Chapter Text
The bag was a mess. Laying flat on the workbench, it yielded all sorts of tools, papers, pens, a desiccated frog in a jar, a bruised apple, a rainfall of screws, and none of the allen keys Viktor was looking for. He found a piston schematic they had assumed they forgot to draw, a portrait of Ximenia Talis, spare buttons galore, and his long-lost cravat pin. Still no keys.
“They’re in the side-pockets, I think,” was Jayce’s only hint. Why couldn’t two grown men -whose profession revolved around tying pieces of stuff together and crossing fingers-, own more than one set of allen keys was above his pay grade. Since they were not paid, yet.
He almost cut his index finger on the sharp edge of a stack of paper. Digging the offending item from the very depths of the bag, Viktor realized he was holding a magazine. All sorts of hypotheses fused in his mind: he was no stranger to finding… illustrated material in his friend’s belongings. Jayce had not been able to meet his eye for a solid week.
Holding the magazine at arm’s length, Viktor thought that he would have rather liked to find pornography.
The thick, high-quality pages read Piltie Bride in an elegant font, accompanied by flavor text and an illustration of a slim young woman in a voluminous white dress. Her incongruously martial red sash complete with bold golden discs hanging from her ears were captioned Noxian new chic. There could be deniable plausibility, Viktor tried to reason. Maybe it was Caitlyn’s, or a promotional handout. Propping his cane under his armpit, he flipped it open.
The magazine was full of annotations.
Viktor’s eyes darted between the scribbles and the man at the other end of the lab, hammering a steel sheet into submission. It was, admittedly, difficult to associate the two images: delicate lace captioned ‘automatic frill??’, and the sailor’s curses directed at the steel manufacturer’s forebears. It was, however, Jayce’s own handwriting.
Viktor worried his lip before hopping to the other workstation. His presence was acknowledged with a raised eyebrow, but he either did not see the magazine, or did not care. Straight rods of sunlight filtered through the windows, bouncing off Jayce’s forearms. As momentarily distracting as the lovely sight was, Viktor was on a mission.
“I had no idea things were this… serious,” Viktor commented, dragging his tired body to sit by his friend. “Between you and Councilor Medarda.”
“What?” Jayce yelled at full volume, wiping the sweat on his forehead with the bottom of his shirt. Tease. He frowned before taking off his noise-cancelling headset (“HexMuffles”, a name not approved of by 50% of the conception team, namely Viktor). “Sorry, what did you say?”
He waved the magazine in front of his partner’s eyes, which fractionally widened. A familiar tightness grabbed his ribs, as it did every time he was confronted with his friend’s affection for the overwhelming woman. “Has she said yes yet? I’d make a fantastic ring-bearer, I think.”
“Wow!” Jayce exclaimed, raising his gloved hands in front of him defensively, sitting down in front of him. “Wow, wait, no. That’s not- This is private!”
Unimpressed, Viktor shrugged. “Curiosity is what differentiates intellectuals from the crowd.”
“Don’t get smart with me now-”
He grinned smugly, unfolding his bad leg to rest his foot on Jayce’s chair, against his warm thigh. The ugly thing like jealousy curled back inside his chest, momentarily shushed. “I’m always smart, Jayce, I cannot help it.”
“A nosy smartass, that’s what you are.” He waved his finger in a very accurate mimicry of his own mother. “And this is not- I’m not marrying Mel.”
“But you plan to?” His stoicity faltered fractionally, tainted with bitterness.
Jayce snorted derisively, looking down at his hands. “Think she’ll let me have a choice in the matter?”
Viktor shrugged with one shoulder, popping the magazine open on his lap instead of answering something he would regret. The double-spread showed a frankly indecent amount of buttercream shaped as swans and chubby winged beings. Next to it, a mechanism was etched in precise -if smudged- strokes.
“I want it known that I formally refute the name ‘HexCake’,” he said, frowning at what looked more and more like a cake-serving automaton. “If not for your horribly frilly nuptials, what is this for?”
Jayce leaned backward on his chair, flexing his powerful forearms over his chest before nervously raking his fingers through his thick, sweaty hair. The movement caused his thighs to spread, strong against Viktor’s foot. He caught light like it belonged to him.
“Remember HexCalc?”
“How could I forget? Your invention informed me, with impeccable logic, that I lacked the cognitive capacity to solve elementary equations.”
“Why is it always my invention when it turns out badly?” Jayce sighed with an apologetic tilt of his lips. “Anyway, I’ve been revisiting automata theory—specifically the practical applications of state machines and algorithmic transitions. Not just abstract computations, but tangible, problem-solving mechanisms.”
“Was the sass an intentional feature, or a reflection of its inventor’s state of mind?” Viktor grinned back, resting his forearm on the handle of his cane for emphasis.
Jayce playfully threw one of his gloves at Viktor’s face in retaliation.
“My point is, if you go to the last page”- He reached forward, turning the pages himself before pointing at a small advertisement square. “I think I found exactly the kind of playground I need to test my ideas. It’s a pretty popular magazine, so I’m hoping it could also draw in future investors.”
Viktor squinted, reading the panel upside-down. Duos of inventors were encouraged to present a unique invention in front of a jury of both engineers, wedding organizers, and a nouveau-riche couple of matchstick factory owners.
“That’s a sizable reward. It also says we’d win an all-inclusive romantic weekend in Ionia.” He closed the magazine, handing it back to its owner. “I obviously can’t go, so you’d better bring me Ionian sugar plums as a souvenir.”
“Uh? Why couldn’t you go?”
He gave Jayce a look, answered only with the utmost confusion.
“One, it says ‘romantic’, and I’m pretty sure the good people of Piltover frown upon polygamy. Above ground, that is. I was myself raised by a collective who would love to tell you all about the tax benefits, if they paid any.” Viktor reached into his breast pocket, holding out a tattered square of brown paper. “Two, my papers are very obviously fake? There is a typo in Piltover and my last name is also Viktor, apparently.”
Jayce reached out, his eyebrows shooting up as he read the information. “You’re telling me this-” He waved the forged passport accusingly. “Is the only thing between you and prison, or worse?”
“Obviously not,” Viktor snatched it back, making a show of rolling his eyes. “I can afford much higher quality fake papers now. I could even afford legitimate ones, if I felt like wasting money.”
Jayce opened his downturned mouth, then closed it rapidly as his eyes followed Viktor’s hand, tucking the paper back into his jacket. “Look, it was a stupid idea, forget it.”
“Now, I did not say that-”
“You thought it-”
What Viktor thought was thankfully not shared with the present audience. “If it matters to you, you should go. I will keep working on the HexClaw updated motherboard while you’re away.”
Jayce leaned forward on his seat, resting his elbows on his knees. His pleading eyebrows were on. A ray of sunlight burst on his cheek, and Viktor knew he was going to be tricked into saying yes to whatever he would ask.
“I was actually hoping you’d go with me? Not the-” he frowned, rubbing a still-gloved hand over his face. “Not the romantic weekend, obviously, the innovation contest. It’s only for a few days… and it could be fun to work on something less consequential than changing the face of the world for once. Plus, between you and I, I’ve heard rumors of free cake. The whole shebang- marzipan doves and seven-tiered chocolate ganache, real fancy stuff.”
A subtle shift, and the sun itself conspired with biology and optics to make the man’s eyes glow like molten copper.
How could Viktor ever say no?