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Believe it or not, Jayce had never been the biggest fan of alcohol.
It was alright. Some drinks certainly tasted better than others and letting loose was definitely something he needed the occasional help with. It kept his hands busy at social gatherings he barely wanted to be at and even he could admit that some wine in the bath felt like a rather nice reward after a long day.
That all being said, Jayce also knew himself. He knew his talent of overdoing it, his history of finding a crutch and leaning too hard into it, and moreover he knew drunk Jayce. Drunk Jayce was one of Jayce's least favorite versions of himself.
Sure, it had given him the courage to confess to Viktor however many years ago. Somehow making his blabbermouth worse and completely forgetting to wear the mask he so perfectly crafted to get his way through daily life without too much embarrassment. It also carried him through his breakup with Mel.
… And he did the same now. Cheap drinks carrying him through his divorce.
Perhaps he should have seen it coming. Perhaps, if he went back and analyzed everything leading up to the papers being set calmly on their kitchen table, he could pinpoint exactly where he'd gone wrong.
Except he had. Over and over and over and while he could find any number of reasons that he wasn't the best husband, he could not find what did it. What pushed Viktor away so quietly that he didn't realize what was coming until it came.
So he tried again.
Sitting in The Last Drop on what could've been his eighth beer, replaying every single argument or dismissal or late night… He traced the grooves in the wood counter, a montage of his worst moments on display in painfully clear detail despite the alcohol thrumming in his blood.
Maybe it was the company galas he kept attending well into the night. Or maybe it was when he'd snapped at him over something so small and insignificant he couldn't even remember what it was. Maybe it was the argument they'd had over marketing their next big project. Maybe it was him being so hypocritical as to ask Viktor to slow down to help keep his failing body in check, maybe—
It didn't fucking matter, did it?
He drained another glass and scrubbed his hand down his face.
It was getting late. He heaved a heavy breath and grabbed for his phone, checking the time with bleary eyes.
11:32PM.
At least the day was almost over.
One more drink. He deserved one more drink. Even if the bartender was giving him an uncertain look as he poured.
"Jayce Talis?"
He closed his eyes, putting all his mental fortitude into manifesting that the owner of the voice blew up.
Alas. Spontaneous combustion wasn't so easy.
"Fancy seeing you here this late," the voice came closer, settling into a seat beside him.
Jayce grunted in response.
Dmitri made himself terribly comfortable, ordering a drink and turning his full attention to Jayce. As if he'd asked for it.
"It's quite late," he said with that stupid smug smile on his face.
"And yet, here you are," Jayce muttered, keeping his lips close to the rim of his glass. Sparing Dmitri a glance from the corner of his eye and nothing more.
"Oh, yes, I'm just stopping by on my way home. Big night." Jayce truly didn't care. He nodded to the bartender in thanks as he took his drink. "Work party and all that."
"Mhmm."
Dmitri took a sip of his drink, letting his gaze burn into the side of Jayce's f8ace. Allowing him a moment of peace.
But only a moment.
"I'm curious," he began, eyes dropping to Jayce's hand around his glass before returning to his face. "I seem to recall… And correct me if I'm wrong, but is it not your husband's birthday?"
His grip tightened, his jaw clenching painfully. He forced another swig of whiskey through his teeth before he managed to answer, plain and simple, "Might be."
"And you're… here."
"Incredible observation," he barely contained his snarl. "That how you got such high marks in college?"
Dmitri laughed and Jayce could feel his blood begin to boil. Something hot and choking rising in his chest, his throat, something that dared to spill over and gods only knew how.
"I suppose that answers that, then," Dmitri hummed, all too pleased with himself. He tilted his glass, looking down into it like the drink was just so fucking interesting. "You know, I always regretted never trying my chance with Vitya before you swooped in, but now…"
Gods help him.
He smacked Dmitri's glass out of his hand so fast he surprised himself. He heard it roll across the counter and hit the floor, but he was focused on the man beside him. Leaning heavy into his space, hand braced in the puddle of alcohol left behind.
