Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Jayce.”

Warmth. That’s what he notices first. 

Slowly returning to the surface of consciousness, he feels warmth on his shoulder. 

“ Jayce .”

Pressure. Pleasant. Also on his shoulder. 

“I will splash water on your face, Talis.” 

His eyes snap open. 

He’s confused. He heard threatening words, but the face that comes into focus is far from threatening - wisps of brown curls, sharp cheekbones, a smattering of moles that look like unmapped constellations. Amber eyes that match the lamplight, like warmed honey. 

Any tension in Jayce’s chest releases, and a smile slips over his face. Despite those strangely threatening words from earlier, this is the warmest, comfiest, safest he’s ever felt. Probably. Maybe that’s just the sleep talking.  

Above him, the thin line of a mouth quirks into a smirk. 

“Finally,” his lab partner says. “He wakes”.  

“What time is it?” Jayce rubs his eyes. He would sit up, but he realizes Viktor is sitting by his hip on the shitty office couch Jayce is stretched out on. He doesn’t want to accidentally knock Viktor off the couch with his sleep-addled limbs. 

“Late. Early. One of those.” Viktor says with the wave of a hand. “I don’t trust you with a soldering iron at this hour. We should go home. Rest. Return tomorrow.” Viktor uses his cane to pull himself up, then turns and offers Jayce a hand. 

Jayce takes it, following this charade that Viktor could pull Jayce’s giant form to his feet. He yawns. 

“You sure?” Jayce asks. “I just need a coffee and I’ll be ready.” He yawns again. “Two coffees.”

There’s a wry chuckle from Viktor, but Jayce knows his partner considered his offer for a good half-second. “You get sloppy when you are sleepy,” Viktor says, grabbing his coat from the hanger and passing Jayce his. “No point in burning yourself.” 

Jayce snorts, nestling his head into his coat like it’s a balled up blanket. He is sleepy. Viktor clearly didn’t wake him up after the agreed upon thirty minute nap. Traitor. 

“Fine,” he resigns himself to the necessity of rest. “We go home for five hours of sleep. Maybe six.” 

They shuffle towards the door, Jayce still drowsy, Viktor leaning on his cane a little more than usual at the late hour. 

“Remind me why I can’t just sleep here?” Jayce says around another yawn as Viktor turns to lock up the lab. 

“Because,” Viktor says, fishing for his keys, “that is my couch -”

“That I bought!” Jayce interjects. 

“For me.” Viktor counters. “If I can’t sleep on it, no one can.” 

“We could have shared,” Jayce grumbles, but the thread of this conversation is already slipping away from him like a leaf floating down a winding river. His drowsy eyes drift to Viktor’s hands, slender fingers nimbly catching the proper key and turning the lock. Skilled hands, Jayce thinks. Viktor’s fingers always move with precision, a deliberate dance with pens and chalk, keys and pliers. 

Delicate but strong. 

Beautiful. 

Huh . 

Jayce shakes the thought out of his head. It must be the crack of dawn for thoughts this…reverential. About hands, of all things. Gods, he needs sleep.

Luckily, it’s not a far walk to Viktor’s Academy housing, or Jayce’s own apartment from there. In the cover of night and the glow of the lamp posts, Jayce’s eyes keep drifting back to Viktor’s hands. He’s still thinking about them when his head finally hits the pillow. And if the slender beauty of Viktor’s hands follows him into his dreams, Jayce insists he doesn’t remember.  

*** *** *** 

The lab door is unlocked and the smell of coffee grounds wafts through the air when Jayce returns after his five (and a half) hours of sleep. 

He already feels more alert, refreshed. Coffee can only help with that. 

“How are you already here?” Jayce asks, hanging up his coat just as Viktor tips the last spoonful of coffee into the pot, knocking off any final grounds with a firm tap. “I thought we agreed on six hours of sleep.”

“Five was plenty,” Viktor replies. “For you too, it seems. Coffee will be ready soon.” His fingers turn the edge of the bag over and over on itself with precision, so no air can ‘corrupt the potency’, as Viktor likes to complain when Jayce inevitably does it wrong. His fingers are meticulous but gentle. 

What would those fingers feel like in Jayce’s hair? 

Jayce freezes. Where did that come from? Maybe he’s not as awake as he thought. 

“I’m - uh - going to get a start on soldering.” Jayce moves towards the other side of the workshop. Can you bring me a cup when it’s ready?”

Clearly he still needs it. 

***

Jayce eventually puts aside the soldering, grabbing his notebook to refine some prototype sketches. Hunched over his notes, his mind races, pencil barely keeping up with his train of thought. 

Finally, once he’s sure he captured the bare bones of the idea before it’s escaped him, Jayce tucks the pencil behind his ear and rolls his shoulder with a groan. He really should stop curling into a tense ball when inspiration strikes - does he really think that much better with his nose all but pressed against the page - 

A mug of black coffee slides next to his notebook. 

“Thanks, V,” Jayce turns, smiling at his partner. Viktor sips from his own mug cradled between both hands, a mug that Jayce knows contains a sickeningly sweet concoction that barely counts as coffee. A tuft of brown hair flops across Viktor’s forehead mid-sip. He smiles through the drooping bangs at Jayce.

“It might be a little cold. It was ready earlier, but I did not want to…interrupt.” Viktor says. 

Jayce can’t seem to look away from the hair over Viktor’s eyes. He is usually so put together and deliberate about how he presents himself, as though his buttoned shirts and pressed slacks are a suit of armor that defend him from Piltover’s prejudice. Something about this wisp, about Viktor seeming unbothered by a visible imperfection around Jayce makes his throat tighten. It feels vulnerable. A chink in the armor that Viktor doesn’t hasten to hide. 

Before he realizes what he’s doing, Jayce’s fingers stretch out, moving to tuck the stray hair behind Viktor’s ear. 

“There you go,” Jayce says. 

And immediately blushes. 

What was that?! Viktor’s eyes widen, but with his cane propped against the desk and both hands wrapped around his mug, he can’t really escape. He must have been waiting a while for Jayce to finish writing before passing the coffee. 

Should Jayce apologize??? Won’t apologizing make this more awkward?? He’s always been impulsive and affectionate, but that wasn’t exactly lab-partner-like behavior - 

“Thanks,” Viktor says softly, shocking Jayce out of his panic. “My hands were full”. He lifts the mug for emphasis. 

“Uh, yeah, any time.” Jayce hurriedly takes a gulp of his own coffee. He prays the caffeine will kick in soon. Whatever these drowsy late night lab thoughts are, he needs to chase them away fast. The sun is up. No time for dreaming about slender fingers or wisps of hair or how that hair might flop down over Viktor’s eyes again if he leaned to whisper in Jayce’s ear, or press his lips against Jayce’s throat - 

Jayce chokes on another gulp of coffee as it goes down the wrong pipe. 

“Jayce?” Viktor asks. The concern in his voice makes Jayce’s stomach feel light and his cheeks flush. He reassures himself that while Viktor is brilliant and observant, he can not read minds. 

“All good,” Jayce flashes a weak smile, draining the rest of his coffee. “I’m gonna pour another cup. Do you want some?”

He’s halfway to the kitchenette before Viktor can respond. 

*** *** ***

Time passes. The distracting thoughts don’t disappear.

If anything, they get worse. 

It’s as though something woke up inside of him. And now that it’s awake, Jayce can’t seem to shut that part of his brain off. 

With a growing sense of panic, Jayce begins to notice how much he touches Viktor. 

Little moments, careless brushes: claps on the shoulder, nudges for emphasis, steadying arms. More trusting moments too, like when Viktor lets him adjust his back brace or replace padding in his leg brace. 

Before, Jayce barely noticed the contact. He’s a friendly guy, he’s affectionate with all his friends, with Caitlin, with his mom - but now, after whatever-this-is started - his brain perverts every brush, every glance, any moment of contact. It makes him cringe. He can’t shut it off. 

These thoughts come unbidden at the most random moments. He’ll glance up from his notes and see Viktor across the lab at his workbench with his back turned, using the magnifying glass to adjust prototype parts. He’s focused, professional, the same way he’s been every day Jayce has known him - except now Jayce wants to roll his chair over and pull Viktor into his lap. Wrap his arms around Viktor’s waist. Bury his face in the crook of Viktor’s neck. 

He’s suddenly aware of how slender Viktor is, all sharp angles and long limbs, achingly beautiful - brilliant. Jayce can appreciate his lab partner’s brilliant mind, right? It’s not a crime to appreciate his lab partner.  

Except Jayce knows these new thoughts, this new… awareness of Viktor is not exactly professional. 

For example: Jayce has always passed Viktor a rag when his partner removes his goggles after a failed experiment or when he absentmindedly leaves a streak of grease on his forehead after pushing his hair out of his eyes. 

It’s considerate. Jayce knows it’s important to keep lab tools clean. And isn’t Viktor one of the most valuable assets in the lab? 

It’s just that these days, instead of passing the rag, Jayce wants to brush any offending oil grease off of Viktor’s forehead - cheek - eyebrow - lips - with his thumb. 

Wants to press his lips to those spots, too. 

Jayce doesn’t know where these thoughts come from. Why they keep bubbling to the surface unbidden at the most innocuous and mundane moments. 

One especially humiliating moment happens roughly two months in. It’s late spring. Maybe that’s why it happens - the warm weather? Not that the why matters. 

It’s the what that causes problems. 

They’re working side by side this afternoon. Jayce quickly learned that this was the best way to maintain his productivity - keeping Viktor out of his line of sight minimized the number of distracting fantasies. Occasionally their elbows might brush together as they work side-by-side, but Jayce refuses to pervert those moments through sheer force of will. 

He still remembers the days when Viktor kept everyone at arm’s length. 

The fact that Viktor no longer minds working side-by-side in such close proximity was a hard-earned victory for Jayce. He wasn’t sure what happened during Viktor’s Zaunite childhood, but he had started their partnership like a feral cat, wary and distant. Jayce had worked so hard to win him over, coax him out with warm smiles and avoiding sudden movements. He even learned how to make sweetmilk, bribing the kid at Benzo’s scrap shop to supply him with the Undercity spice blend Jayce couldn’t replicate in Piltover. He’d left these offerings for Viktor, slowly won him over with science and smiles, patience and warmth. 

These days, any time Viktor’s elbow bumps against his arm, or Viktor holds out an impatient hand, wordlessly waiting for Jayce to pass the right tool, Jayce’s heart sings. 

Earning this comfort, this trust, was one of Jayce Talis’s proudest achievements. 

But this newly-awakened beast inside him keeps jeopardizing that. 

On that fateful spring day, Jayce glances up, about to ask Viktor a question. 

But the words sputter and die in this throat.

At some point, Viktor had rolled up the maroon sleeves of his shirt to his elbows. Suddenly transfixed, Jayce is too mesmerized by those lean forearms to even feel embarrassed. Viktor isn’t muscular like Jayce, but he is still strong in his own way. Dexterous. What he lacks in brute force he more than makes up for in intricate skill. Arms like those - persistent, nimble, slender but firm - what would they feel like between Jayce’s legs, running up his thighs, sliding towards his - 

Jayce takes a sharp breath. Digs his nails into his palm. 

But it’s too late. 

There’s a heat rushing to his face and elsewhere. 

He tears his face away from those forearms, forcing himself to stare at the forgotten scribbles in his notebook. He cradles his face with his hands, trying to play the pose off as puzzling through equations, when in reality he’s just struggling to block Viktor’s body from his peripheral vision. Jayce tries to breathe slowly, praying that this will get the bulge in his pants to disappear faster. 

Gods, this is embarrassing. These are not professional thoughts. 

Hot shame and guilt fester in Jayce’s stomach. These thoughts, these wants - they scare Jayce. He knows they are a betrayal of Viktor’s trust. He’s a terrible lab partner. He’s a terrible friend. 

And yet, even though Jayce logically knows this, the beast within him continues to bare its teeth, demanding more, craving more, conjuring more each time Jayce refuses to act on its impulses. It’s a new feeling. 

Jayce has had lovers, sure. He knows people find him attractive, and if they are kind and caring, if he feels safe with them, Jayce doesn’t mind taking them to bed. Sex is fun. He likes making people feel good. But Jayce has rarely desired. Has rarely been distracted by desire. And never for someone who started out as a friend. 

This is new and strange and, Jayce thinks, terribly confusing. And it makes him feel guilty. The last thing he wants is for Viktor to think Jayce had secret ulterior motives from the start of their partnership. His friendship with Viktor, the way he touches Viktor - none of that was ever meant to be lustful. But this new creature in him whispers in his ear, cooing that he could pervert any of these moments if he was just brave enough. 

Jayce often wonders which sound is louder, the horny fantasies whispered in his ears or the crashing waves of guilt that slam his mind immediately after. 

It’s a miracle he gets any work done in the lab. 

Chapter Text

In what most of Piltover would consider a stunning turn of events, the city’s Golden Boy, (co-)inventor of Hextech, recently-promoted Councilor, and Man of Progress Jayce Talis is not basking in the spotlight at tonight’s ball. 

Context, though, is key. 

The event in question is not some political soirée or council ball designed for striking deals over canapés with the city’s elite. The event in question is, in fact, Piltover Academy’s End of Year Ball, full of well-dressed students and faculty chaperones celebrating the end of the academic year in a large garden courtyard beneath the astronomy tower. They dance and drink and chatter amongst strung up lanterns and decorative topiary. 

But Piltover’s Golden Boy does not throw himself into the fray. Jayce made his social rounds when he arrived fashionably late, all glowing smiles and social graces. Now, he’s tucked away in an unsuspecting corner, nestled between some decorative shrubbery and his ally for the night. 

Jayce’s new friend has a heavy pour. He appreciates her for it. If he has to tackle this party alone, he may as well be pleasantly buzzed. 

“Thank you for your service,” Jayce says with one of his winning smiles, raising his glass to his newfound friend, long marble hair cascading from her shoulders, champagne tumbling from a shell she holds perched atop a three-tiered throne. 

Jayce Talis has parked himself next to a mermaid champagne fountain, one of several positioned around the ballroom perimeter. 

Jayce shakes his head with a rueful smile. “Can’t believe he stood me up,” he mutters. He thought he’d actually convinced Viktor to attend this one. 

