Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

I don’t know what to do. I literally don’t know what to do. My mind feels completely empty yet unbearably full of thoughts at the same time. I genuinely feel like I no longer have control over my own body, and I have no idea how I’m supposed to react to this. I can’t breathe. I don’t breathe. I can’t tear my eyes away from where they’re fixed on my clasped hands. I watch as my vision begins to swim before me, my hands swirling together in a nauseating pattern until a drop of water hits my right hand. 

No, not water. A tear. I'm crying.

When I realize this, a dam breaks in my mind, suddenly flooding my eyes with more tears and my brain with doubt. I'm sobbing on the hard chair of a hospital waiting room and I don't know what to do with myself. Fuck. I cannot believe what I've heard, I literally can't.

I want to throw something, kick the trash can in the corner, pull my own hair out in clumps, rip off my own ears so I can never hear news like that again. I’m crying so hard that I can’t breathe, sobs are wracking my body. I’m choking, trying to catch my breath but my emotions won’t let me. Tears are streaming down my face, flooding my cheeks and dripping off of my chin onto the collar of my shirt. Snot is flowing freely from my nose, falling into my mouth and mixing with the salty tears on my tongue, but I can’t care about that right now. I am unable to do anything but cover my face with my hands and heave, breathing so hard it feels like I'm going to throw up from the effort of it. I don’t know how I’m able to cry this hard for this long—my energy feels like it’s being sucked out of my body but I can’t stop.

I feel hands on my back, the presence of another person next to me. She is trying to pry my hands away from my face but I won't let her, holding them tightly in place. I don't know if she’s trying to say something, I can't hear anything over the sounds of my own sobs and the horrifyingly loud ringing in my ears. I can't calm down. I'm thinking too hard. I’m not thinking at all. It won’t stop.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” The words are muddled by the tears of whoever is saying them. “Jayce, I’m so sorry!”

Somehow, her words snap me out of my daze, allowing one thought to surface louder than all the others. 

I need to calm the fuck down.

I first focus on my erratic, stuttering breaths. I need to slow down. I force my hands away from my face and onto my rapidly rising and falling chest. I end up hunched over my legs, staring at the ground. I try to control my breathing. It's hard. I do it anyway. I take deep breaths, each one hitching halfway through as I continue to sob. I feel my breathing evening out as my chest begins to rise and fall more regularly—I’m actually calming myself down. 

My face is boiling, my snot and tears are sticky as they begin to dry on my cheeks. I sniff, then realize I desperately need to use the tissues that the nurses have supplied. I wipe my face, blow my nose, and begin to collect myself. I wish I had water to wash my face off with. I’m too warm. I press the backs of my hands to my cheeks and nearly break down again.

Jesus, hold it together.

I know I look like a mess, face red and splotchy and stained with tears; I am a mess. I try to convince myself that the nurses have definitely seen this before, that they’re used to this. I’m not sure it works.

My mother’s hands are still on my back, and she is sobbing just as hard as I was five minutes ago. I want to comfort her, I know I should, but I can’t bring myself to do it. I just can’t. I feel like an awful person. I take another deep breath. I want to go home.

Chapter Text

We don’t go home for hours after; my mother needs to talk logistics to the doctors which apparently takes a long time. I can’t handle being in the hospital any longer—I just want to be in my room, doing something other than thinking about my dead dad. 

Those words nearly send me spiraling again. I don’t want to think about him anymore. I don’t want to cry about him anymore. I want to go someplace else, somewhere far removed from any of this.

When we finally get home, I do exactly that. I beeline straight for my room; my mother doesn’t have the strength or energy to stop me. I feel an immediate sense of relief when I walk into my room and close the door behind me. My blueprints and inventions are strewn all about. I can’t wait to get completely lost in creating something new. 

As I work, I feel a small smile creeping its way across my face and I don’t do anything to stop it. 

However, distractions are not cures that last forever, and I find myself unable to continue tinkering a few hours later. I can’t get any more work done, so I abandon my room in favor of a walk in the cool night air. Walking through the house, I see that my mother’s door is shut tight. I’m a little relieved—she won’t stop me or ask where I’m going.

I lose myself in my thoughts as I walk, loving the fresh air filling my lungs and spurred on by my ideas. I am not paying attention to my surroundings. I find my thoughts wandering into dangerous territory, and I can’t stop my mind from conjuring images of my father lying in a hospital bed, gasping for the last of his breaths. It takes me by surprise and causes me to stumble in my strides. Tears threaten to overflow from my eyes. I need to sit down. Luckily, I spot a bench not five feet from where I’m standing, and sit heavily on it. I quickly discover that it is wet, because of course it is. Of course nothing can possibly go right. I don't stand up again, resigned to having a wet ass, and stay on the bench, looking at the concrete path in front of my feet, feeling the cold of the wet metal bars beneath me sink into my bones.

Fuck .

“Having a pity party for yourself, are you?” An unfamiliar voice sounds from next to me, making me jump a little in surprise. 