"Don't call him that," he hissed.
Jayce had never considered himself violent. Rarely, if ever, did his anger turn outward in a way that he would consider violent. He would accept loud, hotheaded, bitchy… But he knew his strength. He knew his size. He kept his hands to himself.
But as he took up Dmitri's space, listened to that awkward puff of laugh, watched his eyes flick around the bar, with Vitya playing on repeat like a chant in his drunken haze… He felt violence wrapping itself around his ribs, fingers digging between the muscles and yanking. Egging him on as Dmitri met his eyes again.
"You're not wearing your ring," he said. "I don't think you have a say in what I call your ex. Or when I call him."
"Don't."
"I was curious why he'd spent so long chatting with me today—"
Jayce was not violent.
But he could be.
The fight didn't last long. Or at least he didn't think it did. One second they were on their stools, the next he was on top of Dmitri on the floor and throwing punches. Dmitri must've gotten a couple back because his ears were ringing and his lip tasted like blood but all he really remembered was being hauled off of his knees by the bartender.
"No fightin' in my bar, mate," he had growled in his ear, but his hands on Jayce were far too kind to make the words feel threatening. Even if he had him completely restrained with one large arm locked around his chest.
Dmitri groaned as he stood, holding his nose carefully. He glared daggers at Jayce, lip curling with disgust as they locked eyes once again.
"No fuckin' wonder he left," he said. He spat blood onto Jayce's boot and wiped his mouth, grabbing his coat from the bar.
"Out!" The bartender barked. He tightened his hold on Jayce, keeping him in place when he tried jerking forward towards Dmitri.
The hold didn't ease until Dmitri was well and gone. Then he was slipping out of it, catching himself with one hand on a barstool, all those drinks catching up with him. Dammit.
"You're lucky nobody called the cops, lad," a large hand settled on his back. It was almost comforting. Like a… dad or something.
He groaned, "Yeah— Whatever, thanks."
"You do have to call… somebody."
"I got it," he waved a dismissive hand, head still hanging as the room spun. "Give me a minute."
"I mean it," the hand smoothed up and down between his shoulders. "He got you good. Call someone to pick you up."
Another groan and he shook his head. Perhaps if he were stubborn enough, the bartender would give it up. Everyone else seemed to get the message.
When the man kept didn't give up so easily and instead kept his eye on Jayce much longer than necessary, he played along. He left Cait a frankly embarrassing voice message that he'd regret in the morning and pretended he'd called for a ride.
Looking back, he wasn't really sure that the man had believed him. It was more likely he was kind enough to stop pushing after the childish display. He already did him a favor by not getting him arrested.
It wasn't until the Uber was pulling away that Jayce realized he'd fucked up.
There he was, not at his new apartment with the elevator that worked maybe half the time and pipes so old he could never guess what temperature was going to come out, but rather at his old house. With three steps leading up to the front door that would be ignored in favor of the side door if either of them had a bad pain day. With window planters that Jayce tried desperately not to forget about.
With curtains that gently rustled and parted to show the face of a very confused, very naked cat.
Rio meowed at the sight of him. Two paws lifting to press to the glass, trying to sniff at him despite the barrier.
He stepped closer despite himself, fingertips pressing against the cold. He murmured a soft "Hey, little lady…"
Oh… His heart clenched as she meowed and pawed. Brushing her cheek to the window as if to rub against his hand.
"Yeah… Yeah, hey," he awkwardly settled into a crouch, letting the cool air do its best to sober him. He tapped the window gently, watching her flop onto her side and meow for belly rubs. "Oh, sweet girl…"
He wasn't sure how long he'd been there by the time a bright light swept over his body. Probably the neighbors thinking he was some creep trying to break into Viktor Talis' house, frankly.
Oh god.
Did he look like a creep trying to break into the house?
It jolted him back into his body and he stood on unsteady legs, bracing his hand against the planter, fuck, his hand.
