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The music is too loud.
Jayce stands by a column near the edge of the ballroom, his fingers fidgeting with the stem of his wine glass. The woman before him has been talking—no, flirting—for at least five minutes, though it feels like an eternity. Her voice is melodic, her laughter polished and precise, like everything about her has been designed to charm. He forces a smile as she leans in, her red dress shimmering under the warm glow of Progress Day lanterns.
". . . and I said to the clerk, 'Do you really think I can't tell the difference between a Zirian sapphire and an imitation?' Can you believe it?" She giggles. Her fingertips brush his sleeve as if testing how far she can go.
Jayce nods, barely registering the story. Something about gemstones, maybe?
His head feels foggy, like he's been underwater for too long. He glances over her shoulder, scanning the room for an escape route. None present themselves. The crowd feels suffocating; all glittering gowns and polished suits. They move like a tide that's slowly closing in.
Why do people think I'm good at this? Jayce wonders, the thought tinged with frustration. Public speaking? Sure. A room full of investors? No problem. But small talk with strangers whose intentions feel a little too pointed?
He'd rather be working in the lab or drafting blueprints for a new Hextech project with Viktor.
The woman laughs again. It drags him back to the present.
"You're very quiet, Mister Talis. That's not what I've heard about you." Her eyes gleam as she leans closer, her perfume—rich, floral, and overwhelming—filling the space between them. "Or are you just shy when it comes to pretty women?"
Jayce's stomach twists. It's not that she's unattractive. Objectively, she's beautiful. But her interest feels transactional, like she's sizing him up as one would a prize to be won. He has played this game before, and knows how it ends: with him awkwardly deflecting until they either lose interest or take offense.
Jayce clears his throat, grip tightening on his glass. "I wouldn't say that. I just—uh—don't think I'm great at small talk."
She smiles, her lips a perfect crimson curve. "Oh, I'm sure you're just being modest. A man like you? Brilliant, handsome, single." She plucks Jayce's wine out of his hands at the last word, stealing a sip. "You must have women lining up for a chance to talk to you."
The weight of her gaze pins Jayce like a butterfly on a collector's board. He hates this, the way the flattery feels like a trap. Say the wrong thing, and she'll pounce. Say nothing, and she'll keep going.
He forces another smile, hoping it doesn't look as strained as it feels. "That's . . . kind of you to say."
There's a narrowing to her eyes as if she's dissecting him. "Kind? I'm just being honest. So tell me, Councilor, do you have a date tonight? Or are you here all alone?"
"I—"
"Actually, no," comes a silky voice. Smooth yet undeniably commanding. "He is not alone."
Jayce's head jerks toward the sound.
Viktor emerges from the crowd. The sharp lines of his black undershirt and gray vest exaggerate his lean figure, and there's a deliberate ease as he closes the distance between them. His eyes gleam, feline-like and sharp, but there's a faint smile playing at those lips—a smile that only deepens as he limps to Jayce's side.
"V-Viktor!" Jayce stumbles. "Where have you been?"
"Loitering," he deadpans.
The woman blinks, startled, her gaze darting between them. Her polite smile falters for the first time. "I'm sorry, but I don't believe we've been introduced. Who might you be?"
Viktor meets her gaze without a flinch. “Viktor,” he says simply, his accent rolling the name out like a pronouncement. He pauses, before adding with an unmistakable firmness, "Councilor Talis' partner. Outside the lab."
It takes every cell in Jayce's body not to let his jaw drop. Before he can even begin to question what's happening, Viktor places a hand on his lower back. The man's fingers spread just enough to make it clear that this is not casual.
The woman stiffens slightly, her smile thinning. "I-I see. I wasn't aware Mister Talis was involved."
"It is not something we find necessary to announce." Viktor slowly looks her up and down. "This evening, however, it would appear some degree of clarification is . . . required."
Her brows knit together; she's trying to parse whether it's an insult. "Well, I wouldn't want to intrude."
"Nor would we wish you to feel unwelcome," Viktor counters. "Yet I suspect your attentions might be better directed elsewhere."
Jayce is stunned as the woman takes an involuntary step back. She spares him a last glance—half wary, half annoyed—before retreating into the crowd. Her red dress vanishes like spilled wine into the sea of people.
For a moment, he can only stand there, watching after her. Viktor's hand falls away.
