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“Do you have someone to take you home after the surgery and assist with your recovery?”
“Yes,” Viktor lied through his teeth. The blueprints of what his spine should look like after the surgery, embedded with bolts and wiring to line up perfectly with his newest brace, sat on the doctor’s desk. Viktor tried not to look at them, now that his decision had been finalized.
It would be fine. He had taken care of himself since he was a child. This time wouldn’t be any different.
Viktor might have underestimated how difficult recovering from major spinal surgery on his own would be.
The first day was relatively fine. He had prepared thoroughly beforehand, staking his rickety bedside table with glasses of water and wrapped dried goods. He had gotten his pain medication beforehand, and he had even piled a few tomes by his bedside for him to read as a distraction from the oncoming agony. Yes, he would have to get up to use the restroom, but other than that, he had most of the main issues covered. And he had his reliable cane.
The cane Jayce made for you, a traitorous part of his mind whispers. You should tell him the real reason you will be away from the lab for the week. Jayce had looked doubtful when Viktor fed him a lie about a sick, distant relative he had to care for back in the Undercity, but he hadn’t pushed back, as trusting as always. Part of Viktor rebelled at abusing that trust, but the instinct that had kept him alive and on his feet all these years overpowered it, and it repeated the same mantra: he would do this on his own, as he always had.
But you’re not alone anymore, the voice in him whimpered like a sickly child. Well, Viktor's adult mind reasoned, if he had a partner now, all the more reason to not burden him with issues like this. At least one of them could continue their work on the Hexgates this way.
While the surgery had been long, he’d been unconscious for most of it, and according to the doctor there hadn’t been complications. Even though Viktor felt groggy and tender all-over, he insisted on being discharged, despite the Doctor’s strong recommendation against it. But Viktor had never liked the feeling of eyes staring down at him while he lay vulnerable. So, with great reluctance, the doctor finally gave him his discharge summary, and let Viktor go home.
Unfortunately, the carriage ride home was almost unbearable on his newly-minted spine, every bump threatening to rip his new stitches apart or rattle out the screws in his spine. It took a great deal of effort not to cry out, Viktor’s lip almost raw from biting it closed, but he managed to get to his apartment without falling apart.
Once he had limped through his door and onto his bed, he could finally take his pain medication. Only a few minutes later, he proceeded to promptly throw it up over the side of his bed. After a few long, torturous moments of waiting for his stomach to settle, he managed to keep the next swallow of medication down, but the pile of sick stared at him accusingly for the rest of the day. The smell of it was suffocating, but when he tried to lean over to clean it up, he almost screamed at the white-hot lightning bolt that shot through his entire body.
Pathetic, his mind accused, shame swimming in his still uneasy gut as the pain medication finally did its job and pushed him toward unconsciousness.
The second day, he woke up to his sheets drenched in sweat. The miserable texture and smell threatened to upend his stomach again, but he forced himself to keep the scraps he had managed to eat down. He picked up a tome, then immediately set it down; there was no way he could read with every inch of his skin vibrating from the sharp, unrelenting agony radiating from his back. Instead, he spent the hours staring at his cracked ceiling, silently begging for one aspect of his body to settle and give him some relief, constantly falling in and out of consciousness
The third day, desperation and agony demolished what was left of his pride when Viktor collapsed trying to get to the restroom. The stink from his sweat and the dried vomit from days before hovered like a gas the longer he lay uselessly on the hardwood, but Viktor couldn’t find the energy to push himself up. So he stayed splayed out on the floor, heaving desperate breaths, over and over again — until he finally succumbed to frustrated tears.
He couldn’t kid himself any longer. This wasn’t like anything he had faced before. He was being attacked on all fronts, and his defenses had thoroughly crumbled. He wanted a break from his body’s unrelenting assault on himself and his dignity, never even giving him time to breathe. He wanted his mother to run her fingers through his hair and tell him that everything, even the pain, would pass in time.
I want Jayce, a secret part of him finally admitted. He wanted his comforting smile, his gentle touches, his easy company.
He was so, so tired of being in pain and enduring it alone.
It took the last dredges of his strength to go from his apartment to the street, then to hire a runner to be sent to the Academy’s lab. By the time he managed the embarrassingly short distance between the building’s front door and his kitchen table -- it took a good half hour, at least -- he heard his front door unlock with his one spare key. There was only one person he trusted enough to give it to.
