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Viktor knew when the coughing started – a dry little cough that simply wouldn’t go away – that he was dying. He knew because he had seen it countless times before: the gas from the fissures gradually poisons the lungs. It’s like inhaling cigarette smoke but worse for the inhabitants of The Undercity who inhale the noxious fumes every minute of every day of their lives. Some are lucky, of course, and live long lives despite this, but many more, like Victor, aren’t: they die young, and they die in agony. And so it comes as no surprise, especially with his weak constitution, when that dry little cough becomes wet with blood.
When the cough started, Jayce asked about it, of course. And Viktor lied to him knowing he would get away with it. Jayce was from Piltover, after all: he hadn’t seen the things Viktor had, (hadn’t held his mother as she choked on the lining of her lungs). Though it might have been a selfish decision, Viktor didn’t want Jayce to worry about him or behave any differently around him for whatever amount of time he had left. He hated being fussed over and wouldn’t have been able to stand it if Jayce, who never made him conscious of his otherness before, suddenly started treating him like an invalid. Worse still was the thought that Jayce, out of a misguided concern for his well being, might have tried to bar him from their research which was the one thing, in actuality, that kept Viktor going – the one thing, he thought, that might make his life worth it. In the end, all that would remain of Viktor would be aftereffects, and he wanted, (hoped, needed), the ripples caused by his short existence to be meaningful ones.
Lying here now in a hospital bed, however, weak and withering and listening to the strain in Jayce’s voice as he brokenly says, “the doctor’s um…they said you’re…” he’s not so sure he made the right decision. Surely, Jayce would have understood if Viktor had told him sooner and wouldn’t have tried to keep him from his research - surely, Jayce’s care wouldn’t have doomed him to mediocrity.
“How much time do I have?” he asks flatly. That Jayce doesn’t answer is answer enough. And though Viktor knew, of course, that the day would eventually come when he would be able to count the number of days he has left on his own wasting fingers, it doesn’t really make the news any easier to hear. There’s still so much work he wants to do – with Jayce, with hextech – for The Undercity, for everyone, but there’s no more time left now. It’s all gone. Used up.
Viktor is tempted, at that moment, to drown in his grief, but the sound of Jayce’s grief as his friend starts to openly sob in his hospital room, yanks him out of it.Viktor has never seen Jayce cry before: not when he accidentally hammered his thumb working on the hexgate prototypes, not when girls dumped him, not even when the council confiscated his life’s work, and expelled him from The Academy. It’s therefore jarring, to say the least, to see Jayce cry for him now.
“Jayce?” Viktor says. But there’s a lump starting to form in his throat and his tongue feels like sandpaper and Jayce doesn’t seem to hear him over the sound of his own choked sobs. And though he tries, he’s too weak to get out of the hospital bed to comfort him. Instead, all Viktor can do is lie there, tears streaming silently down his own face, and uselessly wait for Jayce to stop. A small eternity seems to pass before the hospital room is quiet again.
“Why didn’t you tell me,” Jayce finally says, “Or somebody? Anybody? Given the extent of the disease’s progression you couldn’t have just realized.”
Viktor is hesitant to meet Jayce’s eyes, afraid of the betrayal he might find there, but when he looks there is none. Just grief.
“I didn’t want you to worry about me needlessly.”
“You didn’t want me to… Viktor, you’re dying!”
“Yes,” Viktor says defensively, “and there’s nothing either you or anyone else could have done about it.”
“You don’t know that!”
“But I do, Jayce.”
“How?” Jayce challenges him, “How could you have known?”
Viktor’s heart feels leaden in his chest – he’s been dreading this conversation for months.
“The cough that started a year or so ago and never went away,” he says, “– it’s caused by prolonged exposure to the gas from the fissures. I’ve seen it before. Countless citizens of Piltover’s Undercity have it – have had it – countless have died from it, Jayce. No one has ever found a cure.”
Jayce rises from his seat now and begins pacing the length of the hospital room like a caged animal.
“It doesn’t mean they couldn’t. I could have tried,” he retaliates, voice rising with anger, “You could have let me.”