He’d dropped hints about the Academy Ball over the last few weeks, reminding Viktor of the upcoming date. He knew Viktor did best with routines, with events he could anticipate. And earlier today at the lab, he had made his final pitch, using that winning smile and public speaking prowess to make his most important pitch yet: that Viktor go to the Academy Ball. 

“C’mon V,” he had said, giving his best puppy dog eyes. “This one will be fun!” Viktor, meanwhile, just rolled his eyes and returned to the chalkboard. “Think about it,” Jayce had said to the side of Viktor’s head. 

“I’m working, Jayce,” Viktor replied with a dismissive flick of his wrist.

“This one’s different,” Jayce had said, and then grabbed the chalk out of Viktor’s hand. 

Viktor swiped for the chalk, but Jayce held it high above his head, just out of reach. 

“ Jayce, ” Viktor growled, but Jayce had known it held little malice. 

“You’re not working now,” he had pointed out cheerfully, “so hear me out.” Viktor had muttered something under his breath that Jayce decided meant something like ‘loveable idiot’ in his lab partner’s native language. “This isn’t a council event,” he pointed out. “It’s hosted by the Academy. You like the Academy.”

“When they approve our funding requests,” Viktor had admitted begrudgingly. 

“And you like me,” Jayce reminded him, doing his best to dazzle Viktor with another winning smile. “We’d actually get to spend time together! And you like the Academy students.”

“Debatable,” Viktor retorted, but - Jayce noted triumphantly - with the hint of a smile. 

“No councilors, no politics. I won’t have to be diplomatic or polished. We can just hang out like we used to.” He smiled again, softer. He could see the resistance wavering in Viktor’s auburn eyes. “Like our Distinguished Innovator days. Just you, me, and a bunch of drunk science nerds.” 

“Speak for yourself,” Viktor retorted with a wry smile. “I never get drunk.”

“But you could, ” Jayce grinned. “With me. I’d look out for you.” Viktor had made a half-hearted jump for the chalk then, but Jayce stood on his toes. He cocked his head, still grinning.

“I will consider it,” Viktor had said, with a pointed look at the chalk Jayce still held above his head. 

“For you I’d drink responsibly,” Jayce made one last offer. 

“I said I will consider it,” Viktor said, and held out his hand. 

“Stop by my place at six-thirty and we can head over together,” Jayce had said, and finally returned the chalk. 

It had felt promising then. A potential victory. Viktor wavering. Jayce had really hoped Viktor would actually come to this one. They both know that if Viktor doesn’t want to do something, Jayce won’t actually force it, no matter how much he might want it. 

And in the end, Viktor hadn’t come. 

It’s just Jayce and his champagne glass. And the boozy mermaid fountain. 

Thank the gods for her. Jayce takes another long drink from his glass. 

He misses Viktor. Tonight would be better with him. Jayce wishes they could commiserate together through quick glances and stolen grimaces when undergraduates start fawning a little too much, hands lingering a little too long, standing a little too close. Without Viktor, alcohol blurs those details instead, helps Jayce keep those observations pleasantly out-of-focus. Not quite as well as Viktor’s friendly mockery and sly remarks would, but Jayce supposes beggars can’t be picky.

Most people assume that Jayce must thrive in the center of attention. 

That couldn’t be further from the truth. Jayce always feels awkward and out of place, like an understudy shoved onstage for a role he’s expected to perform. He can perform, say the lines and say them well, but he’d rather be backstage. Back in the lab. Back with Viktor, who cares about innovation and progress and helping others. Viktor, who bluntly says what he means and doesn’t dance around it in obscure codes or shrouded intentions. Gods, Jayce really misses the lab. 

At least this event is full of other socially awkward science nerds, even if he can feel some of their stares lingering as long as those of Piltover politicians. 

So Jayce resigns himself to do his best to have fun without Viktor, aided by flute after flute of champagne that glides by on silver trays and refills dipped into the elaborate marble mermaid fountain he discovered in the corner. 

Without councilors or his lab partner here, there’s no need to stay sober. 

By his third drink, he’s forgetting his forlorn mood. 

By his fifth, he’s confiding in the champagne mermaid. 

“It shouldn’t bother me that he’s not here,” he tells her, scooping another full glass from her cascading bubbles. “I know it’s not about me.” 

He’d told himself that earlier too, when he’d waited for Viktor in his apartment. He’d put on his dark green suit, styled his hair, sprayed some cologne, all while waiting for Viktor to knock on the door and admit he decided to come. The clock had crept to fifteen, thirty, forty-five minutes past Jayce’s proposed meeting time. The flicker of hope in his chest finally sputtered out at fifty-seven minutes. It’s not about you, he had reminded himself as he locked his door. He doesn’t like crowds and parties. 

“He doesn’t like crowds and parties,” he reminds the stone statue now. 

The champagne does little to mask the dull sting of disappointment still simmering in his chest. 

By his seventh drink, Jayce has formed a deep and trusting friendship with the marble countess of champagne. 

“You’re a really good listener,” Jayce slurs to the mermaid’s mirthful smile. “I feel like I can tell you anything, y’know?” She smiles in agreement. Champagne gurgles pleasantly. 

“If Viktor can’t be here, I’m glad I’ve got you,” Jayce says, leaning his elbow against the fountain edge as he tops off the glass in his other hand. “Plus, I can talk with you about stuff I can’t tell Viktor.” 

He glances around cautiously. His mermaid friend is one of several staged around the outdoor ballroom. Academy students and faculty are dancing or at the buffet or milling about tables on the other side of the dance floor. He is alone. Safe from prying non-stone eyes and nosy gossips. 

“Can I tell you a secret?” Jayce whispers in the mermaid’s marble ear, just to be extra safe. He has to stand on his tippy-toes to reach her. This way he can avoid any chances of someone overhearing his most closely guarded secret. 

“I’m not having professional thoughts.”

She stares blankly ahead. 

“About Viktor,” Jayce clarifies when the statue does not react. “My lab partner.” 

The mermaid patiently waits for him to continue. Jayce feels a wave of gratitude for her, that she’s letting him get this off his chest in such a judgement-free way. He’s pretty sure that Cait would laugh at him. Which is exactly why he hasn’t talked to her about this yet. 

“I’m not sure when it started,” he says quietly, looking out at the oblivious Academy students dancing in the distance. “It’s like one day I woke up with a chem-baron Yordle whispering distracting thoughts in my head. Really distracting thoughts.” 

It’s like a switch flipped in his brain. For months now, he can’t stop noticing Viktor’s body. Can’t stop noticing those wisping brown curls, those sharp cheekbones, the smattering of moles scattered across his body like unmapped constellations, those narrow hips - 

“Don’t make me say that out loud,” Jayce groans, looking up at the mermaid pleadingly. “You’re a statue. You can read minds. I’ve decided that you can read minds. Those are the rules now, because saying this out loud is hard, okay? Just read my mind when I’m quiet for too long, yeah?” She smiles in agreement. Jayce is grateful. “Also, I’m embarrassed to talk about my boner problem out loud.” 

Those unprofessional thoughts keep leading to equally unprofessional boners. 

But he can’t stop noticing Viktor. Can’t stop reacting to any brush of contact like it’s a jolt of electricity, one that sparks a slow warmth and spreads through his body like honeyed wine. He’s getting half-hard right now thinking about the time he’d started fantasizing about Viktor after he rolled his Academy uniform up to his elbows. Started fantasizing because of forearms . 

The memory unfurls around him again, hazy around the edges but with Viktor in sharp focus. Viktor, with his rolled up maroon sleeves, looked every bit the brilliant inventor. Viktor isn’t muscular like Jayce, but he is still strong in his own way. Dextrous. What he lacks in brute force he more than makes up for in intricate skill. Arms like those - persistent, nimble, slender but firm - what would they feel like between Jayce’s legs, running up his thighs, sliding towards his - 

Jayce had taken a sharp breath. Dug his nails into his palm. 

But it was too late. 

Heat had rushed towards his face and elsewhere. It’s rushing there again now, invited back by those imagined memories. 

“Shut up,” Jayce blurts out. He can feel those stone eyes laughing at him. He waves his hand dismissively in her general direction. “You don’t get it, you’re made of stone. You’ve never struggled with boners.” 

His own laugh comes out as a snort as he shakes his head. Gods, why does it feel so good to admit this to someone? 

He can also feel the guilt seeping into his veins like poison again. “I’m a terrible friend,” Jayce whispers. “Every boner is a betrayal of trust.” He squeezes his eyes shut, tears threatening to leak through. 

Jayce doesn’t normally get like this. Distracted. Ogling. It’s happened a couple of times over his life, but usually it’s instant, a lovestruck kind of infatuation. Like Mel. Jayce was smitten with her from the moment she’d stumbled across him and Viktor breaking into Heimerdnger’s lab. He’d been distracted by her instantly, tongue-tied and struggling with intelligent discussion around her beauty from the beginning. He didn’t even hear Viktor’s hasty excuse for why they’d been sneaking around in the dark that night. 

So, yeah, Jayce had felt this kind of way about people before. 

Rarely, but it did happen. 

“It’s just, usually it’s instant,” he puzzles aloud, the gurgle of the champagne fountain covering his words. “I’ve never felt this way for someone who started out as a friend.” 

The guilt gnaws at him again. His palms get sweaty. He considers vomiting. 

Jayce wants Viktor to trust him. It’s all he’s ever wanted - Viktor’s approval, Viktor’s trust, Viktor’s friendship. Ever since they first met, when Jayce realized Viktor’s mind understood his vision, and that Viktor might be more brilliant than him. He’s always been in love with Viktor’s mind, in an intellectual sort of way. It’s just at some point the academic appreciation became eclipsed by a very physical kind of…infatuation. 

He’s terrified Viktor will one day wake up able to read minds and be horrified by Jayce’s recent string of unprofessional thoughts. He’s terrified his friend will think Jayce had secret horny ulterior motives from the start. 

“Which I didn’t!” Jayce knows he’s too loud, but he wants to drown out his light-headed panic. Jayce is a friendly guy. He’s always been carelessly affectionate. Before, those small touches with Viktor were about building friendship and trust. He’s affectionate with all of his friends, his colleagues, with his mom, with Caitlyn - 

“Oh no, what if I start having thoughts like this about Caitlyn?” Jayce groans in horror. “About Heimerdinger ?” He buries his face in his hands. 

“Touch is trust.” Jayce whispers through his fingers. “Or it was. Until my brain broke.” 

The guilt sinks its fangs deeper. 

Because Jayce is all too familiar with others taking liberties with his body, whether imagined or acted upon. 

In fact, it often feels like Viktor is the only one who doesn’t care about Jayce’s body.

It was something he’d been grateful for, until recently. Everyone else - politicians, strangers, students, elderly grandmothers at the market - seems drawn to him as if by some magnetic force. In public, Jayce always faces a steady stream of absentminded fingers brushing, bodies leaning close, lips whispering - treating Jayce with a familiarity that makes him want to crawl out of his skin. 

But Viktor, so single-mindedly focused on their research, Viktor from the Undercity, where physical proximity promised more pain than pleasure - Viktor gives Jayce’s body space to breathe . 

At first, Jayce was relieved. For once, in the safety of their lab was someone for whom Jayce’s body wasn’t a distraction, wasn’t something coveted with a sense of entitlement. If anything, Viktor scolded his large frame for blocking the chalkboard, or for taking up too much of the couch when they both wanted to grab a quick nap before the sunrise brought an end to their all-nighters. 

Jayce was grateful that Viktor ignored his body, he really was. 

“It’s just that…well…if anyone’s gonna…have… access… to my body,” Jayce cringes at the phrasing, “I wouldn’t mind if it was Viktor.” 

He can feel his ears turn pink beneath the statue’s all-knowing smile. 

“But it doesn’t matter,” he tells her, “because Viktor isn’t interested.”

It doesn’t matter what Jayce does - high-five Viktor, sling an arm around his shoulder, lean over the crook of his neck to read Viktor’s chalkboard equations, invade his personal space for a hug after a breakthrough - Viktor always seems thoroughly unaffected. 

Several times Jayce has panicked, worrying his touches make Viktor’s stomach seize up just like his did when a member of Piltover’s merchant guild grabbed his ass during a council soirée. But Viktor never seems revolted or repulsed or uncomfortable. He accepts Jayce’s affection and then just…moves on. No hitched breath or glazed eyes. No gaze lingering too long. No tell-tale hardness in his pants (and Jayce would know, he checks sometimes). 

Jayce groans and glances back up at the mermaid. “Thanks,” he slurs, “for listening to me and my broken brain.” She stares serenely ahead. His eyes follow her marble line of sight, through the dancing crowd until spotting a new figure. 

Jayce’s champagne-laced body has two very different reactions in quick succession. 

First: Warmth. His heart expands, a smile breaks across his face. “He’s here,” he whispers. Jayce is sure he’s never felt this happy before in his life. There, in the distance, carving a path through dancing academics, is Viktor. He’s traded his Academy uniform for a suit of pale grey and a gauzy shirt that reveals his sharp collar bones. He’s breathtaking and beautiful and here - 

Second: Panic. He’s here . 

This is bad. Very, very bad. 

Jayce squeezes his eyes shut. Counts to five (well, he tries to count to five but gets stuck at three twice) and opens his eyes again. Viktor is still there. Still hopelessly wonderful, and getting closer with each passing second. 

Jayce watches, mesmerized, alternating between joy and panic, until Viktor stands before him.

“You’re a hard man to find, Jayce Talis.” Joy overwhelms Jayce. Viktor was looking for him. Viktor is here because of him!

“Viktor!” Jayce yells, throwing his arms around Viktor. His body is pure light and champagne and happiness. The warmth in his chest spreads to his smile, to his fingertips, to his groin - 

Uh oh. 

Jayce lurches away from Viktor and immediately sits on the ground, knees up by his chest. Hopefully Viktor didn’t see anything, didn’t feel Jayce’s desire - 

“Jayce?” Viktor asks, head cocked, looking down at him and haloed in starlight. 

Jayce is trapped in an unfortunate predicament. This was not the plan. 

If Jayce had known Viktor was coming, he could have kept his promise and stayed sober so they could hang out. So that he could reset his brain and focus on their friendship instead of wanting to throw himself at Viktor. At most, he would have gotten pleasantly buzzed. 