"What," Jayce starts incredulously, spinning toward him, "was that?"
Viktor arches a brow. "An intervention. You seemed less than enthused by the conversation, so I redirected its course."
Honestly? Jayce is utterly baffled. His skin tingles where Viktor's hand had been, and he feels a strange mix of gratitude, embarrassment, and something else he can't quite name.
"Viktor, you . . . you told her we're a couple!"
"You are welcome," Viktor says dryly, leaning into his cane with a faint shift of his weight. He looks amused. "Unless, of course, you would prefer I announce our separation now and leave you for the remainder of the evening?"
The thought sends a jolt of panic through Jayce. He imagines himself surrounded by a sea of flirtatious women, each one more persistent than the last. Before he can stop himself, he blurts, "No! I mean—this is fine. Let's just . . . keep this up. For now."
"For now," Viktor echoes. He studies Jayce for a moment, his eyes two fields of powdered gold. "Very well. Consider it an arrangement of convenience."
"Exactly," Jayce mutters, still flustered. "Convenience."
And for reasons he doesn't fully understand, Jayce's heart beats just a little faster.
The rest of the evening unfolds in a way that never could have been anticipated.
From the moment Viktor declared their supposed relationship, he slipped into the role as though it were second nature. His posture, his words, his every movement carries an understated confidence that leaves no room for doubt.
It starts small: Viktor standing a touch closer than usual as they weave through the crowd. Brushing against Jayce's forearm. Leaning in when Jayce introduces him to someone.
Jayce, on the other hand, feels like he's hurtling through uncharted territory.
Each time Viktor's touch grazes him, it's as though his skin sparks to life. There's a cold sweat that stubbornly clings to the nape of his neck. Jayce can barely focus on a conversation for the life of him. And when he is able to focus on a conversation, Viktor will rest a hand briefly on his bicep . . . and it obliterates all coherent thought.
Usually it's Jayce doing that to Viktor. This reverse in roles?
It's all too much.
At one point, Viktor catches him staring—Jayce isn't sure why he's looking—and Viktor raises an eyebrow. A wise smile tweaks at his lips.
"Are you distracted?" he asks.
"What? No!" Jayce blurts, too loud; a nearby couple glances their way. He glares at Viktor then, whispering harshly, "This is your fault."
"Is it?" Viktor muses. "Forgive me. I was under the impression we were cooperating."
He huffs. Before anything else can be said, another woman is approaching. It's Miss Bellemont; one of the biggest sponsors of Progress Day.
"Well, if it isn't the golden boy!"
Jayce has to stop himself from jumping out the nearest window. Viktor only frowns.
Miss Bellemont approaches Jayce with a confident stride. Her dress shimmers under the lights, catching every eye in her path, but her focus is singular. She stops in front of him, her smile dazzling and entirely self-assured.
"Jayce Talis," she says, almost purring. "I've been hoping to run into you tonight. Progress Day just wouldn't be the same without its star inventor."
Jayce returns a polite smile. Viktor, standing quietly at his side, receives no more than a cursory glance before the woman's attention snaps back to Jayce.
"You must be so busy," Bellemont continues, "But I have to ask—are you free tonight? Maybe we could slip away from all this noise for more . . . private conversation."
The insinuation is clear as day. Jayce flushes like a schoolboy, and Viktor snorts beside him.
"I appreciate the offer," Jayce chuckles awkwardly, trying to project a friendliness he doesn't feel. "But no, I'm not free tonight."
The woman's smile doesn't falter. If anything, it grows slyer. "Really? What's keeping you so tied up? Don't tell me your friend here is the reason." She shoots a dismissive glance at Viktor. There's condescension in her attitude.
And oh, that pisses Jayce off.
"Actually," he frowns, suddenly emboldened, "Viktor isn't just my friend. We're . . . together."
Bellemont doesn't even try to hide her disbelief.
"Oh, is that so? How sweet. But you can't blame me for being curious. You don't exactly look like a couple."
A flash of irritation flares in Jayce's chest. It mingles with an undercurrent of nerves. He glances at Viktor—who meets Jayce's eyes—with an almost imperceptible lift of his brow. The gesture is subtle, though it speaks volumes:
Your move.
Jayce knows they've been convincing so far. But this woman and the investors behind her? They are watching them like hawks. Jayce considers playing it safe: a hand squeeze, a soft look, maybe a kiss on Viktor's cheek.
