Archive of Our Own

Viktor had been in the lab since yesterday afternoon.

It wasn’t uncommon for him to stay there overnight, not long ago— until recently, it wasn’t uncommon for him and Jayce to both end up crashing over their work, sleeping slumped on their desks and waking up with unintelligible notes and empty coffee cups littered over every available desk space.

Since his spinal fusion, he had begun sleeping here less, for obvious reasons. And without Viktor there, Jayce started going home for at least a couple of hours a night too, at least.

So it was the first night in a long while now that Viktor had stayed overnight, getting there before Jayce arrived after a lunch meeting with some potential investors, and staying long after he tried to convince him to go home.

Not falling asleep, though. For one, his spine wouldn’t allow it, didn’t allow for that kind of curvature over a desk— and sleeping on the floor sounded like a death sentence.

(He didn’t need another one of those.)

For two? He couldn’t sleep. Not with the racing of his thoughts, not with what little time he had left—

It was just a confirmation of what he already knew, really.

Last night he had been up late working, too. He always hated the doctors, found no real point in them if it was just going to be the same things he already knew over and over—

(He already knew, really.)

But his condition had worsened, considerably. Bad enough that Jayce had begun to offer his little kindnesses, his pity, more and more frequently. He would get them both lunch. He would bring his chair to him when he begun to look unsteady standing at the chalkboard. He would look at him with that… concerned, worried, upset pinch in his brow.

It was unbearable.

This treatment, he was used to. The pitying looks. The care brought only by obligation, because helping the cripple was the right thing to do, because it made them feel a little better about themselves if they insisted on helping him whether he wanted them to or not. It wasn’t for him, after all.

He was not used to this treatment from Jayce.

Jayce was, of course, a considerate person. The support he offered was intrinsic to his being— a hand on his back to steady him, or outstretched to help him up. These movements were natural; they weren’t special for Viktor and that was what made them special to him.

(And that was what made bitterness and jealousy writhe in his chest.)

But this was new. This was—

Well.

This was Jayce showing up in the morning, seeing him still working, still wearing yesterday’s clothes, and not laughing at him being there, not telling him he looked like shit— but asking him, cautiously, if he wanted breakfast. Saying he forgot to eat and he may as well grab him something, while he was out, but the words coming out too crisp, too rehearsed politician than tired scientist who forgot to eat that morning.

Viktor wouldn’t dignify his concern with a verbal reply, didn’t trust himself to do much more than wave him off without screaming. Even though he knew that he was just trying to be considerate, that he was trying to be helpful—

He never was good at kindness. Never was good at other people’s feelings. Why should he humor them, when no one humored his own?

(When he didn’t have time to waste on niceties.)

Jayce, oblivious, perfect, beautiful Jayce didn’t seem perturbed one bit by the dismissive response, barreling forward as he always did. “Your usual, then?”

Viktor bit down on the inside of his cheek. Hummed something that could be deemed assent, if that was what he wanted to hear.

“Great— I’ll be back in a few.”

The doors closed.

Now, time had never worked properly for Viktor. He could not count the number of times he had become engrossed in a project to the point of losing track of hours, near days sometimes. Everything else fell away, the only thing existing being his own hands and the equations before him, the soldering iron and steel, the pulsing blue of hex crystals. He had been like that since childhood— time slipping too quickly through his fingers.

Funny, how that worked. He looked up at that doctor’s appointment, only to be told most of his life had slipped away while he was so focused on his work.

(Not focused enough. Not when there was so much left to fix, so much suffering still in the world. When he was nothing more than a footnote in another man’s story.)

So it only seemed like a moment, from Jayce’s exit to his return. The closest to measures of time he had were the sketches and notes he’d scrawled on the blackboard, the progress on the power cell prototype he’d been toying with, the page and a half he’d scrawled in his…

Notebook. That he left over by the blackboard when he was copying things down, in his hurry to see if he’d solved the wiring problem.

“There’s that for you—“ Jayce put a hand on his shoulder for just a moment as he set down the tea and breakfast pastry on the table beside his work. “Man, you got a lot done since I was in here last. Figured out that problem with the wiring?”

An accusation, pointing out that he’d been in the lab too long.

