Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

There are bad days, and there are good days. The day that Viktor meets Jayce Talis is a bad day.

His leg aches, and his back has started to hurt him recently, too. It’s a kind of hurt that’s deep in his bones, and not really radiating from any one particular spot but all over– it licks up his ankle to his knee to his hip, his back, his shoulders. Sometimes it even crawls up his neck, a vice-grip at the base of his skull. Viktor does his best to not let it distract him as he hunches over while he tinkers with his most recent creation.

It’s not groundbreaking, really, not by any standard. But it is something he’s made with his own two hands, and it will work. Viktor surveys the gadget in his hand: a simple thing, in the relative shape of a boat, with a single large paddle at the back.

“Whatcha workin’ on?” A voice behind him makes him jump and Viktor whirls around, nearly dropping what he’s holding. He’s sat on the riverbank, the water just as acrid and blue-green as it always is. Every day.

When he sees the boy standing behind him, tall and proud, eyes wide and curious, Viktor narrows his eyes. He’s radiant and confident with an open smile that makes something in his gut twist. He’s never seen him before, but recognizes with immediate clarity that he is very obviously not from the Undercity. Viktor turns back around, winding the spring at the back of his boat.

“A boat, huh,” the boy says behind him. Viktor can hear his knees pop as he crouches down beside him. “Did you make that?” Viktor nods. “Can I see it?” Viktor blinks, fingers still and tight on the rusty crank he’d been turning.

“Who are you?” he finally asks. The boy beside him is still smiling and takes his time to sit down fully. His pants are white, as is his shirt, and Viktor doesn’t think he’s ever seen anyone wear such ridiculous, impractical clothing. He’s going to get filthy down here, not that Viktor cares.

“My name’s Jayce.” Viktor doesn’t say his own name, but wordlessly hands the boat over into the boy’s hands. Jayce handles his contraption much more gently than he thought he would, and by the end of the day, Viktor had all but forgotten about the pain eating away at his bones.

Jayce Talis is an enigma. He keeps showing up randomly throughout the weeks as they pass by, and sometimes he brings Viktor little gifts. Peace offerings, maybe, Viktor thinks, as they get to know each other. Jayce had told him that he’s sneaking out of his home in Piltover because it’s sooo stuffy and boring up there and he says, "Viktor, you’d hate it,” and yeah, he’s probably right. Jayce’s days are mostly spent in school, and when he’s not in school, he’s doing some sort of extracurriculars: wrestling, piano, horseback riding, and other stupid things the elite of Piltover make their children do in order for them to grow up into perfect little schmoozy politicians, or whatever future it is that they have lined up for them. Viktor finds that he’s simultaneously disgusted and jealous, but he tries not to dwell on it too much.

It wasn’t until their third meeting that Jayce finally asked why he hadn’t told Viktor his name. Viktor’s response was a shrug of his shoulder, saying simply, “because you did not ask.” Now, though, whenever he hears Jayce call out his name as Jayce runs full-speed down to their meeting place (it’s always the same slimy, stinky riverbank), he finds himself smiling. Sometimes Jayce will barrel into him with a hug, or when his arms are full, he’ll bounce up and down on the balls of his feet and ramble on about all the things he’s brought for Viktor, and how it can help with their “inventions.” He’s always so happy, which eventually bleeds into all the cracks and crevices that make Viktor into what he is until he feels fat and whole with Jayce’s energy.

Jayce never asks about his leg, or why he coughs so hard he can’t walk for a bit, or why some days he has to go home early because he just doesn’t feel good. He always gives Viktor a little smile, dimmer than the usual, and will give him a pat on the back, or he’ll simply stand off to the side and wait patiently when Viktor finds himself a bit less inclined for physical touch. It’s like Jayce knows, somehow, when those days are. How he’s figured that out Viktor can’t be sure, but he’s grateful for it.

Up to this point, which is roughly three months after their initial encounter, Viktor’s toy boat hadn’t gone farther than a few feet without running out of steam and sputtering to a slow stop in the foamy green wastewater. Jayce had brought him a few things, and Viktor had scrounged up a few things himself, and they’d set to work on seeing just how far they could push it. Jayce speaks his language: sprockets and cogs and springs, gears and paddles and propulsion. It’s incredible, really, how quickly they seem to slot together. Jayce feels like the other half of him that he’d never even really considered was missing in the first place.

Sky joins them sometimes, too, when she’s not off doing whatever it is that she does to help her parents. They own a small bakery a mile or so from Viktor’s own home, and they’re together increasingly often these days. She’s also a brilliant mind and Viktor is always glad to have her company. Plus, sometimes she even brings snacks.

It’s all wonderful and bright and Viktor looks forward to getting up and heading out, especially on weekends, until he gets sick. He’d always been a sickly child, catching one bug or another as it rips its way through the dank streets of the Undercity, and always seemed to linger longer than any of his peers. Today, though, he’s determined to leave the house no matter how bad he feels.

When Viktor wakes in the morning, his entire body feels hot and tired. His sheets are sweaty when he gets up to dress himself and he finds it much more difficult than it should be to click the buckles of his brace to his leg. He almost tips over when he stands, wobbling as he reaches for his cane.

“Back in bed,” his dad says from the doorway and Viktor looks up, surprised, eyes wide and glassy as he wipes at his nose. His father stands in the doorway, his thin frame taking up hardly any space as far as width goes, but he’s tall and strong and elegant, anyway, so that makes up for it.

Silco takes the few strides forward necessary to cross Viktor’s small room before placing a cool hand on Viktor’s forehead and Viktor almost groans at how good it feels. He’s so hot.

“But, I have to–” Silco tsks and pats the top of Viktor’s head.