No. Something about that feels insufficient. Too safe.
It's not enough. It has to be real.
Believable.
Before he can second-guess himself, Jayce turns and cups Viktor's jaw. The man's eyes widen for a fraction of a second. It's the only outward sign of surprise, but he doesn't pull away. Not even when Jayce sweeps a gentle thumb over the mole above Viktor's mouth.
Jayce's decision solidifies in that moment. If she wants proof, he'll give it to her.
And so he leans down as if they'd done this a hundred times before—and kisses Viktor.
The world around them blurs into white noise.
Jayce tries to focus on the press of their lips rather than the storm raging inside him. He pours every ounce of calm he doesn't feel into the gesture, desperate to make it look natural. Real.
Viktor doesn't move. He doesn't pull away, doesn't lean in. He simply stands there, his cane clutched in one hand as if it were an anchor. Jayce notices the stiffness in Viktor's frame; the only indication of the shock beneath his otherwise stoic expression.
Jayce draws away after a heartbeat that feels like an eternity. There's a lump in his throat, though he keeps a smile firmly in place. His palm lingers on Viktor's cheek before dropping.
"There," Jayce says brightly, with a grin so dazzling it could light up the entire city. He loops his arm through Viktor's in one fluid motion. "I hope that clears up any confusion."
Miss Bellemont gapes at them.
For a moment, she says nothing. Her eyes dart between Jayce and Viktor. Then she straightens, becoming more guarded. "Well," she murmurs, her tone clipped, "I suppose it does. Enjoy your evening."
She spins on a heel and disappears into the crowd.
Jayce blows out a shaky breath; it feels like he's just run a marathon. Bravely, he takes a peek at Viktor's face.
The man is staring at him with an expression that’s difficult to read: tight, focused, like he’s working through a puzzle with no clear solution. The intensity of it makes Jayce’s stomach twist.
Then, Viktor's satiny murmur, like an angel in gossamer wings:
"How bold."
“I . . .” Jayce's voice catches, and he quickly clears his throat. “Viktor, I’m—God, I’m sorry. That was . . . I shouldn’t have done that.”
Viktor tips his head. "Shouldn't have done what?"
"The kiss! I mean—don’t get me wrong, you handled it like a champ, but that was way over the top. I didn’t even ask. I just went for it.” Jayce groans, scrubbing a hand over his face. “I was panicking, and it just sort of happened.”
"Jayce," he says calmly, "I assure you, there is no need for such distress. It was convincing, was it not?”
“Well, sure, it was convincing, but that’s not the point! I should’ve asked. Or—I don’t know—warned you or something.”
“Warned me?” A wry smile. “Would you have issued an official proclamation, perhaps? That is not very practical.”
Jayce groans again. "You know what I mean, V."
“You are acting like a child,” Viktor remarks. He taps the back of Jayce's knee with his cane, scolding. “I am not injured, Jayce. Nor am I offended. If anything, I am impressed.”
“Impressed? By what?”
“By your commitment. For someone who claims to panic under pressure, you handled the situation with remarkable decisiveness.”
Jayce laughs despite himself. It's shaky but genuine. “Decisive? That’s a nice way of saying I threw myself into it without thinking.”
“Sometimes,” Viktor replies, his smirk mellowing, “thinking too much is not a good thing. Action carries its own merit.”
Jayce searches him for any sign of discomfort or irritation, but finds none. In fact, Viktor seems entirely at ease. “You’re really okay with this?” he asks, quieter now.
Viktor nods. The glow of the ballroom lights reflect in his eyes. “I would not have offered to assist you if I were not prepared for the task." Then, after a pause, he says, “If it allows you to navigate this evening with less difficulty, then I am content.”
The sincerity in Viktor’s tone strikes Jayce like a physical force. He glimpses away briefly, carding a hand through his hair to steady himself. “You’re . . . something else, you know that?”
“Many have said so."
Jayce laughs again. His smile has turned more genuine, more grateful. “Thanks, Viktor. Really.”
And Viktor smiles—soft, fleeting, and breathtakingly beautiful—and it’s all Jayce can do not to melt into the floor beneath them. His heart clenches, his breath catches, and all he can think is this act is going to be the end of me.
Except it isn’t an act. Not really.