But, assuming he’d be on his own for the evening, Jayce had befriended that stupid champagne fountain and become - how would Cait’s girlfriend put it? 

Trashed. 

Except now Viktor is here after all. 

“This was not the plan,” Jayce says, words slurring slightly as Viktor’s mouth quirks up into a smile. Jayce’s chest feels close to bursting. He needs to stop staring at Viktor’s lips.

“Oh?” Viktor asks. “There was a plan?”

“Obviously,” Jayce says, rolling his eyes and praying he’s the only one aware of how his pants are tenting against his will right now. It’s just that smirk - those exposed collarbones - the way he wants to pull those sleeves off Viktor’s shoulders and run his hands over that exposed skin - 

Oh gods. Too much. Jayce squeezes his eyes shut and struggles to breathe deeply. Prays the throbbing in his groin will subside. 

He feels a pressure on his shoulder, hears a slight groan. Jayce cracks open one eye, and realizes Viktor has lowered himself onto the ground next to Jayce, his bad leg stretched out in front of them. They’re sitting side-by-side now, shoulders brushing. It takes every ounce of Jayce’s drunken self-control not to rest his head in the crook of Viktor’s neck. 

“You had a glorious plan?” Viktor prompts, and Jayce tears his gaze away from Viktor’s wry smile, stares at the much-less-arousing grass in front of him. Jayce’s brain knows he cannot be aroused right now. His body, however…

“Yes, um,” Jayce shakes his hazy mind. “The plan. My plan. Plan One: you come - here! - you come here. We have the night of our lives. Plan Two,” he gives Viktor a pointed look, “was for if you stood me up. So I’ve been working on Plan Two.” 

Viktor smirks. “Stood you up?” He tests the words on his tongue. “Is that not for damsels abandoned by their suitors? You are not a damsel,” he points out. 

Jayce still blushes like one. “You know what I mean,” he says with a huff. “You’re late.”

Viktor has the decency to look guilty. 

“I was not sure I would come,” he admits, staring at his shoes, “but I am here now. As requested, I might add.” His eyes meet Jayce’s, which wandered back to Viktor's face again at some point against his drunken will. “What was Plan Two, exactly?”

“Uhhh…” Jayce doesn’t want to get called a drunk science nerd by his favorite sober science nerd. He discreetly reaches his arm above his head, dumping the last gulp of his drink back into the fountain. 

“Doesn’t matter now,” he says, getting to his feet and pulling Viktor up to join him. He threads his arm through Viktor’s, steering him away from any boozy incriminating evidence. “Let’s have some fun.” He loves the feel of Viktor’s chuckle reverberating through his arm and their touching shoulders. 

He can keep it together, right?

He’s drunk enough sober enough not to fuck this up, right?

Viktor is here! He’s here! Nothing can possibly go wrong. 

As they head into the crowd, Jayce tries to ignore the skeptical marble smirk burning into his back. 

Chapter Text

(Recommended listening for Viktor's grand entrance)

***

Viktor second-guesses coming every single second until he spots Jayce from across the room. He thought Jayce would be the center of attention discussing their research with curious students, or dancing, or any number of things except for standing by himself in a corner. 

Viktor is surprised by this, and equally surprised by the way his heart clenches at the sight of his lab partner. 

That clenched-heart feeling is why he ultimately decided to come tonight, after an hour of anxious pacing in front of his dingy mirror, feeling ridiculous and debating the pros and cons of actually forcing himself to show up to this thing. 

The cons list was long: stuffy Pilite fashion, feeling exposed like a live wire under judgemental gazes, a lack of accessible spaces to rest his leg, inevitably competing for Jayce’s attention - 

Competing. Viktor knows how ridiculous that sounds. He’s grown soft, dependent. It wasn’t until Jayce started attending more and more Council meetings and showing up to the lab less and less that Viktor could finally put a name to the hollow ache in his chest. 

He misses Jayce. 

He misses Jayce like a phantom limb when he isn’t in their lab and even when he is - distracted and staring off into space, his mind on amendments and policy briefs instead of Hextech and Viktor. Viktor knows it is a selfish ache. 

Who wouldn’t want to bask in Jayce Talis’s sunlight? Who wouldn’t want his mind working for their cause, making the impossible achievable in the lab or the forge or a councilperson’s chamber? Everyone clambers for Jayce’s attention, his time, his touch. It’s inevitable. Viktor doesn’t blame them - after all he’s no different. But nonetheless, he still resents Piltover for encroaching on something that had once felt sacred, and his alone. 

Viktor regrets his late arrival, knowing it will be hard to extract Jayce from the crowd of keen undergraduates and faculty. He searches the venue, slowly carving a path through the crowd, straining for a glimpse of bright eyes or broad shoulders. With a sinking feeling, Viktor scans the dance floor. Jayce promised to spend time with him here, but would he really pull himself away from some beautiful research assistant just for Viktor? He still can’t find Jayce. Can’t hear his laugh in the crowd. 

He does, however, feel his skin prickle from the stray looks of his colleagues. 

Viktor is from Zaun. He feels safest in shadow, out of sight and left to his own devices. He grips his cane tightly, praying none of the faculty will attempt small talk. 

Why did he let Jayce’s smile convince him to venture out here, open and exposed? 

Every con on that list laughs at him, loud and jeering and overwhelming - 

There. On the outskirts. By the fountain. 

Viktor is surprised to identify that Jayce looks sad and lonely rather than in the throng of the crowd. 

But then Jayce looks up and spots Viktor, and Viktor swears pure sunlight breaks across his lab partner’s face. 

Despite that revoltingly long cons list, Viktor had ultimately marched towards certain discomfort for this moment. 

Because the pros list was him.

Viktor makes his way across the dance floor, taking the most direct path and ignoring any waltzing collisions he causes. He takes the most efficient path to Jayce. To that smile. 

Viktor still doesn’t understand how someone with so much of Piltover’s promise and potential, someone made of hope and kindness and light, could look at Viktor - dark, sharp, broken Viktor - like he is worth celebrating. 

“Viktor!”

He forgets his slick opening line as soon as Jayce yells his name. He braces for the impact of Jayce’s hug like a toddler meeting a giant overzealous dog. The dull ache in Viktor’s chest eases in this embrace. 

Had Jayce been genuine with his invitation? Did he really only come to spend time with Viktor? 

Just as quickly, Jayce is suddenly on the ground, hugging his knees with a look on his face that Viktor struggles to identify. 

“Jayce?” Viktor asks, cocking his head. It didn’t look like a terribly comfortable position based on Jayce’s expression. 

“This was not the plan,” Jayce says, words messy, staring up at Viktor with wide eyes. 

Ah. The slurred words. The smell on his breath when they hugged. Viktor smiles. Jayce is inebriated. 

“Oh?” Viktor asks, hoping to assess exactly how drunk Jayce is. “There was a plan?” Jayce rolls his eyes with such force that his head lolls to the side. As Viktor prompts him to explain his vision for the night, he has to hold back a laugh. He’s never seen Jayce this drunk before. 

They rarely hang out socially after work hours, and even less so since Jayce’s rise to political prominence. The prospect of perfect Jayce this drunk is amusing. The man already wears his heart on his sleeve and has poor impulse control when sober. He’d get eaten alive in Zaun for his earnestness and naiveté. It’s one of many reasons Viktor has a soft spot for him. 

He lowers himself onto the grass beside Jayce. How ridiculously endearing will his lab partner be when he’s this drunk? It’s even funnier that Jayce seems embarrassed to be caught in this state. 

Viktor hopes Jayce is too tipsy to notice how he leans into his shoulder a little more than necessary. It’s indulgent, but Viktor’s jagged edges started to erode during his time working alongside Jayce, who conveys every emotion through some kind of contact. He’s felt Jayce’s absence even more acutely with the return of his solitary work days, finding himself missing Jayce’s tactile communication and open smile. It’s part of the hollow ache that haunts him constantly these days. But Viktor isn’t brave desperate enough to initiate that kind of touch, no matter how much he secretly misses it. 

“You know what I mean,” Jayce says, pulling Viktor back to reality. “You’re late.” 

Viktor stares at his feet, blushing. He can’t admit he was late because of all the time he wasted with self-doubt and indecision, hating himself as the clock ticked later and later, unable to ignore how much he wanted to be around Jayce, even if it was forgotten from the opposite end of a ballroom. 

“I was not sure I would come,” he says instead, “but I am here now. As requested, I might add.” He looks up, realizing how close his face is to Jayce’s. Jayce, whose wide eyes are locked on his own. Who seems to be leaning forward almost imperceptibly. The hollow ache in Viktor whines, urging him to lean forward, for their foreheads to touch, for - 

“What was Plan Two, exactly?” Viktor chokes out. The spell breaks. Jayce’s face screws up in concentration as he aims for the fountain and spills the last of his drink into the bushes behind them. Thank Janna he’s no longer looking at Viktor like he was a minute ago. How is it possible to miss someone so much while sitting right next to them? Viktor wishes he had someone to ask about this. But he doesn’t have anyone else. There’s only Jayce. 

And then Jayce is pulling Viktor to his feet, still mindful of Viktor’s bad leg and grabbing his cane, even in his drunken state. He grins at Viktor - dark, sharp, broken Viktor - and bathes him in sunlight. He threads his arm through Viktor’s, and they wobble back toward the crowd, led by Jayce’s tipsy sense of direction. His poor balance has him leaning against Viktor more than usual, and Viktor finds the warmth, the pressure - it feels nice. Good. Too good.

Chapter Text

Jayce pulls Viktor towards the crowd with no real plan, just the hope that he can keep Viktor’s arm threaded through his for as long as possible. The slim warmth of Viktor feels so nice against his side. He’s sure he’s grinning like an idiot. Maybe he can give Viktor a tour of the venue? They can keep walking like this for all of that - but would all that walking bother V’s leg - 

“Hello boys!” He’s jolted from his planning by Heimerdinger, sporting a ridiculously large bowtie. They make small talk with the Yordle professor, but Jayce is too busy basking in the warm glow in his cheeks because Viktor’s hand is still on his arm (!!!) to pay attention. Viktor isn’t embarrassed to chat with their supervisor arm in arm like this? Holy shit. Jayce’s heart sings. 

Viktor chuckles, the (very beautiful) sound bringing Jayce back to the conversation. 

“Huh?” Jayce asks. 

“I was just saying,” Heimerdinger pipes up, “how happy I am to see you both here and modeling a healthy work-life balance for our younger students.” Jayce and Viktor glance at each other and snort. 

“We’re hardly good role models, professor,” Jayce points out. 

“I’m not even healthy,” Viktor jokes, gesturing towards his leg.

“Hey there,” Jayce says, pointing a warning finger right at Viktor’s nose, “don’t talk about my lab partner that way”. Viktor’s eyes flick up to meet Jayce’s, and now they’re laughing in earnest, leaning against each other, only Jayce’s still-pointed finger separating their faces . Viktor’s eyes are huge in Jayce’s vision, crinkling with laughter. He can see the flecks of gold in their honeyed glow, warmed by laughter. He loves Viktor like this, at ease and smiling. 

Kiss him, the chem-baron Yordle in his brain whispers. 

Heimerdinger is right there, Jayce struggles to remind himself.

He can watch, the dangerous voice cackles. 

Viktor must finish up the pleasantries on their behalf, because the next thing Jayce knows, they’re moving away…and towards the dance floor?

“You want to dance?” Jayce asks. Please say yes. When he turns, Viktor seems flustered. 

“I wasn’t - I didn’t - I was trying to extract us from the conversation,” Viktor manages. “I guess we ended up by the dance floor, but that was coincidental.” He pauses, and then asks almost incredulously: “Wait, do you know how to dance like this?” 

“Yeah,” Jayce flashes a smile, “from cotillions growing up! It was mandatory for all house-affiliated young adults”. 

Viktor rolls his eyes. “Stuffy Pilite customs.” 

“It wasn’t so bad,” Jayce shrugs. “It was fun to dress fancy and learn to dance.” Viktor scoffs. “It was!” Jayce insists. “Dancing has clear rules and steps and it’s kinda like solving equations! In a way.” He deflates a little under Viktor’s smirk. 

“So,” Viktor says, “you’d like to do cotillion equations with me?” 

“Yes please,” Jayce says brightly, ignoring the teasing tone. He holds out his hand with a formal bow. “May I have this dance?” 

“I -,” those golden eyes, usually so sure and clever, seem to falter . “I don’t know how.” 

“You’ve never danced before?” Jayce is crestfallen. This is exactly why Viktor should attend more council events with him! 

Viktor stares at his shoes. Shakes his head. 

Jayce moves his outstretched hand into Viktor’s line of sight. “Do you trust me?” Please say yes. 

Viktor’s eyes meet his, the hint of a smile on his lips. “Are you sure?” he asks. “I’d hate to monopolize the most eligible bachelor here.” 

“What?” Jayce’s face scrunches up in confusion. Viktor thinks he’s eligible????? Don’t read into it don’t read into it. He can’t stop a burning blush. 

“Several single graduate assistants have stared daggers at me ever since I joined you.” 

“Really?” Jayce asks. “I hadn’t noticed.” 

Viktor raises an eyebrow. “I find that hard to believe. You put your face on a mug, Golden Boy.” 

Jayce rolls his eyes, but keeps his hand outstretched. “C’mon, V. stop deflecting. Dance with me.”

Finally - finally - Viktor takes his hand. “I hope you know what you are doing,” he tells Jayce. His voice wavers, but Jayce can’t identify the emotion through the haze of champagne. 

Jayce leads Viktor onto the dance floor, but instead of setting up a waltz or foxtrot or any of the formal dances he knows, Jayce pulls Viktor to face him and places both hands on Viktor’s waist. It’s not cotillion-issued dancing, but Jayce has seen the form before when he snuck into the Undercity with Caitlyn and Vi once for some kind of town dance. It’s not an equation Jayce has done himself before, but he watched his friend with Vi and guessed its meaning. He hopes it will make Viktor feel more comfortable now, all the way up here in a Piltover ballroom. 

Tentatively, Viktor places his hands on Jayce’s shoulders. When he dares glance up to meet Jayce’s eyes, Jayce breaks into a grin. His Ma used to say he smiled with his whole face as a kid, eyes crinkled and gap-toothed grin on full display. He’s kid-at-Progress-Day giddy now as he and Viktor start to sway. 

