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“I think blue and pink would look nicer,” Viktor remarked as he crushed the crimson flowers in a small stone bowl; in his left hand he held a pestle made of the same material, which helped him extract the liquid from inside them.
Within seconds, the gray surface of the stone was already beginning to take on a pinkish hue, a little lighter than he wanted. His quiet dissatisfaction soon showed on his face; he furrowed his brow, his eyebrows arched high on his forehead while his lips tightened.
“But whose prosthesis is it, huh?” Jayce replied as he carved symbols into Viktor’s cane. He carved them into the wood just like the symbols etched in his mind. If Talis closed his eyes, he could still see the crystals, all of them, flickering and shifting shape; it was as if they were burned into his retina, forever there as an eternal memory.
Jayce took them as talismans; to him, they were a symbol of protection. Sometimes he found himself unconsciously drawing them in his notes, tracing them with his finger on Viktor’s skin as he massaged him. Jayce never told Viktor, but countless times he had almost cut his skin, seeking to have those symbols etched into his own flesh. Luckily—or unfortunately, depending on how Jayce was feeling at the moment—he managed to restrain himself every time, flinging the blade away.
“I was just trying to help!” Viktor replied with feigned severity. At the same time, he added another flower, this time a deep red one, smearing it, turning the substance that had previously been a light pink into a now brighter, more vivid pink. “And besides, it’s not like you have a strong sense of aesthetics…”
“Hey!” Offended, Jayce gave Viktor a light slap on the shoulder. “Who decorated the kitchen?”
“Well…”
“Oh… someone lost the argument.”
Viktor just rolled his eyes and, with a brush, smeared Jayce’s skin with the pink ink. The Piltovian was speechless at his partner’s audacity; for a moment he was silent, and then he burst out laughing. Thunders of laughter escaped his mouth, triggering a chain reaction where Viktor, too, couldn’t hold back his laughter, which flowed like an autumn breeze—dry yet soft.
In this calm moment with Jayce sat on the bench while Viktor was on the ground, on the grass, the air of domesticity gave both men a lightness of spirit. Behind them, their house, with its doors and windows open and curtains fluttering in the wind, was like a rock of Horeb, a silent accomplice to that love, which, in silent vigil, bore witness to the lives of those lovers.
Gradually, the flush of laughter faded, like the drooping flowers of a garden, and what remained was the exhilarating afterglow of a good moment. Viktor rested his head for a second against Jayce’s leg. He closed his eyes and breathed in the world; the scent of flowers, the smell of grass, the smell of the nearby stream—to him, that was the perfume of life. Then he took a look at his paint; deciding it was good enough, he set it down alongside the other two bowls—one containing blue paint and the other yellow—with brushes already dipped in their respective colors.
Jayce, meanwhile, continued his work on the wood. He blinked, but now it was different; in the darkness of his blinks, the light was now the reflection of Viktor—beautiful and serene, with a cloak draped around his body, and his head turned to the side, giving him the air of a saint, his long hair framing his face like the border of a painting. The man let out a small, enamored sigh. He was drawing another rune, but stopped and carved “V. Talis” beneath it, alongside a runic heart.
Viktor then picked up Jayce’s prosthetic leg, which was on the floor beside him, and placed it on his lap. He took the yellow brush and began his work.
With the patience of a monk, Viktor painted a sun on the porcelain, followed by diamond-shaped stars. His inspiration came from the depths of his mind, but not from anything specific—unlike Jayce—his inspiration came from fragments of his memories. The stars and the sun came from the void that he had been; he still remembers how it was. In that first instant, his brain shut down; after all, the entire universe expanded before his eyes. Magic, science, life, and death— everything oblique to the world revealed itself to him, his existence became a paradox, for: upon discovering the reality of the universe, Viktor discovered how paltry he was compared to the grandeur of life; however, now that he had knowledge of his own smallness, he had already become greater than everything, since the very nature of his insignificance resided within the womb of being—the first grave.
But finally, once the stupor had passed, Viktor was able to move, and so he was able to see the world. On the grand scale of existence, everyone was the same size. Love, hate, disgust, indifference—Viktor felt it all; the universe was nothing but chance, and Viktor could feel it the choices people made, he could feel it on his body. But even surrounded by the past present, the present, the future present, and the possible present, he could distinguish his partner’s soul from all the rest: Jayce—red and resounding. He could feel it from afar, so that he was always seeing him in his mind during the time he was there. When he realized it, Viktor was already painting Jayce’s face on the white of the prosthesis, still with the yellow paint; Viktor stared at him, then smiled and continued painting.
