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The storm introduced itself quietly, like an unwelcome guest hesitant to make its presence known. Thin fingers of snow kissed the lab’s tall windows, leaving trails that faded as quickly as they came. Jayce barely noticed, his focus locked on the gleaming contraption before him.
“Careful,” Viktor’s voice broke through. His eyes, sharp as ever, remained fixed on his own station. “Push it too far, and we’ll spend the night cleaning up shards of your enthusiasm.”
Jayce smirked, turning a dial with a touch more flair than precision. “Relax, Viktor. I’ve got it handled.”
A sharp gust of wind rattled the windows, stealing Jayce’s confidence for a fleeting moment. His hand stilled as he glanced toward the glass, where shadows of snow danced in the dim light.
“Was this supposed to happen?” Jayce asked, his voice filled with a casualness he didn’t quite feel.
Viktor straightened, the quiet creak of his cane cutting through the growing silence. He moved to the window, his movements unhurried. Frost crept along the glass, its patterns jagged and intricate, like veins of ice spreading across a wound.
“It wasn’t forecasted,” Viktor replied, his breath fogging the glass. “But weather seldom asks for permission.”
Jayce stepped back from the table, his arms crossing instinctively. The chill in the air felt sharper now, biting at his exposed skin. It wasn’t the cold itself that set his nerves alight, but the memories it carried.
“Maybe we should call it a night,” he said, his gaze flickering toward the door.
Viktor turned slightly, his brow lifting in faint amusement. “And wander into that?” He gestured to the storm, the snow now hammering against the windows with an almost rhythmic ferocity. “I think not. The lab is warm enough for now. Besides, it’s not as though we are strangers to late hours.”
Jayce hesitated, his lips parting as though to argue, but no words came. The wind howled, its mournful cry filling the space. He turned back to his workbench, letting his hands busy themselves with the crystalline device. But the hum of magic was no longer a comfort.
The room grew colder still. Jayce adjusted the crystal’s casing, but his mind drifted to long-buried memories, the crackle of ice underfoot, the burning ache of numb fingers, and the terrible quiet that came with being utterly alone in a storm.
The cold didn’t simply chill, it hollowed. glass that shattered under strain, bones that ached long after the frost was gone. It stole the warmth from the air and, with it, the illusion of safety.
For Jayce, the cold was not the distant discomfort of winter, it was a predator. It dragged him back to the crackling ice under his boots, the weight of snow that seemed infinite, and the ache that had bloomed in his chest when breath turned to frost.
It made him feel small again, powerless against the vast, uncaring stretch of white. The storm outside might as well have been the storm inside him, where echoes of old fear lingered like frost on a pane.
He hated how it made him feel helpless, like the boy he’d been when the wind’s howl was the only sound he could hear. The boy who had walked too far into the snow and learned that the cold didn’t forgive.
Jayce returned to the workbench, his hands hovering over the hex crystal as if its faint sound could drown out the storm. The device wasn’t complicated, not for someone with his skill, but tonight, the intricate mechanisms seemed to blur, their purpose slipping through his fingers like grains of sand.
Behind him, Viktor’s movements carried on as though the storm didn’t exist. Jayce envied that about him, how he could block out the world so completely, focusing only on the task in front of him. The storm wasn’t even a distraction for Viktor, it was simply another variable, another equation to consider. But for Jayce, the wind outside was growing louder. The rattle of the windows echoed in his chest, syncing with the uneven rhythm of his breathing.
“You’re unusually quiet,” Viktor said suddenly, not looking up from his station. “Not like you.”
Jayce forced a laugh, though it sounded hollow to his ears. “Just… trying to concentrate. This thing isn’t going to fix itself, you know.”
“True,” Viktor replied.
Jayce adjusted the crystal’s casing again, though it didn’t need adjusting. Twisting screws that were already tight and fine-tuning connections that were already stable. It wasn’t about the work, it was about keeping his hands busy, keeping his mind from wandering to the frost creeping along the edges of the window.
The air in the lab grew colder. Jayce’s breath puffed out in faint clouds as he leaned closer to the crystal, pretending he didn’t see the frost spreading along the glass. The wind howled again, louder this time, and his hands slipped, the tool clattering to the floor.