“See?” Jayce says, trying to soften his smile into something less blinding and more reassuring. (He fails.) “This is nice, right?”

“I - yes,” Viktor admits, but won’t meet Jayce’s gaze again. Is he embarrassed?  “But aren’t cotillions intended to secure alliances and arrange marriages?” 

Oh. Oh . 

“I mean, yeah,” Jayce says sheepishly. “I did get upset when I couldn’t just dance with my friends.” Not that he thinks about Viktor in a strictly platonic lens these days. In fact, Jayce actually loves doesn’t hate imagining that this dance is a courtship one. 

“Will you dance like this at your wedding?” Viktor asks. Jayce’s heart plummets like a stone. He stares at Viktor’s shoulder and tries to remind himself it’s an innocuous question. Viktor is just making polite intercultural conversation. He can’t know how the question curdles in Jayce’s stomach. 

“Uh, it would probably need to be a bit more formal,” he says, forcing his tongue to speak past the bitter taste in his mouth. “Piltover wedding dances are more of a performance for the guests than about the couple.” 

He can’t stop picturing himself waltzing with some blurred   stranger in an elaborate dress as Viktor watches from a crowd of wedding guests. Viktor will come to his wedding, right? 

“What about your wedding?” Jayce tries to be polite. “Would you dance like this?” The mental image reverses, and now Jayce is in the wedding crowd, watching Viktor twirl permanently out of reach. 

Viktor tsks. “Unlikely,” his partner says. “I don’t envision marriage.” 

“No?” Jayce asks, feeling strangely relieved. The image of Viktor’s faceless dance partner disappears. 

“No,” Viktor repeats. “I have our work. Our lab. Our friendship. I do not desire more than that.” 

Relief bubbles up, spills from Jayce’s lips in a giddy laugh. “Really?” he asks, knowing he sounds far too happy after Viktor embraced a life of spinsterhood. But Viktor gives him a soft smile. “I - me too,” Jayce says, words tumbling out of him. “I don’t want any of that - a Piltover wedding. Just - what we have now.” He nods enthusiastically for emphasis. “Our work. Our lab.” 

Viktor must think he’s insane. 

“Partners in science,” Viktor says with a wry smile. 

“Exactly!” Jayce is too emphatic, but he’s still processing that he won’t lose Viktor to a random marriage. The lab is enough. Jayce is enough. 

The sway there in silence for a while, Jayce grinning so wide his cheeks hurt. He wishes he’d never met the mermaid, so he could actually use his words to tell Viktor what he means to him. How important he is. But the moment passes. They sway together beneath the stars. 

***

Jayce likes the simple sway of this dance, likes the feeling of Viktor’s forearms by his neck, his palms on Viktor’s waist. There aren’t many steps, just swaying, and the informality is pleasant, making him feel closer to Viktor somehow. At some point, some of Viktor’s brown waves must have fallen  in front of his face as they talked. Jayce reaches out, tucking Viktor’s hair behind his ear. His fingertips tingle, a warm numbness spreading up his arm. He can’t bring himself to pull his fingers away from where they hover, barely touching the shell of Viktor’s ear. Standing close like this feels nice.

He lets his head lean forward until it bumps Viktor’s. They sway there, foreheads touching. 

Jayce’s whole body thrums in the rightness of this moment, of Viktor’s arms on his shoulders, the warmth of Viktor’s waist on his palms. His mind is empty, suspended in this moment as his heart beats right right right. 

He tilts his head down, their noses touching now, about to move for Viktor’s lips - 

Viktor breathes out sharply. 

Jayce yanks his head back, his nose already missing the soft warmth of Viktor’s.

“What?” Jayce asks, pretty sure the hurt bleeds into his voice. 

Viktor sighs again, but Jayce can’t identify what type it is with his champagne-buzzed brain. Frustrated? Exasperated? About to sneeze? 

“There are things I want to say -” Viktor starts. 

“Then say them,” Jayce blurts out, pushing his forehead against Viktor’s, willing him to understand. You can tell me anything.

Viktor shakes his head, brown hair flopping down around them. “Not when you’re like this.”

“Like what?” Jayce’s thumbs are caressing Viktor’s neck. He’s not sure when that started, but he knows it’s meant to reassure Viktor. He hopes Viktor feels that through the pressure. 

“Jayce,” Viktor says, looking up at him. “How much have you had to drink?”

Stupid fucking fountain. “A little,” Jayce admits sheepishly.

“That’s not a unit of standardized measurement,” Viktor says exasperated, starting to pull back. Jayce’s heart cries no no no and his fingers catch Viktor’s shoulders, pulling him closer, until his head is nestled beneath Jayce’s chin, his body wrapped in a hug. Much better. 

“Tell me,” Jayce prompts, leaning down so his cheek rests next to Viktor’s (warm, soft, beautiful) ear. He’s starting to forget why they ended up hugging like this in the first place. But he doesn’t want it to stop. 

Actually, - maybe - he wants more. 

“I want to touch you,” The words tumble out as he pulls back just enough to look down at Viktor’s face. That face seems puzzled. 

“You touch me all the time,” Viktor replies. 

“Not like that,” Jayce says back, voice low. He hopes it comes off as sultry and not slurred. Speaking is getting hard. Staring at Viktor is (always) hard. Even is dick is kind of hard. Wanting to touch Viktor “not like that” has haunted him for so long. That feeling is especially overwhelming right now.  

The chem-baron Yordle seems to have grown larger and louder and more insistent after the mermaid champagne. Standing this close, Jayce wants to kiss Viktor, move his mouth against Viktor’s again and again and again. Wants to run his fingers through Viktor’s wavy hair. Wants to dig his fingers into Viktor’s hips and press him closer, then slip his hands under that gauzy shirt to feel the cool skin of Viktor’s back and tangle his fingers in the delicate filigree chains decorating the open back of his shirt. 

He wants this. He wants it so much it feels real. 

When Viktor pushes him back to hold him at arm’s length, and Jayce’s fingers snag painfully in the jewelry on the back of Viktor’s shirt, Jayce finally realizes all that was real. Shit . 

“What the fuck?” Viktor breathes, eyes darting around the room, lips flushed. Jayce can’t decipher the look on Viktor’s face. Honestly, he can barely stand as the Yorlde shrieks louder, demanding more more more.

Jayce’s cheeks burn. At this point, is it from embarrassment or desire or mermaid juice, or has Jayce just been wearing a constantly simmering blush for the last few months?

He wants to blame it all on the chem-baron Yordle voice in his head, but what if that voice is a little bit mixed with Jayce’s? 

What if it’s actually been Jayce’s own voice all along?

“I’m a chem-baron Yordle,” Jayce explains. 

“What?” Viktor asks. 

His vision is blurry enough that he can’t make out Viktor’s expression. Is it bad? Could it be good? Viktor didn’t stop him, not initially. Could Viktor want this too?

“And I’m not sorry,” Jayce insists, moving to kiss Viktor again. 

Viktor’s arms are still in the way, very inconveniently holding him at bay. “I think it’s time to head home,” Viktor says, voice wavering. With desire?!

Jayce laughs. Does Viktor want to do more kissing in Jayce’s apartment too?

“That was funny, Viktor!” Jayce can’t stop laughing. “Normally you’re smart-funny, but that was anyone-funny!” Viktor’s face is kind of fuzzy, but he must be smiling. He must be, if he wants to go back to Jayce’s place and continue kissing privately. 

Is Viktor hard too? Jayce tries to check, but Viktor’s hand intercepts his wrist. 

“ Definitely time to go,” Viktor says. Jayce tries to step forward, but sways heavily into Viktor. When did walking get so challenging? And when did Viktor get so blurry? 

“Jayce,” Viktor wheezes. “ Move. ”

They stumble across the ballroom and between hazy figures. Some of them get close, but Viktor waves them away. Good, Jayce thinks, Viktor doesn’t want to share either. 

***

At some point, the world gets all wobbly and slanted. 

***

At another point, Jayce realizes he’s leaning pretty heavily on Viktor, who is leaning pretty heavily on his cane. 

“Don’t break,” Jayce whispers. 

***

The next time Jayce comes to, Viktor has a kravat tied around his head. Jayce reaches out to touch it. 

“What are you wearing?” he slurs out. He’s pretty sure the blurry shape in front of him rolls its eyes. 

“ Someone told me I needed to ‘feel the party’ too, even though I didn’t drink tonight.” That seemed like a good idea to Jayce. Viktor should feel the party.

“Who said that?” Jayce asks. 

There’s a long pause. 

“You did.” 

“Oh,” Jayce grins, leaning against the marble column Viktor must have propped him against. His eyelids feel so heavy…

***

“Do you need help with him?” a voice asks in the darkness. Jayce hears frustrated noises that sound like Viktor’s. 

“Actually, yes - could you move him into -” 

Jayce wants to say he can walk, that no one needs to help Viktor but him, but then the darkness pulls him under again. 

***

Warm. He’s resting on something warm. He hears carriage wheels turning. His eyes flutter open this time, noticing legs and a metal brace in his line of vision. Panicked, he turns his head up. 

There’s a Viktor looking down at him. 

“Am I hurting your leg?” Jayce whispers. 

Fingers pat his head. Awkward. Gentle. 

“It’s fine, zlato ,” Viktor’s voice says. Jayce catches that hand on his head and twines those fingers through his own, bringing them to his lips. He should ask Viktor if they can always ride to work like this. It’s very comfortable. But his eyes are already slipping shut again…

Chapter Text

The next time Jayce comes to, he’s being unceremoniously shoved into a face full of pillows. He turns his head, and can make out Viktor through the gaps between the pillows.

“How’d you get me on the bed?” Jayce mumbles, fully turning on his side to face Viktor. Viktor winces, rolling his shoulder. 

“It’s a miracle we made it up those stairs.” He groans. “I think I pulled something.” 

A brokenhearted noise slips out of Jayce’s mouth. 

“Nooooo,” he says mournfully, reaching out to grab Viktor’s hand and pull him closer. “Don’t wanna hurt you,” his mouth says as he bring’s V’s hand to his lips. “Wanna make you feel good.” 

He’s not sure why he said that out loud, but it’s true. It’s all he wants these days. He thinks about it so much. More than science. 

Viktor breathes out sharply. His fingers worm their way out of Jayce’s grasp. Disappointment pangs through him. 

“You need water,” Viktor says, moving away. Waves of loneliness crash over Jayce. Where is he going?? Why is he leaving???

Wait, he’s back! With water! 

“Is that for meeeeee?” Jayce asks, drawing out the word until he’s giggling. He reaches for the glass, but Viktor moves it out of reach. 

“Sit up, blázínek,” Viktor says with an eye roll. “Don’t spill it on yourself.”

Jayce wants to make Viktor happy. But his head feels like a boulder. “Help,” he says, arm still reached out, cheek still buried in the pillows. “Head heavy.” 

“Janna, ” Viktor says, but grabs Jayce’s arm and pulls him into a sitting position. “You remember how to drink, yes?” There’s still a fondness in his voice. 

Jayce nods. He drinks. “See?” Proudly, he shows Viktor the now-empty glass. 

“Very good,” Viktor says with a pat on the head. Jayce beams. He made his lab partner proud! His breathtaking partner, in that gauzy shirt with his sharp cheekbones and the smattering of moles and the guarded eyes that lower their defenses whenever it’s just the two of them. Jayce wants to see the world through those eyes. Those brilliant eyes. They fix Jayce’s mistakes and read his notes and notice potential where others only see madness. 

“You’re so beautiful.” Jayce hopes his earnestness isn’t undercut by how his head lolls to the side or that he *might* have vomited on their way up the stairs. 

“We need to take off your shoes” is all Viktor says in response. 

Viktor wants to take off Jayce’s shoes? Does he…want to get into Jayce’s bed together? Jayce can hardly believe his good luck. 

His hands catch V’s waist again, pulling him close, framing the still-standing Viktor between his legs. Jayce’s chest feels giddy, bursting with light. His fingers, his knees, every part of him brushing against Viktor crackles with potential energy. Finally. It’s finally happening. 

He leans forward to kiss Viktor, but V must misunderstand because he turns his head and Jayce catches the edge of his mouth. Or! Is it an invitation?! The realization sends a thrill through Jayce. He uses this opportunity to kiss V’s jaw, his cheekbones, to trail his lips down to Viktor’s throat. His own skin tingles with possibility, with the rush of wish fulfillment. 

He is kissing his favorite person in the world. 

This is better than any fantasy. This is real. 

Jayce does not understand why Viktor keeps trying to push his head away. 

He realizes Viktor has been saying his name. Jayce pulls back. 

“What?” he smiles, finally (finally!) running his fingers through Viktor’s hair, cradling his face. “What do you wanna do?” Everything buzzes with the warmth of infinite potential.”I wanna make you feel good. Whatever you want.”  With Viktor he would do anything. Everything. 

But Viktor isn’t smiling. 

The potential energy freezes.

“No,” Viktor says quietly, moving to pull Jayce’s hands from his face. “We can’t.” 

“But we can, ” Jayce insists, swooping in to kiss Viktor again. He can help Viktor understand through kissing. Kissing transcends language. There can’t possibly be anything wrong with something that makes him feel so good. Every fiber of Jayce’s being wants this, wants to be this close and kissing this person who knows him best. 

But Viktor keeps dodging Jayce’s sluggish movements. 

“Jayce,” Viktor says slowly, clearly. “Stop.”

The warm buzzing in Jayce’s body freezes again, potential energy paused. Why are they stopping? 

“I am not a councilor,” Viktor continues, as though speaking to a child. 

“I know who you are,” Jayce replies, offended. “You’re Viktor.” 

“Jayce, you are very drunk right now,” Viktor says, holding one of Jayce’s wrists in each hand. 

“So?” Jayce knows he sounds childish. 

“I don’t want you to do something you will regret.” The fragileness in Viktor’s voice makes tears sting in Jayce’s eyes. Why does he sound so sad? Jayce’s mind whirrs uselessly, desperately wanting to fix Viktor’s sadness but too drunk to figure out how.