“Not today, I’m afraid,” he says in the kindest tone he can. His father’s voice has always been more of a grating purr than a comforting drawl, adding to the severity of him as a being. Viktor starts to protest again and Silco shakes his head and offers him a soft smile. “Your friends will still be there when you’re better.” Viktor opens his mouth to reply. A cough rips its way through his chest so strong it makes him gag. His dad’s hand runs a soothing pattern between his shoulders as he gently ushers Viktor back toward his bed. “I’ll send Sevika in with something to help your cough, and you’re going to take it, and get back into bed and rest.”

He’s in a haze while Silco unstraps his brace and leans his cane against his bedside table, fever clawing at his consciousness while Viktor fights to stay awake. Jayce will be there today. Jayce, and the gap in his teeth and the sun in his hair, always bringing something for Viktor. Always.

Viktor says his name, once, before falling asleep.

When he wakes up again, it’s dark outside. There’s a glass of water on his bedside table and it’s almost empty. Viktor assumes he must have woken up a few times to drink and take whatever medicine Sevika had brought in. It takes a few minutes for him to fight his body into a sitting position and he finishes off the water before he can will himself into forming any sort of thought that could even be considered remotely coherent.

He missed a day with Jayce. With Sky. He missed a day of sunshine and laughter and sweets, and it’s the first time in a long, long time that he’s ever been sad to have been cooped up inside. He feels better than he did before, but he still feels terrible and Viktor knows deep down that he’s not even close to being out of the woods with whatever it is that he’s stricken with. The weight of his limbs and the fog in his mind is clear evidence of that, but he does his best to stand up anyway. Viktor doesn’t have the strength to slip into his brace, so he doesn’t, but he’s thirsty and should get up to use the bathroom, anyway. Maybe he needs more medicine.

On his third wobbly step across his room, he hears a soft tick, tick-tick at his window. From where he stands, he can’t see anything other than darkness outside of his window, but Viktor freezes and watches with half-lidded eyes as a few small pebbles hit his window and he hobbles over, curiosity getting the better of him.

Viktor presses his forehead against the glass (it feels so cool and good it almost makes his eyelids flutter shut) but as he looks down, he sees Jayce and Sky, just out of arm's reach. His stomach flips and he might be sick with excitement, but it’s worth it. It takes every ounce of strength that he has to wedge his fingers beneath the windowsill and push his window open. As soon as he has it open, though, Sky and Jayce say “hi!” in unison.

“What are you doing here?” he asks, head spinning as he leans out the window. The night air is cool and wet. It smells like rain. Jayce has never come this far into the Undercity before and while Viktor is excited, he’s equally as worried. Even at his young age he knows the dangers lurking in the streets of Zaun aren’t solely reserved for its citizens. Piltovians are easy targets, and a child is even easier prey.

“I tried to get him to go back home, but he’s been waiting for you all day,” Sky says, looking up at Viktor. She shares his concern, no doubt. “He wouldn’t leave, so I–”

“I wanted to check on you,” Jayce says, ever earnest. “Sky said you might be sick, so I had to see for myself.” He says this like it’s the most obvious answer and shrugs his shoulders. Viktor wants to hit him and hug him at the same time, and Jayce would probably let him do either of those things. Or both. “Are you okay?”

In lieu of an answer, Viktor coughs again and it takes him a few moments to compose himself enough to actually answer.

“I get sick all the time,” Viktor says in a wheezy voice. “It will pass. You should go home.” The disparity between Piltover and the Undercity (or, Zaun, as Silco calls it) runs deep and wide and Viktor knows that if someone with ill intent caught wind of Jayce being here, not even Silco could stop them from using Jayce as leverage.

“No way,” Jayce says. “I’m coming in.” He says that like it’s an obvious answer and Viktor makes a noise of protest when Jayce jumps high enough to hook his small hands on Viktor’s window sill and pulls himself in. Jayce is in his room. He’s in Viktor’s room. After he hops inside, Jayce turns back around to grab Sky’s outstretched hands and hauls her inside, too.

When Jayce tells Viktor that his room is “so cool!” Viktor’s head swims and he can feel his knees shake. He leans on his cane as hard as he can, but he won’t last much longer standing up. He has to sit down.

His room is a simple thing. It’s small, but his fingerprints are everywhere: half-built projects strewn about his one work table that Silco had surprised him with a year ago, a desk lamp he made himself, and a few crinkly posters on the wall. It’s typical, and he doesn’t have much, but it’s all his. His dad brings him books that he thinks Viktor will find interesting, which is something he’s always appreciated about him. Silco has never told him that his work is meaningless, or that he should spend his days doing things that are more suited for kids, or participate in things that would be more fun for children. He encourages Viktor’s tinkering and has never meddled or discouraged his pursuits.

“Be quiet,” he tells Jayce after his friend makes one particularly loud comment about something on his desk. Viktor groans. “I need to sit down,” he huffs, and Jayce is at his side immediately. Jayce looks down at his leg and sees he’s not wearing his brace and offers a hand. Viktor doesn’t want to take it, but he’s weak and feels like his body is fighting him with every step he takes, so he grabs onto Jayce’s forearm instead while he makes his way back to his bed and sits down with a groan.

“Is your dad home?” Sky asks and Viktor truly doesn’t know. Silco is always out doing things that he never tells Viktor about, but is usually home at night. He has no idea what time it is, and given that they’re approaching winter and the sun is setting earlier and earlier, he really has no idea if his dad is home or not.

Jayce has never asked Viktor about his father, or his mother, so Viktor has never told him. His biological parents had died working in the Fissures, and he was really only homeless for a very short time before he quite literally stumbled into Silco. He’s not sure what inclined him to do so, but Silco had taken him in without preamble, and that had been his life ever since. He was six, then, and knew he couldn’t afford the luxury of saying no to a roof over his head even at that age. Silco had been a kind, but stern, father figure to him and calling him “dad” had come naturally. There was a lot about Silco’s past (and present, truthfully) that Viktor didn’t know, but he didn’t find it necessary to ask. He knows that his father is an investor, and an industrialist, but beyond that he doesn’t know much.