My eyes dart away from the ground and up to the stranger, ready to tear this asshole a new one, when I stop in shock. The man standing—okay, maybe more like leaning heavily on a cane—next to me is breathtakingly gorgeous. The gauntness of his face does absolutely nothing to subtract from his beauty, and his lanky proportions work perfectly with his frame. His hair flips out from his face just the right amount, and his eyes are stunning amber worlds I know I could get completely lost in. 

Just as I am mentally cursing myself for falling for pretty privilege again and not standing up for myself simply because a beautiful man is the one insulting me, his voice interrupts my thoughts once again.

“Can I sit?”

He is motioning at the spot on the bench next to me and I'm still frozen, his accent just now registering in my head and causing my brain to malfunction a second time. So, I don't have time to warn him about the wet bench before he plops himself down next to me and I recognize the same realization I had a few minutes ago in his face. I watch as his expression shifts to the same acceptance that I have. A beat of silence stretches between us.

“You could've warned me the bench was wet,” he points out, his gaze fixed on a tree a few feet in front of us. 

I finally, thankfully, snap out of my daze.

“Serves you right for being an asshole,” I spit.

I cheer in my head, finally overcoming my fear of pretty people.

“I was just pointing out what I saw,” he shrugs, finally turning his head to meet my stare.

“Is insulting a stranger usually your first reaction when you see them?” I furrow my brow.

“Okay, it wasn't that harsh. Do you want to talk to me about why you were throwing yourself a pity party?” He raises an eyebrow.

I snort, letting my gaze drop to my lap. “Like you would understand.”

I’m picking at my fingernails and wringing my hands together, unable to stop fidgeting.

“Try me,” he challenges, leaning forwards onto his cane slightly and catching my eye.

I wonder if I’m about to spill my guts to a complete stranger at night in this sketchy situation for less than a minute before my mouth takes over and starts talking before my brain can stop it.

“My dad just died.”

He laughs.

He. fucking. laughs .

What the fuck. 

“I’m sorry, I just-” he cuts himself off by guffawing again, holding his stomach and wiping tears from the corner of his eyes. “Whoo, god, I haven’t laughed that hard in a long time.”

“ Excuse me?” I stare at him, horror in my eyes.

How on earth could another human laugh at the worst day of someone’s life?

He sobers up, face going stern. “Kid, parents die all the damn time. Get over yourself.”

A pang of pain shoots through my body. I didn’t know I could get so angry and sad and hurt by simple words.

“Get over your self, fucking asshole. You think just because you’re pretty and crippled you can go around insulting every person you meet?” I raise my voice, refusing to let the tears accumulating in my eyes fall down my cheeks.

“Ouch,” he says flatly, completely unaffected by my words.

I want to punch him.

“How old are you, kid?” He asks.

“Now why the hell would I tell a creep like you, especially after what you’ve said?”

“I want to know how old you have to be to still be acting like a petulant child, especially around a topic so common as death.”

“Death is not common! Especially not that of a close family member!” I throw my hands up, disbelief flooding my emotions. 

Who the hell is this guy?

“Hah! What are you, some Piltie wannabe?” He laughs.

His words hit me like a brick wall, and it’s only at this moment when I decide to take a look at my surroundings. To say I’m shocked at where I ended up would be an understatement. The reality of my situation is really starting to dawn on me when I realize I’m conversing with a Zaunite while sitting on a bench in the middle of the undercity. It is strikingly obvious to me now, with the way he is dressed, the cane that looks too small for his body, the way he spoke so casually about death. I am in a very sketchy situation.

My expression must’ve betrayed my status to him, because I hear him inhale sharply. “Oh my god. You’re actually a Piltie, aren’t you? Jesus, it makes so much more sense now.”

I turn my head to look at him, his eyes just as wide as I’m assuming mine are.

“Um,” is my response.

Very smart , I tell myself. A very smart thing to say.

“How the hell did a Piltie kid like you find himself in the heart of the undercity?” He smirks.

I’m kicking myself mentally because how on earth did I not realize it when the air became thick with smog and the buildings around me were slowly filled in with graffiti?

“I’m not a kid!”

Oh god, why am I only saying the most unhelpful thoughts I could possibly come up with? What the hell is wrong with me?

“Sure seems like you are,” he points out.

“I will have you know that I am turning eighteen in a month,” I state boldly.

Wow, I’m really just digging my own grave deeper and deeper, aren’t I?

“So I was right. Not surprising, I usually am.”

I sit up straighter, puffing out my chest slightly. “I am the son of a very influential family, you know.”

“Sure,” he waves his hand at me dismissively. 

“Who the hell are you to tell me I’m just a kid?” I ask accusingly.

“To you? Probably just a piece of Sumprat trash,” he shrugs.

I am taken aback by his casual use of the derogatory term.

“Like I would ever call anyone that.”

“Your people call me that all the time, why would I believe you’re any different?” He narrows his eyes.

“Well, I am different.”

“Prove it.”

His words stop me in my tracks. How the hell am I supposed to prove something like that?

“I’m talking to you, aren’t I?” I try.

“Lots of people do that. That doesn’t prove anything.”

I sigh frustratedly. “I don’t know how I’m supposed to prove that!”

“Then I’ll give you a chance. Walk with me to my house without making any faces or commenting on anything on your way there. Think you can do that, pretty boy?” 