He slid into the seat next to him, though. Scooted himself close to the desk to get a look at his work.

“Eh. I could feel the answer at the tip of my tongue— I would have gotten no sleep whatsoever, had I not brought my notes with me.” Viktor planted his feet on the floor, ignoring the rusty feeling in his hips, the jolt of pain down his bad leg. “Speaking of which—“

“Here, let me get those for you—“ Jayce offered, already stood from his seat.

A flicker of something hot and stinging cut through Viktor’s chest at that. Anger. Betrayal. Indignation.

“No need, I can get it.” He insisted, reaching for his cane, ignoring the sharp feeling in his shoulder, like tearing, like an electric shock.

(Reaching for his cane that would soon need to be replaced—)

“It’s no trouble—“

“And it is no trouble for me to retrieve it myself.”

This back and forth was nothing new to them, in the past couple of years as hextech partners. Jayce offering niceties and favors, Viktor adamantly refusing them because he knew, he knew the moment he didn’t—

The moment he was too weak—

“I just don’t know why you don’t accept my help.”

Viktor stopped, cane in hand— still in the process of gathering his energy to stand. That wasn’t why he was paused, of course— no, he was rewinding and replaying Jayce’s words in his head, as though would provide any different meaning.

Their back and forth was nothing new, but this? This was going dangerously off script. An escalation he did not want to risk.

He swallowed, the metallic taste not leaving his mouth. “How do you mean?”

It was a cruel question— he knew that damn well. He didn’t let people help him. Didn’t want them to. Couldn’t let himself be weak. Resisted needing assistance to the point of hospitalization— or, had in the past. It wouldn’t surprise him if he did again in the future.

(Only a certain number of times more. That was technically true for anyone, but anyone didn’t have such a clear understanding of where that future ended.)

“C’mon, V— you’re good at hiding it, but I know you; you’re obviously in pain.”

Perfect, oblivious, oddly observant Jayce.

“And? I am always in pain.”

“Worse than normal— you know what I mean.”

He did. He really did.

“Has this gotten in the way of our work?”

“That’s not the point!” Jayce snapped, exasperated, gesturing wide with his hands. “When’s the last time you actually told me you were hurting? When I ask if there’s anything I can do for you, or offer something, you always just wave me off, even if I can tell you’re hurting yourself insisting on doing everything. And if I bring it up you get annoyed or dismissive— hell, I just went to grab those notes for you and you looked at me like I pissed in your coffee!”

This was a variable he had not previously considered.

“And… what is the issue here?”

Again: Viktor knew it was mean, being dense like this on purpose. It was clear Jayce cared, was clear what he meant.

(He shouldn’t care. It would only make things worse.)

“I don’t know!” He declared, hands thrown up in the air. “What is the issue? Because no matter what it is, if I try to do something for you? You immediately shut it down. Am I not being helpful? You can tell me these things, you know.”

Viktor knew he shouldn’t explain. He knew that it would only hurt him worse, in the end… but he was right. He was hurting worse than normal, and not just the searing pain like his muscles were seizing and tearing, like his bones ground into each other at every junction. No, as much as he hated himself for it sometimes, for allowing it to affect the quality of his work— he was human, and he was weak.

(Something in him had craved this moment, when Jayce would finally push past the barriers he continued to do his best to uphold.)

(It terrified him.)

He knew he shouldn’t explain, but they were already off script, had already escalated to a dangerous height, and…

“You assume I cannot.”

The words passed his lips before he could calculate what their reception would be. They were left to float in the air with the chalk dust, something always there, never noticed.

It did not surprise him to be met with confusion.

Jayce didn’t get it. Of course he didn’t get it— golden boy of Piltover, all broad shoulders and hearty muscles. How would he notice? Why would he?

It would be easy to resent him, for that.

“…what?”

It would be easy to resent him, that is, if not for how genuinely confused he seemed by that statement, how surprised he seemed by their deviation from the norm. It was written all over his unbearably handsome face, quirking up his thick brows, twisting down the corners of his soft-looking lips.

Viktor tried to focus on the imperfections there. The scar through his brow. The gap in his slightly crooked teeth. It wasn’t that they made him less attractive— no, far from it. They made him look… human.

