Archive of Our Own

Apparently, even the Defender of Tomorrow needs his own defenders, Jayce notes with disdain as he turns around in his seat.

Attending personal outings didn’t used to be so difficult. He didn’t used to have to be escorted to a private booth away from the crowd by bodyguards, nor did he have to carry his hammer wherever he went in the event he needed to defend himself, he never had to constantly listen for alarm bells to signal a bomb threat from Jinx, and there certainly never used to be a constant nagging in the back of his head to look out for Viktor in the crowds. That despite his better judgment and despite his pride rearing against every fiber of his instinct, maybe, just maybe, he would look down and there would be a head of messy brown hair that would turn to meet his gaze.

Jayce’s chest tightens. Ouch, still a sore subject.

It isn’t every evening that the Piltover Philharmonic would be performing with the city’s opera company. There have been banners flying in the sky and posters hanging on every street corner for weeks. Everyone Jayce has the pleasure (and displeasure) of knowing is in attendance.

He’d been offered the chance to bring a plus one, but he politely declined. Caitlyn was busy in the station with Vi, his mother was growing too tired to stay out too late anymore, and Viktor…

Viktor has been gone for weeks now. Exiled by the Council. The piercing glare he had given Jayce as he passed by him through the gates marking the divide between Piltover and Zaun haunts every moment Jayce closes his eyes.

Jayce pinches the bridge of his nose and takes a deep breath. Still a sore subject, but it’s getting a little easier. An overwhelming sense of guilt starts to accumulate inside of him, threatening to swallow him whole. His therapist’s advice rings in his head: focus on what’s there in the now. Deep breath in, hold, let it out slowly.

Five things he can see, she always says first. What are five things he can see in his immediate surroundings?

One, his hands clenched into tight fists in his lap. It takes a concentrated effort to slowly loosen his fingers. They leave crescent indents on the inside of his palms.

Two, the sign reading Reserved for J. Talis that had been placed in front of his seat.

Three, the large red curtains draped over the stage. His chest already feels a little less like his hammer is sitting atop of it.

Four, the stubborn flyaway that never wants to stay with the rest of his hair. Jayce blows the strand with an exasperated huff.

Five, there’s the crowd of people below him: wealthier residents of Piltover in their own private booths with binoculars to watch the show, and the less well-off were milling in the pit in front of the stage. There had been a time in Jayce’s life where the rolls were reversed: where he was one of the people down below, fighting to get a view of the show up above. He remembers clutching onto his mother’s skirt so he wouldn’t be lost to the sea of people.

Next are four things he can feel. To get out of his head and actually be in the moment.

One.

Jayce’s thumb traces the leather bracelet on his wrist. Nostalgia settles deep in his heart. Even though he and his mother were strapped for cash and living off of less than three meals a day, she had managed to scrape together enough money for them to both go to the theater.

Two.

His hand brushes the week-old stubble that’s steadily growing on his chin as a smile threatens to break his neutral demeanor. Mamá had lifted Jayce into the air and settled him against her hip as the curtains started to draw back. He still remembers his heart pounding as the lights dimmed, as his eyes adjusted to the darkness and the actors took their place on stage. Even now, as the theater goes dark, Jayce feels like if he were to look to his side, his mother would be there beside him.

Three.

The spotlights reflect off his glass of champagne as he lifts it between his fingers to take a sip. Like magic he had thought as a boy. The lights caught on the sequins of the actors’ costumes and sparkled like the night sky had been captured and brought to the stage.

Four.

His thumbnail catches on the Hex gem embedded in the leather bracelet. Like magic. Jayce had thought magic was gone from Piltover, but with his mother’s smile pressed against his hair and the booming voice of the opening monologue projecting across the theater. He hadn’t been so sure.

The lead actress takes her spot at the front of the stage. She’s bathed in blue sequins that twinkle and glitter under the spotlights. As she lifts her arms to let out the first note, loose sequins tumble from her sleeves. They flicker with light, and for a moment, they almost seem suspended in the air like-

Like magic.

Like his lab partner in front of him in midair, laughing with unbridled joy. Their eyes meet, and Viktor’s grin only widens.

Like magic.

The champagne flute’s handle snaps in Jayce’s hand, and his drink dribbles onto the floor.