He says it like it’s an insult, and I do, in fact, find myself a little insulted. I’m totally falling for pretty privilege again. I curse in my head. There’s no way I’m actually going to follow a random, possibly dangerous, Zaunite to his house deep in the undercity. That would practically be asking to get mugged or kidnapped or killed. 

“Fine,” I snap.

My mouth has once again started running without my brain’s permission, and I can’t help but feel a little like I’m a lamb being led to slaughter as I follow close behind this beautiful stranger. Fuck pretty privilege. This is definitely going too far. I’m in too deep to turn back around, though. I just shut my damn mouth before I can do anything else stupid.

It is difficult to keep my mouth shut as we walk deeper and deeper into the undercity, but I focus on the steady tapping of the man’s cane in order to ground myself. He takes me on a route probably meant to make me say something, but I stay true to the challenge he has given me and don’t comment.

When we finally stop in front of a crumbling building, I raise an eyebrow at my escort. Before I can get a word out, though, a new voice speaks.

“Viktor, bringing home another sweet treat? Can I taste him after you're done?” A large man taunts, smoking a cigarette next to the door of the building.

“Gross, Finn,” Viktor wrinkles his nose, unlocking the door and gesturing for me to head inside.

“Hey, woah, I agreed to walk with you, not to go inside your house,” I hold up my hands, not stupid enough to actually go inside with the very real possibility of getting killed right in front of me.

“Suit yourself. I’ll just leave the two of you alone out here, then,” Viktor says nonchalantly, rolling his shoulders and beginning to close the door.

My gaze shifts to the tall man still smoking next to me. His bottom jaw is made of a gold metal of some kind, and his eyes feel like they are burning holes in my body. He shifts, starting to move toward me, and I make some very quick calculations in my head. I have either a 100% chance of getting raped by this man or a 50% chance of getting killed by Viktor.

My hand quickly reaches out, stopping the door from closing all the way.

“Haha, I was just kidding, of course I’ll come in!” I laugh, practically running inside the house before the man can lay a hand on me.

“Well, that didn’t take very long,” Viktor remarks as I’m locking the door behind me.

“You were seriously going to leave me out there to get raped by that guy?” I ask incredulously.

“You would’ve been fine, Finn probably would’ve just flirted with you a bit and left you alone. Probably. He’s not really the rapist type,” he dismisses.

“I beg to differ.”

His eyes told me he wanted to pounce on me like a lion on an antelope.

“Well, you’re safe from the big bad man now,” he mocks.

“Really? Because I’m not convinced you’re not just another equally bad guy,” I scoff.

“Oh, come on now, I know you’re not scared of me,” he chuckles.

“What, a fully grown adult man from the undercity I just met who somehow convinced me to come into his house? What? Why would I be scared of that?” I roll my eyes.

“I literally can’t walk,” he says bluntly.

“Okay, fair point, but this is still an incredibly sketchy situation!” I point out.

“I won’t deny that,” he shrugs, moving to sit on his couch.

“Who the hell are you, anyway?” I ask, looking around his house and noticing papers covering nearly every surface in the room.

It’s eerily similar to my own room, and as I take a closer look at the pages, I realize they’re blueprints and other science-related scribbles.

“I’m Viktor.”

As if that explains anything.

“Well, I think I gathered that,” I walk around the room, trying to read the ideas on the pages, “But that’s not very helpful information.”

“Hey, keep your eyes off of my writing,” He furrows his brow, catching on to what I’m looking at.

“Why? These ideas…” I hold up a page of notes, speaking in awe, “They’re amazing,”

I could only wish for such intricate, fleshed-out plans for my own inventions. I’m beginning to respect him, which seems impossible in this situation. I catch myself thinking about how it’s unfair that he gets to be pretty and smart, and curse pretty privilege once again. It seems I’ve been doing that a lot after meeting this guy.

“Yes, and they’re mine,” he hobbles over to me and tries to put his hand over my eyes in a pathetic attempt to stop me.

“You know, I could help you get these inventions out to the world,” I propose. 

“What? Don’t be ridiculous, what’s a stupid Piltie kid supposed to do to help me?” he scoffs.

“Well, as I’ve tried to tell you, my family is very influential in Piltover. And stop calling me a kid!” I cross my arms.

“Yeah, right. I don’t even know who you are.”

“Jayce Talis,” I speak smugly.

I watch his expression morph into one of surprise.

“Are you serious about this?” 

He mirrors me, favoring his better leg.

“Of course. Genius recognizes genius,” I smirk.

“Yeah, okay, there is certainly nothing genius about you,” he chuckles.

“I could even get you a brace for your leg. Y’know, so you can walk without the cane that’s too small for you?” 

His expression darkens. “I don’t need your damn Topside charity.”

“It’s not charity, it’s just help. What happened to your leg, anyway?”

“I was born like this. And coming from a pompous Piltie like you, it’s always charity.”

“I thought coming here would show you I’m not just a pompous Piltie,” I let my arms fall to my sides, feeling defeated. 

“You’re going to need to do a little more than that to prove that to me,” he huffs. “Like prove you can actually help get my inventions out to the people.”

