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At the age of seventeen, Jayce was one of the Academy’s youngest students, although it wouldn’t look like it with his broad shoulders and clean muscles gained from hours in the hammer forge that belonged to his father, and his father before him, and the father before him, up until a few years after the establishment of Piltover.
Although Jayce considers himself to be quite smart and others think of him as a genius, a prodigy, school is school no matter what and the Academy doesn’t have a three-percent graduation rate because it’s like all other schools. No- the coursework is rigorous, the professors have minimal mercy on the students, and concepts are quick to become advanced. Even minds as great as Jayce’s would start to bend, and soon crack, under the stress and the pressure of expectations and work.
“Why don’t you just take up a hobby?” Caitlyn had suggested during one of their weekly lunches. “Something that doesn’t relate to school and lets you relax, you stiff.”
So Jayce made a list of all the activities he could think of and then organized them in a circle to see which activity relates the least to mechanics. Cooking and art were on the complete opposite end of the circle, but cooking requires too much time and ingredients, so art it is.
Jayce was quick to join the Academy’s art club after his decision. And just like everything else he does he threw himself into his newfound hobby.
By the end of the month, Jayce knew about all the different artistic media. By the end of the year, he had dabbled in each of them. The surprising delicacy involved in metalworking transferred over easily to three-dimensional arts such as sculpturing; a wood carving of his mother proudly sits in her bedroom. By the end of his second year at the Academy, he has filled two sketchbooks with drawings and had sold a few paintings to friends and family. Professor Heimerdinger had stumbled upon him drawing more than a few times and has suggested works of numerous classical artists to look into to seek inspiration from.
By the time Jayce graduates from the Academy and becomes a member of it rather than a student, his weekdays are filled with hours of him bent over inventions and research while his weekends fill the undersides of his fingernails with paint, charcoal, and ink.
Although his passion for art is covered by the intensity with which he pursues the creation of a form of magic that anyone could wield: Hextech.
Once he had developed an artist’s eye, he had been able to think of so many more things that his theoretical Hextech could be capable of. The world would become so much better. So many problems could be solved and humanity’s creativity would be spurred to think of the many different ways they could use Hextech. And he was so close! He has the crystals- he just has to figure out how to truly harness them -
Barely a year since he’s graduated the Academy and Jayce’s lab explodes.
Not for the first time, Jayce wonders what would have happened if he had decided to let go of his passion for inventing rather than art.
He walks to the ruins of his lab, staring at the few intact objects while trying not to cry and the torn-up books, burnt paintings, and ashes of past experiments.
He leaves.
Days after the explosion and the revocation of his license, Jayce stands at the crumbling edge of his workshop to stare at the sprawling city artificially lit as night settles in. Suicide wasn’t uncommon at the Academy: the success rates were daunting, the course load and competition made life lonely for most- Jayce was no exception. He’s had his small depressive spells that lead to pages of sketchbooks being filled with harsh, black lines and dots of red. He never saw himself ever contemplating suicide yet here he is.
The wristband he’s worn most of his life sits on the only table still intact in what used to be the sitting room, weighing down his final letter. His toe edges closer and closer to open-air until nearly half his foot is no longer supported. Closing his eyes, he inhales deeply through his nose and raises his arms from his sides. He takes in the smell of burnt paper, a distant bakery, the nearby ocean. He tips forward-
“Am I interrupting?”
-and stumbles.
Jayce clumsily turns around, body feeling so weak . Well, he is weak- isn’t he? Failing in what he’d been pursuing all his life, failing his mother and his patrons, failing at dying .
“The hell’s your problem?” He spits the words out of his mouth, frustrated. “What is that- another list with my name on it?” And it’s only then that he sees the person holding onto what he thinks might be a list. He’s different than anyone Jayce has ever seen before, skin so pale that it’s almost translucent, half-hidden in the shadows, wearing an outfit that screams Academy while heavily leaning on a crutch that symbolizes a lifetime of struggles.
Jayce doesn’t even know his name but for the first time in months, he wants to paint something:
The man who just saved him.
Hextech.
It’s real.
Jayce has long since learned that the name of the man who saved him is Viktor. He has an exotic accent that makes Jayce want to keep on asking him questions so that man can continue talking. He has a bad leg that hurts him at times, thus requiring the crutch. He is fond of sweet milk and couldn’t write a paragraph on self-care even if his life depended on it.
Together, the two of them ( partners) get the funding to advance Hextech. It’s only been a few weeks since they’ve finished setting up their new lab. It’s also been a few days since Jayce went and bought paints and pencils in shades of whites, purples, browns, and reds.
Jayce starts to truly appreciate life now. Every day is just him and Viktor in their lab: tinkering, talking, arguing over who has to journal that day and narrowly avoiding explosions. There was that memorable time, though, when Viktor got too cocky and got his eyebrows singed off the day before a conference. That gave Jayce an excuse to introduce Viktor to his mom while she used her makeup to draw eyebrows on Viktor’s face (Jayce thinks he could’ve done better).
