Work Text:
Viktor knew. He knew the moment he stepped through the door.
The way Jayce flinches in a way that ripples through his whole body at the sound of his voice. Like he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t be. The knit of his brow. The tremble in his fingers. His shoes far too close to the edge of the open building.
Viktor knows exactly what is going on.
Anger quickly follows. Blustering, wavering anger that Viktor knows Jayce hopes will cover up his reddened eyes and tear-scrubbed cheeks. So he stays silent until he’s finished, leaning on his cane and balancing Jayce’s notebook atop his open palm.
When Jayce is done, Viktor speaks again. Light in tone, cautious in words - there is still a hole blown wide open into the side of the study after all, and Jayce still paces between it and Viktor with no regard for caution.
But Jayce retorts in anger once more, so Viktor changes plans. His cane taps hollow on the floorboards, a metallic staccato punctuating his voice as he limps closer to Jayce.
He holds out the notebook, and tries again.
And it works.
When Jayce steps back, Viktor lets out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding as the situation defuses. That horrible, clenching pain in the chest he knows so well seems to loosen its hold on Jayce, and then on Viktor in turn. He knew, he knew. But he can never say it openly, will never. He and Jayce are proud men alike.
Proud men don’t talk about wanting to die. Viktor knows this. So they talk about the only thing they can - their science, their inventions, their dreams - to chase away the hollow chill that fills the air.
And that is enough.