There are others in his house, too. There’s Sevika, who Viktor won’t call his mother, or his big sister, but something else entirely. She’s always been glued to Silco’s side and Viktor isn’t sure what exactly their relationship is, but she’s been a constant in his life since the moment Silco was. Then there’s Jinx, who is a literal toddler, so he doesn’t really have much to say about her. She’s small. She’s accident-prone. She gets into his stuff and annoys him in all the ways a baby sister would, he supposes. There was another girl, too, for a short time. Violet, who had run away not long after Silco had taken her and Jinx in and they hadn’t seen her since.

Jayce sits down on the bed with him and Viktor fights to keep from falling into his space. His mattress is old and creaky but he’s got on his favorite sheets (they have plants all over them, with a few dinosaurs hidden in the pattern) which is currently his only set without holes. His blanket is the same one he’s had since he was six and has seen better days. Viktor coughs again and when he rights himself, he feels Jayce’s hand on his clammy forehead.

“Woah, you’re burning up,” Jayce says. His voice is quiet. “I think you need to go to the doctor.” Sky gives Jayce a look from where she fiddles with her jacket across the room. Viktor opens his mouth to say we don’t do that here and crush Jayce’s little heart, but the door to his bedroom creaking open beats him to the punch.

“Who do we have here?” Shit. Viktor’s eyes close and Jayce’s hand peels away from his forehead. His father stands in the doorway for a moment before Sevika’s large frame fills the space behind him, a glass of water in one hand and medicine fisted in the other. “Hello, Sky,” his father says as he steps into Viktor’s room. Viktor swallows and it feels like his throat is full of burning glass. Sky offers a shy wave and shuffles closer to the window. She’s always been nervous around his dad, but who can blame her?

His dad is in his coat and smells like the cold, wet night air. He ignores Jayce for a moment, instead repeating Jayce’s actions and placing a cool hand on Viktor’s forehead before leaning down to press a kiss to the top of his sweaty head. Viktor feels like he’s floating and he’s so, so tired, but he grabs Jayce’s hand to give it a squeeze. People tend to be a little freaked out the first time they meet his dad, and he doesn’t want Jayce to think he’s a bad person. He isn’t. Viktor knows that he’s good and fair and right.

Silco’s eyes, one a startling blue and an endless black with a fiery pit in the middle, train on Jayce and Viktor can feel him tense up. Jayce’s grip on his sweaty palm is tight.

“It’s dangerous down here for you,” is all Silco says as he stands up again. He looks over his shoulder at Sevika and she lumbers into the room, holding out a glass of water and unfurling her fist to offer Viktor two small white pills. Without a word, Viktor loosens his hand from Jayce’s and grabs the pills, more than used to medication, before knocking them back with a drink of water. It dribbles from the corners of his mouth and down his neck. “Sevika will take you to the bridge. Up.”

Sevika doesn’t touch Jayce, but she doesn’t have to. Her presence is like a punch to the gut, or a hand around your throat. Before Jayce is too far away, though, Viktor reaches out to tug on his jacket sleeve and his friend turns around to look down at him.

“Thank you,” Viktor says in the only voice he can manage. Jayce gives him a smile before turning around and following Sevika out, Sky falling in line behind him. When the door clicks shut, Viktor feels like his heart is missing a chunk that is, peculiarly, the exact size and shape of Jayce’s hand.

“Oh, my son.” Silco sighs and takes a seat next to Viktor. He sounds sad. He slings an arm around Viktor’s slight shoulders and Viktor can’t help but slump into him and close his eyes. “That boy cannot come here again. You know that, yes?” Viktor can’t bring himself to answer, but he squeezes his eyes shut so tightly he sees spots. He wants to go to sleep. “We’ll talk more when you’re feeling better. Back into bed. No more uninvited visitors.” Silco offers him one more squeeze around the shoulders before he stands up to close the window, and leaves his room. Viktor wonders how Jayce will get back home after Sevika drops him off.

—

It’s a full two weeks after that until he feels well enough to make it outside, and even the short trek to his usual haunt is harder than he remembers. He’s sweating by the time he makes it to the riverbank and has had to stop along the way, but by the time he makes it to the riverbank, Sky is sitting on the big rock that she, Jayce, and Viktor had claimed as their own, reading a book that Viktor had let her borrow. She perks up when she sees him.

“Viktor!” She sets the book aside, not even bothering to save her place, and scoots over to let him sit next to her. Seeing her makes him feel reenergized and he can’t help but smile.

“Where’s Jayce?” he asks, eyes scanning the few places he usually manages to pop up.

“Grounded, I think,” she says with a frown. Her fingers pick at a seam on her pants. It’s getting cold. Maybe they should find somewhere else to meet until it gets warmer. None of the other Undercity kids play around here anymore, the proximity to water making the chill a little more bone-deep. “Sevika dropped us off near the bridge and he told me his mom is pretty strict and he was out way past curfew and would probably get grounded, so.” She shrugs. “I haven’t seen him since we came to see you.”

They don’t stay long after that, but Viktor is still glad he actually managed to get out of the house and get some fresh air. Jayce doesn’t show up, so Viktor thinks he probably is grounded, but he waits a little while after Sky leaves just to make sure. He can’t help but feel guilty, but he’s also a little disappointed that Jayce doesn’t show up.

Idiot, he thinks to himself as he trudges home. Jayce didn’t even need to come see him, but he wanted to anyway, and that makes him feel something he doesn’t really have a name for yet.