He likes Viktor. Hell, he loves Viktor. Jayce knows this. He’s known for longer than he’s willing to admit. Months, maybe. It was like the slow bloom of a seed planted long ago.
Terrifying and thrilling all at once.
And now, standing with Viktor—arm in arm—the feeling only intensifies. It's maddening, confusing, and impossible to ignore.
Yet the night carries on.
Jayce’s smile stays fixed in place. His charm is effortless as he plays the role expected of him. The feeling of Viktor's lips linger like a brand, but it doesn't show.
Their arms remain linked as they meander through the crowd. Occasionally, Viktor leans into Jayce just slightly. Jayce adjusts without thinking, leaning back as if they've been moving like this forever.
If Viktor has any objections, he doesn't voice them.
A waiter glides past them at some point, carrying a silver tray of champagne flutes. The crisp, golden liquid catches Jayce's eye. He grabs one instinctively. Viktor shakes his head when the tray is offered to him.
"Still not a fan?" Jayce asks, raising the flute to his lips and taking a sip.
"It is not sweet enough for me," Viktor replies.
"I should've known. You and your sweet tooth." Jayce chuckles. "It's too bad they don't serve Sweet Milk here."
"That would be nice, no?"
Jayce grins. He holds the glass out slightly; the bubbles rise in a sparkling stream. "Just one taste. For me?"
Viktor surveys the glass with mild disdain. "You are insufferable."
"Yep," Jayce quips. "C'mon, V. Live a little."
With a quiet sigh that sounds more resigned than annoyed, Viktor relents. He takes the champagne and their fingers brush. Jayce watches, suddenly too aware of their proximity as Viktor raises the flute to his mouth.
The motion is precise; Viktor's lips curl around the rim of the glass to accept the bubbly drink. Viktor's throat moves as he swallows, and when he lowers the flute, his tongue darts out briefly to catch a stray drop on his bottom lip.
Jayce feels his face heat instantly. Don't stare. Don't stare. But his brain betrays him, conjuring images that are decidedly inappropriate for the middle of a ballroom.
He clears his throat and looks away. Prays his expression isn't as obvious as it feels. "Well?"
"It is . . . good," Viktor admits. He passes the flute back.
Jayce scoffs. It does nothing to dispel the tension in his chest. "Good? That's the best you can do? Champagne's better than that."
Viktor's smirk returns. It's a pretty thing.
"Masterpiece? You are remarkably generous with your praise."
"Sometimes it's the little things that matter."
"Perhaps."
The moment lingers, and Jayce suddenly feels like he's standing under a magnifying glass. Viktor's gaze isn't sharp now; it's softer, curious, as though he's seeing Jayce in an entirely different light.
"You seem distracted," Viktor says after a beat.
"What? No, I'm fine!" Jayce takes another sip of champagne to cover his awkwardness. It's not helpful. Viktor examines him warily.
"If you are uncomfortable, we will stop this charade at once."
"What? No. I mean . . . " Jayce stiffens, exhaling. "I'm not uncomfortable, Viktor. Really."
"You are certain?"
"I—I'm sure. Actually, I . . . I think I like this?"
Viktor's mouth parts in subtle surprise. "You enjoy fabricating a relationship for the amusement of a crowd?"
Jayce shakes his head. "No, that's not what I mean. I mean . . . I enjoy this. Your company." He gestures vaguely between them. "You make everything—" he nods toward the bustling ballroom, "—a lot easier."
Viktor hums. He glances down briefly before meeting Jayce's gaze again. "Well," he says distantly, "I am pleased to be of assistance."
The warmth behind Jayce's sternum spreads. He loops his arm more securely with Viktor's, offering a crooked grin. "Guess that makes you my lifesaver for the night, huh?"
"Hardly a feat, Jayce."
They fall into an easy rhythm again. He catches himself melting into Viktor, and Viktor melts back.
It's subtle, but it's there; a mutual comfort that neither of them has to voice.
It simply exists.
After mingling for another hour, Viktor is checked out.
Jayce doesn’t blame him. Crowds have never been Viktor’s strong suit; he’s always been someone who thrives on solitude, his mind a constant engine that seems to work best in quiet spaces. Jayce, on the other hand, has never minded the spotlight—but even he feels the strain of the evening.
“Hey,” Jayce says softly, pressing closer to Viktor as the hum of the ballroom rises. “You wanna get some fresh air?”
