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“Ugh, I’m out of contacts,” Jayce grumbles from the bathroom as Caitlin goes through his closet in the next room over. She pushes aside a collection of academy vests, rifling through the shirts that her friend clearly hadn’t looked at since he was given a uniform to wear every day. Usually she would make a comment about men and their resistance to fashion of any sort, but she doesn’t think it was appropriate any more, even if she is here to help Jayce figure out what to wear. In his defense, it’s for a high-class elbow-rubbing session with potential postdoc investors and employers, disguised as a doctorate graduation party. Sort of a high-stress thing to prepare for.
They’d known each other for years, since they were kids. Before Jayce went to university, when he was in middle school and she was in elementary. He was one of the only people who knew her deadname, and he’d helped her pick out a new wardrobe and learn how to shave her legs.
Maybe the revelation that Jayce isn’t exactly a cishet man shouldn’t have been surprising, in hindsight. Either way, she’s sure her own experience with gender is why she was the first one Jayce went to with gender-questions, followed up with the request for he and they pronouns. She pulls out an off-white shirt with a ruffled collar, brows furrowing a bit. Maybe from a halloween pirate costume.
“Do you think I can get new ones in time?” She looks up to see Jayce has stuck their head in, thin-framed square glasses perched on their nose. The edges are cut off to make the shape less of a harsh square and more of an uneven octagon, with frames of an orange-tinted bronze.
“I think the glasses are cute, actually.”
His cheeks pink a little, a hand going to the back of his neck. “You think so?”
“Yeah, I do.” She smiles at him, and he ducks his head as he comes back into the room, hair falling into his face. “We should do something with that, though,” she adds, tossing the pirate shirt onto an armchair.
“What, my hair?” Jayce runs their hand through it, turning to look at it in the vanity mirror. “I guess I am overdue for a cut.” The sides, once close-shaved to hide the gray streaks, have grown out and been brushed back with the rest. Their hand moved down to comb through the gray, a frown coming to their face. “Makes me look old.”
“No, it doesn’t,” Caitlin chides, walking over to his side. She turns his face towards her with a hand to his cheek, the other hand coming up to fiddle through his hair. “It makes you look distinguished. You’re graduating, so I think that’s fitting.”
“Distinguished is just another word for old,” Jayce says with a pout.
“If you keep pouting like that, people are more likely to mistake you for a petulant child than an old person.” Jayce sticks their tongue out at her, and she laughs, rolling her eyes. When they’re done with the faces, she reaches to flip up the long section of hair that’s flopped over their forehead. “This part, though...”
“Don’t really have time for a cut, Cait.” He turns to the mirror again, brushing it back. “I guess I could pull out the gel...”
“Ugh, no, never gel your hair like that again.” She wrinkles her nose, and he pouts again.
“It wasn’t that bad.”
“It was pretty bad, Jayce.”
“Alright, it was pretty bad, but it was also high school prom and I would like to think I’d do it better this time.”
“I don’t know if it can be done better.” She shakes her head, giving him a pat on the shoulder. “Just sit tight, I have an idea.”
“Uh, sure. Whatever you say, Cait.”
An hour later, Jayce sits on the closed lid of his toilet, letting Caitlyn paint some sort of toxic-smelling goo into his hair.
“Are you sure this isn’t going to look silly?”
“I wouldn’t do anything to make you look silly, Jayce. Do you remember when Ezreal put streaks in his hair?”
“Yeah, it was really cool...” They trail off, thoughtful. “But he was a lot younger than I am now. And he’s a lot cooler to start with.”
“I think you’re cool.” She fishes the plastic hair-net from the box the bleach had come in, putting it over Jayce’s head. “You’re at least as cool as Ezreal.”
“I mean, he’s annoying, but you gotta admit he’s smooth.”
She rolls her eyes and doesn’t answer, peeling the plastic gloves off her hands. Jayce pulls the dye bottle from the drugstore bag, turning it around in his hands to read the back while Caitlyn sets a timer on her phone. He chews his lip for a moment as he debates saying what he's thinking. Caitlyn knows to wait it out.
"Do you think h--they'll like it?"
The verbal pivot isn't lost on Caitlyn, but she pretends it is, just for today. "I do, Jayce. I really do."
--
The party is just as stuffy and uncomfortable as Jayce expected. He runs a fingertip across the rim of his fourth champagne flute, watching the bubbles rise in a brief reprieve from the schmoozing.
They wish they could’ve brought Caitlyn as a plus-one. Jayce is barely acquainted with most of the people here, with the exception of Heimerdinger, who is one of the most in-demand people in the room, and Viktor, who... definitely should be here, but they haven’t seen him around yet. Jayce can’t deny they’re a little disappointed, but it would be very much like Viktor to have ducked out of this party as soon as he found an escape. They would have expected him to at least come by and say something, since most of their research was joint work, but Jayce has always been the more charismatic face of the pair anyway. Viktor prefers working from the shadows.
He takes a deep breath and puts his fake smile back on before turning away from the refreshments table, scanning the room. For as much stress as this event was, he had at least made some good connections -- two or three investors seemed interested in funding his postdoc research, and the matriarch of the Ferros corporation had mentioned wanting to meet with him and Viktor both at a later date to discuss a sponsorship. She’s a bit intimidating, but it’s an exciting opportunity. The business card she’d handed him almost feels heavy in his pocket.
Behind Jayce, a pair of shoes click over to the table, a third tap along with it betraying their owner. “I suppose I’ll have to get a few drinks if I want to catch up with your head start,” Viktor says thoughtfully as Jayce whirls back around. Viktor plucks a champagne flute from the table and downs it like a shot. He looks good, in a form-fitting striped suit vest, with red trim to match the red of his crutch.
“I thought you’d skipped out already,” Jayce admits. “I know you hate this sort of thing.”
“So do you,” Viktor points out, putting down his empty glass and picking up another. “We’re partners, the least I can do is stand next to you while you tell everyone we’re worth their time. Unfortunately I got a bit, eh, held up...” He turns towards Jayce, leaning a bit more heavily on his cane as his eyes scan from the gold-trimmed jacket up to the shock of blue in Jayce’s bangs.
Jayce fidgets a bit under his gaze, reaching up to adjust their glasses on their nose. “I ran out of contacts,” they explain, fully aware that it was unnecessary.
“I like the hair,” Viktor says after a moment, and Jayce gives a relieved smile.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. It’s... cute. Sorry, is that weird? I don’t know if that’s, uh...”
“No, yeah, not weird,” Jayce insists, shaking his head. He knows he’s blushing, but Viktor is too, which is a little reassuring. “I like it.”
“Oh. Then, yeah. It’s cute.”
Viktor smiles at him, and Jayce grins back, a warm feeling blooming in his chest. Later that night, he would go back to the lab with Viktor, tell him about the Ferros’ offer, and they’d celebrate with the fancy wine they’d been gifted years ago and then forgotten about in one of the desks. The alcohol would erase some of Jayce’s anxieties, and loosen some of Viktor’s inhibitions, and maybe they would talk about the future, or the past, or both.
Maybe they’d tell Viktor what he’d been feeling lately--about themself, but also about him. The alcohol would make it easier, but even sober, Jayce knows Viktor will understand. That’s just one of the reasons Jayce loves him.
But for now, he raises his champagne flute, and Viktor gently taps his own against it, the high-class Piltovian party moving around them without a care.