—

Just like Sky had said, Jayce actually was grounded. He showed up a few days later, though, and acted like everything was just fine, aside from pouting that Viktor hadn’t come to check on him. Viktor had wiggled his cane in the direction of his leg and gave him a look of, are you stupid? before Jayce had wordlessly gotten the hint, and that was that.

They do move to a different meetup spot, eventually, and it’s closer to the bridge so Jayce will have an easier time getting home. He doesn’t actually take the bridge home, because he knows that he’d get in trouble, but there are still other ways to sneak into the Undercity that aren’t the bridge. For now.

Tensions are higher than they’ve ever been between Piltover and the Undercity and Jayce makes a comment about how increasingly difficult it is to sneak out to see him. Viktor is both grateful that Jayce still makes the effort to come visit him and Sky, but terrified that one day Jayce won’t come back. Each visit he wonders if it will be Jayce’s last.

They’re deep into winter now, and sometimes Jayce arrives in the Undercity with snow stuck in his dark lashes and mittens wrapped around his fingers. His family is from one of the small mining cities just outside of Piltover, and he’s used to the snow, he says, so it’s not so bad. “I’ve seen worse,” he says, at the wise age of twelve. Viktor always rolls his eyes.

Winter comes with Solstice celebrations, and New Years shortly after. That bleeds into springtime, and then summer, and the cycle repeats. Sky is with them less and less these days, as she’s taken on more responsibility at her parents’ bakery since her dad passed well into their first year of friendship. Jayce had brought her flowers and a stuffed bear, and she had thrown her arms around him and cried while Viktor hung awkwardly back and watched, something strange twisting in his chest while he watched Jayce hold Sky and rock her back and forth.

Three years to the day that they met, Jayce shows up with his smile looking just as bright as it had then, and Viktor finds it easy to return. Jayce still shoves his way into Viktor’s arms for a hug when he can, and when Sky is present he does the same with her to a less violent degree. Today, though, it’s just them. They don’t meet up as often as Viktor wishes they could anymore, and Viktor tries his best not to let the anxiety get to him when he thinks about Jayce suddenly disappearing and never coming back.

“My mom says that war is about to start, or something,” Jayce says. Viktor frowns and looks up from what he’s tinkering with. Jayce looks nervous. “Have you heard anything down here?”

Viktor has heard lots of things down here. He’s older now, and his father and Sevika have been increasingly candid around him when discussing the current state of the Undercity and Piltover’s relationship. He can tell, though, when there are other things that are left unsaid because he’s around. He’s still young, but he’s not stupid.

“A little,” Viktor answers (mostly) honestly. “My dad works in politics, kind of. Or, he’s involved somehow. I’m not really sure. He’s very…” Viktor trails off, searching for the right word. “Private.”

“And?”

“And,” he starts again. “I can’t blame anyone for wanting to revolt.” Viktor doesn’t want to have this conversation. He and Jayce hadn’t really talked about the disparity between them: they are two sides of the same coin in a way. They are both human beings who inhabit Runeterra, who eat the same food and drink the same water and breathe the same air. Except it’s not the same food or water or air. Where Piltover is warm and safe and clean, Zaun has only grown progressively colder, dirtier, and more dangerous.

Jayce looks at him like he’s grown a second head for a moment.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asks, sounding slightly accusatory. Viktor finds a little flame of anger has bubbled up in his chest and he does his best to keep his cool.

“We don’t exactly have the same luxuries as you do in the Upper City, Jayce,” Viktor says, turning his eyes back down and resuming his tinkering. They’ve long perfected the boat and have turned to more ambitious endeavors. Currently, Viktor works on a little automaton in the shape of a cat that they just can’t get to walk as smoothly forward as they want.

“Well, that doesn’t mean you guys have to take that out on everyone else.” Viktor whips his head up, eyes alight with indignation.

“We don’t really have any choice,” he says. Jayce is soft and young and full of big dreams and kindness. Viktor knows he’s ignorant, but can only grant him so much grace given how often he visits the Undercity.

“There’s always a choice,” Jayce says back, matching his energy. Viktor’s hands are shaking and he squeezes the screwdriver as tightly as he can manage.

“I’m not going to talk about this with a Piltie,” Viktor bites with a bit more venom than he truly means. Jayce stands up, the few parts that he’d been holding in his lap for Viktor tumbling to the ground. There it is again, just like the day they met: Jayce stands over Viktor, strong and tall and healthy, while Viktor sits on the dirty ground, small and thin.

“Don’t call me that,” Jayce says after a minute. He’s clenching his fists at his sides and Viktor wonders if Jayce’s hands shake in the same way that his own do.

“What? Piltie?” Viktor doesn’t look up. “They’re all the same up there: fat and selfish. They don’t care about us down here, Jayce. No matter how many of us starve to death, they just sit on their hoards while we waste away.”

“I’m not like that and you know it,” Jayce says back to him. A long beat of silence follows.

“I know,” Viktor finally says quietly. “I know.” It takes a few minutes before Jayce sits back down, and he bends over to start picking up the materials he had dropped without saying anything else. Viktor feels like this is the start of a crack between them, and tells himself he won’t bring anything like this up again, for fear of losing the only thing that keeps him going.

Which is an…interesting thought. He’s not stupid. He’s fourteen now, and he knows what this is. He knows what he feels, but hasn’t yet given into the temptation of giving it a name, for fear of it becoming all-consuming in a way that he’s not quite prepared for yet.

Viktor has never known another mind like Jayce. Never been so in tune with another person in a way that makes him feel complete in the way that he does with Jayce, but he won’t let himself succumb to bashful stares and fleeting glances. Jayce is his best friend, and, frankly, the greatest thing that’s ever happened to him. One singular argument won’t change that. He hopes.

