Archive of Our Own

Jayce woke up alone in the cottage.

That in itself was strange. A rare occurrence these days, and one he didn’t particularly like.

There had been a time — before the arcane, before waking in this strange, quiet, wonderful world — when Viktor had always risen with the sun. Most mornings, Jayce would crack open an eye only to hear Viktor already up and about, the room silent but for the distant clink of tools or the hum of the coffee machine. Viktor would be awake for hours before him, already immersed in his work or deep in the lab, immersed into a project before Jayce had even managed to swing his legs out of bed.

It had been like that for years.

And it wasn’t much better at night. Convincing Viktor to go to bed — even once they’d started living together — had always been a battle. He'd make promises, idle ones, and then break them in favour of one more experiment, one more diagram, one more hour.

But that had changed. Everything had changed.

Since Jayce had finally told Viktor how he felt — since Viktor had whispered those feelings back in the dark, trembling and sure all at once — their days had softened. Their nights had lengthened. These days, Viktor was the one who slept late. He stayed curled up in Jayce’s arms, bare and warm, huddled against his chest for comfort. Or on summer nights, when it got too hot to hold each other properly and Viktor would roll away in his sleep to escape him, Jayce would wake stuck to Viktor’s back like honey, draped over him with heavy limbs and refusing to let go.

Sometimes Viktor woke up with him. And when he did, he whined.

He’d groan when Jayce tried to get up, stretching out with grabby hands to tug him back down into the blankets. He’d murmur complaints into Jayce’s shoulder — soft, dramatic accusations that he was being abandoned. And on hotter mornings, he’d kick feebly beneath the covers, insisting Jayce’s body heat was unbearable and that he needed to stop touching him immediately.

That never lasted.

Because ten minutes later, Viktor would grumble that Jayce had clearly stopped loving him and demand to be held again. And kissed. Always kissed. It was their rule — unspoken, but absolute. Every morning since the cottage, Viktor had claimed his due: Jayce wasn’t allowed to leave the bed without paying his toll in kisses. Some mornings, that meant a quick peck and a fond smile. Others, it meant hours tangled up in sheets and laughter.

Jayce never minded. They had all the time in the world now. And if he could spend it wrapped around Viktor, kissing him breathless and half-laughing into his neck, he couldn’t think of anything better.

But this morning was different.

The bed was empty when he woke.
Not just empty — cold. Viktor had been gone for a while. The blankets beside him were undisturbed, without even a hint of residual warmth.

Jayce blinked into the early light, frowning at the ceiling.

He decided, quickly and firmly, that he hated this.
He never wanted to wake up like this again.

With a groan, he pushed back the covers and climbed out of bed. The air had a bite to it — one of those deceptively pale mornings where the light made promises of warmth the temperature didn’t keep. It hit him in the bones as he dressed, and the ache in his leg flared as he buckled the brace over his knee. The metal squeaked faintly with every step down the stairs — a sound he made a mental note to address later.

Speaking of braces, he’d have to check Viktor’s too. The cottage sat right by the river, and the damp summer air had a way of creepi ng into joints — both mechanical and human.

The living room and kitchen were empty, quiet in a way that didn’t feel lonely so much as incomplete. But something new caught his eye.

A bouquet sat on the table.

It had been arranged with obvious care — a soft explosion of yellows, pinks, and pale oranges tied together with a ribbon dyed in a deep, familiar red. Talis red, Viktor had called it proudly when he found the fabric in the village last spring. Jayce had made a joke about branding, and Viktor had threatened to embroider a matching scarf.

He’d been serious. Viktor had taken to sewing like a duck to water. In the first quiet months here, Jayce had busied himself with fixing the cottage — reinforcing beams, mending doors, repairing the chimney — while Viktor had set about tending to the gentler needs. He grew herbs and vegetables, raised chickens, learned to knit. There were too many quilts now — dozens, layered or folded or draped — but Viktor insisted that Jayce hated the cold and therefore deserved to be buried in textiles.

The bouquet was made of flowers Viktor had grown himself. Buttercups and daisies, tulips and lilies — blooms they’d planted together under the sun and watered through long spring afternoons. And Viktor, ever meticulous, had sewn Jayce’s name into the ribbon with golden thread. A small, quiet signature of affection.

Jayce smiled, lifting the bouquet to his nose. The scent was earthy and sweet, sun-warmed and green. He’d find a place for them later — probably an old clay jar, since glassware was rare and expensive even in the village. But for now, the question remained.

Where was Viktor?

The flowers gave him a clue, at least. So he stepped outside, pulling the door shut behind him with a soft thunk.