It’s been four months since they’ve met and Viktor doesn’t know about Jayce’s side hobby yet and his main excuse for that is that he doesn’t want to be embarrassed.
Since meeting Viktor, Jayce has wanted to draw or paint the man a ridiculous number of times. There was also one time he had attempted to sculpt the man out of an imported block of marble one of his artist friends had given him after returning from an overseas apprenticeship. He ended up destroying the half-finished sculpture because it didn’t look right and realizing what he was doing made him feel extremely embarrassed (Caitlyn laughed when he told her about this).
When Jayce heads to bed and Viktor stays up to continue working, Jayce doesn’t sleep immediately. He usually stays up to do a bit of reading, works on an art piece, or starts a new one.
The first time he wanted to draw Viktor was when they first met, and Jayce ended up drawing him two days later in charcoal and hints of sangria, half-hidden in the shadows with a detailed crutch, hand, and book. The next time was in watercolor: Viktor floating, surrounded by that ethereal blue energy, half twisted to look at the ground. So many more urges followed, random pages of his sketchbook progressively filling with sketches of Viktor doing mundane things such as falling asleep at his seat, drinking tea while reading the paper. There’s a spread dedicated to portrait studies of the man and another page on just his deceivingly delicate-looking hands.
Jayce wants so badly to paint an actual portrait of Viktor. He has it all planned out already: Viktor would sit on the cushioned bench by the window that overlooks the city with his bad leg stretched on the bench to minimize pain. It would be during sunset when the golds and purples of the sunlight refracting off the clouds would paint his face so beautifully. And Jayce would make jokes as he’d go, immortalizing that beautiful smile-
He’s quick to shut down that line of thought. Jayce slowly spins on his stool to make sure that Viktor didn’t notice that he’d zoned out. He stares at the man for a few seconds before continuing today’s journal entry, ignoring the sketches of Viktor’s jawline and neck that he’d started in the margins.
Jayce has two primary love languages: physical affection and art. For his mom’s birthday and Parents’ Day, he gives her a painting of her or of something she’d like to look at, such as a foreign sunset or some exotic creature. For Caitlyn, as a “housewarming” gift for when her parents allowed her to move into one of the suites in their manor, he bought pre-made ceramic plates and cups and painted them with glazes before using his forge as a makeshift kiln before giving it to her. He makes hand-made cards for birthdays and “Thank you”s. Knowing this, he’s aware of how he feels for Viktor with the number of memories he’s put to paper, with the number of times he’s brushed fingers with his partner when giving him a drink. He purposely brushes shoulders or knees when they’re working on a project together. He keeps a hand on Viktor’s back when they’re walking through a particularly crowded area.
Perhaps the reason he doesn’t want Viktor to see the paintings that Caitlyn laughed over, calling him “a hopeless romantic”, is because he doesn’t want Viktor to confirm the fact that his affections will never be returned.
And he’s ok with that, as long as they can continue being partners.
Jayce finds himself fighting to stay awake as he sneezes into his elbow, rolling onto his side while burrowing deeper until the small mountain of blankets he’s under. It’s the middle of fall and for some ridiculous reason, he’s sick . As usual, Caitlyn had come over to watch over him and make sure he doesn’t escape the confines of his bed while still sick. The fever broke around two hours ago and now he’s just miserable instead of too miserable. Caitlyn had to leave for class but she promised to send someone to watch over him since she doesn’t trust him not to do something like tinker or paint.
The curtains are drawn over the windows of his room and Jayce is so tempted to bring out the oil paints and use a small canvas to paint the flecks of dust dancing in the crack of light that the curtains couldn’t hide. He shivers and draws the blankets tighter over himself, nuzzling his cheek against the sweat-soaked pillow. He’ll just stay in bed- getting the paints will require getting up and feeling cold . He busies himself instead by staring off the edge of his bed and at the old tablecloths that cover the ground. A landscape painting of a pier at sunrise rests vertically in a corner- he’s going to give it to one of his old professors for her birthday next week. His sketchbooks lay open on the ground, as they usually are when Caitlyn visits, riffling through his stuff- the girl is too fond of looking through things that aren’t hers.
One of his portfolios is also open, loose papers covered with watercolor or pastel carefully spread across the floor. He focuses on one of them, an artful sketch-style portrait he did of Viktor falling asleep with his head resting on his fist, gently colored and shaded with pastel (not creepy at all, nope, completely normal). It rets right above one of his favorite paintings of Viktor he’s done, a delicately painted headshot with hints of metallic gold used for his eyes and mother of pearl luster glaze mixed into some paint to help color his face. He focuses so deeply on them, on the little moles he had circled into the paper and canvas, that he doesn’t hear the well-oiled door open and the muffled thumps of a crutch that follows.
“Is that... me ?”
Jayce sits up in his bed, ignoring how to room momentarily tilts, and his temple pounds. He watches as Viktor leans down and picks up one of Jayce’s sketchbooks which had been hidden from sight, not bothering to look at Jayce as he examines the page.
