Work Text:
Viktor doesn’t turn around when he hears the door to his office swing open. He already knows who it is, not because he is particularly familiar with those firm, decisive footsteps—distinctive though they may be—but rather because, until recently, the only other people that ever came to his office were Heimerdinger and Sky, and even on their best days they never opened the door with quite so much…force.
"Viktor, you’re here!"
Viktor raises a hand as the clack clack clack of Jayce’s shoes on the stone floor echoes, rushing closer, mingling with the tack tack tack of his chalk on the blackboard.
"This is my office," he replies flatly, easily, focused on the calculations in front of him as the footsteps come to a stop just behind him. Despite having known the man barely a week, Viktor is already accustomed to Jayce and his frequent bursts of energy.
He finishes writing and takes a step back. He runs through the equation and combination of runes in his head, chalk spinning between two fingers—he’s made a mistake somewhere, he's sure—and almost forgets that Jayce is there until a hand comes down on his shoulder. It’s firm and decisive, just like his footsteps, and warm even through his clothes.
The gears in Jayce’s head are almost audible as he leans around Viktor to scan the blackboard and process the calculations. After a few seconds, his hand slips off Viktor’s shoulder and plucks the stick of chalk from between his fingers without so much as a whisper against his skin, and he steps forward to swap two of the runes in the combination.
He spins back to Viktor, face lit up with a blinding grin.
"Our office."
And perhaps because it has been barely a week, Viktor still feels himself curiously and undeniably pulled in by this side of Jayce. Sometimes he even wonders if Jayce has somehow carved runes into the air he breathes, something stirring in his chest whenever he sees those eyes shining in earnest.
Now is no exception.
"Ah, yes," he says with a nod, eyebrows raised, lips pursed, "how could I forget? You like to stake your claim."
Jayce grins wider, if that is possible.
"Now tell me," Viktor says, turning towards the desk overflowing with notes and small metal plates with runes carved into them, "what is it that has you so excited this morning?" Likely a new prototype idea, he thinks, or perhaps Jayce’s request for a personal forge has been granted. Or maybe they have finally been assigned a proper lab of their own.
Jayce is silent for the barest moment before he seems to inflate, and Viktor cannot help but smile.
"Right! Yes!" He follows Viktor to his chair and watches as he takes a seat, his excitement palpable as he reaches into his jacket to pull out a thin, rectangular, black box. He holds it out proudly. "I got you something."
Viktor raises a single eyebrow as Jayce hands it to him, curiosity making way for confusion and the slightest sense of unease. "Oh?"
The box is plain and unmarked, only slightly smaller than a journal and not much thicker than a pocket watch, and suspiciously light. Viktor turns it over in his hands while Jayce seems to resist fidgeting before him. "What is it?"
Jayce shakes his head. "Open it."
Viktor glances up at Jayce’s eager expression, then gently lifts the lid off the box.
Inside is what looks like a pillowy length of matte silk, crimson red, like the colour of blood. Viktor carefully pulls it out, the material soft and gently textured between his fingers—crepe, he believes it’s called—until he is holding the full length folded in half between his hands.
It’s a cravat, he realises.
A strange fluttering in his chest, he looks back to Jayce.
"It’s a gift. For you," Jayce says. Simply, easily, happily.
Viktor likes Jayce; his excitement is infectious, his straightforward words inspiring, his intelligence exhilarating. Viktor believes he has enjoyed the past several days working with this man—that first day, with their success with the hex crystal following their late night venture in Jayce’s ruined workshop and Heimerdinger’s lab, and now with both of them crowded into Viktor’s small, undamaged office, surrounded by equations and blueprints and prototypes and piles of research—more than the past several years since he first came to the academy combined. Truly, Jayce is a delight to work with, and he is easy to understand in a way that fills Viktor with wonder.
But this? He is not entirely sure he understands this.
"Thank you. It’s beautiful," Viktor says, running the cravat through his hands. "But, ah…what is the occasion?"