“Yes, Jayce,” he says with a grade school teacher’s voice. “You are too drunk. You would do this with anyone right now -” 

It hits Jayce then. 

Viktor thinks Jayce wants this because he’s drunk. He doesn’t know Jayce wants this because it’s Viktor. Viktor thinks if they share a bed now Jayce will wake up tomorrow haunted by regret. 

All of that earlier potential energy instantly crumbles. Jayce’s chest fills with the rubble of heartbreak, horror, despair. Why does Viktor believe Jayce would only want him when he’s trashed? (Granted, Jayce is trashed, but he wants Viktor all of the time. That’s a constant, not a variable.) 

“You - you don’t think I could want you?” Jayce is suffocating beneath that rubble. He can’t seem to get enough air. His eyes sting. Viktor’s shape swims in front of him, but for the first time that night it’s not because of alcohol. 

“I don’t want anyone , Viktor,” Jayce insists. “I want you”. His voice breaks. 

“We can revisit this tomorrow,” Viktor says coolly, slowly extracting himself from where he’s clamped between Jayce’s legs. Pulling away. Leaving. Rejecting.  “Why can’t we visit it now!” Jayce grasps blindly for Viktor. His desperate breaths still feel too shallow in his lungs. Viktor is running. Fleeing. Viktor doesn’t believe Jayce could want him. Jayce’s cheeks are wet, he’s not sure when that started but now tears are running down his face because Viktor is fleeing Jayce’s bed and it’s hard to breathe and Viktor doesn’t believe him, no, Viktor doesn’t want him and now he is leaving he hates Jayce and Jayce’s lungs can’t breathe -  

“Don’t - leave -,” Jayce manages to whisper through heavy sobs. “Please - ” 

There are hands on his shoulders. Slender. Firm. Their pressure is a flimsy tether that Jayce grasps desperately, trying not to be swept up in his panic and his frantic, heaving lungs. 

“Breathe, Jayce” he hears his favorite voice in the world say. “I need you to breathe with me.”

Jayce can do that. He can try. 

The firm grip on his shoulders grows into a thicker lifeline, a grounding force as he tries to match his breaths to V’s soft counting. He’s not sure how long it takes - Minutes? Hours? - but eventually his sobs slow and his lungs aren’t suffocating on nothingness anymore. He’s still crying silently, now wrapped in the warm shelter of Viktor’s arms, his eyes squeezed shut. 

But he can breathe again. He can feel that Viktor is still here. 

“You’re alright, zlato,” Viktor’s voice whispers in his ear. “You’re safe”. Jayce listens to those words repeated over the drum of Viktor’s hummingbird heartbeat until his tears finally slow, too. His head feels like it was pummeled by a tidal wave - scrambled, sparse, unsteady in the aftermath. 

“I’m sorry,” Jayce whispers. “For crying,” he adds, his voice hoarse, “but not for before that”. 

He can feel Viktor sigh above him. He feels safe here, head tucked against Viktor’s sternum, encircled by his slender arms. Why doesn’t Viktor want this too? 

“We can talk about this tomorrow. But for now, I think you should rest.” Viktor’s arms give him a slight squeeze, a cocoon of comfort. “Can you do that for me?” Jayce considers his request, then nods. Slowly, as if he’s a skittish deer, Viktor pulls away, moving Jayce to lay him down, tucking him beneath the blankets. Jayce lets Viktor guide him, his limbs pliant, his eyes never leaving Viktor’s face. He tries to keep his breathing steady, tries not to think, just focus on those eyes, a rare caring softness in them right now. 

But when Viktor moves to leave again, panic grips Jayce’s chest. The fear comes flooding back: Viktor will disappear, he doesn’t believe - 

Jayce’s fingers catch Viktor’s wrist before he can slip away forever. 

“Can you stay?” he asks, his voice quiet. “I’m scared you’ll disappear.” He manages to get that out before his throat closes up and tears sting his eyes again. 

Viktor looks down at him. Hesitates for a half-second, but must realize Jayce is too scared and exhausted to make a pass at him in this state. 

“Alright,” Viktor says softly, “come here”. He moves onto the bed, adjusting himself so that he can still cradle the clearly-still-very-fragile Jayce. 

Relief floods Jayce with the return of the comforting pressure from his ear against Viktor’s chest. Viktor will stay. They can talk tomorrow. He can explain it all to Viktor tomorrow when he is sober and then Viktor will finally believe him (and then maybe they can kiss again).  

Viktor’s fingers are softly combing through Jayce’s hair now. It’s a soothing motion, gentle and consistent. Jayce imagines this is also how Viktor would pet a cat (if the cat were ever drunk and sobbing). 

Jayce reminds his lungs to breathe. He feels Viktor’s blunt nails along his scalp and the reassuring thrum of his lab partner’s hummingbird heartbeat and convinces himself he can fix it all tomorrow. If Viktor stays, Jayce can fix it. 

“Promise?” Jayce asks.

“Hmm?” Viktor’s voice reverberates along Jayce’s cheek and chest, along all the parts of him curled into Viktor.

“Promise you’ll stay until tomorrow?” The fingers in his hair pause for a moment and then continue. 

“I promise.”

But Jayce’s anxious drunken mind still needs assurances. 

“Swear it?” He holds his pinky above his head, almost pitifully. Viktor scoffs in amusement, but links his smallest finger between Jayce’s own. 

“Good,” Jayce says, still holding their shared oath tight. “I was scared you’d wait for me to fall asleep and sneak out and then I’d never see you again.” 

Viktor chuckles. “I will not violate the sanctity of your childhood pinky swear.” Jayce can hear the air quotes in Viktor’s inflection, but there’s a tenderness to it. “Now rest, Jayce.” His voice is kind, gentle. “You’ve had a long night.” 

Jayce takes Viktor’s hand, still curled around his smallest finger, and holds it to his chest. He lets the pressure of it soothe his anxiety, serving as physical proof that Viktor is still here and hasn’t slipped away. 

Eventually, Jayce must drift off, because Viktor’s fingers in his hair are soothing like ocean waves, and they mean Viktor is here and Viktor promised to stay and Viktor is here he is here he is here. 

Chapter Text

This chapter's recommended listening comes from from the Gracie Abrams song Block Me Out (aka peak pining soundtrack material) 

***

Viktor’s fingers continue stroking Jayce’s hair long after Jayce’s tears have dried and his breaths evened out with the calm of sleep. Viktor knows Jayce can’t feel his fingers anymore, hasn’t felt them for a while now, and yet he can’t bring himself to stop the motions. 

If he stops running his fingers along Jayce’s scalp then Viktor will have nothing left to distract him from the fact that he is cradling Jayce and laying in Jayce’s bed. He’s not sure his mind is capable of processing that reality right now, or the tangled knot of feelings that come with it. 

He tries to focus on the pleasant warmth of laying here, the comforting weight of Jayce’s head on his chest, the wash of emotion he feels at how Jayce still clutches Viktor’s other hand in his own, as if it’s his only tether to Runeterra, even in sleep.

Viktor has never experienced this much sustained physical contact before, not even from Jayce. A fierce protectiveness washes over him for this large man curled against him. 

Viktor wishes the circumstances that led them to this moment were different. 

Because the other emotions knotted in his chest are messier, uglier ones that Viktor struggles to name. And because as nice as being this close to Jayce feels, Viktor cannot ignore the facts: 

1. Jayce is very drunk.
2. Jayce had a panic attack, because
3. Jayce tried to fuck him.

The last fact is further, glaring proof of just how drunk Jayce was tonight. Viktor didn’t realize until it was too late that Jayce had crossed some invisible threshold of intoxication where he wanted to take someone - anyone - to bed with him. 

How unfortunate for them both that Viktor had been the one within arm’s reach. 

Unfortunate for Jayce, because surely no one else at that ball (or all of Piltover, for that matter) would have refused him, especially when he was all affection and dazzling gap-toothed smiles . Unfortunate for Jayce that he was so drunk he didn’t recognize that he was coming onto his lab partner , and will surely be horrified and humiliated tomorrow if his hangover lets him remember this. 

How unfortunate for Viktor that tonight was something he would never want to forget. 

Despite himself, despite the comforting rhythm of his fingers through Jayce’s hair, his mind slips back to memories of earlier tonight. Of Jayce holding him like a teenager at a Zaunish dance. Of the thrill of swaying that close together, foreheads touching. Of Viktor letting himself believe that this was Jayce’s way of saying ‘ this is how much you matter to me ’.

And then he’d said those words.

Viktor hadn’t understood at first. I want to touch you. How could he have understood, when Jayce already is touch? Viktor’s memories of Jayce are all touch-linked: pats on the arm, shoulder squeezes, fingers brushing when they pass chalk or coffee or wrenches. Hugs and lingering contact that Viktor never realized he’d been cataloging and filing away until Jayce’s absence grew louder and louder in the lab as he spent more time with the council. 

All those moments, all those memories, were part of what made him miss Jayce more. Were part of what fueled the hollow ache in his chest. 

You touch me all the time.

Not like that.

What did that mean? Viktor had wondered on the dance floor. What other kind of touch was there? The only other sort he could think of was what he witnessed growing up in Zaun. Did Jayce want to fight him? Wait. Did Jayce want to fuck - and then Jayce was kissing him and it was surprising and soft and pleasant. More than pleasant, Viktor amended, as Jayce pulled them flush together, his hand sliding up Viktor’s back with a firm caress. 

It was want. A kind of want Viktor had never felt before. And then, painfully, Viktor forced them both apart. 

Logic and objectivity carved through his emotions like a warhammer. 

Jayce was too drunk to know what he was doing. Did he even know it was Viktor’s hair tangled in his hands, Viktor’s tongue in his mouth? Shame festered within him. Jayce couldn’t consent to what he was doing. But Viktor had still let himself get swept up anyway, despite being the sober one. 

The second spike of logic reminded Viktor that this lapse of judgement happened in public. This couldn’t be good for Jayce’s political aspirations. He had to get Jayce out of here. Help Jayce sleep it off. Pray it was nothing but a hazy memory the next day for anyone who’d witnessed it. 

It wasn’t real, Viktor reminded himself on the carriage ride home, even as Jayce cradled his hand. He would act like this with anyone right now . Viktor knew the truth of this. It wasn’t real. 

And yet, as he looked inside himself as the carriage rattled and Jayce’s head lay on his lap, Viktor realized that the hollow ache inside him was a different kind than he’d first thought. 

The selfish ache had teeth. 

He didn’t just miss Jayce - he hungered.

Kissing Jayce - at the ball and again in Jayce’s apartment - even as Viktor knew it meant nothing to Jayce but a rush of pleasure, even as Viktor knew Jayce was too drunk to remember this and it needed to stop - it awoke something in him. It reminded him of myths of mortals who tasted the food of the gods. Divine morsels that tasted like brighter colors and of a world flush with possibility. But afterwards, mortal food crumbled like ash in their mouths, and they were left wandering, haunted by their taste of the divine for the rest of their lives. 

How was Viktor supposed to go back to the way things had been, after tasting magic and potential and life itself? After having tasted him ?

Even though Jayce was too drunk to mean those kisses, even though Viktor knew none of it was real, he already felt the ash settling over the back of his tongue. Jayce might forget, but Viktor couldn’t. 

Laying on Jayce’s bed feels like torture. Viktor’s hands continue their endless journey through Jayce’s hair with a growing sense of dread. He’d misclassified the feeling in his chest. 

What he’d assumed was a hollow ache had always been a quiet hunger. 

And now that it had tasted what it wanted most, Viktor wasn’t sure if he could force it back into dormancy. 

There isn’t a world where the fallout from tonight isn’t catastrophic. Viktor rarely panics, but he battles sparks of it now. The pressure of his fingertips against Jayce, of his other hand still entwined in Jayce’s, are all that manage to ground him against the feeling. 

Tomorrow looms full of worst-case scenarios. Logically, Viktor knows catastrophe is the only possibility. Jayce could wake up tomorrow disgusted that a sober Viktor didn’t stop him sooner. He might laugh at Viktor for getting swept up in the fantasy that Jayce might want Viktor that way, might actually want to be close to Viktor in that way. That possibility stings the most.

Jayce’s hair is soft and ripples around Viktor’s fingers like silk, or freshwater, or any number of pure, soft things someone like Viktor should never have been allowed close enough to touch.

Maybe that’s why he can’t stop his fingers from their slow movements. Being this close to Jayce feels fragile, forbidden. Viktor knows it cannot last, as sure as Viktor knows this moment slips away from him a little more with the tick of each second closer and closer to dawn. Closer and closer to tomorrow’s consequences. 

Viktor wishes the circumstances that led them to this moment were different. 

He lets himself imagine a world where it was affection that brought them together. Where Jayce said all those things - did all those things - held Viktor like that - sober. He can’t linger on that thought for too long - his chest might burst from the frantic, desperate, skittish longing it causes. 

He’s grown soft. Spent too much time in Piltover’s sunlight. There is no realistic universe where Jayce would want Viktor that way. Each time he replays memories of tonight just twists the rusted knife of inevitable rejection deeper. 

Jayce was already slipping through his fingers as a friend and collaborator since the council started demanding more of his time. When it comes to Jayce, Viktor knows he should be grateful for what little he can get. He should not want more. And yet…

Memories of Jayce cradling his face, his warm lips against Viktor’s, his sprawling form sleeping beside Viktor - the images take root in Viktor’s heart like hungry weeds. 

Despite being a man of facts and science and reality, Viktor wants this. Wants Jayce to want him. 

He knows he shouldn’t. Piltover’s Golden Boy has the world at his feet. He’d be a fool to choose Viktor as the object of his affection. But now that Viktor has basked in the full warmth of Jayce’s sunlight, felt the flutter of his touch, seen those uncertain giddy smiles when he breaks away after kissing - 

Viktor doesn’t want to let him go. 

The hollow ache had teeth. The quiet hunger defied logic. Weeds of feeling took root in his heart. 

The rusted knife of rejection twists deeper. The clock on Jayce’s dresser ticks loudly, an ominous drumbeat marching them both towards tomorrow, when Jayce will wake and everything they built together will disintegrate. Viktor knows it is inevitable. 

He will be lucky if Jayce still wants to work with him after tonight. 