I feel a smile spread over my face and brighten my expression. 

“So you’ll work with me?” I ask excitedly. 

“Don’t get your hopes up, kid, I’m a serious scientist,” he points at me.

“So am I!”

“Jesus, what have I agreed to?” He mutters under his breath, massaging his forehead like he already has a headache.

I just keep smiling, grateful my impromptu visit to the undercity has ended with a deal between inventors and not my dead body being found.

“So how am I supposed to get back to my house from here?” I ask, not necessarily to Viktor, but more to the world as a whole.

“And how would I know that? You’re really not very smart, are you?” He sighs, pinching his eyebrows in exasperation.

“You’re still a real asshole, you know. I’m sure you would be a bearable person if you were just a little nicer,” I advise.

“And you would be a bearable person if you weren’t a fucking idiot, so I guess we both have things to work on, now don’t we?” He retorts.

“Jesus, okay, I’ll leave,” I feel a spike of fear, despite Viktor’s claims he isn’t a threat.

All of this—wandering into the undercity without realizing it, talking to a stranger who happened to be a man, following him helplessly to his house, getting hit on by another man, Viktor’s constant insults—makes me feel like I’m just a helpless little girl again. I haven’t felt like this in years, and I’m not too keen on it resurfacing. I thought I had gotten rid of those kinds of thoughts after I had been out for three years and completely accepted socially. Obviously it’s impossible to block them completely.

I’m really scared to go back out there, to face the man Viktor assured me wasn’t a threat (because what the hell would he know about that), to try to find my way back home, to possibly only get myself more lost in the belly of the undercity. But I know I have to, I know I need to get back home, so I take some deep breaths, steeling myself before I open the door.

“Lamenting your dead father again?” Viktor speaks.

I snap my head in his direction, ready to tell him off, let him know that no, just for your information, I wasn’t thinking about that, but I’m struck by his beauty once again. Fuck pretty privilege. It shouldn’t be allowed for someone to be so beautiful that they stop your anger in its tracks, steal your words, and cause you to want to melt into their eyes. Fuck that shit. I want so desperately to be roiling with anger at him, but I just can’t.

“I asked a question,” he prods, crossing his arms and raising an eyebrow.

“No, I wasn’t thinking about him, but thanks for bringing it up again,” I try to sneer, though the venom is missing from my tone.

“So what were you thinking about?” 

It’s almost an innocent question. Almost. But I can’t stop thinking of it as an accusation, a demand to explain myself to this mean, beautiful, terrifying man.

“Fuck. you.” 

I pull open the door, not looking back as I step into the cool night air. The man—Finn—is gone, and I am immensely grateful. I start walking, trying to retrace our steps as best I can from memory. As I pass more and more shady establishments with women lounging outside of the entrances and men smoking pipes of all different kinds, I feel my heartrate picking up. But I push on, refusing to look anyone in the eye and staying focused solely on the road in front of me. I tune the noises of the undercity out, and don’t hear the steady clack, clack clacking of a cane behind me, catching up to me.

I am utterly embarrassed to find myself crying over my stupid mind and the stupid ideas it puts in my head, about being weaker than other boys my age and being an easier target than most for whoever is looking in this vast city of outcasts. As I slow down to furiously wipe at my face, I recognize the bench in my peripheral vision.

“Jayce!”

And now I’m really sobbing, scared about being lost in Zaun and being chased by a man and feeling all alone in this world.

A hand falls onto my shoulder. Viktor is panting with the effort of keeping up with me.

“What is wrong with you, kid?” He gasps, leaning heavily on my shoulder as he attempts to catch his breath.

“Why are you following me? Are you a stalker after all?” I shout through my tears. 

I can’t help but notice my fists are balled at my sides, my arms locked straight, tears freely falling down my face. I am the image of a petulant child, just as Viktor had said. Fuck.

“Why did you suddenly leave my house like that? This city is not safe for a naive and sheltered child like you,” he reminds.

“Well, Viktor , I managed to make it this far myself, I think I’ll be just fine,” I grit my teeth.

“That doesn’t prove anything, and I highly doubt you’ll be able to make it back up to Piltover without getting lost.”

“God, Viktor, I’m not a little girl!” I yell.

Dammit. Why did I say that? I didn’t mean to say that. Fuck this man for whatever he’s doing to my rational mind and common sense.

“Well,” He balks, “I certainly didn’t say that, and I’m not quite sure where you got it from, to be honest.”

“Your stupid pretty face is messing with my damn mind, I can’t even think straight,” I mutter, beginning to walk again.

“How about I guide you back up to Piltover and you explain what on earth you’re talking about,” He offers, jogging to keep up with me.

And I finally, blissfully, am given the chance to make a smart move on this night filled with the worst possible decisions I could’ve made.

Naturally, I don’t take the offer and keep walking away from Viktor.

Fuck.

I start to turn right at a corner, but I hear, “No, I don’t think you want to turn there,” from behind me.

I don’t turn the corner.

A few blocks later, I’m about to walk past a street when a voice calls, “You sure turning left isn’t the way you want to go right now?”