It would be easy to resent him, if not for those imperfections. If he didn’t see the man behind the symbol the council had made him into.

“You assume, however good your intentions, that I cannot do it. That I cannot get the tool from across the room, or get us lunch, or pick up the chalk when it falls to the floor. You do these things because you assume I cannot— or, at the very least, that it will be difficult for me.” Despite the hurt on Jayce’s face, he kept going. “And perhaps it is true. Perhaps I struggle with these simple tasks. But I do not want anyone to make that call but myself— that I am not able.”

(The call had already been made the moment he was born. It was just a matter of time, and not much, at that.)

(He never was good with time. Always slipping away.)

“I… didn’t think about it like that.”

“Of course you did not. Why would you?” Viktor grimaced at the bitterness he hadn’t intended to seep into his tone. “No one does.”

“I just… I figured—“

“Figured what? That when you are not feeling well, you enjoy being coddled?”

Jayce looked like he wanted to protest the wording, but he nodded anyway.

“Even so, it loses its… novelty, does it not? You reach the end of a week being sick and you are restless, itching to get back to work.”

Another nod.

“Now, imagine you are sick for every day of your life.”

Those perfect hazel eyes went wide, brows quirked up in not confusion, but worse: pity.

Sympathy was likely the better word, but it all felt the same.

“…oh.”

“But—“ Viktor stood, to prove his point, but also to retrieve the notebook responsible for this lapse in judgment from the far table by the chalkboard. “—no one believes you to be capable. They either avoid you, in case you are contagious, or they insist that they treat you like an infant, calling it kindness.”

Even as he stood, though, as he crossed the floor, he could feel the pain shooting up his back, his arm, his legs. His joints failing to hold him together. His tendons like old elastic, his muscles shrinking and crumbling under the pressure.

(Traditionally, they cremated bodies in the undercity. There was no space for coffins, no money for burial plots— and if the body was not burned, other uses would be found for its parts. It was unsavory, but necessary. Every resource must be utilized.)

“…I’m sorry. That’s not what I intended to do.”

“…I know.” Viktor sighed, exhaustion stealing the fight from him as he tucked the notebook under his arm. “These frustrations are not with you. Not really.”

Even the weight of the small stack papers sandwiched against his ribs caused pain.

“…But I’m making it worse.” Jayce pointed out, pulling his chair out for him out of habit as he himself sat back down. “Oh. Sorry—“

It was the kindness he did not mind, the kind he offered to anyone.

Too kind.

He set down the notes, first, leaning his cane on the desk.

(His cane that would soon need to be replaced.)

It took more effort than it should have to sit down. Lowering himself gently by the arms of the chair, finally getting to catch his breath.

Such a short trip shouldn’t wind him. And yet it did.

(He only had so many breaths left.)

“You are fine. Do not worry yourself.”

And that was what finally made him snap. They were so far beyond their usual push and pull, by now, so outside their routine give and take, that he was almost surprised it took so long.

“That’s what I’m saying! I worry about you!”

“Then do not.”

It was unnecessarily cruel and callous, but Viktor never was known for his kindness, was he?

(It was cruel now, but it would spare him pain, in the long run.)

“No.” Jayce set his perfect, angular jaw in place. “We’re partners. Equals— do you worry about me?”

“Of course.” The words were out of his mouth before he could consider the ramifications.

“Then why should I not be able to worry about you?”

He should have seen that coming. The reversal was a simple move— elementary, really, and yet Viktor found himself fizzling, feeling more live wire than person.

“It is not a good investment.” Was his answer, eventually, given only barely being able to meet Jayce’s eyes.

Only barely bringing himself to see the tears beginning to gather.

“Why would you talk about yourself like that? Of course you’re— you’re a person, Vik, not an investment! A person I care about!”

“Perhaps you should not.”

“Perhaps I—“ His hands were bunched in his hair now, ruining the perfected investor-pleasing coif. “Where is this coming from, all of a sudden? Did someone say something to you?”

Shit.

“This is coming from my whole life, Jayce.”

Because it was. If he hasn’t grown up in the fissures, breathing in air that was more toxic gas than oxygen. If he hadn’t been born with lungs that didn’t function properly, if he had access to the medicine that was ridiculously expensive to them growing up but he has come to recognize as Piltovan pocket change.