Jayce shrugs. "I just thought, seeing as we’re partners now, we should match." He motions to his own cravat, the exact same matte silk, the same shade of rich red, and it is then that Viktor understands.
"Ahh, I see."
Of course, Jayce is a brilliant scientist, but he is also keenly aware of the eyes of those around him; it makes sense that he would want his partner to look the part when they are in public. Viktor supposes that occasionally dressing himself up for the eyes of high-society is a small price to pay to see their dream realised, and he knows that his own usual cravat, a simple white linen thing, is a far cry from the gorgeous material he strokes between his fingers now. He marvels at its softness, its thinness, the delicate stitching along the edges, and it reminds him of the expensive dress often seen at formal functions. The unease in his stomach grows at the thought of Jayce going through the trouble of procuring it...but then again, this is probably nothing much for someone with Jayce’s patrons. It’s probably a trifling expense at best, more akin to an extravagant treat to be consumed over tea than an item to be worn on one’s person.
"You, uh…"
Viktor looks up to see Jayce motioning to his hands, eyes downcast.
"You don’t have to use it, if you’re not—if it’s too much."
Viktor glances between Jayce and the cravat—between the crimson silk and the slight flush of dismay rising on his cheeks—and quickly shakes his head.
"No no, I will use it," he says, and watches relief bloom on Jayce’s face. He pushes to his feet and makes his way over to the small sink and mirror set into an enclave at the back of the room.
"Thank you, really," he says again, pulling off his old cravat and laying it over the handle of his cane as he slips the new one under his collar. "It’s a lovely shade, and impressive craftsmanship."
Behind him, Jayce bows his head.
"My mother will be happy you think so."
Viktor chuckles as he measures the length of the cravat. "Your mother?"
"Yes. She…made it."
Viktor’s fingers still.
He glances down at the red silk before him and thinks of the matching red silk neatly tied against Jayce’s own throat behind him.
He keeps his voice neutral. "I thought House Talis concerned itself with forging tools."
"My mother used to be a tailor. Sometimes she still—takes requests."
In the mirror, the tips of Jayce’s ears look red.
Viktor wonders if he understood this after all; he wonders if, perhaps, Jayce is even more sentimental than he previously believed. The thought sends a stutter through his pulse and spreads warmth through his chest.
"Your mother is very skilled," he says after another moment. Carefully, steadily, he loops one end of the cravat around the other.
Behind him, Jayce lifts his flushed face to briefly meet Viktor’s eyes in the mirror before focusing on the silk between his hands, a small smile pulling at the corner of his lips. "Yes, she is."
He finishes tying the cravat, tucks the end into his waistcoat, and lets his eyes travel along the plush material that now adorns his chest. The rich red compliments the dark shade of his shirt and the blue and white of his waistcoat, but it makes his face appear paler than it already is, and the volume of the crepe silk draws attention to his narrow chest.
"It suits you."
Viktor meets Jayce’s bright gaze in the mirror again.
"And it’ll be perfect for sponsorship events."
Viktor tears his gaze away and runs his fingers down the length of the cravat. Humming, he says, "It doesn’t suit me quite so well as you, and events are not really my…area of expertise." He tries not to smile as Jayce shows every single emotion on his face.
He tightens the knot, smooths the length down further, straightens his waistcoat.
"But perhaps it is time for a change."
He shuffles back and feels the warm brush of Jayce’s chest against his shoulder before he steps to one side—and Jayce, in sync as always, steps to the other side, so that they stand next to each other, their reflections before them dressed in matching colours.
"We are partners," Viktor says with a smile, catching Jayce’s eye in the mirror, "and now we match."
Jayce grins at him, first in the mirror, then turning his head to look at Viktor directly.
"Now we match," he echoes quietly, almost as if he were saying it to himself despite the way he holds Viktor’s gaze and bumps his shoulder.
It is soft and impossibly gentle. It is absolutely nothing like his usual exuberance, and yet Viktor feels his heart falter and his breath catch in his throat. He feels himself pulled in—with such force that he wonders if, perhaps, Jayce has somehow carved runes into his very bones.