“Sorry,” Jayce says, a full five minutes after they’ve said their last words to each other. “I didn’t mean to freak out.” Viktor doesn’t catch his mouth pulling into a small smile fast enough to stop it. Jayce– kind, considerate Jayce. Jayce who doesn’t want to hurt his feelings or make him feel alienated or different, regardless how different they actually are.

“It’s fine,” is all he can bring himself to say.

The rest of Jayce’s visit is still clouded over by the weight of their argument, no matter how hard either himself or Jayce try to push past it. It’s the first real wedge between the two of them, and they’re both fighting hard to bury it, but it’s still there. Viktor wonders how long it will feel this way.

It’s a few hours to sunset when Viktor makes to stand, bending over to pop his back. It’s actually a good day today, the pain in his leg only a dull ache that he can forget about instead of something so all-encompassing that it’s the only thing he can think about.

“Alright,” Viktor says as he pats down his pants. “I’m going to–” He doesn’t get to finish his sentence before Jayce darts forward to wrap his arms around Viktor’s middle. Jayce is taller than him now, which isn’t a surprise until he remembers that they were the same height not even six months ago. Jayce has ducked his head down to press into Viktor’s shoulder and Viktor blinks, surprised, before he remembers how to hug and slides his arms over Jayce’s shoulders. Jayce doesn’t say anything for a long time.

“I mean it,” Jayce says, squeezing him a little. Jayce may as well have socked him right in the solar plexus with how breathless he feels. “I’m sorry.” Viktor doesn’t apologize, but Jayce doesn’t press.

When Jayce pulls back, he keeps his hands on Viktor’s waist but looks everywhere else except his face. Viktor, on the other hand, can’t look anywhere except Jayce’s face: his jaw is a little wider now, his skin a little darker, and Viktor can see the beginnings of facial hair trying their damndest to sprout into something. He looks awkward and handsome.

“Be careful on your way home,” Viktor says, reaching up to ruffle Jayce’s hair. The cold has only recently started to bite at his fingers, reddening his knuckles. His hands are pale in stark contrast to Jayce’s dark hair. Jayce laughs and shoves Viktor’s hands away from his head.

“See ya tomorrow,” Jayce says before turning around to head home.

Viktor doesn’t even make it halfway home before he collapses.

—

He doesn’t remember falling, and he doesn’t even remember waking up. Viktor blinks blearily up at the ceiling, finding it unfamiliar. At least the lights aren’t on, save a small, dim lamp beside him. Viktor groans, turning his head to the side to find Silco, fast asleep in a high-backed chair beside him. He pieces together that he’s in his father’s room, in his bed, but nothing makes sense, still.

“You still with us, kiddo?” Sevika’s voice carries across the room as she steps in, as if on cue. Her voice is quiet and she spares a glance at Silco before looking back toward Viktor. He sighs through his nose but finds it comes out as a gurgling wheeze. She crosses the room and gingerly takes a seat on the bed, offering a soft pat on Viktor’s forearm.

“Jayce,” is all he can bring himself to say. Sevika’s expression softens in her own special way. Anyone else looking at her would call it a grimace, but Viktor knows better. He knows her too well. She’s sad, and maybe a little scared. Her hand finds his and he does his best to wrap his small, thin fingers around her calloused fingers. Her skin is a warm brown paired up to his own washed-out white.

“You’ve been out for a couple of weeks.” If he didn’t feel so delirious, he would be panicking. Now, though, he’s entirely too weary to feel much of anything. “Never seen your dad so scared, to be honest.” She runs her thumb across the back of his hand before taking it gently away to reach for the water at his bedside. Sevika rearranges herself to help Viktor sit up so he can attempt to drink without drowning in it, but he can only manage to get a few small sips in before he feels like he might cough it back up. She’s still speaking in a whisper when she says, “I was scared, too. How do you feel?”

He doesn’t get a chance to answer before he hears his dad suck in a slow, sleepy breath. Viktor turns to look at him just as Silco opens his one good eye and he’s instantly awake, all but falling out of his chair to scramble his way to Viktor’s side. His hands, warm, find their place on Viktor’s cheeks and for the first time in his entire life, it looks like he might see his father cry.

“Viktor,” he says, and it sounds like a prayer. “My son.” He looks up at Sevika. “Go get Singed,” Silco tells her, and she stands up after giving Viktor’s shoulder a light pat and saying, “Glad to have you with us again, kiddo.” Silco’s eyes find his own again and Viktor finds that he’s fighting sleep again. He leans back against the headboard and sighs through his nose.

One of Silco’s hands brush over his hair, smoothing it down, and Viktor can’t fight the weight of his eyelids. They flutter to a close just as he hears a high-pitched squeal of his name from the doorway. He does his best to pry them back open to see his younger sister bounding across the room. She jumps onto the bed toward him and slams herself into his chest and it hurts. Viktor grunts.

“Jinx,” Silco snaps. “Be careful. Your brother is still sick.”

“I missed you so bad, Viktor, I missed you so, so, so bad.” She’s openly crying against him, her tiny arms wound around him as best they can. She’d always been dramatic when she cried: snot, spit, the works, and it’s no different now. He wants so badly to pet a hand over her hair but no part of him is working enough to actually do it. “I thought you were gonna die,” she wails. Silco says her name again and tries to pry her off of Viktor, but she’s relentless and won’t let go.

He doesn’t really know what’s wrong with him, and his dad is being tight-lipped. Not that Viktor even has a chance to ask before Singed makes his way into the room. He’s always had a distaste for Singed– found him skeevy and creepy in a way that Viktor can’t really place. He works for his dad doing some sort of production that Viktor isn’t privy to and doesn’t care to dig into. It’s not really because of his looks, either. In the few fleeting moments where he’d heard exchanges between his father and Singed, Singed had always seemed to lean more into the insane mad scientist spectrum and while Viktor can appreciate that, it has a cap. Singed does not seem to have such a cap.