It’s like this for the rest of the walk back to Piltover, Viktor directing me where to turn without my acknowledging him at all. And when I start heading back in the direction of my house, I still hear the clacking of a cane on cobblestone behind me. I really don’t have it in me to confront him again, so I let Viktor follow me all the way back, and I realize it’s once again a stupid decision I’ve made under the influence of his pretty privilege, but I let it collect along with all of the other bad decisions I’ve made tonight.

My house is quiet when I step into it, completely dark without the sun streaming through the grand windows. Too quiet. Eerily quiet. My footsteps ring in the darkness as I head to my room, and my mother doesn’t leave her room to greet me, so I assume she’s asleep.

When I’m in my own room, lying on my bed and trying to fall asleep, I find myself unable to. My mind is reeling from everything that happened earlier, and it won’t shut up. I really wish it would. I refuse to open my eyes, calling out desperately for the comforting hold of a dreamless sleep.

Chapter Text

I must’ve ended up falling asleep, because I wake the next morning to sunlight glaring right into my eyes from the window across from my bed. I don’t want to move. I don’t want to get up. I feel so useless . I end up staring at my ceiling instead of moving, feeling my chest rising and falling within the strict constraint of the binder I forgot to take off last night. My ribs scream to be released, but I can’t bring myself to do anything about it.

After an undetermined amount of time, I finally drag myself out of my bed, pulling off my shirt and binder. I stare at myself in my mirror. I flex my biceps in a desperate attempt to look more manly, even with my chest feeling like the only part of me I can see. I have a bit of muscle that shows up, but not nearly enough to offset the offensive parts of my body. I drop my arms, suddenly fired up with motivation to start working out. If I work out, I can grow bigger muscles and get stronger, and if I’m stronger, I won’t have to worry about fighting people off when I inevitably go back down to the undercity.

A fire lit beneath me, I put on fresh clothes and head out of my room; my destination is the gym a couple of blocks from my house.

“Where are you going?” My mother asks me when I pass her on the way to the front door.

“To the gym.”

“The gym? You’ve never gone to the gym before, what’s with this sudden change?”

“I just felt like it would be nice to be a little stronger, y’know, get some muscle on these bones,” I flex, laughing.

“Okay, have fun, honey.”

She smiles when she speaks, but it doesn't reach her eyes. I can’t help but get the distinct feeling she is trying really hard to hide how difficult it is for her to pretend like everything is normal.

“I will,” I promise, as I leave.

I put my earbuds in as I begin to walk to the gym, scrolling through Spotify to find some hype music that will hopefully get me fired up. I pick a playlist and start listening to it, completely ready to stay true to my word and get stronger.

As I’m working out and getting familiar with the machines at the gym, my mind drifts to Viktor and everything that happened last night. In hindsight, all of my actions only seem much worse to me. I feel my cheeks heating up when I remember how many things I went along with because I’m weak when confronted with a pretty face. That’s something I need to work on, I tell myself, because this simply cannot keep happening.

Every time I remember his face and feel a blush start to spread across my cheeks, I pull or push on the machine harder and refocus my attention to the rude and hurtful things he kept saying. I need to consciously remind myself that he literally laughed right in my face when I told him my dad had died. But I am content to keep reminding myself of his ugly side and working harder every time I think about him, because at least I’m doing something productive.

Working out like this seems to be a good way to cope, because it feels like I’ve only been exercising for five minutes when I realize it’s been an hour. I sigh, taking a big swig of water before starting to walk back to my house.

When I get back, I quickly peel my clothes off and jump into the shower. I had the temperature set to what it normally is, but when I get in it suddenly feels oppressively warm, the steam settling over my body like a blanket that is far too hot and ends up getting thrown off the bed. I lower the temperature—it’s not cold, per se, but more of a lukewarm heat that no longer feels suffocating.

When I get out of the shower, I sit down at my desk and begin working on sketches of a new design that’s been stuck inside my head since last night. It’s a brace, but not just a typical one. It’s one I hope can get Viktor walking without needing the help of a cane. I’m not sure how exactly I’m going to pull it off, but the only thing I can do right now is start designing and testing.

—

It’s been two weeks since I found myself in the undercity, following a strange man to his house. In those two weeks, I’ve been working tirelessly on the idea of a brace for Viktor, sketching designs, testing them, resketching them, and retesting them. The only thing that I know about it right now is that I will not let him see it unless I have perfected it and it is absolutely ready for him to use, lest he laugh at me again and call my inventions ridiculous.

I’ve also been working out nearly every day, slowly building muscle. It’s only been two weeks, but I can already see some definition beginning to peek through my skin, especially on my arms and my legs.

When I get out of the shower today, I literally jump in surprise and feel my eyes boggle out of my head at the sight that greets me. Viktor is standing in my room, leaning on his cane while gazing at the blueprints on my desk.

“ Viktor!? What the hell are you doing here?” I whisper-shout at him, instinctively hunching my shoulders and pulling my arms into my chest.

“I followed you home that night. I thought you heard me behind you, did you not?” He looks up at me, raising an eyebrow.

“No, of course I heard you. I meant why are you here , in my room? How did you even get into my house?”

