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"Jayce... Ezreal might be dead."
It has been four months since Ezreal set out on a week-long check of a mountain up north, where the Ironspikes met the Freljord.
It has been four months, there has been no word, and even the Avarosans have no idea where he was.
It has been four months, and everyone is convinced the Grandmaster Explorer of Piltover has finally met his end in the dangers of the north.
Caitlyn is strained with paperwork, too busy chasing down drug cartels to set up an investigation.
An increase of mafia activity force Vi out onto the streets more and more.
Jayce finishes every commission he has, every little bit of work he could do, but he has no one to talk to.
Normally, by now, he would call up Ezreal. Ask if they could go out to dinner or something.
Not this time.
Ezreal is gone.
Jayce is alone.
He rather hates that.
He wonders what could've gone wrong in a week. A blizzard perhaps? Maybe something attacked him. Maybe he slipped and fell and didn't arcane shift in time.
Maybe, maybe, maybe.
Cailtyn gives him the official sentence after a month. Ezreal might be dead. They have the entire investigative department working their asses off with something far more important, and Jayce understands.
But it doesn't really hit him until the fourth month rolls by, and Jayce realizes how lonely he is.
No blond head of hair in the passenger seat of his car, illuminated by the sunset as they drive around town.
No small beauty mark, under a blue eye akin to ice.
No freckles crossing the bridge of a cute button nose that wrinkles with his laughs.
No lopsided smirk and uneven jaw.
No soft giggles on a drunken night, when Ezreal will laugh it off if Jayce's lips happen to meet his cheek.
And when Jayce realizes, it really hits him.
No prodigy with strangely helpful advice despite how dumb he seemed. No one finding a way to slip a little adventure into his life. No wonderfully loyal friend who remained so oblivious for four years.
No Ezreal.
He stops really working for a while. He can't go into his kitchen because Ezreal's favorite mug is sitting on the counter, freshly cleaned so that when the explorer was supposed to come back, the techmaturgist could hand him a cup of coffee with just the right amount of sugar and milk.
The prodigy left his leather jacket on Jayce's couch, and he knows it's fucked up but it becomes something to hold at night, to sniff when he really can't handle not seeing him.
It feels like something is missing.
Something is missing but there's no way to get it back.
It's almost two weeks later but Jayce feels like it's been five days. He's done nothing but wallow about, sleeping and, well, nothing else.
He cries for four days before he couldn't cry any more.
"Jayce. Get up."
Helena, his sister, is in the doorway.
"Jayce."
He grips onto Ezreal's jacket a little tighter, closes his eyes and tries to fall back asleep.
"Jayce, you're going to need to get up. You don't have to clean yourself up or anything, just get up. You need to get up."
He hates that tone of voice, but he can't deny his older sister for that long.
He gets up.
His shoulder is sore from laying on it the whole day, and he feels like shit.
"Come on," Helena says quietly, beckoning him to follow her out to the living room.
He follows quietly, leaving Ezreal's jacket on his bed.
When he steps out into the living room, Caitlyn and Vi are there, and...
"Hey," Ezreal says, standing to greet the techmaturgist.
He looks injured, maybe a little tired, and his hair is somewhat shorter, but it's definitely still Ezreal. Still the same blue eyes. Same nose. Same adorable freckles, same little beauty mark under his right eye. A scar runs from his jaw down his throat and there's another on his brow, but it's definitely still him.
For a few moments, the brunet is in disbelief, staring, eyes wide and red from crying.
Then he crashes into Ezreal, arms wrapping tightly around the blond.
He doesn't say anything. Can't say anything. His throat is clogged with a sob he doesn't want to let out, but it chokes itself out anyways.
And then another.
He breaks down crying, his face buried in blond hair and his fingers gripping the sleeves of Ezreal's shirt too tightly.
The prodigy's hands are gently patting him on the back and the arm, and it feels almost surreal.
"I'm here," is murmured into his ear, and he has to go. He has to go. He can't break down in front of his sister.
He picks up Ezreal -- his muscles, which haven't moved properly in a while, are screaming -- and runs back to his room, dumping the blond on his bed and falling on top of him. His arms wrap around the explorer's waist, and his face buried into Ezreal's chest.
"Don't leave," he begs, "don't ever leave me. Don't go."
Ezreal embraces him lightly. "I won't leave until you do."
He doesn't think Ezreal says it the way he wants to hear, but it's enough. It's more than enough.
Ezreal is home and that's all that he needs.
Jayce doesn't let Ezreal out of his sight for two months. A wait for Ezreal to use the bathroom kills him, and he goes with Ezreal to the hospital to get wounds checked up.
Everywhere Ezreal goes, Jayce is following, and the blond gives him a pitying look.
Each night, the defender asks again and again for Ezreal to never leave.
He always gets reassurance that the prodigy isn't going anywhere.
He starts taking pictures of Ezreal, doing simple things -- pulling on his coat, sipping some coffee, reading a book -- but each of them looks perfect.
The brunet is almost disappointed he didn't take pictures before.
His favorite is one where Ezreal is laughing at one of Vi's jokes.
It's framed next to his bed, and when the explorer spots it, Jayce feels slightly embarrassed, but it's laughed off.
"I didn't know you were this attached," the adventurer comments one day, and it's in that moment that the scientist wonders whether or not to tell.
He goes for it. Ezreal might die on his next mission.
"I love you."
The blond laughs, pauses, and Jayce lets it sink in.
"... oh."
Did he fuck up? He probably fucked up.
"Sorry. I'm just. I'm in love. I'm terribly in love with... you."
Ezreal nods, and Jayce doesn't know what to say.
"I'm not really... good with... romance. I guess I'm willing to try things with you."
His fingers clasp the defender's, and Jayce can feel the blood running through his veins. He's aware of the small smile on Ezreal's lips, and he can hear a small, content sigh from the blond's lungs.
This is home. Truly.