“No, you’ve been… distant. Closing yourself off. I can tell.”

Because how was he supposed to tell the most important person in his life that he was dying?

He’d always known, of course. Death was inevitable. But for most people his age in Piltover? That end wasn’t coming for another fifty years— not another five.

Viktor’s shoulders hunched in, unable to bend much, what with the brace and the metal bolting his spine together— unable to succeed even at hiding his pain.

Jayce scooted his chair closer, rested a sturdy, solid, impossibly warm hand on his thigh.

For an impossible, irrational second, he feared that his body would crumble into dust under that touch alone.

“You don’t have to tell me. But I want to be here for you. Not because I feel bad for you or something— because you’re my partner, and I care about you.”

His heart lurched in his chest.

The scar in his eyebrow. The gap in his teeth. The very start of crows feet starting to form because he just spent that much time smiling. The dark bags under his eyes concealed with makeup as well as he could manage.

Absently, Viktor wondered if Jayce searched for perfections in his face in the same way he did the inverse. If it would be easy to pity him, to think less of him, to resent him like the rest of society had it not for those tiny perfections, those glimpses of humanity.

In another fifty years, he would only be in his seventies. Still working in the lab, no doubt— or at least, inventing things in his space time. Moving more slowly, perhaps, but always moving forward. Doodling schematics on napkins at cafes the same way he did now, mind never able to be truly idle. He would have a family, no doubt— a wife, and children he had watched grow up and start families of their own. Perhaps he would be teaching his grandchildren to work the forge, or to solder and weld and wire together conductors safely.

Maybe he would be a funny story, then. His partner, back when he was young. He would be stories of accidentally starting lab fires and falling asleep at his desk and smacking him in the shin with his cane if he got out of line.

He hoped he would be stories of creation, too. That people would remember his name and know that he did good. That he repaid his debt to the world. That he made something worthwhile.

But to Jayce… he hoped that he would be fond memories of that first time they got hextech to work. Of floating in a sea of blue light and feeling, for a moment, that anything was possible.

Time would move on without him. Into a future he would never see.

“I… had a visit with the doctor, yesterday.”

No matter how much he tried to look neutral, he could still see Jayce’s eyes widen. He could never hide anything he felt, couldn’t hide the surprise there.

Viktor didn’t go to the doctor frequently. It wasn’t worth it to be told the same things over and over.

(Even if he had gone sooner, there was no stopping this. It was inevitable.)

“My joints are getting worse. Weaker. It has reached a point that using a cane is causing too much stress, to my shoulder and wrist, in particular.”

And, visibly, Jayce relaxed. He wondered what news he expected.

(He wondered if he was right to expect it.)

“It is not a difficult thing, to switch to using a taller crutch.” Viktor swallowed, kept his voice even. “Simply another mark of the progression of time.”

It wasn’t all of what was going on, obviously. Losing his mobility was just a lesser symptom of the main problem.

“You— did you think I’d care about that?”

“No.” And the answer is honest. “I am simply resistant to change, I suppose.”

“You? Stubborn?” Jayce cracked a smile, rubbed the knee he still had his hand on fondly. “Never.”

Viktor rolled his eyes, but allowed himself to crack a smile. “I have no idea what you are talking about.”

He smiles more fully at that, and it’s like the sun. He understands, how anyone would love him. He just doesn’t understand why it isn’t this Jayce, with crooked teeth and a scar through his eyebrow and callous on his hands from years of forging and building and inventing.

“It is progressive, you know.”

Jayce tipped his head to the side, like a confused porro.

“My condition, with my joints. Time and age will do nothing but weaken already soft connective tissue.” Viktor rolled his wrist in his hand, as though observing how the muscles and ligaments moved would bring any new revelations. “I have used a cane all my life, for my leg, yes— but now it has reached the point where this, too, will affect my mobility. It is only downhill from here.”

He was still, for a moment, for once rendered speechless. It was as though he were frozen in place, unable to move, to do anything.

There wasn’t anything he could do, anyway.

But Jayce was a man of action. He couldn’t accept that, couldn’t just take it lying down.