Could there be a fifth thing he can feel? Could it be emotional, not physical?

Resenment.

Hurt.

Grief.

The falsetto voice pierces through him. “Stay with me, my love. Return home to me.”

Regret.

Three things you hear, he reminds himself.

Piltover is a sucker for occupying the stage with shows and plays about romance. Star-crossed lovers and unrequited feelings and an unlikely couple. Ironic, considering the city’s reluctance to deviate from what’s known. What could be more unreliable than budding romance between two people who aren’t meant to be?

One.

“I hear your voice, but you aren’t here.” A hush falls over the audience. There’s a beat for the first opening lines to sink into the audience, and then

A crash. Thunder.

The story takes place during a thunderstorm, with the lead female begging the sky goddess Janna to return her lover to her. Piltover really went all out with this performance: there’s orchestra members dedicated to banging on drums bigger than themselves to create the effect of thunder.

Boom! The second crash of thunder sounds… significantly closer, as if it’s not only coming from in front of Jayce, but also behind him. Perhaps the theatre had adjustments done to its acoustics since the last time he visited, but Jayce is pretty sure that there wasn’t the funds to spare for the fine arts at the moment, what with the conflict with Zaun.

Boom! The third thunder clap is almost metallic sounding- and accompanied by muffled shouts that are almost certainly coming from the hallway leading to Jayce’s private booth.

Two.

Sure enough, with the next beat of the drums from below, there is more commotion from the hallway. It’s as if whoever is out there purposefully timed their actions. It has to be someone conniving, someone smart enough to think ahead…

Unlike Jayce, who realizes a little too late that he left his hammer propped against the back wall. He doesn’t even have a chance to lunge for it before there’s a huge force blasting at his chest and knocking him to the ground. The wind is knocked from his lungs, and he’s left gasping for air.

“Don’t yell, or the next shot will take off your head.”

Three.

Three.

Three.

It’s been weeks. Months, at this point. Months since the trial, since the exile, since the last glance Jayce stole toward the man he used to think he’d spend the rest of his life with creating and improving and helping and loving and was met with a complete stranger. He’d been sure that when he saw Viktor again- if he saw him again, it would be to see him off to Stillwater.

Jayce scrambles backward, until his back hits the railing overlooking the rest of the audience. He steals a look down below, and everyone is none the wiser. Viktor is meticulous in his planning, even when it comes to an ambush. The staged storm rages on, the actors’ voices fighting to be heard over it.

Viktor has done more augments to his body since their last meeting. Something tells Jayce that the metal leg isn’t just body armor. Even as Viktor moves towards him, even as it clanks with every other step, its movements are just too precise.

Slowly, Jayce traces his eyes up Viktor’s body. He’s covered by a thick, heavy overcoat that hides most of his form, and he keeps his hands hidden in his pockets. His coat is torn in the back to make room for the mechanical arm jutting out from the harness around his chest- the arm currently pointing its death ray embedded hand at Jayce’s face.

He glances up to glare at his friend- ex-friend, but the bottom half of Viktor’s face is covered by a metal mask. Shimmer fills his veins and discolors his face almost beyond recognition, but Jayce would know those eyes from anywhere- could pick them out from a line up of a thousand people, would once walk to the ends of Runeterra just to see them crinkle with the smallest smile.

Jayce’s heart is racing so fast he worries he might have a heart attack. The possibility is surely there: he’s stopped taking care of himself in the past months, struck with intense grief that made even mundane tasks seem like an immense effort.

Grounding techniques, he reminds himself. He only has a few things left. Two things he can smell, one he can taste.

First, there’s the distinct stench of sulfur lingering in the air. Jayce glances between Viktor’s legs as he comes toward him, and he notices for the first time just what exactly incapacitated his body guards. They lay on the ground motionless, bodies screwed up in taut positions. Electricity crackles around them, rendering them immobile.

“Do you like that?” Viktor asks, noticing Jayce’s wavering attention. “We came up with that one, remember?”

“To apprehend criminals,” Jayce snaps. “Not innocent people!”