“The resemblance is startling.” Viktor gently closes the book, placing it on the chest of drawers where reference books and little trinkets sit. His fingers linger on the book before sliding off as he looks around the room, a slightly awe-struck look appearing on his face as he finds the celestial mural that spans the entirety of his ceiling. “I...didn’t know you painted.”
“My machine sketches aren’t naturally that good,” Jayce forces himself to say, shifting into a comfortable sitting position. Of course Caitlyn had Viktor come and look over him. Meddler.
“I used to draw on walls with any chalk I could find but I was never the slightest bit good,” Viktor admits. He walks around the room and Jayce watches him. Open sketchbooks are picked up, loose papers are stacked and canvases are gathered. Eventually, he makes his way to Jayce’s side. Viktor’s eyes are curious, never moving away from Jayce’s. “If you are good enough to draw anything, why do I find myself staring at my own face so often?”
Jayce feels his face heat up. Viktor stands there just like he did the first time they met: waiting for Jayce to make the first move.
“I, um, I just...you’re really nice to draw?”
Viktor hums and rests his crutch against the wall before joining Jayce on his bed.
“If I were an artist,” Viktor says with his arms carefully crossed, “I would probably enjoy drawing things with more color, like sunsets or the sky, but I see you’ve done that already. You’re friend, Caitlyn, has told me about some of her... opinions ...but I want to, what do they say? “Hear the facts from the source”.”
“So you don’t find it creepy?”
“I absolutely do find it a bit frightening, the number of times I’ve seen my face in this room without using a mirror, but they are quite...well made.”
Jayce fidgets slightly. He draws the blanket higher up his lap, tightly gripping the cloth. “I...do you care for me, Viktor?”
“Of course I care for you Jayce, that is a stupid question. Are we not partners?”
“Yes, but...I’ve found myself caring for you more than just simple partners. I want to, I’d like it if," he makes a frustrated noise, " for me, it’d be ideal if we were romantic partners. To say it simply, I love you, Viktor, and I guess painting you was a way for me to express that love without telling you.”
Viktor’s eyes meet his and there’s something curious inside of it. Viktor’s body isn’t moving closer to Jayce like how one moves closer to another for a kiss. Viktor’s brow is slightly furrowed and for a moment, Jayce is so scared of rejection- that must be what this is after all, right?
“I,” Viktor hesitates, “I care for you more than I have for anyone else. I do not love you like how you love me, BUT ,” he cuts Jayce off before he could even open his mouth, “I think I could easily return your feelings, as long as you pay for the first dinner.” There’s a hint of humor in his voice and Jayce’s hand grows warm where Viktor has moved his hand over.
Relief.
“Thank you,” Jayce chokes out, twisting slightly so he can comfortably rest his head on Viktor’s shoulder.
When he wakes up, Viktor is asleep and their fingers are loosely intertwined.
Six years later, after the opening of usage of the Hex Gates to the public, Jayce stands with Viktor on a balcony that gives a clear view of the Hex Gates. The two watch silently as another ship is sent to another part of the continent at high speeds. Viktor’s hand tightens around his.
“Jayce,” Viktor pulls the C out, softening the name into something delicate and loved. Jayce feels more than sees Viktor raising his arm for him, the touch of Viktor’s lips delicate and pillow-soft against the back of his lips. Jayce has to stop himself from smiling when he can tell that Viktor hasn’t been drinking as much water as he should- his lips are chapped. “What’s that you have got on your finger, my love?”
Looking at their joint hands, Jayce feels shocked for a full three seconds before laughing, then crying. He pulls Viktor into his arms and holds his lover as tightly as he can dare.
“ Yes yes yes yes yes,” he sobs, clutching the back of Viktor’s shirt.
“Well, that is good,” Viktor says with forced dryness- he also sounds just a step away from breaking down into tears. “They were imported.”
Jayce separates from Viktor and scrambles for his left hand, comparing their hands- it’s so funny.
“My ring,” Jayce grins wobbly, “the stone matches the color of your eyes-”
“And mine matches yours,” Viktor says, stepping closer to Jayce. “Caitlyn helped- she insists on helping plan it.”
“Meddler,” Jayce jokes, “But...I love you so much.”
“We’ve established that fact.”
“So does that mean you’re going to take my last name?”
“. . .”
Three months later, Jayce is walked down the aisle by his mother. He can hear the hired photographers snapping pictures of his every move, of Viktor’s every move. He can’t take his eyes off of Viktor, standing there in a lovely white and gold suit- he so badly wants to run and grab his best oil paints and a large canvas. He can do that once the wedding photos have been developed, use them as a reference. The long tails of Jayce’s jacket brush against the back of his legs, reminding him of what this is: his wedding . His hands tighten around the bouquet.
He never thought he’d be the bride, but it’s worth the smile and pure joy on Viktor’s face.
He grins back.