“You could have,” Viktor agrees, “But the chance that you would have succeeded was infinitesimally small. And how could I bear it if you tried and failed, and you blamed yourself for my death? Watching someone you care about die is hard enough. My mother…” he starts to explain, but his voice breaks as the words leave his mouth. “It wears on you. Wears you down to nothing.”
Jayce’s gate slows and the indignation that, moments ago, twisted his handsome features seems to drain from his face even more quickly than it appeared. He comes to sit on the edge of Viktor’s hospital bed, hazel eyes searching Viktor’s own.
“You never told me how she died,” he says, and takes Viktor’s hands.
“I don’t like to remember it. But the nature of her death taught me some invaluable lessons: one of those was how I didn’t want to die. When she was given the prognosis that she was terminally ill, my father was distraught and in his grief, pressured her into taking experimental treatments even when they both knew she couldn't be saved. As a result, instead of living the last vital months of her life for herself doing the things that she loved, she lived them for him and sat preemptively floundering in a sick bed, hastened to her death by pointless medical treatments more akin to torture than anything else.”
“I’m so sorry, Viktor,” Jayce says, “That’s…”
“Terrible, I know,” Viktor finishes for him, “And it’s another part of the reason why I didn’t say anything. I knew I was going to die whether I was sat at my desk or in a sick bed and given a choice between the two I have a distinct preference for the former and no desire to fight anyone over that decision. Moreover I…” he hesitates, knowing there is a nonzero chance that what he is going to say next will hurt Jayce, “I didn’t want to live whatever time I had left being treated like an invalid, but especially not by you, Jayce. Not when you’ve done me the courtesy, through all our years of friendship, of never having treated me as ‘different’ before. It would have hurt me to have to look at you every day and see pity in your eyes.”
Jayce, as Viktor feared he would, looks wounded.
“I wouldn’t have kept you from your research,” Jayce says, “I swear I wouldn’t. I know you, Vik – I know what hextech means to you because it means the same to me. And it isn't out of courtesy that I treat you as an equal. I also know you tend towards self-deprecation but come on. You really think I’m like that? I never gave a fuck that you came from a poor family from The Undercity or that you have a crooked spine and a crooked foot. You’re not less than anyone for any of that and the only thing that genuinely sets you apart from the assholes who think you are is that you’re better than them. You’re brilliant. You’re …You’re beautiful.”
Beautiful?
Funny, Viktor muses, how death can put life into perspective. In the past, Viktor might have brushed right over a comment like that, (had brushed over comments like that), out of self-preservation, unwillingly to risk the potential fallout, (the awkwardness, the rejection, the end of a partnership and friendship), that came with addressing it. Now, however, confronted by his imminent demise, Viktor feels as though every inhibition he ever had has been lifted from his shoulders. He could be dead within the month – he could be dead tomorrow – and the idea that he might die without telling Jayce how he feels about him is suddenly and clearly so much worse than the potential fallout, even if it means losing Jayce right now. But he doesn’t actually think that will happen. Jayce isn’t that kind of person. So, what has he been waiting for all these years?
“Jayce,” he says, “There’s something that I need to tell you.”
“Other than the fact that you’re dying?”
“Other than that, yes,” Viktor smiles weakly, grateful for this small joke – it almost makes him feel normal.
“Of course,” Jayce says, squeezing his hands, “You can tell me absolutely anything. I’m here for you.”
Viktor squeezes back, looking at the way Jayce’s hands engulf his own and knows, no matter how Jayce feels about him, everything will be alright, or as alright as it can be. And then he just says it – without fanfare, without pre-amble, and in a way that can't possibly be misconstrued – because, he thinks, whatever reasons he could give, (why, when, where, how), they don’t matter anymore, and he doesn’t have the time.
“I’m in love with you, Jayce.”
To say that Jayce looks shocked feels like a vast understatement and yet Viktor doesn’t know how else to describe the expression on his face as he stares at Viktor though a hundred other emotions seem to flicker behind those hazel eyes. And then, quite unexpectedly, Jayce crumples into his lap.