He looked for the source of the light and found… Viktor's car. Pulling into the driveway, engine dying mere seconds after it stopped moving. The door getting thrown open with a kind of anger that could really only come from your ex-husband at what must've been nearly 1am.
"This is where you've been?"
The first words Viktor had spoken to him since the divorce papers were served seven months ago. Accent curling around them, hand white-knuckling his cane as he climbed out of the car.
He was wearing Jayce's hoodie.
"Do you know what you look like?" His tone was calm in the way it always was when he was infuriated. Only the gentlest tremor gave him away.
"Ah, I— Uh," Jayce was still focused on the hoodie that hung off of him. Definitely his.
"Get in the house."
"What?"
Keys smacked him in the chest and he scrambled for them. Clutching them tight, like a lifeline, before he nodded and rushed to unlock the front door. He pushed it open, acutely aware of Viktor behind him, waiting on him to clear the way.
It was… Strange.
How little it had changed.
There was still an overflow of books, papers, and notebooks all across the living room. There was still the same blanket his mother had gifted them as a housewarming gift laying across the back of the couch. Still a forgotten mug on the coffee table.
He felt pressure against his leg and he tore his eyes away from a living room that was so achingly familiar. Instead finding the precious little cat in a striped sweater who spent years finding the best nooks and crannies of his body to curl up against and chewing on his hair.
He carefully scooped her into his arms, letting her meow in his face and rub her cheek against his beard.
He could weep.
"Don't get blood on her," Viktor huffed, closing and locking the door and already shuffling away down the hall.
"I'm not," he frowned, leaning a little to watch him go before deciding that maybe he… should go that way, too? To the bathroom?
That must've been right because Viktor was pulling out their— his, he supposed— first aid kit. He set it on the counter and pawed through it one-handed. That unimpressed furrow in his brow weighing heavy in Jayce's gut.
The silence was broken only by Rio's purring.
It was unbearable. The more sober he got, the worse the whole thing was. Seven months had passed with no contact, save for Viktor's graceful bow out from their shared company to go do whatever it was he was up to now. Maybe he was only teaching, picking up seminars and conference appearances. Moving to full time? Or maybe he was doing his own research—
"Where, uh. Where were you?" He blurted.
Viktor dropped his hand to the counter and tilted his face towards the ceiling. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply.
"Vik—"
"Don't."
Gods, what a fucking thrill it was to have those sharp eyes on him again.
"I don't want you to say anything, unless the next words out of your mouth are explaining why Dmitri Volkov is texting me at midnight telling me that you beat him up in a bar."
He was… upsettingly beautiful. Even while— if not especially while— furious with Jayce. The curl of his lip and the arch of his eyebrow, hair grown out since he last saw him and pulled back into something messy.
Wearing that hoodie.
"Jayce."
He blinked and adjusted Rio in his arms, "We, uh… We ran into each other."
"So you beat him up," Viktor said slowly. "Because you ran into each other."
"Why are the two of you talking?" Jayce asked instead.
At that, Viktor pulled his mouth. He opened an antiseptic wipe and shuffled closer to Jayce. He pressed it to the split in his bottom lip, speaking over the sting and hiss Jayce let out, "I don't see how that's your business."
"You hate him," he huffed.
"No, you hate him," he reminded, almost sounding amused. Almost. "Put her down," he instructed before reaching for Jayce's hands with a fresh wipe. He cradled one in his own, always cool to the touch compared to Jayce. It was nice. "I have never hated Dmitri."
"So what, you two are close now?" Jayce pulled his mouth, ignoring the way his heart thudded in his chest at the simple touch of his ex-husband.
"What, does it make you jealous?" Viktor glanced up to meet Jayce's eyes, just for a moment. Something teasing beneath the frustration. He returned to cleaning his hands when Jayce scoffed. "We're separated, Jayce. I can speak to whoever I want."
"You don't have to remind me," he murmured. He tried to look anywhere else in the bathroom but his gaze couldn't help but find Viktor every time. His jaw in the mirror, the mole under his eye, his damn hoodie.