(Viktor almost wished he would. Fighting would just make it worse.)

Eventually, he did come back to life. Nodding slowly, speeding up as he seemed to find his resolve. That hand, still on his knee, squeezed gently, reassuringly—

“We’ll figure something out.”

—and let go.

There was no doubt, either, that Jayce believed those words, believed they would figure something out.

The place where his hand was felt cold.

It was Viktor’s turn to wrest himself back into movement. “One thing at a time, yes? I was getting these notes for the calculations I ran last night on the individualized power cells. I believe that by altering the pattern of the wiring we can make the unit more, ah… self-contained, but we still do not know how much charge they can be allowed to generate before risking catastrophic damage.”

An offer to return to script. A plead.

“I mean, one crystal nearly took out my whole apartment. I think it’s fair to say, if something fails, the damage will be catastrophic.”

Instantly, he relaxed. They both seemed to breathe for the first time in minutes.

“Catastrophic beyond a level we are willing to accept— I know we have been through this before with how to stabilize the crystals, even the fortified ones, but it would do no harm to attempt additional stability measures as a sort of… failsafe. Now, if the calculations I ran are correct— and I have no faith that they are—“

Once more, Viktor went to stand.

Immediately, his vision swam. The dizziness had him gripping tight to his cane, putting too much weight on his right leg to avoid tipping—

His right leg, that immediately buckled under the pressure.

For a second, everything went black. A buzzing overtook his hearing, and when it returned, making his vision fuzzy.

Pain had spiked through his leg and back, sure, and his already upset shoulder was still screaming at him— but there was no sharp, white-out pain from hitting the hard floor of the lab.

He hadn’t, in fact, hit the hard floor of the lab. Instead, it was Jayce. Holding him. In his strong, muscular, very warm arms.

However attracted to this man he was, though, and how comfortable his arms may have been, it did not erase the embarrassment of being held. Either way, his face was, no doubt, bright red.

“Whoa! Are you okay?”

(“No,” he wanted to say. “Hold me closer— I am dying and there’s nothing anyone can do. I don’t want to be alone. Please, Jayce. Don’t let me become nothing more than a humorous anecdote at the beginning of your story.”)

“Eh, generally, or in specific?” Viktor asked instead, pretending the moisture in his eyes was just from the fall. “Generally? Probably not. In specific? I will live. Now, put me down.”

Jayce held him just a bit closer to be safe as he stood, before depositing him into his chair with an impossible amount of care. Jayce, with the crinkles by his eyes. Jayce, who truly believed there was something he could do for him.

He could tell him, right now. He could tell him he was dying and get that same assurance, that same blind belief that only came from a boy whose mother told him he could do anything.

Jayce would try, too. He would waste five years they could have been changing the world with hextech, wasting all that time searching for a cure, a treatment— something.

(He couldn’t let his name be that footnote.)

“You could have just… set me down.”

His face screwed up into a frown. “Then you would have to get up there.”

Impossible kindness. No wonder the world was in love with him.

“And you assume I am incapable.”

And instead, Viktor met it with intentional cruelty, deliberate misunderstanding. Pushing him away, so that he didn’t get any closer to seeing how much he did want to be held, did want to be cared for.

Because then, he would realize it wasn’t anyone he wanted to receive that care from. It was only Jayce. And then he would ask questions, he would get too close—

(And it would just hurt worse, in the end.)

“No, I just know that it would be harder on your joints that way. But—“ Jayce sucked in a breath, an attempt to calm himself. “But I should have asked. I’m sorry.”

And of course, he managed to respond with grace.

Viktor swallowed, turned his face away. “They say I have low iron, and I am dehydrated. Both cause dizziness. Nothing to be too concerned about.”

Jayce nodded. “That’s… good.”

“And… if I am clearly going to hit the hard floor, you have my express permission to at least prevent my skull from being bashed open. Consider it… asset protection.” The words were thick in his throat, as if they would strangle him if he didn’t let them out. “And… you caught me. I should be thanking you, you should not be apologizing.”

Somehow he just… shrugged. Got that crooked little grin on his face. “Don’t mention it. Besides, you kept me from failing a lot further than that, so I think I owe you one.”