The garden was empty. No sign of Viktor among the neat rows of vegetables and herbs. So Jayce wandered around to the other side of the cottage, toward the chicken coop — and the one duck that had wandered into it last autumn and simply refused to leave.

Blitzcrank greeted him with a honk, waddling up to the gate with fluffed feathers and an attitude far too large for his little round body.

Jayce smiled, reaching down to pat the top of his head.

“Good morning, Blitz,” he said fondly. “You haven’t seen my Viktor, have you?”

Blitz honked again — louder this time — and Jayce narrowed his eyes slightly. It was a suspiciously goose-like honk. He was never entirely sure what kind of bird Blitz was. He just knew the creature had claimed them.

The hens clucked lazily in their coop, soft feathers rustling against straw. From inside, Jayce caught the uneven rhythm of footfalls — the knock of a cane on wood, familiar and unmistakable.

“Your Viktor is busy,” came Viktor’s voice from within the coop, dry and amused. “This is his answering service. Come back later.”

Jayce huffed a laugh, pushing his hair from his face. “Busy with what?” he called. “You’re telling me you snuck out of bed before sunrise just to do chores?”

“Not chores.” Viktor emerged into the morning light, the egg basket — one he’d woven himself from river reeds — hooked in the crook of his arm. “Something more important. And you should still be asleep, Jayce.”

Jayce grinned, stepping forward to meet him. “You say that like I’ve committed some kind of crime, love. As if you weren’t the one slipping out like a thief in the night.”

“Nonsense,” Viktor said, voice low and indignant as he leaned in, placing a kiss against Jayce’s lips. “I didn’t sneak anywhere.”

Jayce sighed into the kiss, arms already finding their way around Viktor’s waist, tugging him closer. He would’ve pulled him in tighter, too — caged him against his chest like something precious — if not for the hand that gently pressed against his sternum.

“Do you have any idea how tightly you cling to me when you sleep?” Viktor murmured, exasperated but fond. “It was a full-blown campaign to get out from under you this morning. I could’ve hit you with a frying pan and you still wouldn’t have stirred.”

“All the more reason for you to stay in bed where you belong,” Jayce replied, voice low and warm as his arms encircled Viktor’s slim frame, trapping him. He felt the soft weight of him, the familiar press of cane and coat and brace, and breathed it in like sunlight.

“Jayce,” Viktor sighed again, adjusting himself to keep the egg basket from being crushed. “Careful with the eggs.”

Jayce eased his hold but didn’t let go. “What am I gonna do with you?” Viktor muttered.

“Love me. Feed me. Never leave me,” Jayce said with a grin that curved up lazily at one side.

Viktor’s eyes softened. “I love you, Jayce. And I’m never leaving,” he whispered, giving Jayce a gentle push. “But I can’t feed you if you don’t let me go.”

Jayce released him reluctantly, eyes trailing down to the basket now brimming with eggs. “All those aren’t just for breakfast, are they?”

Wordlessly, he reached out and took the basket from Viktor’s arm, his fingers brushing over Viktor’s as he did. They started back toward the cottage, walking in step.

“Some are for breakfast,” Viktor said. “The rest… are for your cake.”

Jayce blinked. “Cake?”

Viktor glanced over his shoulder, already stepping into the doorway of their home. “Yes, darling. It’s your birthday today.”

The words hit like a tidal wave. Jayce stopped walking.

His breath stalled in his throat.

His birthday? Had it really been a year?

“Is it July already?” he asked, his voice barely a whisper. He felt strangely untethered, like the ground had shifted underneath him.

“Yes, sweetheart.” Viktor’s voice was quiet now, gentle, as if approaching a wounded animal. He tucked his cane beneath his elbow and lifted a hand to Jayce’s face, fingers cradling his jaw. His thumb traced softly along Jayce’s cheekbone. “Did you see the flowers I picked for you?”

“Mm? Oh… yeah.” Jayce tried to smile, but everything felt slow. Hazy. Like his mind was wading through syrup. He heard Viktor’s words, but they were muffled — distant and warped, as if underwater.

His memory, sharp and cruel, filled the silence.

This time last year, he hadn’t been on a porch wrapped in morning light. He’d been hunched over his workbench in a cold, sterile lab. Half-asleep, half-mad. Refusing rest for fear that Viktor would wake and vanish. His birthday gift then had been Viktor himself — alive, but altered. Changed in ways Jayce hadn’t yet understood. Cold. Wrong.

The year after that… he didn’t count. He’d spent it alone. Somewhere in the dark. A cave, dark and freezing, his ribs showing through ragged shirts. He remembered hallucinating Viktor’s voice, tracing shapes into the dust and pretending they were candles. Pretending he had something to wish for.