However, Viktor doesn’t protest when Singed takes his blood pressure or shines a light into his eyes or listens to his heartbeat.

“Recovery will be long,” Singed says as he stands up. Viktor has slumped back down into the pillows and Jinx has wiggled her way under the covers with him, glued impossibly close to his side. “But if he is strong, he will pull through. You will need medicine that isn’t abundantly available here, so I would suggest sending someone topside. Here.” Singed scribbles something for a long moment on a piece of flimsy before holding it out for Sevika. She takes it with her augmented hand, giving it a look-over. Her eyes shoot a worried look to Silco before they go back to the paper and she leaves the room shortly after. Viktor barely catches the way his father’s jaw clenches.

Silco scrubs a hand across his tired face, sighing, and Singed leaves the room. Jinx is still crying at Viktor’s side, but it’s calmed down into little hiccups and sniffles.

“Rest, now,” he says, giving one more squeeze to Viktor’s arm before he leaves the room, tossing one more glance over his shoulder. He doesn’t close the door all the way, and a full minute passes by before he hears his father’s footsteps retreat down the hall.

By day three, he can manage to sit up on his own. Jinx has hardly left the room, instead taking it upon herself to move what Viktor assumes is every single toy she owns into the room with him. He watches as she colors at the end of the bed, feet kicking back and forth as she hums some tune that he’s never heard before.

Singed visits twice per day, making him drink this liquid or swallow that pill. His father watches him with careful eyes and speaks to him in careful words, and even Sevika tiptoes around him like stepping too hard will make him shatter apart. It makes him angry, being treated this way. He still doesn’t even know what’s wrong with him, and nobody will tell him, and it’s driving him fucking crazy.

Three days turn into a week, turns into two weeks, and Viktor is able to wobble across the room to use the bathroom and back to his bed without nearly fainting. His lungs are just as shit as they were before, so nothing’s new there. His leg and his back ache like all hell, but he assumes that’s caused by lack of use. He just feels so tired– like his body is fighting a war between hanging on and letting go. Maybe he’s dying.

He fainted one other time, when neither Silco nor Sevika was around to help him get to the bathroom. Jinx, bless her, had done her best to help him, but at seven years old she wasn’t really helping so much as hindering. Still, he didn’t push her away. He had leant on his cane as much as he could, taking slow, shuffling steps toward the bathroom but found that the amount of energy that simple task alone had siphoned from him left him with none to spare for the trip back. So, he fainted, and Jinx had screamed, and then it was a mess of fanfare that Viktor was glad to be passed out during.

Since then, someone is with him round-the-clock, whether it be Silco, Sevika, or one of the others employed by his father. He hates being watched this way, but he doesn’t protest when he’s poked and jabbed with needles or made to swallow viscous, oily medicine that tastes like poison.

Some days are better than others as Viktor recovers: sometimes he sleeps, sometimes he reads, sometimes his father will bring him something to fiddle with from his bedroom. The days bleed together, lost between napping and taking small bites of dry sandwiches and gulps of room-temperature water.

On week four, the door to his father’s room creaks open and he hears Sevika say, “You have a visitor, kiddo,” only to find Sky standing in the doorway. His heart jumps in his chest and he says her name, which she responds to by bursting into tears.

Sky holds her arms out to him as she crosses the room and Viktor finds himself doing the same, eyes stinging with tears. Viktor buries his face in her coat and she smells so clean, like outside, and he wonders if it’s snowing with how cold she is. He’s so, so grateful that she’s here. She’s a blubbering mess, similar to the way his little sister was when she first saw him awake, and he does cry then. He’s just so happy to see someone else, someone he loves, but he can’t shake the hopeless anxiety that eats at him, hoping Jayce will follow soon after.

“I thought you were– I saw your dad, and I just–” He can’t make heads or tails of what Sky is saying until she eventually calms down. Sevika has left the doorway, and the attendant his dad had watching him has also left the room. “I thought you were dead, Viktor.” He can’t help himself and lets out a watery laugh.

“So did everyone else, apparently.” Jinx has started crying again and she rubs her little fists into her eyes.

“I saw your dad,” Sky says after swallowing down another sob. She sits up and wipes at her cheeks. “I– it had been a couple of days, and I didn’t want Jayce to get in trouble again, so I went to your bedroom and I saw your dad. He–” she pauses to hiccup and another fat tear falls down her face. “He was crying in your room, so I thought– I thought you…” Sky trails off again and Viktor, frankly, feels like he’s been hit in the head with a hammer.

“Jayce,” is all Viktor can say, and Sky starts crying again. “Where’s Jayce?”

“I told him,” Sky says. “I told him what I saw, and he…” Sky trails off again and does her best to compose herself. A few minutes go by and she breathes deeply, in and out, and then does it again. “I haven’t seen him since.”

Viktor feels his head spin. He has to tell Jayce. He has to. But he can’t go Topside– not like this, and not for a long time. He wouldn’t dare send Sky up there on her own, either, even if she could get past the bridge or sneak in. It’s too dangerous. And he can’t tell his dad to send for Jayce, or to send a letter. It would go nowhere.

Before he can dwell on it too hard, the same attendant that was watching him before shows up with a tray of sandwiches, three of them, and Viktor does his best to actually have a conversation with his friend while she’s here. Still, though, he feels like he’s floating. Jayce believes he’s dead, so what reason would he have to come back to Zaun?

—

Viktor has resigned to the fact that Jayce is not coming back. By the end of the third month after his fainting incident, which Singed has said was caused by Sump Sickness, something new that’s wiped out a good amount of the deeper parts of the Undercity, he’s standing and walking again. He still gets tired easily, but at least he can go back to tinkering and reading for a full day without a nap during the middle.