“Wh—“ Viktor blinked, sputtering, tension evaporated. “That has been years, Jayce! You cannot possibly believe—“

“Nope. I already owe you my life. Nothing you can do about it.”

That little grin broke into full on laughter at whatever confused-flustered-frustrated expression had come over his own face. Unfortunately, it was hard to stay mad at that laugh.

“You are insufferable—“

“So, I mean, since I owe my life to you—“

“You stupid, overly dramatic bastard.”

“—if you ever need, or want anything? Just let me know, and I’ll do my best to make it happen.”

Something twisted in Viktor’s chest, knowing that he meant it. That this crooked smile and warmth in his eyes? Was all directed at him. This wasn’t a face he made at any of those fancy Piltie parties. This wasn’t him trying to be charming.

No. It was so overwhelmingly, unbearably fond, caring—

(He would say loving, but he knew better than that. Even if his heart didn’t.)

—and it was all pointed right at him.

Viktor raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure? I am not known for my leniency.”

Jayce’s face softened. It was the wrong thing to say, apparently, if the bittersweet edge to his smile was any indicator.

He came back over again, sat back down in his own chair, scooted close enough to Viktor for their knees to touch, close enough for Jayce’s knee to be against his chair, really.

He held out a broad, calloused hand. There were a littering of scars across the surface, light enough that anyone who didn’t know the stories couldn’t tell them apart from each other, what was a scar and what was a wrinkle.

(This was just going to make it worse.)

Viktor gave over his own hand, already dead by comparison, pale and cold, and it was sandwiched between Jayce’s, skin nearly fever-hot by comparison.

When he died, he knew it would mean something, but it didn’t need to tear him down. Mourning him would be a temporary thing in Jayce’s life— a week of sickness before the story resumed. There was no reason to submit him to a lifetime of this.

(Even if that lifetime only had another five or so years.)

“Hey, Vik. Look at me.”

“I was.”

“My face, not my hands?”

Viktor knew what he meant. He was just afraid that he already knew what he’d find there.

“Viktor. You know I mean it when I say I would do anything for you, yeah? I’m not just saying that to say it. I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for you, and yeah, not dying is part of that, but I also wouldn’t be here, in this lab, with the best man I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing.”

He held his hand with such tender reverence, not as though it was delicate, but rather, like it was precious to him.

Like he was precious to him.

This time it was Jayce who looked away, whose eyes settled on their clasped hands. His hands, rather— Viktor’s hand was not visible, eclipsed as it was by his. The grip was secure, but not tight; even with his strength, he had no doubt if he desired, he could pull away.

He wanted nothing in the world less.

“…I mean it.” Jayce whispered again, as though pleading. As though crying out in desperate midnight prayer.

That broke something, in his chest. It would be less painful for his lungs to erode all at once than to sit here with that feeling.

(Because that was what he was afraid of. That he meant it.)

“Jayce—“

“I know I can’t, but if I could fix everything for you? I would— no, better, I would work beside you, and we could do it together. We will do it together. Just as long as I can be here, with you.”

(Maybe it was more cruel, not to tell him.)

Viktor struggled to breathe around the lump in his throat, inhale shaky and unsure.

“It is… easier, I think, to save a life than it is to live for someone. They are not equivalent.” He tried to keep his tone level, tried to fight the way his voice broke. “And even if they were— I do not want you to live for me, Jayce. You said it yourself: we are partners. You think there is anywhere I would rather be?”

Jayce managed a smile at that, watery as it were.

“I do not make a habit of doing things I do not want to do.” Viktor reminded. “But that goes for accepting your offers of help, as well. When I tell you ‘no,’ that I do not want you to do something? I mean that.”

“Of course. Why…” He paused, brow furrowing in thought. “Do… do people really not listen to you that much?”

Before he could rein it in, remind himself that the question was genuine, Viktor was laughing.

Jayce frowned, once again tipping his head and dear god, this adorable, endearing puppy of a man was going to be the death of him.

(That wouldn’t be a bad way to go, he thinks.)

“Jayce, for someone so brilliant? You truly do baffle me with your stupidity, sometimes.” Viktor wheezed more than laughed, really, shaking his head. “No, not stupidity. Naïvety, perhaps… but not stupidity.”