“Damn it,” he muttered, bending to retrieve it. His fingers, stiff with cold, fumbled against the smooth surface of the floor. He cursed again under his breath, though the frustration wasn’t aimed at the tool, it was aimed at himself.
“Jayce,” Viktor said. Jayce looked up to see him standing by the window, his cane resting against the frame. “You’re distracted. What is it?”
“It’s nothing,” Jayce said quickly, brushing off his hands as he stood. “Just tired, I guess. We’ve been at this for hours.”
“The storm doesn’t bother you?” he asked.
Jayce hesitated, his smile faltering. “No,” he lied, though the word felt heavy in his throat. “It’s just… loud, that’s all.”
“Hmm.” Viktor didn’t press further, but he didn’t turn away either.
Jayce abandoned the tool on the workbench, his fingers moving instead to a jacket draped over the back of a nearby chair. The lab wasn’t that cold yet, but the storm outside seemed to reach through the walls, its icy grip tightening with every gust of wind.
He shrugged the jacket on, tugging it close as if the extra layer might smother the unease building in his chest. It didn’t. The fabric felt heavy, suffocating almost, and yet it wasn’t enough. He tugged the zipper up, fidgeting with it until it clicked shut at his throat.
“Jayce?” Viktor’s voice came again, softer this time, as though he were testing the waters.
Jayce forced a smile without looking up. “Just… cold,” he said, gesturing vaguely toward the frost-framed windows. “You’d think with all the brilliant minds in this city, someone would’ve invented better insulation by now.”
Viktor made a noncommittal hum, his focus returning to his work, but Jayce could feel the question hanging in the air.
He turned back to the bench, his hands hovering over the arcane device, but his mind had already drifted somewhere colder.
It had been a night much like this, years ago. The kind of night where the world seemed to vanish under a blanket of white, where the air itself turned sharp and hostile. He could still hear the crunch of snow beneath his boots, the sound too loud against the suffocating quiet of the storm. He’d been so small, barely strong enough to carry the weight of his mother as she stumbled through the drifts.
Her breaths had come in shallow, ragged gasps, each one quieter than the last. He remembered how her weight had grown heavier with every step, how her murmured reassurances “I’m fine, Jayce. Keep going.” had turned slurred and faint.
He’d been terrified. Not just of the cold or the storm, but of the silence that followed. The silence that had stretched between her labored breaths, growing longer and longer until-
Jayce shook his head, his hands gripping the edge of the workbench as though the solid wood might anchor him. He could almost feel the snow against his skin, the way it had burned like fire, the way his fingers had gone numb as he’d dragged her through the endless whiteness.
“Jayce,” Viktor said again, sharper this time.
Jayce blinked, realizing his hands were trembling. He loosened his grip on the bench and let out a shaky laugh. “Guess I’m more tired than I thought,” he said.
“You do not look tired,” Viktor replied. His cane tapped softly against the floor as he approached. “You look… unsettled.”
Jayce hesitated, the words caught in his throat. He didn’t want to explain, didn’t want to admit how easily the storm had unravelled him. Viktor tilted his head, studying Jayce for a moment longer before leaning his cane against the workbench.
“Perhaps we should take a break,” he said. “It’s late, and the storm doesn’t seem to be letting up anytime soon. We can afford a moment to rest.”
Jayce opened his mouth to protest, but the words died on his tongue. There was no point in arguing, not when Viktor’s tone left no room for debate. Instead, Jayce nodded stiffly as Viktor sank down. He leaned back against the workbench, his fingers tracing aimless patterns on the smooth surface. Viktor sat beside him, his legs stretched out.
“I assume you’re not going to tell me what’s bothering you,” Viktor said after a moment. He turned his head to glance at Jayce, one eyebrow raised.
Jayce huffed out a laugh, though it sounded more like a sigh. “What makes you think something’s bothering me?”
Viktor’s lips quirked into the faintest of smiles. “You forget how often I observe you, Jayce. You are many things, but subtle is not one of them.”