Viktor’s eyebrows scrunch together. “All enforcers are criminals.” He pauses in front of Jayce and peers down his nose at him. It’s almost insulting how nonchalant he acts, as if nothing is the matter. As if he’s just late for the play and not a wanted felon.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Jayce asks, getting up shakily with the support of the railing behind him. “There’s a warrant out for your arrest. You-” He jabs a finger at Viktor’s chest, and it hits painfully against metal chest armor. “There’s people saying you’re experimenting on people now, Vik.”

Viktor- who once had to tilt his head back to meet Jayce’s gaze, who would once look up at him shyly behind thick lashes- towers over him by a few inches. Cooly, he brushes his hand away. “I’m not here to fight with you,” he says. The nerve. Jayce glances nervously behind his shoulder. Viktor tips his head to one side, gaze following Jayce’s to the abandoned Hextech hammer. “If I were, I could have you dead before you were even able to reach your hammer.”

The sequence of events is leaving Jayce reeling. His bodyguards paralyzed on the ground, the smoking hole in his suit jacket and dress shirt, Viktor aiming the Hexclaw at him even as he speaks as if they’re discussing blueprints and not Jayce’s life.

“If you want me dead, why do it here?” Jayce asks. “In-In front of everyone. Two-thirds of Piltover fit in this theatre.” Not even twenty feet below is another private booth with one of the Council members and their family, and below that is numerous witnesses. “People will know. This is dramatic, even for you, Vik-”

“It’s Viktor,” he interrupts, voice clipped with irritation. “Two syllables. I’m sure even the mighty Defender of Tomorrow is able to spare the time for two syllables.” In his anger, he leans into Jayce,

And the specific smell of Viktor hits him all at once. His rose water shampoo and something gritty like the outdoors and oil from regularly greasing his inventions and sunshine and cinnamon from his sweetmilk and everything Jayce loves- loved. Will always love despite the hurt and the betrayal and the voice in his head telling him he knows better, he should have always known better. Jayce takes another step back to get away, but there’s nowhere to go.

Viktor stays quiet for a moment, gaze calculating. Jayce knows he can sense his hesitation. That was always simultaneously the best thing about Viktor and also his downfall: they know each other. There’s never any hiding their feelings.

“I don’t want you dead,” he says finally. Viktor takes a seat in one of the theatre’s chairs. Like he’s Jayce’s plus one. Like he hadn’t electrocuted the guards outside and hadn’t hurt so many people and hadn’t broken Jayce’s heart.

Slowly, he pulls something that had been strapped to his back and covered in cloth. Viktor starts to unwrap it, but the first glint of gold and red is more than enough for Jayce to understand.

“Did you augment your face?” Jayce asks. Because it’s easier to steer away from what’s in Viktor’s hands than it is to admit that this is happening right now.

“That isn’t what I’m here for. You know that.” Viktor lets the cloth drop to the floor. In his hands- one a sickly purple and the other still flesh and blood- is his cane. Shiny as if it were just polished, still in pristine condition because Viktor took measures to ensure everything he owned stayed in the best condition for as long as possible.

Jayce swallows thickly. “What are you here for?”

He knows it’s coming, but it still leaves him sick with an overwhelming wave of nausea.

Viktor holds out his cane to Jayce. “To return a gift from an old friend.”

It had been easy before to pretend that this all wasn’t happening. To pretend like the emptiness in Jayce’s apartment was because Viktor was just on another trip to Zaun to get supplies and treats he loved in his childhood he’d bring back to Jayce and ask to taste. To pretend that Viktor wasn’t exiled, he was just on his way home and he’d be back any minute now. To pretend that Viktor was still even Viktor and not the man Jayce had grown to loathe as he watched his first love transform into a bastardization of himself.

Jayce recoils immediately. “I don’t want it,” he says.

Viktor gestures insistently. “Either you take it, or it’s melted into scrap metal.” He doesn’t even look sad as he says it. His voice doesn’t waver, just… stays matter of fact. Like every word isn’t another knife in Jayce’s heart. “You’ve always been the sentimental one.”

He doesn’t want it. Taking it means that this is happening. That Viktor isn’t going to ask him to close his eyes and taste candies from Zaun and laugh as Jayce’s nose scrunches up at the taste. That Viktor is never going to walk through their front door again, complaining about the cold and telling Jayce they’re using their retirement to move somewhere where the sun never stops shining. That Viktor is really gone.