“How long?” he asks, voice muffled into their joined hands.
“Since the beginning, I think.”
“Why didn’t you say anything?”
“Really, there’s too many reasons to count. But the main one, I guess, is that I was scared: scared to be vulnerable and scared that I would lose you. Our partnership and our friendship mean the world to me and I didn’t want risk jeopardizing either. I also thought it unlikely, I suppose, however well we get along, that someone like you would be interested in someone like me.”
“Someone like you? Someone like me?” Jayce raises himself up again to look at Viktor, bristling.
“Please, Jayce. Me: a poor cripple from The Undercity. You: the Golden Boy. And before you object to those descriptors,” he continues abruptly when he sees Jayce clenching his jaw, “I’m not trying to be self-deprecating. I am simply illustrating the way the world generally perceives us – a perception I’ve had to contend with for the last six years and which, I think, legitimated my concern. You, in case you have forgotten, are regarded as one of the most eligible bachelors in Piltover – people practically throw themselves at your feet. And when it is widely acknowledged that you could have almost anyone, I subsequently couldn't help but wonder why you would ever pick me. Furthermore," he adds quickly, sensing another interruption, “of the people you have picked, none of them, as far as I know, has been a man. My chances seemed…slim, to say the least. And I didn’t want to put you in the awkward position of having to reject me. It was pointless –selfish – the two of us had more important things to do, after all. How could I put my likely one-sided feelings above the development of hextech – above helping people?”
Jayce looks appropriately conflicted now.
“I’ve always hated the way you talk about yourself, Vik, but, I get why you were scared,” he admits, reluctantly. “I..." he pauses, takes a breath, "I didn’t want to put our partnership or our friendship in jeopardy either. You mean too much to me.”
The particular emphasis Jayce places on “either” doesn’t escape Viktor's notice and though his body may be failing this doesn’t, at the moment, seem to impede his heart which hammers a sharp, insistent staccato in his chest like a snare drum. He is probably, he thinks, making a similarly shocked expression now to the one Jayce made at his own admission, and it seems only appropriate to ask the same question that Jayce asked.
“How long?” he says quietly, still somewhat uncertain.
“Since the beginning,” Jayce smiles sadly.
This confession thrills and smarts in equal measure. He had always hoped, maybe, someday, but now it’s really happening and it’s on the precipice of “too late.” Both he and Jayce know this – the regret is practically palpable in the air between them. And, for a long time, neither of them says anything – there is nothing else to say, at least, nothing that will make the reality of the situation any better. So instead, they just sit together in silence, dwelling in the shadow of a different kind of partnership they might have shared until Viktor can't bear the cold weight of it anymore and breaks the silence with a feeble attempt at humour. When everything is so completely shit, what can one do but joke about it, after all?
“Well. I guess we really…what is that charming expression? Fucked the dog?” Viktor says sardonically.
Jayce stares at Viktor, full lips pursed in a thin line and eyes narrowed, (and growing narrower by the second), until something manic creeps into his gaze and he bursts into a fit of laughter that shakes the whole hospital bed.
“What?” Viktor asks, knowing it wasn't that funny, “What did I say?” Jayce snorts.
“Ok, first off,” he says, wiping tears from the corners of his eyes, “The expression is “screwed the pooch.” We screwed the pooch.”
“It means the same thing, doesn’t it?” Viktor mumbles petulantly.
“And second,” Jayce brings a hand up to gently cradle Viktor’s cheek, “How do you always manage to say such absolutely vulgar things with such a straight face?”
“Bad?”
“No. Good.” Jayce says, and then leans in and kisses him.
Viktor had imagined kissing Jayce countless times before and the experience is, with respect to the basic details, more or less what he thought it would be: Jayce’s stubble is rough, but his lips are soft and skilled, and the hand that cradles Viktor’s face is gentle and warm. Somehow, however, even though he got the basic details right, his imagined encounters with Jayce still don’t come remotely close to the real thing – to really feeling him, tasting him, breathing in his scent. In addition, there are other little details he never would have imagined, like the low, desperate sound that Jayce makes in the back of his throat, or the strangely pleasurable sting as Jayce deepens the kiss and Viktor’s lower lip, chapped by the dry hospital air, splits open leaving an iron tang on both their tongues. Why did it take Viktor in a hospital bed for them to get to this point?