Viktor’s eyes flick up: a little relieved, a little grateful. “That would be nice.”
Together, they slip away from the glittering chaos with their arms still linked. It's a touch that’s grown so familiar over the course of the night that Jayce barely notices it anymore. They finally part when they reach the grand double doors leading to the balcony.
The night air greets them like a kiss.
A breeze sweeps away the stuffiness of the ballroom, carrying with it the faint scent of the sea and the metallic tang of Piltover’s machinery. The city's skyline still glows with the light of Progress Day festivities; lanterns dot the streets like tiny stars, and fireworks bloom sporadically against the inky black sky. Fleeting streaks of gold and violet burst above the rooftops.
Jayce leans against the wrought-iron railing. “Now this,” he sighs, “is so much better.”
Viktor stands beside him. He does not hesitate to take in the sprawling cityscape. “It is remarkable."
You are remarkable, Jayce wants to say.
It’s ethereal, really, the way the moonlight catches in Viktor’s hair as a shimmering crown. The way the moonlight slips over his face—a pearl curtain—and turns him into a study of contrasts. There’s a quiet beauty to it, a fragile kind of radiance that feels private. Like this is something that's meant only for Jayce to see.
A calmness rests in Viktor’s expression now; Jayce didn't realize he’d been watching for it.
“You looked like you were ready to throttle someone back there,” Jayce teases warmly. “I’m honestly impressed you lasted as long as you did.”
Viktor huffs a quiet laugh. “I thought about it, once or twice."
“Well, I’m glad you didn’t throttle anyone. Would’ve been a pain to smooth that one over.”
“I trust you would have managed,” Viktor says wryly. His focus switches from the skyline to Jayce. “You seem quite adept at salvaging situations.”
"Seriously?" Jayce leans his forearms against the railing now. “Is that your polite way of saying I cause all the problems in the first place?”
“I would never,” Viktor says. The faint sparkle in his eyes says otherwise.
The banter between them flows easily. Each exchange smooths away the edges of any lingering tension. Jayce finds himself relaxing more now than he has all night.
“Thanks for sticking with me tonight,” he says after a moment.
Viktor shakes his head. “You need not thank me, Jayce. It was an interesting experiment.”
Jayce chuckles softly. “Experiment, huh? That’s one way to put it.” He looks out at the city, the glow of the lanterns reflecting in his eyes. “Still, I know this isn’t your thing. Crowds, attention, all that. You could’ve bailed, and I wouldn’t have blamed you.”
Viktor hums. "I played a role."
"Yeah, well. You played it pretty damn good." Jayce tightens his grip on the railing; it's cold, but he doesn't let go. He wants to stay in this moment forever. "I didn't mind it, you know."
Viktor blinks. Before he can even answer, Jayce is clearing his throat and speaking again. “I, uh . . ." He shifts his weight awkwardly. “I had fun tonight.”
"Did you?" Viktor questions skeptically. There's an arch to that brow of his.
The look is so quintessentially Viktor: sharp, assessing, utterly unyielding. Jayce wants to wipe it away, to smooth out the lines of doubt with his thumb or—even better—with his lips.
"Yeah, I did," Jayce laughs softly; it's more of an exhale than anything else. The grin stretching his cheeks is a little sheepish. “I mean, don’t get me wrong. The crowds, the schmoozing, all of that was exhausting. But being with you? That part was . . . nice. Really nice.”
Viktor’s skepticism fades into a quiet warmth. “I am glad to hear that, Jayce."
Jayce. The way Viktor says it sends ripples down Jayce's spine. The accent blends into the syllable perfectly. He wants to hear it over and over again.
"I'm being serious," Jayce chuckles again. This time it’s nervous. “I usually only see you in the lab, you know? Always bent over blueprints or tweaking some new design. It’s different out here.” He gestures vaguely to the world around them: the stars, the city, the night. “Being with you like this. I like it."
The corners of Viktor mouth lifts. Not quite a smile, but something close.
“It is different,” Viktor agrees, thoughtful. “I am accustomed to the lab. The precision of it, the structure. Out here . . . ” His gaze weighs heavy on Jayce, and for a moment, there’s something unguarded in his golden eyes. “Out here, it is less predictable. More chaotic.”
"It is."
“And yet,” Viktor continues, his voice softening further, “it is not unpleasant. Perhaps that is because of you.”