With a slam, the front door swung open, and there stood Jayce. Piltover’s golden boy was stained by sweat, and his hair was a mess. He looked like had run the whole way there.
“What happened?” Jayce asked breathlessly. He looked at Viktor like he had just watched him get shot, his eyes wide and terrified.
Dramatic, Viktor thought, like he wasn’t the one who had sent for him. Who had practically begged for him.
“Just some minor surgery,” Viktor tried to say lightheartedly. The tone didn’t land.
“Why the hell didn’t you—” Jayce cut himself off by pressing his thumb and forefinger against the bridge of his nose, the telltale sign that his stress was peaking. A messy concoction of guilt and frustration and embarrassment tightened in Viktor’s chest, but he didn’t respond.
“Okay,” Jayce said, sounding more even, dropping his hand and opening his eyes. “First things first. What do you need?”
The last sparks of indignation rebelled in his aching chest – I’m fine, I don’t need charity, despite obvious evidence to the contrary – but sitting in his sweat, hunched over in pain, he knew those sparks had no kindle to catch fire. Still, the bitter creature spurred on by years of survival opened its mouth instead of him.
“I wouldn’t want to be a bother,” Viktor muttered, voice laced with sarcasm like poison, and tried to turn away from the brightest sight that had graced him in days.
“Vik,” Jayce started, exasperation spilling out of him. Viktor watched as Jayce took a long, deep breath, and braced himself to be left alone again. But instead, Jayce continued, “I know you’re strong, but there’s not a person in all of Runeterra who can recover from surgery on their own.”
Silence followed, heavy and unbudging, despite Jayce’s best efforts. So with a conceding sigh, Jayce’s shoulders slumped like a puppet with its strings cut.
“Listen, I get not wanting a nurse,” Jayce began, and Viktor was grateful that he understood even that much, “but you need help if you want to get better without overtaxing your body. If… not me, then I can ask Sky, or my mom would be happy to—”
“No,” Viktor interjected quickly, his eyes catching Jayce’s pleading ones. With a sigh, Viktor sheathed the sharp claws of his tender pride and admitted quietly: “I don’t trust anyone else with this. Only you.”
Viktor braced himself for pity, but it never came. Instead, the tension in Jayce’s expression immediately fell away, and he almost looked grateful as he smiled at him. Viktor couldn’t begin to understand why. But needles of pain still rattled around his skull, so he decided not to further examine the strange concoction of emotions that arose from that look on Jayce’s face.
“Okay,” Jayce said, a familiar, determined glint in his eyes, but it softened around the edges in a way Viktor hadn’t seen before. It wasn’t pity, no, and neither did Jayce look at him like a specimen to be studied. Had it been so long since Viktor had received unconditional care that he’d forgotten what it looked like?
“How about I help you change into something clean, then we’ll figure out what to do next.” A simple, straightforward plan, like they were planning out the stages of an experiment. There was no patronizing lilt to his voice, purposefully softened and sweetened like he was a child, and for right now, that was enough for Viktor.
Strong, lean arms kept Viktor upright, but at least Jayce took mercy on what was left of Viktor’s pride by letting him semi-walk to the restroom – “tell me if I hurt you,” said Jayce gently, like he was even capable of it – before sitting him on the toilet seat. Then, he waited for Viktor’s tiny nod before helping him out of his sweat-drenched clothes. Viktor was disgusting, but Jayce didn’t even scrunch his nose in distaste. Instead, he focused all of his effort on prying off Viktor’s clothes as gently as possible.
Viktor knew Jayce could be delicate, had watched him adjust filaments the length of Viktor’s pinky, but having Jayce’s complete, careful attention on him was… new. There was nothing sensual about how Jayce was unclothing him – Viktor reprimanded his own beating heart for this very fact because he’s just being kind, he’s helping a friend, he’s being Jayce – but he couldn’t deny the intimate feeling that hovered over the two of them as Jayce’s fingers skirted over bare skin as he helped pull Viktor’s pants over his hip bones and off his legs. His cheeks felt like they were on fire. Quietly, Viktor hoped he could blame them on a fever.
As Jayce prepared a cloth in the sink, Viktor waited for his skittishness to kick in, or his bruised ego to ruin the quiet moment Jayce had given him. Neither appeared, and when Jayce began to clean the sweat and grime off his skin, quiet and laser-focused, Viktor almost felt comfortable. Cared for, his mind supplied, and Viktor ignored it. Jayce cared for everyone, it was in his nature. Viktor was simply not an exception. That didn’t mean he couldn’t quietly revel under Jayce’s devoted attention.