Viktor didn't reply. Instead, he focused on spreading ointment over split knuckles and wrapping them with bandages for the night. He cooed when Rio weaved between his legs before weaving through Jayce's.
"Is that what this is about?" He finally asked. "Our divorce?"
"It's your birthday."
"Ah." His hand paused mid-wrap for a brief second before continuing the motion. "So I suppose that was today. I'm not sure that warrants this, eh, lashing out of yours."
"I wasn't looking for a fight," he defended. Something in his gut twisted at the thought of that being how he looked now. No wonder he left ringing in his ears from the bar. "I was just at the bar and he came in and he—" He tried to gesture, instinctual, but Viktor just held his hand tight and kept him in place. "He was being a dick."
"I'm sure he was," Viktor hummed, easy as anything. He took Jayce's other hand and wrapped that one, too.
"V," he frowned. "I'm not— I'm not like that, you know that—"
"Jayce," he smoothed a hand up over Jayce's forearm, not meeting his eye. "I know…" A beat, and then he nodded, "I know. Just… Let me finish this."
They lapsed into silence, with the occasional sound from Rio. In a bathroom that he modified himself to accommodate any possible kind of flare up either of them could have. In a house they shared for five years that he knew Viktor wouldn't argue for in the divorce so he made the decision for him.
Did it make Viktor ache, to still live there? To see pieces of Jayce in the very bones of their home? Or maybe that heartache didn't exist for the one who wanted to leave. Maybe the house was just a house. Maybe Jayce was the only one that couldn't escape the memories no matter where he looked.
Perhaps letting him keep the house was more selfish than he let on.
"Was it good?" Jayce asked suddenly.
Viktor glanced at him as he cleaned the counter and packed up the kit. "Was… what good?"
"Your birthday."
He shrugged, tucking the kit into the cabinet. "It was fine." He leaned against the counter, turning to face him. Cane resting beside him, arms crossed. Beautiful.
"Good, that's—- Uhm. That's good," Jayce cleared his throat and turned his eyes to his hands. "That's good…"
A suffocating beat passed. Then another. Something painful lodged in his throat and his jaw was clenching again.
He shouldn't be there. Viktor was so casual, so unbothered by the life they lost, and Jayce shouldn't be there.
His vision began to blur and he breathed, deep deep deep.
"Jayce—"
"I should go," he took a step back, directly into Rio who trilled and tilted her head.
"Be careful," and Viktor was reaching for him. Trying to catch Jayce's hand in his own. For what? To soothe him? To calm down his big, angry ex-husband that couldn't be trusted at the damn bar?
He recoiled, backing up further and walking straight into the doorframe.
"Sorry, I'm sorry, V—" He patted the wood awkwardly, trying to navigate out blindly. "I'm sorry. I'll go call another Uber, I don't know why I came here, I drank way too much—"
Before he knew it, cool hands found his face. Stopping him just over the threshold in the hallway, one thumb gently brushing against his beard. Amber eyes searched his face with a softness he no longer deserved, a softness he couldn't even recognize.
"I can take you home," Viktor offered, far too gentle. "Breathe for me first."
He tried. He really did try. But his bottom lip trembled with each inhale and Viktor was making a face so much like he used to and he could only grind his teeth so hard before something wretched clawed its way out of him.
"Oh," soft and light and barely reaching Jayce's ears. Viktor gently guided his face down into his neck.
It didn't take long before he was wrapping Viktor up completely. One arm surely crushing his waist, the other across his shoulders, his whole body shaking with pathetic, drunken sobs. He pressed tight against the side of Viktor's neck, half-buried in the fabric of the old hoodie that no longer smelled anything like Jayce.
A soft hand carded through his hair. Soft hums and whispers in a familiar and soothing lilt and somehow, they ended up sitting on the floor. Viktor's right leg rested over Jayce's hip, his left tucked between them, practically in each other's laps as Jayce wept.
