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There are patterns to these things, synchronicities. A rune’s branching angle will be forty-five degrees, and the next one will become ninety, and the next will collapse back down to an even thirty degrees. All related, all relative. There’s a language here, one that Viktor is slowly learning to speak. He dreams of blue light, erupting into the room as a curve comes into alignment; that is one of the things that keeps him in the lab late at night, testing angles, making corrections, and testing again.
Viktor has carefully noted down seven variations on this particular rune that do not work, but that just means that he’s getting closer to the one that does.
Jayce is not here; Jayce is at one of the many functions that draw on his time, of late. Viktor’s own invitation is somewhere here on his desk, buried under notes and schematics. He’d meant to throw it away, but Jayce had made a pained face when he’d gone to do so, and so Viktor had promised that he’d consider attending.
He’d considered it. He’s considering it right now, and his conclusion is that the lab is a far more valuable use of his time.
Viktor makes a minor adjustment to a sine function and redraws the curve. Despite the late hour his hand is steady as he lightly etches variation number eight into a thinly cut shard of blue crystal. The lab is quiet, the faint rasp of steel on stone loud in the hush.
He does not begrudge Jayce the spotlight. Viktor has attended his fair share of these kinds of soirees as Heimerdinger’s assistant, and they are all the same: either too little or too much alcohol, never enough of the little appetizers, and small talk with a crowd more interested in Viktor’s proximity to the Dean of the Academy than in Viktor himself. Sometimes there is dancing. Viktor does not dance.
Viktor had felt mildly like he was leaving Jayce to the wolves the first time Jayce had gone off, gilt-edged invitation in hand, but Jayce had survived. Had seemed to thrive, even — at the very least, he keeps accepting the invitations. Viktor knows that all Jayce really needs in any social situation is for someone to ask him about Hextech: then his eyes light up and his shoulders relax and his smile could power a small building.
Viktor has idly catalogued the relative wattage of Jayce’s smiles, and while impressive, that one isn’t the brightest. Jayce’s most electric smiles are reserved for their work: the wild, ecstatic grin when a new rune bursts into light, or the incredulous half-laughter when they puzzle their way into a breakthrough. Even the tired but brilliant smile Jayce turns on Viktor at the end of a long day outshines most of the rest of Viktor’s index.
The crystal shard seems to vibrate a little under his hand as he finishes. This could be the one. The shard fits neatly into the metal cradle and Viktor pulls his safety goggles down. The thaumofuge powers up at the push of a button, and as the steel frame starts to rotate Viktor leans in close.
A spark of blue, shimmering across etched lines. The crystal vibrates in its cradle as the machine picks up speed, the other runes marked into the frame calling to it, encouraging it into being. The machine hums faster and faster, pitching up toward a crescendo —
The crystal splits cleanly down the center with an echoing crack. Viktor sighs, and toggles the power off.
He leans back in his chair, pushing the goggles up and glancing at his notes. Is it really the curve after all? Maybe the forward angle is too obtuse. Viktor pulls his notebook toward himself and starts sketching. There are patterns to these things. Viktor just can’t see all of it yet.
He’s recalculating the forward angle when a noise catches at the edge of his attention, as of the lab door opening and shutting. It’s too late for anyone to be disturbing him, and anyway getting into the lab requires a key —
A warm hand lands on Viktor’s shoulder and then Jayce is drawing up one of the other chairs and collapsing into it. His coat has been unfastened, the top two buttons of his shirt undone; there’s the faintest flush across his cheeks and his lips are parted. He looks like he should be on his way to someone’s bed, but here he is leaning an elbow on the desk and peering into the thaumofuge. He blinks a few times and narrows his eyes, then looks at Viktor.
“Expansion by a third on the curve?” he asks, and Viktor feels himself smile.
“Yes,” he says, as if they’re picking up mid-conversation instead of after several hours apart. “I thought that perhaps the wave would stabilize, but…”
“But it collapsed,” Jayce finishes, plucking one half of the cracked crystal out of the cradle and turning it over in his fingers. “That’s brilliant, though. Why didn’t it work?”
“Unclear,” Viktor says, picking up the other half of the split crystal. He holds it up to the light briefly, then places it in the small bin with the other shattered fragments. He glances at the clock, then looks again. “It is late. Why aren’t you at home?”
“Mm. Forgot something,” Jayce says, still looking at the crystal in his fingers. He sets it down on the desk and reaches for Viktor’s notes. “The forward angle might be wrong —”
Viktor’s hand closes around Jayce’s wrist. Jayce’s skin is warm underneath his own. “Jayce.”
Jayce gives him a sidelong look, not pulling away. “Why aren’t you at home?”
“A fair point.” Viktor releases Jayce’s wrist, but not because he wants to. He reaches for his pen. “The evening was not a success, I take it?”
“It was fine,” Jayce says absently, resting his hands on his knees and watching Viktor’s pen move over the page. “It was — fine.”
Viktor’s pen slows. “Fine.”
“Yeah.” Jayce doesn’t say anything else for a long moment, eyes still on Viktor’s pen. Viktor resumes drawing. There are patterns to Jayce Talis, too, and these Viktor is learning by heart.
“It’s just.” Jayce licks his lips and shoots a glance at Viktor, there and gone again before he looks up at the ceiling. “It was warm, with all those people, even in an open courtyard. They had a string quartet — do you know, I think we might be able to do something with audio frequencies? The notes some of those players could hit —”
“Jayce,” Viktor admonishes, although he leaves off drawing to write a note in the margin: audio freq? Notes as runes — wave patterns.