Objectively, Viktor knows this is unlikely. He knows his dread at the thought of tomorrow is rational and justified. Part of him still wants to slip out of Jayce’s apartment, avoid the lab for a couple days, and try to salvage their friendship by playing everything off like Jayce had a drunken dream. 

But then Viktor glances down at how his smallest finger is still threaded through Jayce’s. Remembers the childlike vulnerability when Jayce begged him to promise. For Jayce, he will not break that promise. For Jayce, Viktor would do anything. Everything.  

Tomorrow is inescapable. Viktor knows this. But for now, he lets himself imagine that as long as his fingers keep brushing Jayce’s hair, he can suspend them in this moment forever, like ants caught in amber, in this fragile, tender calm.

Chapter Text

ALSO: There is a podfic! Shoutout to the lovely tomorrow_s for lending their voice to this silly little story. Thank you for breathing life into these words, it's so cool! If YOU like listening to drunk science nerds yearn, check out the podfic here. 

And now, let's back to this nonsense (I hope it's worth the wait)

***

Pain. That’s what he notices first. 

A pounding ache in his head. His throat scratchy and raw. 

Muscling through the dull sensations, Jayce’s arms stretch out along the bed, but his fingers only grasp empty space. 

His eyes snap open. 

It takes a moment for the world to come into focus. Sunlight streams through the cracks of bedroom curtains. He’s in his room. In his bed. But Jayce can’t shake the lingering feeling that something is wrong. 

What could it be? A bad dream he didn’t quite shake off? 

Jayce groans and stretches, massaging his pounding head before tossing off the covers. 

He’s greeted by a strange sight. Instead of pajamas, he’s fully dressed in his dark green suit, complete with dress shoes. 

Right, the Academy Ball was last night. Must’ve been a good night. That would explain the headache, and why he’s inexplicably still got his shoes on. 

Gingerly, he sits up. Gods, he needs water. He’s about to head for the bathroom when he notices a large glass on the nightstand. Convenient, but strange. If he came home drunk enough to sleep in his dress shoes, Jayce doubts he’d plan ahead to leave himself a glass of water for the morning. As he reaches for the glass, his eyes fall on a folded sheet of paper on the pillow beside him. Also strange. Did Jayce write himself a note last night? Why wouldn’t he just add it to his journal, instead of tearing out a stray sheet? Even drunk, Jayce doesn’t think he’d be that disorganized. 

He unfolds the paper. 

Confusion scrunches across his forehead as he stares at a message written in a messy scrawl  he knows better than his own: 

Still here (as promised)

Waiting in the kitchen

If you changed your mind, just knock three times as I will leave

- V

“Fuck.” Jayce whispers. What happened last night? He desperately sifts through hazy memories. Viktor didn’t come last night, right? That’s why he had so much champagne. There are faint flickers of other moments, but Jayce can’t tell if they’re dreams or memories. Of swaying on the dance floor, the warmth of Viktor’s hand on his arm, of kissing - lots of kissing - and being pushed away. Of wounded hurt in Viktor’s eyes.

“Fuck .” Jayce groans, massaging his temples. “Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck.” 

And when that doesn’t make him feel any better: “Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.” 

That stupid mermaid fountain and her stupid champagne. He’d been doing so well for months keeping this crush under wraps. He’d worked so hard to keep it professional, prioritize their friendship. 

And now after one drunken night of lowered inhibitions, he’d doused all that careful work in gasoline and set it ablaze. 

Jayce glances at the closed bedroom door. His body feels like it’s been electrocuted - a little numb and a little nauseous. Viktor is out there. Waiting for an explanation. 

Jayce cringes. Does Viktor think he’s as useless and vapid as that caricature on the “Man of Progress” mug? Did he just throw away his life’s work, and the happiest he’s ever been, because he got drunk and kissed his lab partner? 

“Fuck,” Jayce breathes. Viktor must be uncomfortable and outraged. 

Glancing down at the note, Jayce briefly considers knocking on the door three times. Hiding in his room while Viktor slips away. But that choice doesn’t sit right in his chest. 

Jayce squares his shoulders and takes a deep breath. 

No, if he has any hope of salvaging this, he needs to talk to Viktor. Today. 

And Jayce wants to salvage this. He’s from a family of smiths, for gods’ sake. He can mend this. 

He has to. 

***

Despite his newfound heroic resolve, Jayce still battles self-consciousness. Should he go out there right now in his rumpled suit, or shower and put on clean clothes for this important conversation? Like dressing for a job interview, but for everything worth saving in his life? Tempting, but that seems like it will take too long and give Viktor more time to change his mind and leave (especially since Jayce has no idea how long he slept for).

Jayce compromises by brushing his teeth and quickly finger-combing his hair in the bathroom mirror. At the last second, he swaps out his wrinkled dress shirt for one of the sweaters his Ma knit him. He can’t find the maroon one he usually wears at the top of his laundry pile, so he grabs the other one, cable-knit and cobalt blue, and worries his fingers along the cuffs. 

He takes a deep breath. He can do this. Remember his goal: apologize and preserve. Salvage. 

And with that, Jayce opens the bedroom door. 

***

The door slams open with too much force, just as Jayce realizes he should’ve taken an extra second to decide on a strategy before barging in. Humor? Charm? Amnesia? But the bedroom door is already banging against the wall, announcing his presence, and he has no choice but to charge ahead. 

Charge ahead with the goal “salvage this” and pray that the rest miraculously comes together. 

His brash entrance causes a flash of movement in the kitchen - a head snaps up to look at him. 

Ah, so that’s where his maroon sweater went. It hangs long on Viktor’s slender frame, and the sleeves bunch around his wrists. Jayce’s heart flutters at the sight of Viktor in his Ma’s handiwork, in his kitchen, in his favorite color. 

Viktor sits at the kitchen counter, a mug of coffee in front of him. Jayce feels another pang, imagining Viktor rifling through his cabinets until he finds supplies to start the coffee maker.

Fuck. Jayce tries rubbing the thoughts from his head with the heel of his hand. Focus on the goal. Salvage this.

It doesn’t help that Viktor looks at him warily. How does he start this conversation? How does he ignore Viktor in his sweater, in his home, and the fact that he threw himself at Viktor not even twelve hours ago? 

“Good morning,” Viktor says at the exact moment “Thanks for waiting” spills out of Jayce’s mouth. They both startle at the sound of the other’s voice. Jayce cringes (how is it already awkward) and tries again. 

“I hope you weren’t waiting too long?” 

“It’s alright.” 

Jayce is usually pretty good at reading Viktor. At sensing his moods, picking up on his emotions through his eyes, how he holds tension in his body, even the way he breathes. 

At least, that’s what he used to think. The Viktor in front of him is as unreadable as a brick wall. Stiff. Removed. He remains frustratingly neutral, revealing nothing - not in his eyes or his tone. Jayce hadn’t realized just how much Viktor let his guard down around him in the lab until now - now that Viktor has shut down and holds him arm’s length like he does the rest of the world. 

Jayce is already losing his partner. 

“How are you feeling?” Viktor asks with the same voice he’d use to confirm exam grades for Heimerdinger. Jayce wants to crack a joke about that, but it fizzles out on his tongue. He already knows he overstepped last night. But if Viktor is already icing him out this much, if he so clearly doesn’t want to be here - then Jayce miscalculated just how destructive last night’s actions were on their partnership. 

“I’m doing a lot better,” he croaks out, even as the words taste dishonest on his tongue. Do you hate me? he wants to ask. Viktor feels miles away, out of reach on the other side of the longstanding line in the sand that Jayce deliberately refused to cross until last night. This morning, he stares at Viktor from across the muddled sand between them, the line impossible to redraw after his drunken feet scattered the boundary. 

“I’m sorry,” they both say at the same time. 

They stare at each other a moment, bewildered. But that ‘I’m sorry’ was the first crack in their dams of cautious silence, and now explanations are spilling from them both. Jayce can’t make out what Viktor is saying over his own attempts to apologize, trying to barrel past his embarrassment before his tongue clams up again.

About halfway through his stuttering apology, Jayce glances up from his shoes and catches Viktor mid-monologue, gaze glued to his own fluttering fingers.

“Hey,” Jayce says, reaching the kitchen counter. He stops himself right before he squeezes Viktor’s shoulder, managing to remember that it’s his over-eager touching that alienated Viktor last night. He grabs the back of the other kitchen chair instead, keeping it between them. 

“Viktor , ” he tries again, squeezing the chair back instead of those anxious hands. Viktor’s eyes snap up to his, but flit away just as quickly. Disappointment pangs alongside the hangover, but Jayce pushes it aside. At least Viktor is listening now. 

“Hey,” Jayce says again, with a reassuring smile that he hopes comes across in his tone too, since Viktor is still pointedly not looking at him. He hates that he already misses Viktor, feels him slipping away from across the counter. 

Fix this, Talis. 

“I - I think we’re - we’re talking at each other right now,” Jayce offers a gentle smile. Viktor gives a small nod. “I don’t know about you, but I was so focused on my own apology that I didn’t really hear yours.” 

Another small nod. 

“Sorry, that’s my big ego, at it again.” The joke feels awkward as soon as Jayce says it. 

No reaction.

Jayce takes a rallying breath. “I’m not sure what you have to be sorry for -,” he holds up a hand when Viktor tries to cut in, “but I hope that means you care”. 

“Care?” Viktor sounds almost incredulous. About me, Jayce wants to say. Even though I embarrassed you and didn’t ask you what you wanted. 

“About what’s most important,” Jayce forges on. “First: are you safe and okay?”

Viktor scoffs. “Yes, Jayce, of course I am fine - “ 

“Good,” the sincerity in Jayce’s voice brings Viktor to a halt. “I’m glad to hear it.” 

“Jayce,” he can even hear the eye roll in Viktor’s tone, “I am unharmed”. Even if he’s using more formal vocabulary to keep Jayce at a distance. Jayce will take it. It’s a start. 

“Are you” - Viktor stumbles over his words as he tries to mirror Jayce’s phrasing - “safe and okay?”. Jayce’s heart catches on those lilting vowels. 

“Yeah,” he replies. “A little hungover, but fine.” 

Viktor nods. Jayce can’t get another glimpse past the opaque formality.

“So we’re both safe and okay,” Jayce says. “That’s the first important thing.” 

“Will we assess if we have adequate shelter next?” Viktor asks. Still overly formal, but an attempt at humor. Is that progress? The brick wall remains difficult to read. 

“For this one,” Jayce says, “I think we should write our answers down”. His hands shake as he grabs a notepad off the counter and rips off two sheets. 

“Why?” Viktor asks as Jayce passes him a pen. 

“Honesty.” Jayce has his pen in a death grip. “We’re going to write down our answers, and then show each other.” 

Silence hangs in the kitchen, letting Jayce stew in how childish his plan sounds. 

“Ensuring truthfulness,” Viktor’s voice surprises him. “So no one can change their answer based on what the other says.” He almost sounds impressed. 

“Yeah,” Jayce says. “Does that work?”

Viktor nods. “What is your question?” Jayce swears he hears a waver of uncertainty. 

“After what happened last night, do you still want to be lab partners?” He hopes his breath isn’t as loud and shaky as it sounds in his head. 

A sharp breath from Viktor. Relief? Fear? 

“Write down your answer,” Jayce says quickly, hand shaking again. “Just be honest. It’s okay if we want different things, I promise.” He can barely hear the sound of pens scratching over his pounding heart. 

“Ready?” Viktor asks, with a cautious look at Jayce’s shoulder. 

“Three.” 

“Two.” 

“One.” 

The rustle of paper flipping over. 

Two scrawled out “yes”es blink up at them both. 

Jayce laughs with relief. Viktor makes a similar sound beside him. 

“Okay - great! Two yeses - great!” Jayce fights the urge to hug Viktor in celebration and relief, works to keep his hands balled into fists at his side. It’s that desire that got them into this mess in the first place. 

“Yes, great.” Viktor says, and Jayce hears the smile in his lab partner’s voice. He goes to flash him a grin, but Viktor is still staring at their slips of paper. His fingers gently brush across Jayce’s bold letters. 

“I thought…,” Viktor says softly, “you would want…” 

“Me?” Jayce desperately wants to touch the hand ghosting over his own answer, his hope for their future. “I thought you’d never want to see me again after last night.” 

Viktor’s eyes finally meet Jayce’s, clouded with confusion. “You were drunk, Jayce,” he says patiently, kindly. “I do not blame you for what occurred last night.” 

“What?” Jayce wants to laugh. “I drank so much that I befriended a hunk of rock and cried when you - very politely - turned me down -” 

“Those were drunken mistakes,” Viktor says, twisting his fingers among themselves in a way that makes Jayce want to pull them into his own and squeeze them until the frantic energy quiets. He reaches out, but catches himself as Viktor continues. “They were not sober errors.” 

“Thanks,” he replies sheepishly. “You’re being awfully understanding.” He’s trying to keep things light, preserve the tenuous alliance they’ve agreed to keep.

“You’re not the one who - it’s fine, Jayce,” Viktor says. 

“I thought I lost you,” Jayce says quietly. Now he’s the one staring at his hands. “I thought I’d made you so uncomfortable that you’d never want to be around me again.” 

There’s a flutter of movement in his periphery - as if Viktor started reaching for Jayce but reconsidered it. A shaky sigh escapes Viktor’s lips as his hands return to their absentminded worrying. 

“Jayce, that’s not -,” Viktor’s voice is low, “I thought that was how I made you feel. I thought I was the one who made you uncomfortable.”

“Really?” Besides his nervously entwined fingers, Viktor’s body language still gives frustratingly little away. 

“It seems we had similar fears,” Viktor says quietly. “I am glad they were unfounded.” 

“Me too,” Jayce says, matching Viktor’s tentative smile. All this - it’s a miracle. Mission accomplished, Talis. Situation salvaged. Partnership preserved. Get out while you’re ahead. 

“I still don’t get -” Jayce puzzles aloud while knowing he should shut up, “what in Runeterra do you have to be sorry for? You didn’t do anything.” 

Viktor stares at his hands, which twist themselves into even more intricate knots. 

“It does not matter,” Viktor says, as if to convince himself. “We both agreed it was a misunderstanding.” 