But the thought of it being melted in a forge and used to implant chips in people’s brains or as parts of some stranger’s prosthetic appendage after a back alley amputation is so much worse, so Jayce reluctantly takes it from Viktor and sets it in his lap.

Viktor settles back in his seat with a sigh, as if it’s a relief to finally get the hunk of metal out of hands. Jayce looks down at it in his hands and gently turns the cane. Under the handle, there’s a small inscription he and Viktor had made themselves. T + V. Jayce runs his thumb along the letters, willing away the bile rising in his throat.

Jayce picks up the two halves of Viktor’s cane in his hands. He tries to fit them together and notices there’s a long crack down the side of one half. Well, there really is no saving that.

It had taken some time to turn off the Hex gem, with Viktor instructing the Professor how to safely get it to shut down while Jayce was laughing with glee as he tried to collect his notes floating in the air around them. Eventually, though, they managed to get back down to the ground. Jayce had met Viktor’s gaze for a moment, and they both broke down in a fit of giggles, Viktor’s hand flying up to cover his mouth.

Not even Heimerdinger lecturing them about there being a long, long conversation about breaking trust and disrespecting their leaders could take away the joy. Mel reassures them that this will be an excellent investment and she looks forward to a future where she can be business partners with Jayce (and Viktor, Jayce reminds her, much to her distaste). Jayce basks in her praise while he can, because as Viktor informs him later, he’s a typical Piltie who likes to stroke his ego whenever he can.

Viktor.

Jayce whips his head to the side to meet his friend’s (friend!) gaze. He’s leaning against the wall awkwardly, bad leg bent at the knee underneath him. Viktor had insisted that it wouldn’t bother him while they furiously tried to finish the calculations for stabilizing the gem, but it’s apparent now that adrenaline has died down, it’s giving out. It certainly doesn’t help that his mobility aid is in two pieces, either.

It takes a few more minutes to shut Heimerdinger up, a few empty “thank you”s for promising not to have Jayce exiled (again) and “yes sir”s to meeting him tomorrow to get them chewed out (again), but finally they’re being ushered out of the office so that the Professor can get it cleaned up and usable again.

“Are you going to be alright?” Jayce asks, placing a hand on Viktor’s back.

Viktor smiles up at him. “I think I can manage,” he says, eyes sparkling with joy that Jayce knows is mirrored in his own gaze.

He offers an arm around Viktor’s waist, and his friend drapes an arm around his shoulders. Viktor had insisted he only needed a little support, but he ends up leaning a lot of his weight against Jayce’s side. It’s no bother. Jayce feels like he’s walking on air.

Viktor’s apartment is closer than Jayce’s place, what with him living with his mamá for the time being and his old dorm having a giant hole in the side of it. It’s not technically a part of the Academy housing, but it’s close enough to campus to where it isn’t too much of a hike. It probably still takes a while to get there, but the two of them are too busy talking about future plans to adjust the Hex gem’s stability to even notice the passing of time or the frigid bite of the night breeze.

Eventually, though, Viktor is turning his key in the door and pushing it open. It’s… very fitting to say the least. Jayce had thought that the Professor’s assistant must have a pristine, smart looking place, but it’s somehow even messier than his old dorm. Bookshelves overflow with textbooks and spill out onto the floor to make big pillars of novels. An array of plants line the windowsills and the kitchen counters. Papers litter the ground and blackboards are filled to the brim with calculations. Empty coffee mugs decorate the tables, and the walls are filled with schematics for the various structures in Piltover as well as inventions Jayce isn’t sure he’s ever seen before.

Jayce leaves Viktor’s side and gives him a moment to unwrap his scarf from himself as he looks around. “Feel free to take a seat wherever,” Viktor says, balancing himself using his kitchen counter so he can take off his shoes.

“Uhh…” Jayce looks to the sofa that has a thick layer of notes covering the seat.

Viktor follows his gaze. “Just push them off.” He waves one hand and disappears into the kitchen. Jayce manages to stack the loose pages into a neat pile that he sets to the side before sitting down. Okay, maybe his mamá was right for always getting on him for leaving a mess. This is a bit extreme, even for him.