I am suddenly very conscious of my clothes piled in the corner of my room, thoughtlessly tossed in the general direction of my laundry basket with very few of them actually landing inside.

“You don’t keep your windows locked. You know, that’s really not a safe practice, even if you do live on the Topside. Crime happens.”

“Yeah, you mean like creepy men breaking into teenager’s rooms while they’re in the shower?” I point out.

“Exactly like that. What would you have done if I actually was a creepy man and I got into your room? Hey, what are these designs for, by the way?” He waves my blueprints for his brace and I lunge to grab them out of his hands.

“They’re designs. My designs, so don’t look at them.”

I have a sense of déja vù, only I’m on the opposite side of the situation and they’re my blueprints in my room, not Viktor’s.

“No need to get so defensive,” he chuckles.

“Why are you here?” I sigh, plopping heavily down onto my rolling chair.

“To talk to you. How am I supposed to get my inventions out if I don’t ever talk to the one who will distribute them?”

“You could’ve approached me somewhere that isn’t my own house, you know.”

“I figured this would be the easiest place to find you without having to loiter around and possibly get arrested.”

He has a point. Damn him for always having a damn point.

“So talk to me. What inventions of yours are so amazing they need to be immediately available to the general public?” I sigh, rubbing my eyebrows.

“Well, the first one is something very interesting I would like to call…” his voice fades from my ears as I watch his face, completely engaged in whatever trinket he’s explaining.

The way his eyes are lit up as if there is a fire in them and his mouth moves animatedly to keep up with the words tumbling out of it, the way he leans in as if he’s so engaged in his own ideas he can’t help but to drag other people in as well, the way his hands fidget as if he’s holding the thing in them…it’s all so overwhelming. It’s like a shock to my brain every time he moves, and I feel like I’m constantly getting hit by spells of awe. My mind keeps going blank, and I can’t do anything other than stare openly at him, his insane, breathtaking allure.

“-llo? Jayce? Are you seriously not listening right now?” Viktor waves a hand in front of my eyes and I snap out of my daze.

I blink. “Sorry, can you repeat that?”

“Are you kidding me?” He rolls his eyes. “Jayce, if you’re not going to be serious about this partnership, I won’t pursue it any longer.”

And when he calls this a partnership, I feel myself melt slightly, weak at the connotations of the word.

“No, I swear I’m serious about this!” I beg him, desperate to keep him in my life.

Oh, Jesus. I’m really falling for this? I can’t believe my mind is still this weak to a pretty face. I would’ve thought that after two weeks of quarantine from him, I would be a little stronger, but obviously all of my mental strength saps away at the sight of him. What am I even doing, falling for an adult like him?

Wait. Did I actually just think that? No way. I’m not falling for anyone, this isn’t anything other than pretty privilege. Right. Of course. Because, in reality, who could really stand up to such a beautiful person? Yeah. It’s just his stupidly perfect face and body proportions. Obviously. Because he’s also an adult, and I’m still just a teenager, with teenager hormones. It’s his stupid face just stirring up my stupid hormones.

“You know, it takes a lot of guts to ignore the ideas of the greatest inventor under twenty when he’s practically giving them to you on a silver platter,” Viktor’s voice thankfully interrupts my thoughts before I can go down any road I’m not ready for.

“Pretty ballsy to claim you’re the greatest inventor—wait, did you just say under twenty? As in, twenty years old?” I splutter, my thoughts racing to keep up with this new information.

“Well, yes, considering I am nineteen years old,” he says matter-of-factly, as if this news isn’t completely crumbling my entire image of him, and shattering my preconceived notions of what kind of person he is.

My mind still reeling, I stand up suddenly, swaying a little on my feet. “You’re–but you live alone–and you act so much like an adult–what?”

“Calm down, will you? Am I really that much younger than you thought I was? That hurts, Jayce.” He doesn’t sound hurt at all, his tone is completely flat.

“Why didn’t you say anything when I called you a creep and a fully grown adult multiple times?” I ask, incredulous.

“I figured I would let you live in your delusions just a little longer. But really, how old did you think I was?”

“I don’t know, twenty-five? Twenty-six?” I throw my hands up.

“Okay, that is a little hurtful. Do I really look that old?” He frowns.

“Well, yeah, kinda,” I scratch the back of my neck.

“Huh. I guess testosterone really does age you. Well, my age doesn’t really matter, because I’m here to talk about my inventions, not get to know you.”

It’s a strange thing to say, but for the sake of my own sanity, I choose not to question his word choice. I really do want to hear about his inventions, and I must stay focused on actually listening to what he’s explaining, which will be a lot easier if I don’t keep distracting myself with thoughts about what he’s said in the past and how old he is.

“Right. The inventions. Talk to me about them. How, exactly, do you think we could market this? Should we focus more on the aspect…” I turn all of my attention to the blueprints in front of me, refusing to look up at the man next to me for fear of my mind wandering through unnecessary thoughts again.