He still aches, though, in a way that nothing but time can cure him of. His heart feels empty, and there is a very Jayce-shaped hole left in his chest. The only traces that Jayce ever existed are the projects that he and Jayce had worked on together and the passing mentions of Jayce in conversations with Sky. Viktor will look over the little doodles in the margins of his notebooks that Jayce had left when Viktor wasn’t looking, or the fancy screwdriver that Jayce had let him borrow, and sometimes he will let himself cry. He won’t sob or scream or wail, but his eyes will well with tears that make their way down his face and he’ll wipe them away, and life will go on.

—

Life does go on. He’s fourteen, then fifteen, then sixteen, and his dad starts taking him to work. Viktor learns a lot over the years that he works with his father: Piltover and Zaun have officially split into two different kingdoms, and while that’s a miracle in and of itself, that also means that the already meager resources that Piltover was obligated to supply Zaun are now even more scarce. His father is more on edge, and he’s gone for longer stretches of time.

The work he does is rewarding, and it keeps him busy, and some days he doesn’t even think about Jayce. He doesn’t think about the gap between Jayce’s teeth while Singed looms over his shoulder as he sketches out schematics for a new propulsion system intended for the minecarts in the Fissures. He doesn’t think about the scar cutting through Jayce’s eyebrow as he listens to his father lead meetings in Zaunite council room, and he doesn’t think about Jayce’s hands on his waist when he’s laying in bed with his hands stuffed down his pants. He doesn’t.

The days are long, and some days are hard, even for him, but he does his best.

When he was younger, Silco was always home at night. Always– he made his rounds, telling Jinx and Viktor goodnight, but nowadays, more often than not, they’re putting themselves to bed. Silco is on the council for Zaun, and is regularly in Piltover for whatever business is required to keep Zaun running. His father is spread thin between work and home, and Viktor fills in for Jinx as he can. Still, he knows that she misses their father. The love from an older brother is a far cry from the love of a father, but he tries.

Jinx is something else altogether nowadays. She’s ten years old now, with the emotional maturity of a six year old child and the gusto of a grown man. She’s confident and cocky, and Viktor loves her with his whole being. She’s blossomed into someone intelligent and volatile in a way that he respects, and he knows she’s going to go far.

On days that Viktor isn’t helping his father, he’s tinkering with Jinx, who has an appetite for explosions. It’s a dangerous notion, but he can’t help but encourage her brilliant mind. Even at her young age, she soaks up all of his knowledge and attention like a sponge. He loves her.

That’s how he passes his time for the most part, and he can’t deny that his family is among the more privileged in Zaun, even if they also have it hard at times. Independence from Piltover had been rejoiced by everyone in the Undercity, even if they all knew that even harder times were right around the corner. Travel between Zaun and Piltover is more complicated than it used to be, and a formal passport system had been instated between both kingdoms even though they shared a border. There had been riots, people had starved, but things were on the mend now.

So the work continues for a better Zaun. Less people die of hunger or cold than they did in the beginning, and by the time Viktor is twenty-four, he feels like things are almost where they are supposed to be. There’s still no upper level schooling, but that’s something he’d actually been putting plans and proposals together for to bring to his father. Silco had always encouraged both himself and Jinx to follow their hearts and their minds, and he knew that his father had a soft spot for educating the children of Zaun. What Viktor has thus far may be rudimentary, but it would be a start, and it was something he wanted to be a part of. The College of Techmaturgy, he’s been calling it, focusing primarily on science and technology.

These days, his leg bothers him more and more, and he’s well past using his cane to requiring a crutch full-time. His back, having started deteriorating around the time he had met Jayce, is now something he’s also had to start wearing a brace for. Much to his father’s chagrin, Viktor and Singed had implanted an artificial spine that attached to his back brace that helps, for the most part. Just like when he was young, he has good days and bad days. He takes them as they come. He does not think of Jayce if he can help it.

Unfortunately, that is a very difficult task. Over the years, the Talis family had risen from humble beginnings to the top of the Piltover food chain. Jayce’s story was everywhere, and every poster with his face on it, every story in a magazine, every news announcement about the Man of Progress made Viktor ache. Jayce had done good work over the years– he’d been a stout advocate for the people of Zaun, and had even put some wonderful work into urging Piltover to supply whatever funds or resources they could to Zaun, as meager as they may be. The effort was there, and Viktor appreciated it. However, Viktor had died when Jayce Talis was fourteen years old. There was no reason for him to visit, so Viktor had resigned to loving him from afar. If wanting to punch Jayce in the face for abandoning him could be considered love, that is.

Eventually, though, Jayce’s efforts had caught the attention of the Kiramman House, which was, arguably, the most powerful House in all of Piltover. The Kirammans had fingers in every pie: politics, police, and production. They began to sponsor his works, and that’s when the real moving and shaking had started. The Kiramman House benefited from the philanthropy, and Jayce benefitted from the fame of being the face of what was essentially charity. It made Viktor both sick and soft.

As the story went, Jayce’s talents then landed him a spot on the Council, and had granted him an official title: he was a Lord now. The thought made Viktor spitting mad, frankly, for a reason he couldn’t really put a name to. It felt like his friend had reduced himself to nothing but a pawn, easily bought out by fancy titles and dangling karats. Now, he was only a cog in their big, glittering machine, riding out on the coattails of his past philanthropic works to sit on a mountain of wealth while pretending to care about others around him just enough to be considered altruistic. Jayce Talis, man of the people. Piltover’s Man of Progress, named so for his works on bridging the divide between Piltover and Zaun. Pah.

Viktor has better things to think about that aren’t Jayce Talis, anyway. Besides, according to Jayce, Viktor is dead, and the distance between himself and the person who used to be his best friend is entirely too large to remedy now.