He looked at him, expectantly waiting for the explanation— as though it wasn’t obvious.

Maybe, to Jayce, it wasn’t.

Viktor leaned back from where they’d drifted in, from how close they had drawn to each other as though gravitationally pulled. “For just a moment, I want you to look at me.”

He frowned. “I am?”

“No, not the way you think of me. I want you to look at me, at my face, my body.”

If he let himself entertain the thought, he’d say Jayce’s cheeks went a touch pink.

“Tell me now, then: what does everyone else see?” Viktor doesn’t give him time to actually answer. “An undercity cripple. One that has strayed far from their usual bounds? Yes, but in the undercity few people travel further than they can walk in a day, and that is clearly not far, in my case. Surpassed expectation? Of course. But that expectation is that I will make nothing more of my life than the nothing I was born into.”

He looked like he wanted to argue, but Viktor kept talking.

“And that is a charitable interpretation. It goes back to what I was saying before, yes? I am either a liability, a sickness— or I am a curiosity, something to coddle and gawk at.” He looked away from Jayce’s face, afraid that he really would cry if faced with the devastated look in his eyes. “So, no— people do not tend to listen to me, let alone respect me. I do not expect them to, of course— you are the ‘people person.’ But I have come to expect that people will believe they know what is best for me, when they, in fact, know nothing.”

“…that’s awful. I’m so sorry.”

“Do not apologize. It is no fault of yours.”

“But still— it isn’t right.” One of Jayce’s thumbs traces over the delicate bones in his wrist. He hopes he cannot feel the jump in his pulse. “And I just… I hate when you talk about yourself like that.”

“It is how I am seen, yes? Not a lot I can do to change it.”

“No, but— I mean, yeah, you can’t do much to change what other people think, but you shouldn’t have to! I don’t know how…” He sucked in a deep breath, letting it out slow. When he spoke again, his voice was soft, barely above a whisper. “I don’t know how they see you like that. If people could just see you, how you really are…”

“If, being the operative.” Viktor pulled him back to reality. “And I do believe you may be a… somewhat biased, source.”

“You… think that? That they’re right?”

“I said no such thing. But I do believe you think higher of me than my being necessarily constitutes.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Jayce. You just offered to do literally anything for me, practically swore your life to me. That is a bit too much trust to place in a man, is it not?”

Part of him wanted to scream at him, to insist that he was not worthy of these gentle words, of the careful way he was toying with his hand. He wanted to yank it away, to insist on never accepting a kindness from him again.

Another never wanted him to let go. Wanted to tell him that may as well be his heart in his hands.

(And yet another wanted Jayce to weigh his worth, find him lacking, and tear him apart.)

“If there’s anyone I trust with that? It’s you, Vik.”

And the worst part was the wide-open look in his eyes, the smile trying to tug itself onto his lips.

(The fact he knew that Jayce meant it.)

Viktor took a breath, trying to be deep and calming, but only managing to pull in a desperate gasp. He let it out, as though ripping off the bandage as he forced himself to take back his hand.

The pull itself didn’t hurt; Jayce’s grip wasn’t tight enough for that. (He wished it just been.) No, it was the way the smile fell away, the question in those adoring eyes.

He didn’t understand. How could he?

“Perhaps you should not.”

Jayce blinked, trying and failing to hide the hurt in his face. “What?”

“I am not so kind as you believe, Jayce. I am fully capable of cruelty, of being controlling. Behaving… inhumanly. You are too trusting. Too naïve.”

“Tell me, then.”

Viktor loved that look of determination he got, the look that said nothing could get in the way of what he planned to accomplish.

In this moment, he was terrified of it.

“Tell you what?”

“Tell me what kind of cruelty you’re capable of, if you really are. What have you done that’s so awful that you think so little of yourself?”

The words died with the taste of blood in the back of his throat.

“Exactly.” Typical of Jayce, he took the silence for an answer. “You’re forgetting the part where I want to be here with you, for you. How often do you fix my equations, or remind me of the time when it slips away from me? How often do I give you something that requires a more precise touch than I have, or ask you to get something that I can’t reach because my hands are too big? It isn’t that I don’t think you’re capable, or that I think you can do no wrong. I tell you when your ideas are bullshit, same way you do when mine are. I trust you, and I want to be someone that, someday, you can trust, too.”