Once Jayce has helped Viktor through the fits and starts of getting clean and comfortable clothes back on — they were constantly interrupted by shockwaves of agony every time Viktor discovered a position his body rebelled against — he helped Viktor to the couch slowly, matching Viktor’s steps. Viktor had to muffle yet another cry as his spine curved the wrong way when Jayce helped him sit down, but once he leaned back on the cushion, Jayce gently rubbed his shoulder before letting him go and standing back up.
Huffing a bit from the effort it had taken to move a few feet, even with Jayce’s assistance, he leaned back and passively watched as Jayce’s head ducked under his kitchen door. He reappeared a few moments later with a glass of water in one hand and Viktor’s pain meds in another.
“Take this. I’ll be right back,” Jayce promised, earnest as always, and for once, Viktor did as he was told.
He must have dozed off as the medicine took effect because in barely a blink of time, Jayce walked back through his front door, a bag slung across his torso.
“A Piltover Scout is always prepared,” Jayce joked with a silly grin as he put down the bag and began to unload his cargo. “I’ll be here for a little while, after all.”
Viktor blinked in surprise; he hadn’t considered that Jayce would stay with him longer than a few hours. That rebellious, prideful part of him squirmed in his gut, even now.
“What about progress on the Hexgates?” But Viktor knew what the answer would be before Jayce responded.
“You mean our project? I think it can be paused while my partner recovers from getting metal embedded in his spine,” Jayce said flatly, unimpressed.
“The council will expect updates,” Viktor tried again, but he was quickly losing steam knowing that Jayce could be just as stubborn as he was.
“I can do some equation work while you sleep,” Jayce shrugged, pulling out bags of groceries, “but the council would never expect anyone to work in your condition, and I’m your partner. I can’t make calls without you. We work together, or not at all.”
The creature in his gut had settled somewhat, but guilt still nipped at his heels at the idea of Jayce giving up precious work time for Viktor’s sake. “You know you don’t have to—”
“Viktor,” Jayce interrupted, standing up and looking into Viktor’s eyes. Viktor was struck silent under the intensity of that golden gaze. “Everything else aside, I want to help. So please, do me a favor, and let me.”
He meant it. Viktor could see it on Jayce’s open book of a face. Viktor couldn’t understand it, but in the end, he trusted Jayce. If this was something he truly wanted to do, then Viktor wouldn’t stop him.
“Okay,” Viktor acquiesced, settling back against the cushions of his couch. Jayce gave him a dazzling grin in return, and Viktor had to look away before his face got any hotter.
Jayce puttered around the tiny apartment for a bit, carrying his bag into the kitchen and then Viktor’s room to unload some things before returning to help Viktor to his bed. When they walked into the room, Viktor noticed that the sick that had been threatening to stain his floor had been cleaned. And as Jayce carefully leaned him back on the bed, propped up with more pillows than he owned, he noticed that there were unfamiliar clean sheets on his bed. He only had one set, so this one must have come from Jayce’s place. Viktor’s chest felt warm and hazy at the realization.
Once Jayce had draped the quilt over him, he let Viktor take the pick of the various tomes he had hauled over from his own place. But grogginess and the muted embers of pain still ate away at Viktor’s edges, and he knew he wouldn’t be able to focus enough to read, kind as Jayce’s gesture was.
“Can you read to me?” slipped out from between his lips without his permission, and immediately, Viktor tensed. Clearly, his lips were too loose from the medication, and mortification swamped from all sides — but Jayce looked at Viktor like he had just gifted him the stars.
“Of course,” Jayce said quietly, something close to wonder in his voice. Something not painful at all flickered like a spark within Viktor’s ribcage.
The days began to fade into each other after that. The lack of independence chafed at Viktor insides, and the agony was slow at receding as the days of recovery turned into weeks. But Viktor allowed himself to take comfort in the litany of scenes that surrounded him while he recovered: Jayce, theorizing or reading aloud by his bedside, or cooking something gently spiced in the kitchen, or draping an extra blanket to Viktor’s chin when he thought he was sleeping.
Jayce, Viktor thought, and for the first time in years, he allowed hands to hold him up that wasn’t just his own.