Chapter Text

I’m sweating hard, drops of salty, dirty liquid cascading down my face, running down my neck, dripping into my eyes. I’m panting as well, trying to recover my breath. I’ve been pushing myself hard every day at the gym, too hard. At least, that’s what my mother seems to think; I disagree with her. In my opinion, I’m pushing myself just hard enough to keep myself motivated, to keep returning to the gym even when my muscles are burning from the day before. 

It’s a nice feeling, stretching my sore muscles and forcing them to build more and more bulk. After I’ve had an exceptionally hard workout and I’m sweating as much as I am now, I get a rush of endorphins, a sudden spike in my energy levels. I love it. It’s addicting, the way it sweeps through my mind and turns off my thoughts, even if only for a few minutes.

I relish this feeling when my thoughts start to creep back into my mind, uninvited. I’ve been intentionally avoiding thinking about why I like this feeling, why it is such a nice thing to finally have a blank mind. I know it’s not healthy, but I really can’t stand it. I can’t stand thinking about how my motivation to work out is not wanting to think about my dad. I hate the thoughts that plague my mind every night when I’m lying in bed, unable to fall asleep. The visions of my father, dying in his hospital bed.

I only got to visit him once, see him struggling to breathe before they put him on the ventilator, but his frail body will forever be burned into my mind. I spent hours in his room, watching him unable to talk because all of his energy was spent just trying to keep himself alive.

I knew it would happen. It wasn’t a surprise when he was hospitalized—he’d been dealing with his chronic illness for as long as I can remember. It wasn’t even a surprise when he died. But, even though it wasn’t a surprise, it still hit me so hard I felt like my world was crumbling around me. Even though I hadn’t been able to talk to him for some time as he faded away in the months before his death, I still choked on my own tears when the doctors told us he had finally passed.

And I still can’t stop thinking about it—that day, those feelings. It’s strange, I feel like my body’s in some sort of limbo state, halfway between grieving and acting like everything is perfectly normal. I know that he’s dead, and I know that it’s a sad thing and that I should feel sad, and I do, in a way. But it’s a weird kind of sad that I couldn't have expected. I can’t explain the way I feel, but I know it is odd and it makes me feel like I’m not grieving properly, like I should feel worse. It makes me feel like an awful person, especially because my mother seems to be grieving in the typical way, withdrawing herself and crying quietly in her room at night. I know in my head that grief is different from person to person, that it messes with your mind, but I still feel like I’m not adequately feeling the emotions I should.

It’s hard for me to acknowledge his death, as well, because of the strange way my body seems to be reacting. Obviously, I know what death is, and I know that when a person dies they’re just gone, that they no longer exist, but I can’t quite wrap my head around the idea as it relates to my father. It’s like I’m trying to tell my mind he doesn’t exist anymore, he’s just gone, and my mind is asking me what the hell that means and how I am supposed to interpret it. I guess, in a way, I must be reaching the limits of what the human mind can handle—death is just such a vast concept that is full of so many unknowns that my puny little brain simply can’t understand what it really means.

Of course, I have my moments when I remember him and I end up crying, but even in those moments I’m not quite sure why I’m crying. I know I should be crying because my dad is dead, but it almost doesn’t feel like that’s actually the reason. It’s all so confusing, and I never know what to do with myself when I actually try to sort out how I’m feeling, or how I’m supposed to cope with the death of my dad. I think that’s probably why I go out of my way to avoid thinking about it. I just can’t make sense of it, and I’m not sure where to go from there.

All of this to say I appreciate the moments when my mind quiets down and takes a break from these feelings I can’t understand; and work out in order to chase those moments. It’s always so weird , coming out of these introspective moments and trying to brush off the fog that settles over my brain. It makes me feel like I’m piloting my own body from somewhere far above myself. I walk out of the gym shaking my head, trying to feel like myself again while my legs move in a jolted fashion, more akin to a robot than a human.

By the time I’m back at home, I feel like I’m back in my own body, ready to pretend I never had that moment of strangeness that came from thinking about my dad. I’m grateful, if only because it makes me confident that I can properly comfort my mother when I see her, hug her like I actually mean it and talk to her while actually thinking of what I’m going to say rather than reading off of some strange script I somehow know.

Chapter Text

“Jayce?”

“Hm?” I turn around in my swivel chair to face Viktor, who is currently tapping a piece of chalk against the giant blackboard in his study.

Shortly after, we began to work together more regularly in order to turn ideas and sketches into real technology. We decided his house—specifically his study—would be the best place to work. He has the whole house to himself, which means no explaining who I am to anyone, and no voices echoing through the rest of the house when we’re completely engrossed in the details of a project. He also has an absolutely massive blackboard, which is usually completely covered in complicated equations and theoretical problems that may arise with each invention.

“Have you been working out?”

The question catches me completely off guard, a reaction that is becoming increasingly rare as I work more with Viktor and get used to the way he talks, which is usually straight to the point with no fluff.

“Why do you ask?”

“Well, I just noticed that you fill out the shirts that you wear much more than you did when we first met, and you’ve grown fairly bulky.”

He speaks as though he’s simply reading out observations from an experiment, with a completely monotonous tone and a bored expression. No—not bored. Just blank. His usual blank expression.

“Yeah, I have, I actually started working out right after meeting you.”