The words are unadorned. Deceptively simple. Still, they strike Jayce like a lightning bolt, leaving him breathless and reeling. He fumbles for an inhale that does not exist.
Viktor pauses, as if offering Jayce time to find his footing. Then, with a maddening softness, “I find I do not mind the chaos so much, when you are part of it.”
Those words are the killing blow.
A painful heat unfurls beneath Jayce's skin. It’s not the kind that can be eased by a cold compress—it’s more insistent, a warmth that seems to rise from within and pool in his ribs. It feels as though the stars themselves have leaned closer, their brilliance pressing in, burning.
“You always know how to catch me off guard, don’t you?” Jayce croaks. Each word is edged with something raw; he does not try to balm it.
Instead, he breathes. Wets his lips.
“I don’t want tonight to end, Viktor.”
It sounds pathetic, Jayce knows. But he can't bring himself to care. Not when they’re alone like this, standing side by side on the edge of the world. Not when they stand here with the city glittering at their feet like a constellation.
Then, with a small shrug that’s almost too casual, Viktor speaks.
“It does not have to."
Jayce dares not breathe. “What do you mean?”
Viktor's mouth accepts the faintest semblance of a smile. His gaze dives to the horizon. “Some moments are too rare to abandon. Too fleeting to let slip through your hands. This, I think—” He gestures lightly, “—is one of them.”
A long beat of silence follows. When it passes, Viktor is looking at Jayce again; earnest, searching. He leans in a fraction.
"The night is young, no?"
Jayce does not know what to say. He has cotton mouth.
The night is young.
The phrase loops around in Jayce’s mind. He can feel the weight of responsibility tugging at him, the endless deadlines and expectations waiting for them back at the lab. But right now? Out here, with Viktor?
Those concerns are blurred. Smudges on a page.
Viktor is always so controlled, so composed. Yet here he is, suggesting they step off the well-worn path—if only for a moment. It's rare, this side of him. Jayce doesn't want to let it slip away.
“Are you saying,” Jayce murmurs, fighting a lopsided grin, “that you’re suggesting we keep the night going?”
The phrasing feels inadequate the moment it leaves his mouth, but his brain isn’t exactly cooperating. Not when it’s busy conjuring images that quicken the pulse—moments too close, too intimate, too far removed from simple camaraderie. Jayce swallows hard and shakes the thoughts away. Focus.
Viktor’s accent is thick and lyrical. “If that is how you choose to describe it, then yes,” he says with subtle amusement. “We could spend more time, here or elsewhere. I do not mind."
Jayce blinks. Breathes: once, twice.
And then his smile returns: wide and cheerful and ridiculously boyish. “Well, when you put it like that, it sounds like an invitation I’d be crazy to turn down.”
Jayce's voice is light, but he feels anything but casual. His thoughts spin in a dozen directions—half on what Viktor means by this extended offer and half on the sheer fact that Viktor wants this at all.
What are you hoping for? The thought slips unbidden into Jayce's mind. What am I hoping for?
He doesn’t have an answer. That terrifies him as much as it excites him.
"So . . . what now?" Jayce asks.
“What now?” Viktor repeats. The words flow with a softness that makes them feel almost dangerous. “That depends."
"You make it sound so menacing. Should I be scared? I'm not that brave, V."
"Do not doubt yourself, Jayce."
There’s a playful glint in Viktor’s eyes now. He shifts so his elbow rests against the railing near Jayce’s. The movement is so small that Jayce might not have noticed—if it weren’t for the warmth that suddenly spreads from where their hands rest, barely a breath apart.
And then their fingers brush.
It happens so naturally, so quietly, that Jayce almost doesn’t realize it.
What if . . .
The thought is sudden and reckless.
But so is Jayce.
Before he can second-guess himself, he hooks their pinkies together.
A long beat passes. Neither of them say a word.
But then a smile blooms on Viktor's face. It's sly but radiant in its sincerity; the first light of dawn breaking across the horizon. Jayce is helpless to do anything but watch. Something stirs within him—an overwhelming fullness, like the way your lungs strain with breath at the summit of a climb.
“You see?” Viktor murmurs, his voice beautifully low. “There is bravery in you after all.”
The words settle between them, and for once, Jayce doesn’t feel the need to fill the space. Their linked fingers are enough.
And over the sparkling city and in the moonlight of the evening, they love.