Work Text:
The last time Jayce brought someone flowers was after Caitlyn was almost blown up in that building. An attack by Jinx — this, he knows. But he has other things on his mind, now. Heavier ones.
Heavy, like the gravestone embedded into the earth before him.
Pure marble, with a name and accolades etched in. Above the text, three words are painstakingly carved — REST IN PEACE.
How ironic, that the man buried beneath this tombstone had never known peace — and now, never will.
Born at the bottom, Viktor clawed his way up and became a legend. Or, at least, that’s what should have happened. But it is Jayce who had and has received almost all of the credit. Our Hextech dream, he had said to Viktor, but was it really? To Jayce, certainly, but Viktor was swiftly relegated to the sidelines while he was showered in praise and privileges.
While Jayce was playing politician, Viktor worked on their shared dream. While Jayce was pursuing a romance with Mel, Viktor was passed out, having hacked up blood and worked too hard. While Jayce was stressing over things he wasn’t experienced enough to have a say in, Viktor was dying.
That prognosis should’ve been the provocation for Jayce to get his head back in the game, to go back to Viktor and Hextech and science, but he let himself be swayed by love and power.
He wonders if he ever even really loved Mel. Whatever that fleeting romance was, it didn’t hold a candle to the love he felt — still feels, really — for Viktor.
After Viktor died of his ailments, Jayce found it near impossible to move on. But he had to. Hextech and Piltover awaited his presence and input, and he barely had time to plan for the funeral.
In the end, the only thing Jayce contributed to the funeral was his own eulogy. He said nothing but good things about Viktor, preaching the greatness of a dead man to people who had never seen him, never cared. It felt wrong and cruel.
As soon as Jayce could leave without seeming rude, he did. Most assumed it was to mourn in solitude and left him be. The rest thought nothing. No one would think ill of a grieving man, after all. But in actuality, Jayce fled so he could shower and get the feeling of comforting hands, impersonal condolences, and ignorantly sympathetic gazes off of him.
The shower accomplished nothing, even when he scrubbed himself until his skin was red and raw.
It’s been years, now, since Viktor died. Jayce visits his grave less often than he should, chained by diplomacy and responsibility and reputation. He hasn’t come here since last spring, and the biting chill of the wind and air only aid in his sense of isolation.
“We did it,” he murmurs aloud, eyes trained on the name etched into the headstone. “Today, Hextech was finally used to clean the air in the Undercity. No one needs to wear masks anymore. They can breathe freely.”
No one else will die like you did is left unsaid, but meant nonetheless.
The stone and earth don’t respond. Jayce waits anyway, sitting on the frost-lined grass and putting a small bundle of forget-me-nots atop the grave. They’ll wither and die within the day, if the weather is anything to go by, but he had to bring something, since he did nothing for the deceased even in life.
“I’m sorry,” Jayce breathes, feeling tears sting at his eyes. “I’m so sorry, Viktor. You should have been here to see this.”
He’s met with silence once more. He closes his eyes, picturing better times with better circumstances, and finally lets himself weep.