Jayce rolled his eyes, a smile tugging at his own lips despite himself. “Thanks for that.” He paused, tapping his fingers against the floor. “I don’t know. It’s nothing, really. Just the storm, I guess. It’s… distracting.”
“Distracting,” Viktor repeated. He didn’t press, though.
Jayce leaned his head back against the workbench, staring up at the ceiling. “It’s stupid,” he said finally, his voice quieter now. “The storm. The cold. It just… gets to me sometimes.”
Viktor nodded slowly. “Memories, then?” he asked.
Jayce tensed, his hands clenching briefly into fists before relaxing. “Maybe,” he said, the word clipped. “Nothing important. Just… old stuff.”
“’Old stuff’ has a way of lingering,” Viktor said simply.
Jayce didn’t respond right away, his eyes fixed on a faint crack in the ceiling above them. The storm howled again, rattling the windows, and his breath hitched, just slightly, just enough for Viktor to notice.
“You do not have to tell me,” Viktor added. “But perhaps it would help.”
Jayce shook his head, offering a strained smile. “I wouldn’t even know where to start,” he said, though the tightness in his chest told him otherwise. He knew exactly where it started. He just didn’t want to go there.
“Then start wherever you are,” Viktor said.
For a moment, the only sound was the wind. Jayce closed his eyes, taking a slow, deep breath. “It’s just the cold-“
The first crack of thunder tore through the air, rattling the windows with a force that felt like it might shatter them. Jayce flinched before he could stop himself, his body stiffening as the sound reverberated through the lab.
Viktor’s gaze flicked to him immediately. “Ah,” he said softly, almost to himself. “Not just the cold, then.”
Jayce let out a strained laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Guess not.” His voice was light, but the tension in his shoulders betrayed him.
The thunder rolled again, a low, drawn-out growl that seemed to seep into Jayce’s chest. His heart pounded, each beat too loud, too fast, as if it were trying to drown out the storm. The cold that had been creeping into the lab now felt sharper, more biting.
Another crack of thunder split the air, louder this time, and Jayce’s breath hitched. The memories he had been trying to push away surged forward: the blinding flashes of light through the snow, the earth-shaking booms that followed, the way his mother’s weight had felt heavier with every step he took.
Jayce closed his eyes, his breaths coming in shallow and uneven. “When I was a kid,” he said after a long pause, “there was this storm. A blizzard, really. We got caught in it, me and my mom.”
His voice faltered, and Viktor didn’t interrupt.
“We almost didn’t make it,” Jayce said, his voice rough. “She- she collapsed halfway there. I thought-” He swallowed hard, his hands trembling now. “I thought she was going to die. And it was so cold, and the wind was so loud, and the thunder- God, the thunder- it was like the whole world was trying to bury us alive.”
Viktor’s hand hovered briefly, hesitating before resting lightly on Jayce’s arm. “But you made it,” he said quietly. “You are here now. She is here now.”
Jayce nodded, though his throat felt too tight to speak. The thunder boomed again, and he flinched, but this time Viktor’s hand was there.
“It’s just hard to forget,” Jayce said finally, his voice barely audible over the storm. “No matter how much time passes, it still feels like I’m there. Like I’m still that kid, dragging her through the snow and praying we’ll make it.”
Jayce’s hands clenched at his sides as another crack of thunder reverberated through the lab, shaking the walls as if the storm itself sought to break through. His breath hitched. It wasn’t the cold itself that unsettled him, he could deal with that, wrap himself in layers and soldier through. But the thought of someone else, someone close, succumbing to the merciless bite of frost? That was a fear he couldn’t shake, no matter how far he’d come from that night in the blizzard.
His mind filled with memories he didn’t want to recall. His mother’s pale face, the frost clinging to her eyelashes, the stillness of her body when he’d called her name. He’d been so certain she was gone. The silence of that moment had been louder than any storm.
Jayce cast a sidelong glance at Viktor, who was adjusting his position on the floor, seemingly unaffected by the worsening storm outside. His cane rested against the workbench, out of reach if he needed it quickly. Viktor’s pale complexion, seemed almost ghostly in the dim light of the lab. Jayce’s stomach churned. The lab wasn’t a blizzard, not exactly, but it was still cold. The heating was struggling against the storm, and the temperature was dropping steadily. Viktor didn’t seem to notice, or, more likely, he wasn’t mentioning it. He never mentioned things like that.