He swallowed hard, trying not to drown in the weight of it.

“Jayce?” Viktor’s voice broke gently through the fog. “Come back to me, love.”

Jayce blinked, slowly dragging his eyes back to Viktor’s face. He looked… radiant. The kind of beauty that came from healing, from peace. Viktor’s hair had grown long in the last year — it swept past his shoulders now in soft waves of ash blond, giving to soft chestnut and settling into a dark auburn at the roots. Most days, Viktor kept it tied back with a ribbon, though most of the time stray strands would fall out of the tie to frame his beautiful face. 

His cheeks had filled out again, like they’d been when he and Jayce had first met. The dark circles that once hung under Viktor’s eyes were a thing of the past. He was still pale, still skinny, still walked with a noticeable limp. But he was healthy. He was alive. He was here .

And Jayce surged forward, capturing Viktor’s mouth in a kiss that left no space for hesitation. Viktor gasped and instinctively clung to him, arms flung around his partner’s broad shoulders to keep himself upright.

“I love you,” Jayce choked out, burying his face in the crook of Viktor’s neck. His arms tightened like a vice around Viktor’s waist. If he squeezed any harder, neither of them would be able to breathe. But Viktor only held him tighter.

“I love you, Jayce,” Viktor murmured into his hair, fingers stroking softly through the mess of dark curls. “So much. So incredibly much. You have no idea.”

Jayce sniffled, a wet smile pulling at his lips. “Probably about half as much as I love you.”

Viktor huffed. “It’s not a competition, Jayce.”

“Good thing for you. I’d win.”

“Oh?” Viktor arched a brow, amused.

Jayce lifted his head, flashing a cocky grin. “Well, I kinda died for you. If you think about it.”

“As someone who has technically died twice, I take offence to that.” Viktor poked him in the chest. “We didn’t die, so that doesn’t count. Try again, big shot.”

Jayce paused, brow furrowed in mock thought. “Okay, okay… oh! I brought you back from the dead. That’s gotta earn me some points.”

Viktor tilted his head, lips twitching. “That was romantic. In a deeply disturbing, non-consensual-necromancy sort of way.”

“Hey, you can’t spell necromancy without romance,” Jayce said smugly.

Viktor laughed — a soft, breathy sound that filled the air between them like music. “That’s terrible . Come on. I still have to bake your cake.”

“I can help—” Jayce began, only to be immediately poked in the stomach with the end of Viktor’s cane.

“Absolutely not. You’re the birthday boy. Stand back.”

Jayce hesitated in the kitchen doorway, lower lip pushed out in a theatrical pout.

Viktor turned around, cane lifted in warning. “Stop that. Your puppy eyes don’t work on me, Mister Talis. I’m immune to your charms.”

(He wasn’t. They did.
They ended up baking the cake together.)

The afternoon sun spilled like golden syrup across the porch, soaking the worn wooden boards in warmth as Jayce reclined in the swing chair. He rocked them lazily back and forth with his good leg, the old chains creaking rhythmically in time with the breeze. The air was thick with the scent of summer — sweet, green, alive — and somewhere off in the trees, birds chirped like distant wind chimes.

Viktor was curled into his side, folded neatly like he belonged there, his head nestled against Jayce’s shoulder. He picked at the half-eaten slice of cake on the plate resting between them, dragging an old, slightly bent fork through crumbs and frosting. Every so often, he brought the utensil up to Jayce’s lips in quiet offering. Jayce accepted each bite without looking, his eyes fixed on the sky — on the drifting birds, on the lazily swaying leaves, on everything and nothing at once.

“Good?” Viktor asked, voice soft, lifting his head just enough to glance up at Jayce through the curtain of hair falling across his face.

Jayce gave a slow nod, fingers sliding down to wrap around Viktor’s hand. “Tastes like mama’s cakes.”

The ache came suddenly. Famili ar and sharp.
He missed Ximena.

He missed a thousand things he didn’t let himself name too often — faces, voices, buildings, streets — all of Piltover, really. All the people they’d left behind, suspended in memory like glass beneath frost. He wondered how they were doing, whether the city was healing, if anyone had noticed they were gone. If his mother still kept the shop open. If she still looked up every time the bell over the door rang, hoping it might be him.

More than anything, he wished he could tell her he was alright. That he was alive. That he was here with Viktor — safe, and whole, and happy.

He blinked hard. He missed her so much it hollowed him.

Viktor’s fingers tightened in his. “Jayce… I—”

“Don’t,” Jayce said, already knowing. He didn’t need to hear it. “Don’t apologise. We’ve had this conversation, love.”