“Yeah,” Jayce agrees, “but you didn’t get so drunk that you tried to kiss your lab partner.” He winces as his face flushes. “You got me home. You even let me cry into your shoulder and left me a big glass of water. You didn’t do anything” - Viktor mutters something - “wrong”. 

He couldn’t make it out. But Viktor definitely said something. 

“What?” Jayce asks. 

“Hm?” Viktor feigns innocence. 

“C’mon, what was that?” Jayce insists. “If it’s a joke, I promise I can take it.” (At least he hopes he can.) 

Viktor’s ears redden. 

“I said,” he mutters so quietly Jayce has to lean in to hear him, “that’s the problem. I didn’t do anything”. His hand-wringing becomes almost violent. 

Jayce makes a noise that’s part confusion and frustration. “What does that mean? It wasn’t your job to do anything -”

“It was my job to stop you!” Viktor shouts angrily. “To look out for you!” 

“You did!” Jayce fires back. “You stopped me from kissing you -” Viktor shoots him such a pained look that Jayce shuts up. 

This reaction does not make sense. Jayce came onto Viktor and made a drunken fool of himself. But Viktor is acting like he’s the one who should be embarrassed. Claiming he didn’t do his job? What is he saying? 

He stares at Viktor, with his red ears and worrying hands and his absolute inability to look Jayce in the eye - clues that Jayce missed when he was still wrapped up in his own embarrassment. 

As he stares at Viktor now, something dangerous happens. 

“What are you saying, Viktor?” Jayce whispers. 

As Viktor tries to brush it off and refuses to meet his gaze, Jayce feels embers of hope in his ribcage flicker to life. 

“One more question,” Jayce’s voice shakes, smoldering around the edges from the warm coals in his chest. “Let’s answer one more question on the paper.” 

“Why?” Viktor sounds tortured. “Can’t we move on -?” 

“Because I need you to be honest on this one, V,” Jayce says, nickname slipping out despite himself. It’s a miracle he hasn’t reached for Viktor’s hands yet. “Otherwise I’m gonna get in my head about this.” 

Every bit of Viktor’s body language screams discomfort at this request, but he still picks up the pen. 

“Is this to gloat?” he asks Jayce warily. 

“No,” Jayce’s voice is earnest, even if Viktor won’t look at him again. “I need you to be honest with this one. Please.” 

His request hangs in the air. He tries one last time. 

“No judgement, I promise. We never have to talk about it ever again.” 

“Pinky swear?” Viktor asks. 

“What?” Jayce can’t breathe. 

Viktor holds out his hand. “Do you promise not to violate the sanctity of your pinky swear?” 

Jayce hooks his finger around Viktor’s, grateful for the chance to offer reassuring pressure. 

“I promise.” His eyes sting when Viktor echoes his comforting squeeze before pulling away. They both pick up their pens. 

“Alright, Jayce, what was your question?” Viktor sounds like a man handed rope for his trip to the gallows. 

“No judgement,” Jayce reminds him. “We both answer honestly, and then we never have to talk about this again.” Viktor’s skin takes on a greenish tint. Jayce tears his gaze away to the blank scrap of paper. He can barely get out the question, even without Viktor looking at him like that. 

Jayce takes a deep breath, swallows down the rising panic, and asks. 

“Did last night make you uncomfortable?” His throat is closing up, but he forces out the words. “The dancing? The k- the kissing?” He’s never blushed so hard in his life, never been so terrified that his vision blurs wildly out of focus. 

The silence screams at him. What is Viktor thinking??? Did he just blow up everything worse than before?? Jayce’s chest splits open from the weight of the quiet.

And then - he hears the scratch of a pen. Of Viktor writing an answer. Jayce forces himself to write down his own through shaking hands, a truth he’s known for a while now. 

“You ready?” he asks when Viktor puts his pen down. Now Jayce is the one who can’t make eye contact. The one who’s scared of what he will see in his lab partner’s face. 

“Three,” Viktor says. 

“Two,” Jayce answers. 

“One.” They turn over their pages. 

It takes too long for Jayce to process two words.

Especially considering they are the same word. 

He can’t breathe. His heart is hammering in his ears. The embers of hope in his ribcage rage as fierce flames now.

Because when he asked Viktor“Did last night make you uncomfortable? The dancing? The kissing?”,  his lab partner answered “no”.

Just like he did. 

Jayce is trying to formulate another question to ask, some way to get Viktor to admit what he desperately wants this “no” to mean, when Viktor makes a scoffing sound. 

“You promised honesty, Jayce,” he says irritably, snatching his own answer and crumpling it into a ball, shoving it into his pocket. 

“I was!” Jayce’s voice sounds strangled. “We had the same answer!” 

“You lied.” Viktor says it like a statement, not a question. 

“Why?” Jayce is incredulous. “You don’t trust my answer?” 

“Not when the evidence indicates otherwise.” 

“Enlighten me.” Jayce’s tone is just as curt as Viktor’s, as if his inflection can protect him from the way all his cells and organic matter feel like they are withering and dying. The way his throat wants to close up from the slap of rejection.

“Obviously last night made you uncomfortable,” Viktor says, as though Jayce were a cocky pupil daring to demand a higher grade. 

“I told you it didn’t,” Jayce snatches up his own written answer and holds it up. Viktor plucks it out of his hand and flicks it back on the table dismissively. 

“With words, maybe. But not where it matters.”

“How?” Jayce bites back a scream. How is the most important conversation of his life going so wrong? 

“You already treat me differently,” Viktor says, words laced with a defensive coldness. “You already keep greater physical distance, withhold - because I betrayed your trust - “ 

Jayce does not hear the rest. Holy shit Viktor noticed???

“Viktor, that’s not why - “ Jayce can’t get the words out fast enough.“Last night I overstepped, I made you uncomfortable -” 

Last night Viktor was blurry and out of focus from champagne, but this morning he can see the moment realization dawns on Viktor’s face in crystal clear detail. 

“You withheld because you thought that I - “ 

“- was uncomfortable.” Jayce finishes for him, his own relief and realization coursing through his bloodstream with a heady buzz.

“I made you uncomfortable,” Jayce says again, his breathing heavy. Daring Viktor to contradict him. “You very politely turned me down -” 

“You were drunk,” Viktor insists. “You could not consent -” 

Every cell in Jayce’s body is burning from the raging fire of hope in his ribs. “I can consent now.”

“What?” Viktor’s breath catches. 

“Does anything change for you if I’m sober?” Jayce says again, voice stronger. 

“You didn’t know who I was last night,” Viktor says, barely a whisper. 

“I always know who you are.” Jayce has never sounded more sure of anything in his life. Something glistens in Viktor’s golden eyes. Jayce tries to stop himself from assuming it mirrors the desperate hope in his own. Works to gather evidence from Viktor’s voice and the way he leans forward in his chair and how his hands have finally - finally - stilled.

“One more question,” Viktor says, grabbing for the scrap paper without looking away from Jayce. 

“Ask it,” Jayce says, holding his gaze. Those eyes like warmed honey, smarter and sharper than his. They’re his favorite eyes in the world.

“Would you want to do what you did last night again today? The dancing, the kissing?”

“Yes.” Jayce doesn’t bother with the paper. He’s too busy watching every emotion tumble across Viktor’s face - disbelief, surprise, wonder, and something vulnerable.

Viktor laughs. A shaky, fragile thing, as he rakes his fingers through his hair and seems to look at Jayce as if for the first time. 

“Yes,” Jayce repeats, mouth quirking into a smile. “I’d do it again, but only if you want it too.” 

“I do.” 

Now it’s Jayce’s turn to run his hands through his hair in giddy disbelief, collapsing into the chair he’s been gripping to steady himself. 

Viktor stares at him with a wondering incredulity. 

“I mean it,” Jayce says. “I’m only interested if you are too.” 

Jayce watches this knowledge sink in. The hesitant tug of a smile struggling against itself, before sneaking across Viktor’s face. How the muscles of his shoulders relax when he accepts the truth of Jayce’s admission. The way his eyes meet Jayce’s, steady and unwavering. 

“Prove it,” Viktor says, with the teasing lilt of a challenge. 

“How?” Jayce asks. 

“Kiss me,” Viktor says. “If you still mean it.”

Jayce’s heart stutters. Viktor is asking!!! Everything in Jayce is screaming to reach out and kiss Viktor, to grab him and never let him go. 

But it’s those impulses that got him in trouble in the first place. 

Does Viktor actually want this? Is he only agreeing because he knows it’s what Jayce wants??? The paranoia makes his head dizzy.

But then Viktor smiles, wider and warmer than he usually does, and the panicked fluttering feeling stops. 

“Jayce.” That smile pulls him out of his head. “What’s going on in there?” 

“I’m overthinking,” Jayce admits. “After last night - I fucked up - I did what I wanted without making sure you wanted it too.”

There’s a warmth in Viktor’s eyes that Jayce was worried he’d never see again after last night. He’s not sure when Viktor first started looking at him like that in the lab, with a softness he saves just for Jayce, but he vows to never take it for granted again.

“Want me to do it?” Viktor’s question catches Jayce off guard. 

“Please,” Jayce breathes, and then his breath catches as Viktor stands and steps closer until he’s between Jayce’s legs. Reaches a tentative hand to cup Jayce’s cheek. 

Instinctively, Jayce leans into the touch, sighing deeply. The anxiety clamped around him since this morning uncoils from his chest and floats away. 

“I haven't even done anything yet,” Viktor says with a soft smile.

“This is everything,” Jayce answers, pressing Viktor’s hand against his cheek with his own. His eyes slide closed as he breathes deeply, soaking up the feeling of Viktor’s hand against his, of this trust, this warmth, this - 

And then Viktor’s lips are against his and Jayce’s head is empty. 

Where last night was a warm blur, today everything is high-resolution sensation. 

Jayce gasps at the soft pressure of Viktor’s mouth, and it’s as if the spell is broken. Instinctively, he reaches out to grab Viktor’s waist and pull him closer, his other hand resting where Viktor’s neck and shoulder meet. 

Viktor’s lips are cool like the rest of him, poor circulation leaving him a few degrees colder than Jayce’s furnace, but he kisses with a persistent warmth. His fingers drift from Jayce’s cheek to brush the back of his head, slipping through Jayce’s close-cropped hair. 

A moan escapes Jayce’s lips, and he would be embarrassed, but it’s quickly followed by a similar sound from Viktor, and then their hips are flush together and he can feel how much Viktor wants this too. 

In the sober daylight amongst all of this irrefutable evidence: Viktor wants this too. 

Jayce breaks out of the kiss long enough to pull Viktor into a crushing hug, burying his face into the crook of Viktor’s neck. When Viktor hugs him back, Jayce still asks despite himself. 

“Are you sure this is okay?” he asks, lips brushing Viktor’s collarbone. “It’s okay if you don’t want -” 

“I want this,” Viktor says, leaning his head against Jayce’s with reassuring pressure.

“You’re sure?” Jayce asks, ducking out of his hiding spot to meet Viktor’s gaze. “You’re not just saying that because you know that I want it?” He gives an embarrassed chuckle and rubs the back of his neck. “Sorry, sorry, you just kissed me and here I am triple-checking - of course you’d say if you were uncomfortable, I’m just really in my head after last night I guess -” 

Viktor squeezes Jayce’s arms, which are still holding Viktor because he can’t bring himself to break contact, even in this moment. 

“I think touch is like a language for you,” Viktor muses. “One I am still learning how to use like this.” He brushes his fingers through Jayce’s mussed hair. “Your touch communicates so much.” 

“Yeah?” Jayce asks with a nervous blush, fingers curling into Viktor’s sweater. 

“Your touch,” Viktor continues, “is how I knew I was important to you. It is how I first knew I was your friend.” He smiles with a warmth Jayce rarely gets to see. “I - ,“ Viktor falters. “Touch is not a language I am fluent in like you are. I know it is important to you. I will try to speak with it more.” His hands slide up Jayce’s arms, framing his shoulders until his thumbs rest against Jayce’s neck. 

Even that light touch sends a thrill through Jayce. 

“I like being important to you,” Viktor says with another smile tugging at his lips. “I like how much you like this. I am not good at it, but I will try.” 

“You’re incredible,” Jayce says, beaming. “But we also don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. I’d be happy just napping next to you or writing grant proposals.” 

“Really?” Viktor raises an eyebrow. He moves even closer, and Jayce is hyper-aware of every place they’re touching, every fold of cloth, every hint of skin - especially when Viktor leans in close to whisper in his ear. 

“Are you sure this is comparable to grant proposals?” His lips brush Jayce’s earlobe. 

Jayce breathes sharply. “You’re killing me,” he groans, his hands grabbing for Viktor again, thumbs tracing his hipbones with more pressure than before. 

Viktor laughs in bubbly disbelief, shaking his head, and the sound lights up Jayce’s world. 

“I can’t believe I have this effect on you,” Viktor chuckles, leaning his forehead against Jayce’s. 

Sunlight spills from Jayce’s chest and the huge grin on his face. 

“I think you’ll find,” he says with a kiss to the tip of Viktor’s nose, “that I’ve been wrapped around your finger for quite some time”.

***

This line inevitably leads to more kissing, and it sends a thrill through Jayce that kissing Viktor is something he can just do now, like blinking or breathing. 

He loves how Viktor pulls him closer, slides his fingers through Jayce’s hair and traces the shell of his ear. He loves touching Viktor - not imagined, but solid and material and real.  

When Jayce experimentally bites Viktor’s lower lip and Viktor lets out a hiss that sounds too similar to his noises for leg cramps, Jayce realizes through the haze that while they’ve been kissing for a while, he’s been the only one sitting down. 

He shifts to Viktor’s neck. “Want to move this to the couch?” he asks between kisses along Viktor’s throat. 

“I - I am not opposed,” Viktor’s voice sounds more disheveled than usual (something Jayce notes triumphantly), “but there is something we should take care of first”. Jayce continues kissing Viktor’s throat as Viktor’s hands move along his back, and Jayce is skeptical of what chore could possibly take priority over this . 

“Hmm?” he asks, moving up towards Viktor’s ear. Viktor’s hands mirror the journey, sliding up Jayce’s back to cradle his neck. 

“Mm-hmm,” Jayce detects the hint of a smirk in the sound. “You left some vomit in the stairwell. It should probably be cleaned up before your neighbors complain.”