Now why the hell would I say that? He doesn’t need to know that, doesn’t need to know that I felt unsafe, weak, small after meeting him— because of meeting him. He doesn’t need to know anything even close to that. Obviously I’m still weak to his pretty privilege, and stupid little comments slip out before I can catch my tongue. But I’m getting better. I’m slowly beginning to act like more of a normal person around him, pretty face or not.

He doesn’t say anything else, and I start to wonder why he would ask me that. He does that sometimes, asks me completely random questions and then doesn’t continue the conversation after he’s gotten a satisfactory answer. It’s a habit I find myself wishing he didn’t have, because all it does is leave me longing for a glimpse into his mind, the thoughts that are swirling around in that genius brain of his.

An alarm goes off, loud and brash, startling both of us so badly our rolly chairs crash together, exploding into motion toward each other when we both kicked out in the opposite direction. It’s still going off as we both recover from the jarring sensation of crashing into another person, and Viktor is patting his pockets frantically.

“Jesus, what is that alarm for and why the hell does it need to be that loud?” I complain, rubbing the back of my head where it hit Viktor’s chair.

“Fuck, I totally forgot it was a Wednesday,” he curses, finally shutting off the alarm.

“What’s so special about Wednesdays?” I inquire, leaning toward him.

“None of your business, you nosy pest,” he flicks his hand at me as if shooing away a fly.

“Hey!” I frown, a little hurt. 

I thought in the three months we had been working together, we had become a little closer, at least close enough for me to know a little more about his personal life. I mean, I do hang out in his house nearly every day, after all.

“I’ll be back in like… ten minutes.”

He stands up, grabs his cane, and hobbles out of the study, effectively shutting the conversation down. Curious, my eyes follow his figure until they can’t anymore, and I stand up quietly, ready to follow him.

“And don’t even think about following me to snoop!” he calls, his voice distant already.

Of course he would have heard me stand up. I slump back into my chair heavily, turning back to my notes.

Fifteen minutes later, he limps back into the room, a noticeable difference in his stride pattern, as if his good leg hurts. I don’t question him for fear of seeing the ugly side of his words once again, but I store this information in the back of my mind, ready to bring up in a different conversation, at a different point in time.

—

I’m flexing in the mirror with my shirt off, something that’s become a bit of a habit before taking a shower for me. It’s interesting to see my progress, especially after starting testosterone and really beginning to bulk up. My biceps are certainly growing, as are my shoulders and my back. I also definitely have abs now, the definition in my stomach standing out much more than it ever has before. It feels like a rush of euphoria, an insane ego boost every time I see more progress being made in my strength journey. Every new muscle popping out feels like an insecurity getting crushed beneath my feet, and I’m thriving living off of my gender euphoria. It’s also definitely helpful that the more I work out, especially when focusing on chest exercises, the smaller my chest gets, fat being replaced by tighter, leaner muscle.

“Do you check yourself out in the mirror every day before showering? That can’t possibly be good for your ego,” a voice sounds from behind me, a very familiar accent clinging onto every word.

My face goes bright red, and I immediately cover my chest with my arms, curling in on myself before whirling around to face Viktor.

“What the hell, ” I spit at him, flames of anger burning hot in my stomach.

This is the first time I have found myself really, truly, furious at him.

“The first time you broke into my room was something I could brush off, but this is way too fucking far. Get the fuck out of my room. What the hell were you thinking, coming in here and looking at me when you knew I was half naked!” I shout.

Words cannot express the amount of rage I’m currently feeling, definitely worsened by my somewhat recent starting of testosterone. I literally want to hurt him, wrap my hands around his throat.

Oh, god, what am I thinking? I hate what these hormones are doing to me, messing with all of my emotions and making me too impulsive and too angry and too hot.

“Okay, I’m sorry, I really didn’t think you were going to react this way!” he turns around quickly, a hint of fear in his voice.

“Seriously? This is the least you should’ve expected! I mean, what the fuck! ” I cry, still absolutely enraged at him.

He doesn’t get to see my naked body, the worst parts of myself, the things not even I can look at from time to time. He doesn’t get that part of me. Nobody does. No one will ever deserve it. He doesn’t deserve it .

“I’m really sorry! I don’t know what I was thinking, really! I promise!” 

He is still facing away from me, and I throw a shirt on before he can turn around and get another eyeful.

“Yeah, that much is fucking obvious,” I snarl, walking over to him with heavy steps and pushing his back. “Get the fuck out of my house. I don’t want to see you here, ever again.”

“I’m leaving, I’m leaving!” 

He scrambles toward the open window, obviously where he got in from.

“I mean it. Look at me, Viktor,” I demand.

He turns around, eyes locking on mine. It’s almost enough for me to take back all I’ve already said, to just jump into his arms and kiss the stupid, worried look straight off his face. Almost .

“Do. not. come here again. Ever. Am I being clear?” 

My voice is made of flames, it is stone cold. It is unflinchingly hard, it is sharp as diamond. And it strikes Viktor, his understanding written plainly across his expression.

“Yes.”

And he is gone, just a whisper in the morning air. I am nearly convinced the entire interaction never happened, but the fire still licking at my insides assures me it was real.