“You sure you’re okay?” Jayce asked abruptly, his voice louder than he’d intended.
Viktor turned his head, his brow furrowing slightly. “I’m fine,” he said, his words carried that same stubborn resolve Jayce had come to expect from him.
Jayce didn’t answer, his gaze falling to the floor. Fine. They both kept saying it, but it didn’t feel true for either of them. Another roll of thunder echoed through the room, and Jayce’s fingers twitched.
“It’s the cold,” Jayce said finally. “Not for me. For you. It… it gets to me. Thinking about it.”
Viktor tilted his head, his sharp eyes narrowing slightly. “I see,” he said slowly. “You worry.”
Jayce let out a strained laugh, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah. I worry.” He didn’t look at Viktor, his gaze fixed on the faint condensation forming on the windows. “I’ve seen what it does to people. How it hurts. And it’s… it’s the worst thing I’ve ever seen. That kind of pain, it… it’s like it eats you from the inside out. And I can’t stop thinking- what if it happens to you? What if it’s too cold in here, and you just don’t say anything until it’s too late?”
Viktor’s expression softened. “Jayce, I assure you, I am fine. I am quite used to discomfort. The cold will not be the thing that defeats me.”
“That’s not the point,” Jayce said, his voice rising. “You shouldn’t have to get used to it. You shouldn’t-” He stopped, pressing his knuckles against the floor. The thunder rumbled again, and he exhaled shakily. “I just… I can’t go through that again. I can’t watch someone…” His voice broke off, the words catching in his throat.
Viktor was quiet for a moment. Then, slowly, he shifted closer. “I understand your fear. Truly, I do. But you must know that this storm, this moment, it is not the same as what you experienced-”
Jayce looked at him. “You don’t know that. You don’t-” He stopped himself, his voice faltering. “I just don’t want you to feel it. That kind of pain. It’s… unbearable.”
“And yet, you have endured it,” Viktor said quietly. “You are stronger than you think, Jayce. And you are not alone. Not now, and not then.” Viktor shifted slightly, his weight leaning onto one arm as he adjusted his position on the cold floor. For a long moment, he didn’t speak, his eyes focused on Jayce.
“You know,” he began, his voice quieter now, almost contemplative, “I was about to say that your fear of the cold is strange to me. But perhaps that would be unfair.”
Jayce blinked, his brows knitting together. “What do you mean?”
Viktor let out a dry chuckle, though it lacked humor. “The Undercity is… not like Piltover. The cold, even during storms like this, is something I rarely experienced growing up. It is warm there. Always warm. Too warm.”
Jayce frowned. “I didn’t think of that,” he admitted. “I guess… the heat would make sense with how packed everything is down there.”
“Yes,” Viktor said, his voice distant now, as if he were speaking more to himself than to Jayce. “The air was always heavy. The heat came from the machines, the bodies, the closeness of everything. No space to breathe, no relief from the constant, stifling warmth.”
He paused, his fingers brushing against the cool metal of his cane, which lay beside him. “It should have been comforting, yes? To feel warmth when others might suffer from the cold. But it was not.”
Jayce tilted his head, his earlier unease giving way to curiosity. “Why not?”
“Because it was a warning,” Viktor said, his voice sharper now. “Warmth meant something was too close. A fire burning where it should not be. People crowded too tightly together, tempers ready to ignite. It meant danger, always, lurking in the spaces too small to escape.”
Jayce’s chest tightened at Viktor’s words, his own fears momentarily forgotten. “That… sounds awful.”
Viktor gave a slight shrug, though the motion was stiff. “It was survival,” he said simply. “But even now, I find that heat touching my loved ones scares me. It makes me restless, as you are now with the cold.” He looked at Viktor, at the faint tension in his jaw and the faraway look in his eyes. For all Viktor’s stoicism, there was a vulnerability there.