Jayce groans, burying his face into Viktor’s chest.

“Shit,” he speaks around the halo of maroon sweater fuzz trying to worm into his mouth. “That actually happened?” 

He feels Viktor chuckle around him, arms squeezing Jayce into a hug. 

“Surely you are capable of this task, Golden Boy,” Viktor teases. 

Jayce makes a rallying groan. “Alright, I’ll get on that. You’ve dealt with enough of my mess already.” 

“It was my pleasure,” Viktor says into the top of Jayce’s head, and Jayce hugs him tightly. 

But when Jayce moves to get up, he feels Viktor’s arms pull at his back with feather-light pressure. Instinctively, Jayce follows their guidance, melting into the hug. His chin hooks over Viktor’s shoulder, and he nuzzles into Viktor’s neck. 

“You’re making it hard to leave,” he whines jokingly. 

“For me too,” Viktor says so quietly Jayce almost misses it. “I like being near you.” 

This is coming from Viktor, who so rarely lets anyone in. Viktor, who eyes most handshakes with skeptical disdain. 

Jayce is about to vow he’ll never move from this spot when Viktor’s stomach lets out a loud gurgle. 

“Alright, new plan,” Jayce says, springing up and grabbing Viktor’s shoulders. “Step one: mop the stairwell. Step two: I grab us some breakfast from the corner bakery. You like their jelly tarts, right?” 

He doesn’t need to ask, but he’s always loved when Viktor blushes. 

“I can make a fresh pot of coffee,” Viktor offers. 

“Deal,” Jayce says, moving to grab the mop and cleaning supplies from the hall closet. 

“And after that,” Viktor says as Jayce fills the bucket with cleaning solution and water from the kitchen sink, “maybe we could - ah, continue this on your couch?” 

“Really?” Jayce grins.

“Really,” Viktor says with such an unguarded smile that Jayce has to abandon the running sink to kiss Viktor on each cheek, on his nose, on his lips. 

Viktor chuckles, pushing him away gently. “Jayce,” he says, “the faucet”.

“Oh shit,” Jayce darts back to the overflowing bucket. Dumps out some of the water, then grabs the handle and the mop. “Okay, I’m going to take care of this and get food and come back,” he says, heading to the front door. “I’ll be quick, promise. Fastest mop ever.” 

“I am not going anywhere, Jayce,” Viktor says, still standing by the kitchen counter, sunlight haloing his disheveled hair and the oversized maroon sweater. Jayce’s heart swells at the sight. He drinks it in and grins. 

“What?” Viktor asks after several moments, his eyes crinkling with a smile. 

Jayce just shakes his head with a chuckle. “It’s just - all this,” he says with a disbelieving laugh. “Best hangover ever.”And then he darts into the stairwell with his mop and soapy bucket before Viktor can laugh at him.

Chapter Text

“Viktor.” 

Warmth. That’s what he notices first. 

Slowly returning to the surface of consciousness, he feels a comforting weight, warm on his chest. 

“Viktor.” 

Pressure. Slightly unpleasant, in his leg. He should shift positions soon. But the warm weight on his chest is pleasant. He wants to ignore his leg’s discomfort. 

“I know you can’t read and snore at the same time, Viktor.”

His eyes snap open.

They’re on the lab couch, Viktor using one armrest as a back support, legs stretched out. The warm weight is from Jayce’s chest on his, dark head nestled beneath Viktor’s sternum. His long legs are splayed between Viktor’s braced ones. Jayce peers up at Viktor from his napping spot. 

“I do not snore.” Viktor says, lifting his notebook off of his chest. 

“What did I just hear then?” Jayce asks, sticking out his tongue. 

“A rat?” Viktor muses blearily, trying to figure out where he lost his place reading. 

“Cute rat,” Jayce snorts. “We’re only here because you wanted to review those notes,” he continues sleepily. “If you’re not gonna do that, let’s go home. Besides,” Jayce glances at the ancient timer on the side table, “you only have two minutes and…fifteen seconds before you need to switch positions”. 

“You and your damned clock,” Viktor mutters. 

“Wouldn’t need it if you were honest about when your body gets uncomfortable,” Jayce retorts, but snuggles closer. 

“You make an excellent weighted blanket,” Viktor counters, running his fingers through Jayce’s hair. “If Hextech fails, you should consider this a promising alternate career path.” 

“I know,” Jayce grins up at him, “but it’s still not worth a stiff back tomorrow”.

Viktor rolls his eyes, but snaps the notebook shut. “Alright, let’s lock up. But first…” Being curled up on the couch with Jayce is too good of an opportunity to waste. Viktor pulls Jayce up by the chin to kiss him. He’s still in awe that this is something he can do - reach out into Jayce’s space, touch him, kiss him - and watch how Jayce’s sunlight glows somehow brighter . Because of Viktor. The novelty has yet to wear off. 

“Hey, hey,” Jayce smiles through the kisses. “Breaking your own rules, mister?” 

“You’re the one who needs them,” Viktor says with another kiss. “I have a strong sense of decorum.” 

They (Viktor) have a strict “No Kissing in the Lab” rule (which may or may not have been instituted after a very close call involving Heimerdinger walking in while Jayce was on his knees under a desk, in the middle of some very inappropriate workplace activities. Viktor had to grip Jayce’s hair to stop him from moving and struggled to answer Heimerdinger’s questions with the strangled voice of a teenage boy, promising he’d find Jayce and they would be in Heimerdinger’s office for their weekly check-in shortly. The No Kissing rule was instituted the second Heimerdinger’s perky steps faded down the hallway). 

“I didn’t hear you complaining at the time,” Jayce teases, “other than moan-” 

“Let’s get out of here,” Viktor cuts in, and (mercifully) the ploy works. 

Jayce untangles himself from Viktor and offers him a hand to stand. They tidy their workstations and head to the door. It’s barely midnight, early by their standards, but the rest of the Academy headed home hours ago. 

As soon as Viktor locks the lab doors with a click, warm arms circle his waist and there’s a kiss on his cheek. 

“Not in the lab now,” Jayce says against Viktor’s skin. “ One of us is a rule-follower.” 

Viktor chuckles and leans back into him, as the knot in his chest slowly eases. He’s still getting used to this feeling he gets whenever Jayce is close to him, one that seeps into his bones. 

A year ago, when all this started, Viktor was constantly holding his breath, waiting for a thrown rock to shatter this feeling between them, for ripples to distort their fragile, tender calm. 

He kept waiting, kept holding his breath. 

Days. 

Weeks. 

Months. 

Eventually, he came up for air, in a way that felt less like gasping and more like realizing he’d started breathing at some point and the world hadn’t ended. 

If anything, it had gotten better. 

Here now, leaning against Jayce outside the lab, Viktor smiles at how long it took him to understand that this feeling he gets around Jayce - the one where his chest becomes warm honey instead of its usual taught springs and rusted traps - is what most people call “relaxed”. 

He feels it a lot these days.

Especially when Jayce’s head rests on his shoulder or when they hug or when Jayce slips his fingers through Viktor’s on their walks home. 

They spend even more time together these days, if that was even possible. There is something thrilling about being around Jayce outside the lab, experiencing new facets of his sunlight. 

Viktor already knew him well in the lab, where working alongside Jayce is the humid warmth of childhood summers, of sprinting along cobbled streets and gleeful shouts, of forts built from boyish dreams. Jayce is the tinny hum of electricity inside lightbulbs, wires charged with the spark of possibility. 

Viktor already knew him well at work. But he gets to see new parts of Jayce now. 

Like when Jayce is the crack of dawn with his mussed hair, still sleeping as the first wisps of sunrise streak across his pillow. His face smooth in sleep, arm slung over Viktor’s waist or curled into him, clutching Viktor the way a child would a favorite toy. 

And then there is Jayce late at night, the glow of streetlamps through windowpanes ghosting over bare skin. Faintly illuminating the way he gasps when Viktor trails his lips across Jayce’s throat, his stomach, his inner thigh. 

How Jayce throws back his head, the look on his face in those moments of delicate shadow - they shine bright in Viktor’s memories. 

They are moments he never dreamed of witnessing. 

And yet, the glow of the streetlight always reflects that look in Jayce’s eyes. Proving it is real. 

Jayce may be the sun, but he looks at Viktor as though he contains the universe.

In those moments, Viktor swears Jayce glows brighter. A vain thought, certainly. But one he permits. 

The supporting evidence is quite compelling.  

*** *** ***

In what most of Piltover would consider a stunning turn of events, Zaun’s engineering prodigy, co-inventor of Hextech, and assistant to the Dean of the Academy Viktor attends this year’s Piltover Academy End of Year Ball. 

Stranger still, he arrives on time, and with Jayce Talis on his arm. 

Context, though, is key. 

Perceptive onlookers might notice that should Viktor’s eyes ever get too lost in the crowd, imagined whispers too loud, or the sea of faces all-consuming, Jayce senses it quickly. He offers a comforting squeeze that grounds Viktor, reminds him of why he is here - and who he is here with. 

And Viktor - reserved, meticulous, introverted Viktor - smiles a little easier amidst tonight’s social gathering. Some students even catch the hint of a smile on his lips and how it blossoms into a snicker whenever he leans over to whisper in Mr. Talis’s ear. 

He even dances (though only with one partner). 

And he drinks in public. 

“Just one glass,” Viktor insists as Jayce dips two flutes into an ornate stone basin. 

“It’s for a toast,” Jayce says with a grin, handing Viktor a glass. 

“What are we celebrating?” Viktor asks wryly. The Undercity’s celebratory drink is vodka. Toasts are only for funerals or a means for getting drunk. Formal speeches with champagne are a Pilite custom. 

“Humor me,” Jayce says, kissing Viktor’s cheek as a faint blush tints his own. They raise their glasses. 

“To progress! To approved grants and late nights,” Jayce says with a mock councilor’s voice. “To partnership.” He grows more serious, eyes glittering starlight. “To the best year of my life.” Viktor’s eyes sting. 

“And to the woman that brought us together!” Jayce says, raising his glass not to Viktor, but towards the marble fountain beside them. “To open bars!” 

Viktor’s laugh is a surprised, bewildered thing. 

“Alcohol I can understand,” he says with a raised eyebrow, “but how can you credit our partnership to this - this -?” he gestures at the hunk of stone. 

“She’s the one that got me drunk enough to lose my cool around you,” Jayce laughs, draining his glass and throwing his arm around the fountain as though it were an old friend. “You should thank her.” 

“I am not thanking the statue for our relationship.” Viktor stifles a laugh. 

“You better,” Jayce says. “She did sixty percent of the heavy lifting that night.” 

“She is inanimate.” 

“Thank her.” Jayce flashes his most winning smile. 

“How much have you had to drink?” Viktor asks, but there’s humor in his tone. 

“Just the one glass.” Jayce is as cheerful as ever. “Wait,” he says suddenly with mock seriousness, “you didn’t think this toast was for you , did you?” 

Viktor laughs and rolls his eyes, moving to muss Jayce’s perfectly styled hair. They mock-wrestle, but there’s too much laughter and too many stolen kisses to pose any real danger. Once Jayce’s arm is around Viktor’s shoulders (a much better place than the marble, in Viktor’s opinion), he nuzzles his head against Viktor’s. 

“C’mon, drink up,” Jayce says. “Pay your respects and then let’s get out of here.” 

“We arrived barely two hours ago,” Viktor says, secretly relieved. 

“I convinced the janitor to lend me his keys for the night. There may or may not be a telescope waiting for us on the roof of the physics building,” Jayce says with a wink. 

The warm honey feeling in Viktor’s chest seeps into his bones. He smiles. 

“I’ve also got a bottle of vodka stashed in the lab with our name on it,” Jayce adds. “I hear that’s how real celebrating is done.” 

A grin breaks across Viktor’s face before he’s kissing Jayce, forgetting they are in public. Jayce laughs, and it is Viktor’s favorite sound in the world. 

“Vi helped me get the bottle,” Jayce says. “You’ll have to thank her. She also warned me not to try and match you shot for shot, but I think she’s underestimating my abilities.”

“She sounds wise, Golden Boy. You should listen.” Viktor chuckles, drinking in the sight of Jayce all dressed up and suggesting they ditch a party early. 

“I prefer conducting my own experiments,” Jayce says with a mischievous grin. 

Viktor winces jokingly. “You will regret that tomorrow.”

“Is that a yes? Fuck yeah!” Jayce fist pumps. “We’re gonna have so much fun!” 

So much enthusiasm in one man seems unrealistic, Viktor thinks. But Jayce’s joy leaks out of him and Viktor can’t help but soak some of it up. 

“Alright, let’s do it,” Viktor says. 

Jayce beams. “Let me talk with Heimerdinger real quick, and then we can go.” He leans into Viktor’s ear, whispering: “I’m going to ask him for tomorrow off”. 

“Don’t you dare!” Viktor hisses, but Jayce is already doing a backwards jog away from the fountain. 

“Drunk science nerds!” he whoops into the night before darting across the dance floor. 

It’s just Viktor and the inanimate hunk of stone now. 

He gives it a sidelong glance. 

The chiseled features smile serenely. 

Viktor rolls his eyes. Sighs deeply. 

Champagne gurgles. 

Across the dance floor, he sees Jayce clap Heimerdinger on the back and step away. His eyes meet Viktor’s across the sea of people and he flashes two thumbs up. Viktor thinks of the telescope, the promise of real liquor, and the knowledge that he gets to sleep in next to his favorite person in the world until he’s woken by the sun kissing his shoulders. 

He looks back at the fountain. 

“Thank you,” he whispers. 

And then Jayce is there, his arm around Viktor’s waist, chattering about how according to Heimerdinger most people take two days of rest each week, and maybe they should try that some time in the name of science (and possibly a vacation???), and then they are heading towards the exist and debating if Viktor is even capable of intoxication. The night beckons with the promise of rooftops and simple shot glasses and a quiet corner of the world that is theirs, and theirs alone. Viktor slips his fingers through Jayce’s and feels the warmth of his partner’s smile. 

Behind them, the mermaid fountain stands long-forgotten at the edge of the ballroom. 

Laws of science insist that stone is inanimate. 

And yet. 

For a moment her smile seems to widen as she watches the men of progress leave the party for their own celebrations. 

Perhaps it was a trick of the light.