“Viktor?” Jayce says suddenly, pulling away, “Viktor you’re crying.”
Viktor touches his face and finds that it’s wet.
“Are you ok? Was it…ok for me to do that? I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“More than ok, Jayce” he sniffs back tears. He feels suspended in some strange emotional purgatory, halfway to laughing and halfway to sobbing until he can’t breathe. His chest hurts. He’s so tired. The thought of sleeping is terrifying though: what if he closes his eyes and he doesn’t wake up tomorrow - what if he never gets to see Jayce again?
“Then why are you crying?”
“Because,” he says, “I don’t want to die.”
Jayce looks completely gutted.
“I don’t know what to do, Viktor. What am I supposed to do? Tell me how I can help you.”
As ever, as always, Jayce is trying to take the responsibility upon himself to fix everything. It’s a quality of his that Viktor usually finds equal parts endearing and maddening but right now it’s just breaking his heart into a million pieces because this isn’t something, try though he might, that Jayce can fix.
“I don’t know, Jayce. Just…” Viktor frantically grasps for something – anything – that might alleviate the terror clawing its way up his throat and give Jayce something to do so he doesn’t feel completely helpless, “Can you just stay and…hold me? Please. I don’t want to be alone tonight.”
The distress in Jayce’s expression dissipates.
“Of course, I can do that, Viktor,” he says dutifully.
It takes them several tries to find a comfortable position on the little hospital bed. Eventually they end up on their sides with Viktor’s back against Jayce’s chest and one of Jayce’s arms under Viktor’s pillow – his other arm keeps migrating from Viktor’s waist to Viktor’s shoulder, to Viktor’s hip, (he doesn’t seem to know what to do with it). It’s awkward and hard to relax, at first, being so close to Jayce, (something he's thought about for literal years), and Jayce, Viktor thinks, must feel similarly because he’s completely rigid. Even so, being held has a calming affect on Viktor –the nearly overwhelming anxiety that gripped him minutes ago starts to ease away.
“Is this too uncomfortable?” Viktor asks when Jayce moves his hand from Viktor’s shoulder back to his waist, (again). “You know, if I wanted to be held by a wooden board I would have asked a wooden board.”
“Sorry,” Jayce heaves an apologetic sigh, breath warm against the back of Viktor’s neck, (Viktor shivers),“I just…it’s kind of weird, you know? I’ve thought about what it would be like to hold you before, but I didn’t ever think it would be like this.”
Viktor can’t help himself.
“You thought about holding me?” He asks, amusement creeping into his voice.“What did you think it would be like?”
“Uh. Well. More…passionate, for one, less sad, for another. The hospital bed is definitely a surprise.”
“So where did we “embrace” in your imaginary scenarios?” Viktor lays on the innuendo. Jayce fidgets and Viktor is sure if he could see his face it would be bright red.
“Oh, you know - the usual places people "embrace" each other,” he plays along anyway, “ Your room, mine, the lab, your desk in the lab, on the floor in front of the big windows, against the big windows. Just about anywhere, really. But not a hospital bed."
It's Viktor's turn to fidget now, apparently.
"I also didn’t expect you to feel so fragile," Jayce continues more seriously, "This feels fragile, Viktor.”
“I know,” Viktor says, somewhat sorry now for teasing him,“But you’re not going to break me, Jayce. And it’s not all going to fall apart…tonight, anyway. Probably.” Jayce squeezes him tighter as if his arms could tether Viktor to the living, breathing world.
“Would it be ok…” he asks, hesitantly, “if I touched your hair?” Viktor feels, suddenly, like he’s standing in front of the furnace in the Talis forge – he’s grateful that’s he turned away from Jayce and for the dark so Jayce can’t see how the mere prospect of such an innocent act of intimacy makes his face heat. It’s a bit strange, Viktor thinks, that, as a dying man, he should react at all to such a thing. It would surely make more sense if his wasting body simply dissolved all his biological urges like the desire that pooled low in his gut when Jayce kissed him, or the tenderness he feels now.