Viktor let out a slow breath, but he didn’t let go. “If you would just let me say it once—”

“I won’t.” Jayce’s tone held steady, firm. “Because no matter what’s happened, I wouldn’t take any of it back. Not a single day. I’d do it all over again — every mistake, every loss — if it meant ending up here. With you.”

There were a thousand ways Viktor could argue with that. He had before — gently, fiercely, with logic and guilt and fear — but Jayce had refused them all. He didn’t need to be convinced.

So this time, Viktor didn’t try. He only leaned in as Jayce lifted his chin and kissed him — a slow, steady thing that said more than either of them could with words.

“Close your eyes, my love,” Viktor whispered, their lips still brushing.

Jayce hummed, amused. “Why?”

“Because I have one last gift for you. A surprise,” Viktor said. “No peeking.”

Jayce shut his eyes with a playful sigh. “Alright, alright.”

He felt the shift in weight as Viktor rose, his warmth peeling away from Jayce’s side. Instinctively, Jayce reached for him, frowning at the sudden chill left behind.

A soft laugh, and then a hush. “Keep them closed. I’m right here.”

Jayce heard the faint scrape of something metallic across the porch boards. He could picture it — Viktor limping over to the small table, rummaging through something he’d hidden. Jayce’s heart gave a nervous thump, unsure why anticipation was blooming in his chest like fire.

“Okay,” Viktor said at last, voice low and thick with something that sounded like hope. “You can open them now, darling.”

Jayce’s eyes snapped open.

At first, all he could see was the amber glow of the setting sun, bright and blinding. He blinked a few times, squinting against the light. And then, there he was .

Viktor. Kneeling .

Jayce’s breath caught in his throat.

A flare of worry lit up — Viktor shouldn’t be on his knees, not with his leg like that — but it died quickly when Jayce saw what he held in his hand.

A small box.
Inside it, a ring.

And just like that, the air vanished from Jayce’s lungs.

The moment had already passed beyond language — the world narrowed to the shape of Viktor’s face, caught in the orange spill of late sun and soft shadow. His hair was loose, wind-blown and curling slightly at the ends. His smile trembled faintly, uneven but unwavering. He looked terrified. And radiant.

Jayce opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. He knelt too — instinctively, without thought — and cupped Viktor’s face in his hands like he might fall apart otherwise.

“I didn’t plan some speech,” Viktor said, voice barely a breath. “You know I’m terrible at that. But I’ve been carrying this for a long time. Waiting for the right moment. The right day.” He glanced up at Jayce, golden eyes wide, searching. “I think it’s today.”

Jayce nodded, almost frantically, his throat burning. “Yeah. Yeah, I think it is.”

Viktor exhaled shakily, the box still resting open between them. “Jayce. My dearest, sweetest, most beloved Jayce..."

"Yes. The answer is yes."

"I haven't asked you yet." Viktor glared, shoving his chest with the ring box. "Shut up, let me finish."

Jayce quietened, fighting the grin down.

Viktor took a breath, and continue. "I love you. I’ve loved you for years. Even when I shouldn’t have. Even when I couldn’t say it. I still did. And now we’re here — now I can tell you every day, and I do, but it still doesn’t feel like enough.”

Jayce laughed, a broken, breathless sound. “It is. It’s more than enough.”

“I want you for all my days, Jayce,” Viktor said, his voice breaking just a little. “For every winter and summer and storm and harvest. In every world, in every version of us. If you’ll have me.”

Jayce didn’t even wait for the question to fully land.

“Yes,” he said, thickly. “Of course I will. I already do. I’ve been yours for years, I just… didn’t have a ring to show for it.”

He reached down and closed his fingers over Viktor’s, guiding the ring out of the box. His hands were shaking — Viktor’s too — and it took them a few fumbling moments to slide the band onto Jayce’s finger.

It fit perfectly. Like it had always belonged there.

Jayce surged forward, crushing Viktor into a kiss, both of them laughing through the tears that sprang hot and sudden at the corners of their eyes. Viktor fell back, bringing Jayce with him. They landed in a heap on the porch, giggling and clinging to each other. The ring pressed cold and solid between their chests as they held each other.

“You still didn’t let me finish asking , dearest.” Viktor teased, voice muffled against Jayce’s shoulder.

“I’ll let you finish when we’re married,” Jayce said hoarsely, half-laughing. “Right now I need to hold you. Forever. Starting immediately.”

“Forever,” Viktor echoed, soft and sure. “Just promise you won’t let me go.”

“Never.”