing him. The cabin is a mess, animal droppings on the floor and the mattress is torn up. He leans back against Jayce’s chest and discovers the thing he once called greed that crawled through his chest like a parasite isn’t greed– it’s love. 

“Welcome home,” Viktor turns, kisses Jayce once, twice, three times. Jayce’s smile blooms under Viktor’s lips, “Jayce.” 

It will take a lot of work– basically a full rebuild is in order. But the creek rushes in his ears, and the window is clear and Viktor is home.