"Vitya," he whimpered between tears, "my Vitya…"
Viktor's breathing stuttered— or maybe it was his own— and he rested his hand over the back of Jayce's neck. Cradling him there, he murmured, soft and sad, "Oh, Jayce…"
Jayce breathed, as deep as he could, and lifted his head. He pressed his forehead to Viktor's, desperate and far past the point of feeling any shame. "Please," he begged.
"Please, what?" Viktor asked, soft and steady.
"Anyone but him," his breathing shuddered. "I don't— I can't stop you from dating or remarrying or any of that, but please, please promise me not him."
There was a moment where Viktor said nothing, only held him close. Fingertips brushing along the side of his neck, skimming over his pulse.
"V."
"I promise," he assured with a heavy sigh. "You don't have to worry about that."
Relief ten times over flooded through Jayce's veins. More intoxicating that anything he could have drank that night. He whimpered again and brought a hand to Viktor's jaw, closing the short distance between them for a damp, salty kiss.
Under his hand Viktor stiffened, but only for a moment before he was returning the kiss like nothing had changed. A rhythm they found years ago that worked every single time. Slow and soft and desperate to feel.
He let his mouth fall open with a gentle cry and Viktor took the invitation with ease. All tongue and teeth as they mapped each other's mouths all over again, the hand on his nape squeezing softly. Jayce did his best attempt at hauling Viktor even closer, but found there wasn't exactly anywhere for him to go. So instead he simply settled one hand on the small of his back, pushing up past the hem of his hoodie.
Skin on skin. It was enough to give him a head rush, a groan from deep within his chest. He pressed harder, fingertips digging into the slight give of Viktor's skin, kiss deepening.
Viktor shuddered against him and it only spurred him on. With his arm taking Viktor's weight, he adjusted them. Laying him on his back on the floor and kneeling over him— truly a position that neither of them would be comfortable in for long, but longevity certainly wasn't the point nor the plan.
Longevity didn't matter when it was the night of Viktor's birthday, seven months after he served Jayce papers on a random Tuesday evening, and he was between his thighs.
He supported his weaker leg against his hip, hand firm and warm where it held him. Viktor cradled his jaw with both hands and they kissed like they were dying for it.
It was only when he moved to press kisses along his jaw and cheeks that he found he wasn't the only one crying.
"Oh, baby," he murmured. He pressed his lips to the tear tracks, kissing the salt right off of his skin.
"Jayce," it was a warning and a whine all in one.
"I'm sorry," he whined right back. He continued his mission of kissing as much of Viktor as he allowed, trying to recommit it all to memory.
"Don't." Viktor didn't stop him, not by a long shot. Not when his fingers were threading through his hair, "Not tonight. You're too drunk for that conversation." He cleared his throat when his voice tried to crack.
So he kissed. Because that's what he was allowed to do.
He kissed him with reverence, messy as their tears and spit mixed with every pass. His cheeks, his jaw, his neck. The spot behind his ear that he prayed only he knew about. His hands didn't dare move, not when they so perfectly held his entire world that he had been starving for.
They kissed like that until their tears ran dry and Jayce's knee went from a dull throb to something sharper, louder, cutting through the remaining intoxication. They carefully removed themselves from each other, hand in hand as Jayce helped Viktor stand and grabbed him his cane from the bathroom counter.
He said goodbye to Rio, who chirped happily and licked at his cheeks.
He ignored the furrow in Viktor's brow when he got the address for his new apartment— too cheap, too far on the outskirts of town. A self-flagellation if there ever was one.
He lingered in the passenger seat. Viktor didn't shoo him out.
He wished he knew what to say. He wished there was a secret magic to this sort of thing. He wished he wasn't so fucking drunk and he wished he'd held Viktor longer in their house.
But he didn't know what to say, and there was no magic button to fix a divorce. He was drunk and he was a selfish coward for even showing his face that night.
So he gathered up all his strength, climbed out of Viktor's car, and nodded to him.
"Happy birthday, V."
Viktor smiled, a pained, thin thing. He nodded back.
"Thank you, Jayce."