A few minutes pass and Viktor comes back with a bottle of champagne and two mismatched glasses for the both of them. Jayce cracks a smile and takes one of the glasses from him. “Isn’t that, like, a really expensive brand?” he asks when he sees the bottle’s label. He’s pretty sure he’d only ever seen posters advertising the drink and never actually seen anyone in their right mind who would buy it. Still, Jayce holds out his glass as Viktor pops the cork off and holds out the bottle as foam pours out from the opening.

“It is,” Viktor agrees. There’s a small smile on his face, one that Jayce has come to realize means mischief. “Fortunately for me, Heimerdinger’s assistant is nice enough to provide a, ah, gracious gift every holiday season.” He pours some champagne in Jayce’s glass as Jayce takes a moment to process what he means.

“You use the Professor’s funds to buy yourself alcohol?” He frowns. Viktor scoffs and pours himself his own glass.

“It’s not like that.” He takes a seat beside Jayce. The sofa isn’t exactly made for two grown men to sit with room between them. Viktor leans his side against the back of the couch and props his arm on the back cushion. His knee brushes against Jayce’s thigh. “Heimerdinger recognizes that it’s nice to give his colleagues gifts when it comes to special occasions, but doesn’t have the time to buy them himself.” He takes a sip from his glass. “So in comes me. I purchase presents for them as I see fit since he trusts my judgment.”

Jayce nods in understanding. “I thought it was a little odd for the Professor to be giving Mrs. Kiramman flowers and jewelry when he always preaches about practicality,” he says. Viktor gestures to himself with a nod.

“I hope she appreciates the petunias every year.”

“Oh, she’s actually super allergic to them. She begs Caitlyn to put them in her room instead.”

Viktor almost spits out his drink as he laughs, and Jayce can’t help but grin.

One glass of champagne turns into two, turns into four, turns into two empty bottles on the floor, turns into Viktor and Jayce laying side by side on the ground, abandoning using glasses altogether and passing a wine bottle back and forth between the two of them.

It's the first time they've actually just sat down and talked. Viktor had saved Jayce's life, but Jayce doesn't even know anything about him. Between sips of his drink, Jayce finds out that the more he learns about Viktor, the more he grows to like his partner.

Viktor was… incredible, to say the least. Born in the Undercity, somehow managed to land himself an internship for Heimerdinger and eventually a full time position. It's no wonder he and Jayce get along- their ideas are equally extravagant. Jayce who dreams of making magic accessible to all, and Viktor who wants to integrate the resourcefulness he learned from childhood in his work.

At some point, Jayce had one arm outstretched beside him, and at some point, Viktor had rested his head on his bicep. His breath puffs warm against Jayce's neck.

Jayce can't say he's felt this connected to anyone in a long, long time. He'd always been the odd one out at the Academy. Even with a common interest, none of his classmates really understood him. A few years in the Academy, and somehow the man he'd met a few days ago and only really started to speak to hours ago was the one who got him.

“I’m sorry I broke your cane,” Jayce says at some point in the night during one of his brief moments of clarity. It’s hard to be one of the Academy’s prestigious youth when his head feels like it’s stuffed with cotton. “It was a brilliant idea at the time, but how are you going to do without it?”

Viktor takes a swig from the wine bottle. A dark, rosy red spreads from his nose, across his cheeks, and up to the tips of his ears in big patches. If it weren't for his face being so flushed and his accent getting a bit thicker than before, it would be hard to tell that he’s drunk. “I have a spare,” he explains, watching as he swirls the liquid in the bottom of the bottle.

Jayce watches their reflection tilt back and forth in the dark glass: Viktor’s glazed look and his own fascination.

“It is a bit old, but it will have to do until I can get the funds for a new one.”

Have to do?

“Have to do?” Jayce echoes his thoughts. He sits up, Viktor’s head falling to his carpet. The other man makes a noise in irritation, but newfound energy surges in Jayce’s veins. He wouldn’t be able to sit still if he were strapped to a chair. “We’re-We made magic, Vik. Like, physical, tangible magic! We should never have to settle another day in our lives!”

Viktor snorts out a harsh laugh, but when he looks up at Jayce, his smile drops. “You’re not kidding.”

Jayce gestures with one hand. “Of course not! Just you watch-” He points a finger at Viktor, who points at himself. “-Come tomorrow, we’ll have Piltover’s bank account at our disposal.”