“Right. Sorry.” Jayce swallows, still looking at the ceiling. His fingers twitch toward the cut half of the crystal and he picks it up again, worrying at it with his thumb. “They ran out of the fancy little appetizers.”
“They always do,” Viktor says, reaching for the etching tool and a blank shard of crystal. This seems to bring Jayce’s attention back from the ceiling, although his thumb still rubs over the crystal in his hand.
“Yeah.” Jayce hums, and then, “I got asked to dance. A couple times.”
Steel grates on crystal for a moment, and then the sound smooths out. Viktor shakes out his hand. He glances at Jayce, giving him a thorough once-over from the tops of those broad shoulders to the firm waist and long legs down to the polished shoes. He meets Jayce’s eyes. “Surely you know how.”
Jayce huffs. “Of course I know how. Obviously I know how. That’s, uh, that’s not the problem.”
Viktor returns his gaze to the crystal before him, to the rune with the recalculated angle. He blows off the etching dust from variation number nine. “Then what, exactly, is the problem?”
Instead of answering him Jayce nods at the crystal on Viktor’s desk. “Are you going to test that, or what?”
”You’re avoiding the question,” Viktor says, but he wants to see what this one will do, too. He sets the crystal in the cradle and pulls his goggles down. Jayce fishes out another set from beneath a set of blueprints and holds them up to his eyes as Viktor toggles the power on.
The steel frame rotates, slowly at first and then picking up speed. A spark crawls through the etched lines, skimming over the cut edges of the crystal. The thaumofuge shakes, humming with the force of the rotation, and Viktor can practically see his calculations in motion: the obtuse angle, sharpened; the sine wave on the brink of collapse —
The form stabilizes. The thaumofuge sings as the rune sparks and catches, burning into the crystal as blue light erupts from the carved lines. The crystal lifts out of its cradle, floating as the thaumofuge slows, and Viktor can feel some of that same weightlessness in his own body, from his hair down to the soles of his feet. Jayce lowers his goggles as the blinding light fades into a gentle blue that nonetheless floods every corner of the lab. The grin he turns on Viktor is no less incandescent than the rune sparking just above the cradle, and Viktor files this one away with all the rest.
Jayce sets the goggles down on the desk, along with the half of the split crystal still in his hand. He pushes himself to his feet and holds a hand out to Viktor.
Viktor stares at him for three whole seconds before what Jayce is asking connects for him. Viktor pulls off his goggles and rubs at his eyes.
“Jayce,” he says, as gently as he knows how. “It is late. You should be in bed.”
“So should you,” Jayce says cheerfully. He wiggles his fingers. “But here you are.”
“And why are you here?” Viktor says, a bit more sharply.
“I told you,” Jayce says, still with his hand outstretched. “I forgot something.”
Viktor considers turning back to his notes; the variations on this rune will need to be recorded and analyzed for emergent patterns that might lead to the next one. The more runes they uncover, the faster the work goes. Patterns. Synchronicity. Viktor is beginning to see.
Slowly, Viktor lifts his hand and puts it in Jayce’s.
Viktor does not dance, but it’s nothing fast-moving or complicated that Jayce pulls him into, something where his leg might betray him and his footing set him stumbling. Jayce’s hand is warm where it’s wrapped around Viktor’s, and the other settles firmly on Viktor’s waist, holding him steady as Jayce sways them in a little circle. There’s no string quartet here, only the barely audible singing of the thaumofuge, but Jayce moves like he hears music — and in the gentle blue light, with Jayce’s hands on him, Viktor can almost hear it too.
Jayce’s eyes are bright in the blue light. A bit of hair is starting to come loose from that careful upsweep, curling over his forehead. Viktor lifts his hand from Jayce’s shoulder to brush it away, and Jayce’s breath audibly hitches.
He could have been anywhere tonight, with anyone; Viktor does not doubt that Jayce had been asked to dance. Maybe he had even indulged them, swept them around the dance floor in whatever waltz is fashionable. He might have danced with every socialite Piltover has to offer — but he’d left them all behind, and had come to the lab instead, and this curls something warm and tight in Viktor’s stomach.
Jayce’s hands flex on him, and he pulls Viktor a little closer. Viktor can smell aftershave and whatever Jayce uses on his hair. Viktor’s hand drifts slowly down, and Jayce turns into it, eyes fluttering shut as he brushes his lips over Viktor’s palm.
There are patterns to these things. Viktor is beginning to see.
“Jayce,” Viktor says, stilling. Jayce jerks, pulling back.
“I’m sorry, you’re right,” he says, suddenly looking anywhere but at Viktor. “I, I just —”
“If you are going to kiss me,” Viktor says firmly. “You had better do it properly.”
Jayce’s eyes go dark and his hands come up to cup Viktor’s jaw. His fingers are rough against Viktor’s skin. He leans in.
Viktor wants to etch this moment into his memory, into crystal: the heat of Jayce’s mouth, the warmth of his hands, the way Viktor can lean in and make Jayce gasp. The way kissing Jayce is easy — like they’ve done this a dozen times, like they’ll do it a thousand more. Jayce could have been anywhere tonight, but he’s here with Viktor. Viktor’s hands slide around Jayce’s waist, pulling him closer.
Patterns. Synchronicities. There’s a language here, too — in the small, incredulous smile that Viktor tucks away with all the rest, in the way Jayce leans his forehead against Viktor’s — and Viktor is learning Jayce Talis by heart.