“I would like that," he says.
Jayce begins to stroke Viktor’s hair, fingers occasionally twirling in the strands or rubbing gently against Viktor’s scalp. Jayce’s body, subsequently, finally starts to become less rigid, and Viktor’s own starts to feel completely boneless. Soon Viktor drifts towards sleep lulled by Jayce’s touch and the quiet hum and beep of medical equipment. He’s doesn’t know how long they go on like that for. He’s pulled out of it, however, when Jayce says, “There’s something I should probably tell you.”
“Hm?” Viktor murmurs, groggily.
“I sort of, uh, slept with Mel Medarda.”
Viktor is fully awake again and pulls away from Jayce a bit to stare at him over his shoulder. He has no idea why Jayce would think he needed to tell him that.
“What, like…earlier this evening? Earlier this evening, you slept with Councillor Medarda?”
“Yeah,” Jayce says, looking away awkwardly.
“And, sorry, how is this important right now?”
“I…I don’t know,” Jayce fumbles, looking even more awkward, and apologetic, “Nothing makes sense right now. Being here with you – like this – it just seemed like I should tell you.”
Jayce is certainly right, at least, that nothing makes sense right now.
“And she,” Viktor ponders, “Didn’t want you to spend the night?”
“Uh, no. I mean, no, she did, or I guess we didn’t talk about it. She fell asleep – but I couldn’t, so I left.”
“Without saying anything?” Viktor raises an eyebrow, “That wasn’t very gentlemanly of you, Jayce.”
“No, I know. I feel terrible about it – I’ll have to apologize to her tomorrow. But it just felt wrong to stay, and I was…lonely.”
It occurs to Viktor then, that someone must have found him in their lab, and since Sky already went home…
“And you went to the lab and you found me. ”
Jayce buries his face in Viktor’s hair.
“Yeah,” he murmurs, and the guilt hits Viktor like a brick.
“I’m so sorry, Jayce," he says, "You never should have had to see me like that. I should have told you sooner - gone to the doctor sooner."
"It's ok, Viktor. You were just protecting yourself," Jayce tries to soothe him, his big calloused hand rubbing up and down Viktor's arm.
"I was selfish."
Jayce lets out a sad little laugh.
"I think you're allowed to be selfish, given the circumstances."
Viktor wants to keep arguing but finds he doesn't, as a dying man, actually have a good rebuttal and sinks into quiet contemplation of the strange conversation they have just had.
"I’d be lying” he says eventually, poking Jayce lightly with his elbow, “if I said I didn’t find it amusing that the first thing you did after abandoning Councillor Medarda following a night of passionate love-making was to come look for me.”
“Of course I came to look for you, Vik. That was why I left.”
Oh. Viktor really has nothing else to say at that. There are a lot of Jayce’s past actions, it seems, he will have to rethink in light of the new knowledge that Jayce feels the same way about Viktor that Viktor feels about Jayce, (and since the beginning of their partnership, no less). If the sort of thing he did to Councillor Medarda has been a trend in Jayce’s behaviour, for example, his numerous but short-lived relationships suddenly make a whole lot more sense. Everything about this night, he thinks, is surreal.
When Viktor wakes up the next morning, however, in a hospital bed with Jayce’s arm still wrapped around him, he knows for certain that it wasn’t a dream – neither the worst nor the best parts of it.
***
Later that day, after Viktor has been released from the hospital and Jayce has escorted him back to his room, Jayce apologizes to Mel Medarda. He then calls a meeting of The Council and summarily resigns from his recently appointed position on the latter despite much protest. It is officially the shortest amount of time that anyone has ever been a Councillor.
Afterwards, he goes to find Viktor at their lab, and, upon opening the door, is greeted by an excited shout: “Jayce! It responds to organic matter!”
Viktor looks, Jayce thinks, distinctly better than he did last night, and all of a sudden he can see a glimmer of hope.
Jayce and Viktor get back to doing what they do best.