That elicits a grin from his friend. “Look whose head is too big for his shoulders. I thought Hextech was all about accessibility.”

“It is!” Jayce mirrors his smile. “But that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t be compensated.”

“Compensated-!” Viktor breaks down in a fit of laughter, and watching him is too funny for Jayce not to start laughing as well. “You’re lucky you aren’t getting thrown into the sea with rocks in your pockets for breaking the law not once, but twice.”

Jayce tries to get up and almost face plants into Viktor’s coffee table. He has to support himself on one of Viktor’s armchairs to stumble to his feet. Viktor doesn’t bother following him, but he rolls onto one side and props his head up in one hand.

There’s a chalkboard nearby that they’d pushed out of the way to make room to lay on the floor. Jayce searches through the clutter on the floor for a piece of chalk to write with. “What do you think you’re doing?” Viktor asks, pressing his lips to the wine bottle to take another drink.

Eventually, Jayce spots a piece that’s hiding under pieces of a discarded Academy vest. He picks it up and turns his attention to the board. There’s a whole lot of scribbles- some sort of schematics for an air purifying system. Jayce wipes away a plethora of equations with one swipe of his shirt sleeve.

“I was working on that, you know,” Viktor says from the ground.

Jayce rolls his eyes. “Knowing you, you already had all of that memorized.” He hears a scoff from behind him. He turns to face Viktor.

And for a minute, looking at his partner on the floor staring up at him with an unimpressed, sideways smile, it feels like they really do have the world in their hands. It had been difficult- impossible to truly imagine the future of Hextech when it had only been Jayce experimenting alone in his bedroom with whatever he managed to scavenge down in the Undercity. No one who would listen to him, no one who would even bother to take a chance on him. The only reason he even got into the Academy was because he faked caring about all the same stuff most Piltovians cared about.

But Viktor had seen him at his worst, had managed to take the lowest moment of his life and make it into something that mattered. Jayce would never be able to repay him- not in a hundred lifetimes.

Jayce taps the chalk against the board once and turns to Viktor. “If you could design a new cane, what would it look like?”

Viktor huffs a laugh. “You aren’t serious.”

“I’ve never been more serious in my life.” Jayce draws a stick figure vaguely resembling Viktor (“My hair does not look like that”) and a crude cane in Stick Viktor’s hand. “Tell me what you want, and we’ll get it for you.”

The smile hasn’t left Viktor’s face. He looks up at the ceiling in thought as he takes another swig from the bottle. It’s obvious he’s trying his best to come up with the most outlandish thing to ask for. “I want it to be coated in gold,” he says after a moment. Jayce furiously starts drawing a larger, more refined picture of a cane off to the side and writes gold in slanted handwriting.

“More.” Jayce gestures insistently, making Viktor giggle.

“Ah, maybe red silk padding for under my arm.”

Scribble.

“And a custom handle molded to fit my hand.”

Scribble.

Viktor has a hand over his mouth hiding his smile. “And-and a knife hidden inside of it.” Jayce can’t help the bark of laughter that escapes from him as he adds knife??? beside his doodle.

They go on for another few minutes, with Viktor adding more and more extravagant features and the two of them laughing until eventually, their laughter dies down into breathless giggles. Jayce lays beside Viktor once more to admire their prototype from the floor. Okay, so maybe it’s a little much, but they’re also three bottles of various alcohols deep into the hole.

Jayce doesn’t think he changes too much when he’s drunk, but he’s been told he can be… louder. Touchier. But he chalks it up to his normal, touch-deprived self when he puts his head on Viktor’s shoulder. Thin fingers find their way to his hair and card through the closely cropped locks. His eyes flutter closed at the feeling.

“You really think it will work?” Viktor asks after a long moment. About the cane. About Hextech. About their partnership between a Piltovian and a Zaunite… Jayce isn’t too sure which one.

“I know it will,” Jayce replies.

Because the world is so much easier to grasp when Viktor is by his side. Not so far out of reach like before, but just at the end of his fingertips.

Viktor grabs his long abandoned champagne flute from beside him and holds it out for Jayce to fill. “To our partnership.” He probably doesn’t need any more, but neither does Jayce. He pours a bit of wine into Viktor’s glass.

