Work Text:
When the world becomes too heavy and words become too much, Jayce curls in bed and lets Viktor pull the covers over his shoulders.
Beside him, Viktor whispers “My Jayce” and brings a palm against his cheek.
Jayce nuzzles in. Warm. His Viktor.
Winters are cold in their cottage, but Viktor is sunlight: sunlight coming into the room which the houseplants curl towards. Viktor is melody, sweet and free like birdsong, being hummed into his hair. And Viktor is softness, wrapping around his body like vines of ivy, tracing kisses against his skin.
Viktor is love, and Jayce is loved.