(How could he tell him that “someday” would never come?)

A heavy hand came to rest on his shoulder, warm in a way his own body had never been.

(He should have shrugged the touch away, should have waved him off.)

(Accepting Jayce’s trust was the same cruelty he didn’t believe him capable of. The same selfishness. The same inhumanity.)

(This would just make it hurt worse, in the end.)

Viktor could blame his failing strength, could blame the dizziness or the instability of his back— but he knew he leaned into the touch of his own volition.

And then Jayce’s other hand was on his other shoulder, like being tucked under a warm blanket in a way he hadn’t experienced since he was a small child.

Maybe he could blame that. The loneliness. The lack of human connection. Supposedly, people needed it. There were studies, on babies who didn’t receive sufficient attention from their caregivers. How they suffered, compared to their peers.

(Maybe if he was loved better, sooner. Maybe then he wouldn’t be rotting from the inside out. Maybe he’d have the strength to fight it.)

But Viktor knew it was his own choice to lean into the touch, to allow arms to be wrapped around him. To not only do that, but to return the embrace.

Tentative. Careful. Flames licking at a damp piece of wood. Eventually, it would consume it, if tended carefully, if the fire didn’t burn out.

(This was only making things worse.)

Both of them were sitting at the edges of their chairs, pulled as close together as they could manage. Viktor’s leg protested the angle it was resting, but that didn’t matter. What mattered was the way his face pressed into the fabric of Jayce’s vest, into the soft crook of his shoulder.

He could blame the cough he was stifling, but he knew the tears were all his own. Human weakness and fear stinging his eyes, because what was the goal of an organism but to live?

What could be more terrifying than the prospect of death?

Jayce, of course, thought this was about his degrading mobility, about the gradual loss of autonomy as his joints failed. And that was, also, terrifying to confront— just now, he knew there wasn’t enough time to worry about that piece.

The inability to receive proper oxygen would restrict movement first. Growing weak and tired as his corroded lungs struggled to keep going.

He wondered what the precise cause of death would be. Lack of oxygen to the brain? Blood loss as his lungs disintegrated? Perhaps his overtaxed heart would simply cease to beat.

Perhaps he would faint and there would be no one there to catch him.

The prospect only managed to make him shake harder, too dehydrated to truly cry, because that was his answer to what could be more terrifying than death itself: dying alone.

Viktor had spent his whole life alone, and this one touch of companionship had made him greedy, had made him selfish. He didn’t want to let this go. Didn’t know how.

Because Jayce was rubbing interrupted circles on his back, carefully skating around the bolts in his spine but not holding any less tight, not recoiling in disgust.

“This is purely because you are warm.” Viktor mumbled into his shoulder, reveling in the rumble of laughter that followed.

“Sure it is, Vik.”

“It will not become a normal occurrence.”

It couldn’t. If it was, it would break him.

“Well, I’ll be here to hold you any time you’ll let me.”

He had to choke back the pressure in his throat, trying to remind himself that was just the right thing to say, that Jayce was just being kind because he was—

He didn’t know. He couldn’t know. If this had been how he responded to news about using a crutch instead of a cane, how would he respond to the knowledge that his partner was dying? That there was nothing he could do?

(“We’ll figure something out.” He’d said. How much of Jayce’s lifetime would the rest of his own waste?)

“…we do still have work to be done.”

“Of course.”

Jayce still didn’t let him go. Not yet. Not taking the opportunity for an out.

(Part of him hoped he never would.)

But that was unrealistic— eventually, he would have to let go, and he did. If Viktor thought his knee felt cold without the presence of his hand, his whole body was now covered in that same chill.

(He always had poor circulation. The lack of oxygen would only exacerbate that— not to mention the lack of appetite, the inability to swallow without pain making even drinking water difficult—)

It startled him to see Jayce wipe the tears from his cheeks, looking every bit as distraught as he felt.

(He couldn’t know. Even if it was cruel not to tell him. He couldn’t do it.)

“Alright.” Viktor tried to hide the way he was still shaking, the way he felt untethered without that point of contact. “And now, back to the power cells…”