“To our friendship,” Jayce corrects gently. Viktor smiles a little. Jayce picks up the wine bottle and clinks it against Viktor’s glass before taking a drink. The future tastes like candied cherries and plum and promises waiting to be fulfilled.

The first time they kiss is a few days later, when they’re boxing up Jayce’s belongings to move into a new dorm. It’s quick and shy, a peck to Viktor’s cheek as he’s passing Jayce the roll of tape.

They don’t talk about it. Nothing seems to change, except the feeling of Viktor’s eyes on Jayce’s back whenever he turns away.

The second time they kiss is when Jayce gives Viktor his new cane. He points out the Talis crest engraved beside the letter V, and Viktor pulls him down by his tie to press a kiss to his lips. “You missed last time,” he breathes against Jayce’s face when they part, and their third kiss is only a moment later.

Jayce realizes what’s so wrong about Viktor’s cane is it’s cold. It doesn’t have the normal warmth from being held by bony hands, long fingers wrapped around the handle. His last coping skill: one thing he can taste in the immediate environment. He lifts the worn red silk to his lips and presses them to the material. There’s still the lingering scent of that vanilla lotion Viktor always used. His hands were always so dry, even in the humidity of seaside Piltover summers. Regret leaves a sour taste in Jayce's mouth- one that even the sweetest of vanilla beans would never be able to properly mask.

“Why now?” he asks, not able to even bear looking at Viktor watching his every move. His eyes, once soft with empathy and full of understanding, are completely glazed over. He's unreachable. Calculating the next way he can hurt Jayce beyond repair. “Why not just… send it in the mail? Throw it out in some dumpster?”

Viktor hums thoughtfully. It sounds distorted from behind the metal covering the lower half of his face. “I considered it,” he admits. There’s not a lick of regret in his voice. Like it was just… trash. Like they didn’t make it together. Like their goddammed initials weren’t on it, side-by-side. “But the next time we meet, we may not recognize each other anymore.” The sound of metal grinding together is nauseating as he crosses his legs. “One last tether to break from my old life.”

Jayce’s fingers tighten almost painfully around Viktor’s (Jayce’s) cane. “Why?” he asks, his feelings starting to boil over like water in a pot. He’s tired of it all. Tired of apologizing for his ex-partner’s behavior and tired of pretending it doesn’t affect him and tired of only being half of himself. “Because of your-your augments? Because you’re just going to sink down to the level of those-those fiends that you associate with in the Undercity of all places? You’re no better than-” he trails off.

Because he’s starting to sound exactly like the people he’s always hated most. The people he always promised Viktor he’s nothing like.

Viktor stays quiet for a moment. “You see?” He turns away from Jayce to look out into the audience. “I’m not the only one who is changing.”

The female lead is grabbing at Janna’s skirts, her hair blowing in the tornado surrounding her begging the good goddess to bring him back. Take her instead.

“He is my other half!” she wails. “My maker and my undoing!”

Viktor rises to leave. He’s never been one to overstay his welcome. Jayce grabs his wrist before he can start to walk away. It’s cold under his touch, but somehow pulsing with energy at the same time. Before, Jayce would have pulled Viktor’s hand to his face. He would have left a kiss on every knuckle, blown warmth against his fingers to bring life back into Viktor’s hands after they woke up side by side.

But that was in another life. “You should stay,” Jayce hears himself say before he can stop himself. He thought Viktor couldn’t be blindsided anymore, but it’s impossible to miss his eyebrows raising in surprise. “You’re already here. You might as well stick around for the ending.”

(The ending of the opera? Of them? Of the life they’d build for each other and torn down with their bloodstained hands all at once?)

For a long moment, Viktor only stares at Jayce. He steels himself for the inevitable. For Viktor to laugh him off and go back into the shadows. Maybe he’ll spit on him, like he spat on his shoe before he stormed out of the Council room and down into the depths of the Undercity.

Finally, Viktor slowly sits back down. “Yes,” he agrees. “I suppose it would be a shame.”

His arm slides onto the arm rest beside Jayce’s. Jayce hooks their pinkies together, and Viktor allows it. In the dimmed lights of the opera, in the magic bubble of the theatre, it’s not so difficult to pretend anymore.

“Stay with me.

My other half.

My beginning and my end.”