“I didn’t know,” Jayce said softly. “I mean, I always figured you hated it when I left to go to the forge, but I didn’t think-”
“You could not have known,” Viktor interrupted gently. “It is not something I speak of often. But I understand your unease now. You fear the cold, not for yourself, but for others. I, in turn, fear the heat for what it does to people when they are pushed too far.”
The next thunderclap came without warning, a deafening crack that seemed to split the air itself. Jayce flinched violently, his hands darting to grip the floor as if the ground beneath him might give way. His breath hitched, coming in shallow bursts as he stared wide-eyed at the window.
Jayce swallowed hard, his fingers curling into fists. “It’s stupid,” he said through clenched teeth. “I’m not even cold. It’s not that- it’s… I just can’t stop thinking about it. About what it does to people.”
Viktor didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he reached out and rested a hand on Jayce’s arm. When Jayce didn’t pull away, Viktor leaned closer, his voice quieter now, almost a murmur.
“If you cannot stop thinking about it,” Viktor said, “then let me give you something else to think about.” Before Jayce could ask him what he meant, Viktor shifted further, pressing his side against Jayce’s, his arm wrapping gently but firmly around Jayce’s shoulders.
Jayce stiffened, his breath catching. “Viktor, what are you-”
“You fear others being cold,” Viktor interrupted. “And I fear others being hot. But together, we balance each other. You cannot be hot while I am here, and I cannot be too cold while you are near.”
Jayce blinked, his breathing slowing slightly. The cool of Viktor’s body against his own was grounding, and the steady pressure of Viktor’s arm felt reassuring.
“It is simple,” Viktor continued. “Neither of our fears can come true if we stay like this.”
Jayce let out a shaky laugh. “That’s… that’s ridiculous,” he said, though his voice lacked any argument.
“Perhaps,” Viktor said with a faint smile. “But sometimes, the most ridiculous things are the most effective. You taught me that with your ridiculous delusions.” He said with a nudge.
“Thanks,” Jayce said. “I… I didn’t realize how much I needed that.”
Viktor didn’t respond immediately, but his grip tightened slightly, a silent reassurance that he wasn’t going anywhere. “You are welcome,” he said finally, his tone soft. “And… thank you. For being here.”
Jayce tilted his head, looking at Viktor with a faint smile. “Anytime, you’re surprisingly good at this whole comforting thing. Never would’ve guessed.”
Viktor raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching upward in a smile. “Do not let it get to your head,” he said dryly. “I do not plan to make a habit of it.”
Jayce chuckled. “Oh, I wouldn’t dream of it. Can’t have you ruining your reputation as the reclusive genius of Piltover.”
“reclusive genius?” Viktor echoed. “That is how you think of me?”
“Absolutely,” Jayce teased, leaning his head back against the wall. “I mean, you’ve got the brooding expression, the clever remarks-”
Viktor rolled his eyes. “If I am the reclusive genius, what does that make you?”
“Me?” Jayce grinned. “I’m the charming, optimistic inventor. The yin to your yang, the-”
“-The idiot who nearly electrocuted himself last week,” Viktor cut in.
Jayce laughed, the sound echoing warmly in the cold lab. “Okay, fair. But you have to admit, the prototype was almost brilliant.”
“Almost,” Viktor agreed with a smirk. “Unfortunately, ‘almost’ does not keep you from blowing up the lab.”
“Details, details,” Jayce said with a wave of his hand, though his grin softened as he looked at Viktor. “You’re lucky you’ve got me to keep things interesting.”
Viktor tilted his head. “And you are lucky you have me to keep you alive.”
They both laughed then. For a moment, it felt as though the storm outside didn’t matter, as though the biting cold and suffocating heat of their fears were far away.
Alone, they were extremes, Viktor’s cold was a bitter ache, while Jayce’s heat was an oppressive weight. But together, they were neither. The cold lost its sting, softened by Jayce’s presence, while the heat eased into something gentle, alleviated by Viktor’s cool. In their shared space, there was no suffocation, no biting chill, only a quiet, steady warmth that neither of them could find alone. it was enough. Enough to make the storm outside seem smaller, and the storms within feel, for once, manageable. Together, they weren’t just surviving the cold or the heat, they were finding something better: a balance, a warmth, a home.