Jayce carved a line into Viktor’s cane, starting from the middle and then carving a spiral along the entire length of the wood. Finally, reaching the handle, Jayce closed his eyes and let it flow. He descended to the depths of his soul, to the abyss of his obsession; he fell into a field of strawberries, and in the middle of them was Viktor, sleeping. His chest rose and fell rhythmically, and the world seemed to breathe with him, contracting and relaxing in the same flow.
Jayce approached with heavy steps across the soft grass and lay down beside him; he gathered his courage and kissed him on the cheek. Life was a flower, and the wind flowed through his hair; the sweet scent of strawberries made him close his eyes and embrace his beloved, pressing his body against Viktor’s. All around them, white-petaled flowers bloomed, delicate and soft. With his finger, Jayce brushed a strand of Viktor’s hair behind his ear, and now that they were both surrounded by flowers, he pressed their foreheads together. It was sweet, so sweet it almost made him sick with nausea; he turned away, a jumble of emotions.
While Jayce continued to carve, Viktor switched up to the blue paint and took the brush in his hands. He pressed the bristles against the prosthesis, but soon withdrew them; he still lacked inspiration. Naturally, he sought it at the source; he turned his head to look at Jayce. And as he looked at him, he noticed how the clouds in the sky seemed to adorn his head like a halo. Admiring the beauty of the moment, Viktor turned back to the prosthesis and painted the sea of clouds onto that whiteness. The clouds took on organic shapes in small spirals, round and fluffy, thus covering a large part of the prosthesis.
“I’m done!” Viktor exclaimed as he continued to admire the sea of clouds filled with stars.
Jayce looked at the prosthesis and smiled with satisfaction, but then noticed the absence of pink.
“What about the pink paint?” he asked.
Viktor froze and looked at the bowl of pink paint, untouched, in the middle of the grass. As he continued to stare at it, Viktor replied:
“Oh, no, it’s already beautiful just the way it is. We can save the pink paint for something later.”
Jayce stared at Viktor for two seconds before muttering a “no.” Using the excuse that he was the one who had spent the morning picking the flowers, Jayce demanded that Viktor use the color. The Zaunite rolled his eyes and smiled with his eyes half-closed.
“And what do you suggest I paint, smarty-pants?” Viktor asked with clear mockery in his voice.
“I don’t know,” Jayce retorted. “Weren’t you the one with a strong sense of aesthetics?” He finished his teasing with a kiss on Viktor’s nose and then put the finishing touches on his own project.
“Ta-da!” He celebrated with a smile and twirled the crutch in his hand; it just needed a light sanding and would soon be beautiful. He ran his finger along the entire length of the carvings, feeling the rough texture of the wood as if it were a second skin. It was perfect, just as it should be; it was like a limb of Viktor’s, and everything about Viktor was perfect, just like the man himself.
Viktor laughed and took it in his hands, admiring the work Jayce had put into it. He couldn’t resist; a smile appeared. For so long his body had ceased to be his own; the hexcore had consumed him, torn his sanity until it became mere fragments of what they were, then pieced back together in an order that made him stranger and fragile. Now that he was back in control, the memories of what he had done haunted him in the form of shadows, pinning him in place. Sometimes he wouldn’t move for hours on end, tormented by the memories. So, knowing that Jayce still loved him, even after everything, made him feel that there was still life inside him—a life that was conveyed through the tear he quickly wiped away before Jayce could see it.
“Just so you can’t say I forgot about the flowers, I’m going to paint them.”
And without batting an eye, Viktor grabbed his brush and drew them on the prosthesis, among the clouds and stars. Viktor had to admit, the roses actually brought something alive to the drawings; the contrast with the other lighter colors created not only a highlight but also a balance of colors.
“Done!” he said as he finished painting the last petal.
Jayce nodded and took a good look at the prosthesis before attaching it to his leg. A sea of clouds, sun, stars, and roses—that was Jayce. Even though he sometimes lost himself to his own impulsiveness, the delicacy of the painted roses made him believe that no matter what happened, Viktor would continue to love him.
“Really, Viktor,” Jayce said as he stood up and handed the cane to Viktor. “You always manage to surprise me with your talents.”
Viktor took Jayce’s hand, and with his help, he stood up.
“It’s my keen sense of aesthetics, remember?”
They both laughed, and now, together and hand in hand, they walked toward the house. Viktor suggested some lemonade to cool off.
“Good thing I already picked the lemons!” Jayce exclaimed.