Viktor is on a two-week streak of Not Thinking About Jayce when he hears the news.

Jinx storms into his room– he’d since moved into Silco’s old room, given it’s larger, and their home had upgraded– and flops down on his bed. He is decidedly not looking in her direction, poring over the third draft of his proposal for Zaun’s educational improvement instead, but she sighs. Then she sighs again and tosses herself around on his bed. On the third sigh, he asks her what’s wrong.

“Dad’s marrying me off,” Jinx spits and Viktor chokes on a laugh, turning around.

“Marrying you off?” he asks, raising a brow. Jinx is staring at the ceiling, lower lip jutting out in a pout. “I don’t believe that for a single second.”

“Yeah, well, it’s real! Take a look.” An endless ball of energy, Jinx catapults herself off of his bed and crosses the room, fishing out a crinkled letter and waving it around in his face. Viktor makes to grab it but Jinx yanks it just out of reach. He narrows his eyes at her and she laughs before lowering it into his hand.

The letter is not on official letterhead of any kind, and it’s handwritten. Viktor assumes the contents are the result of someone snooping around in Piltover for gossip as he reads:

Pilties are marrying off the Man of Progress. There will be a ball for eligible bachelorettes and bachelors a week from tomorrow. Could be an in for Zaun.

Talk to Silco. Jinx as a candidate?

Viktor balks at the letter, reading it again. And again. And a third time for good measure.

“See?” Jinx asks, hands on her hips. “I told you he’s marrying me off, the bastard.”

“Where did you get this?” Viktor asks. His hands are shaking. This can’t be happening.

“Chuck,” Jinx says simply, twirling around and taking a seat on his bed again.

“Chuck?”

“From the bar. He heard someone talking about it with dad, then that guy handed over a letter, so I went in and nabbed it when he wasn’t paying attention.” Jinx shrugs, still pouting. She’s always had sticky fingers.

“This is ridiculous,” Viktor says, mostly to himself. Jinx echoes him with a “tell me about it,” from where she’s buried her face in his pillows. Her face is filthy with gunpowder or dirt or whatever it is she always has all over herself, but Viktor can’t really bring himself to care how grimy his pillowcases are getting. “This is ridiculous!” he says again.

“I know!”

Viktor cards his free hand through his hair. This is ridiculous.

—

The more Viktor thinks about it, the angrier he gets. Piltover is stupid, and Jayce is stupid, too. Throwing a ball of all things with the intention of marrying off Jayce Talis is outdated and archaic, but Viktor can’t help himself, really, when he accidentally lets his thoughts wander into dangerous territory. He imagines himself hanging off of Jayce’s arm, full and happy, surrounded by cheers and fanfare. As soon as he sees it in his mind’s eye, Viktor tamps it down with thoughts of work and Zaun and anything else he can conjure up to keep him from seeing Jayce’s figure in a fine suit when he closes his eyes.

His father never brings it up, either, and no matter how hard he attempts to listen while doing his best to look busy, Viktor never picks up on any gossip. Not that Silco has ever really been one to gossip in the first place, but he knows that his father has a good ear for what’s real and what’s not, and does his due diligence when he believes certain rumors will lead somewhere beneficial.

His father actually spends a decent amount of time in the same building that he had a lab built in for Viktor to work with Singed and other lab assistants. On this particular night, it’s just the two of them, both working in a comfortable silence. Each scratch of Silco’s pen across paper feels like it’s cutting directly into his eardrums.

It’s been over a week since Jinx nabbed the letter, and Viktor has all but worked himself up into mania over it. Viktor does his best to remain outwardly composed, but in reality he feels panicked over the whole thing. He’s holding on tightly to the arm of a frantically swinging metronome that arcs between anhedonia and exhilaration.

“I heard about the, uh…the proposal. The ball,” Viktor finally says after the silence becomes too much to bear. He can’t help himself. He’s hunched over his desk, and his dad makes a quizzical noise as he looks across the lab at his son. “Are you going to send Jinx?” After a long, drawn-out beat of silence, Silco asks:

“And just how did you hear about that?” Viktor wasn’t one for gossip either, and he hardly left to go anywhere but to work, so he understands why his father is surprised. Viktor shrugs his shoulders and dips his head lower over the schematics he’s pretending to busy himself with.

“From Jinx,” he says plainly. Silco sighs and Viktor can hear his boots echoing across the floor as he makes his way over to him.

“That girl will be my undoing someday,” he says with a sigh. His father leans against his desk, braced on his hip for support. His arms cross over his chest as he stares down at Viktor, eyes soft. “No, there will be no…giving away, as it were. Piltover’s business is their own. Although, I can’t help but consider the benefit there is to be had of a formal union between Zaun and Piltover.”

One of his father’s hands falls onto his shoulder, and Viktor finally looks up at Silco. The lines in his face are deeper than they were when he was a child; visible signs of the ache in his bones and the work he’s put into making Zaun what it is. He’s worked so, so hard. His eyes, though, have stayed the same: stern and dangerous.

“There’s always Sevika,” Viktor offers. His father laughs outright and Viktor awards himself the luxury of a small smile. Silco does not dignify that with a response. “Or…me.” His heart flutters in his chest, nerves eating their way up his throat. He might be sick. His hands are shaking. Silco’s head whips down to him, eyes wide.

“You?” he asks, surprise clear in his voice. It’s not often he shocks his father and Viktor can probably count how many times it’s happened on a single hand. He seems speechless.

“Well,” Viktor starts, looking away. His face feels hot. “Bachelorettes and bachelors, I heard. I– if you think there would be some benefit to be had for Zaun, it is something I would do for–”

“Absolutely not.” Silco’s voice is harsh and he lifts his hand from Viktor’s shoulder to cross his arms again. “My children are worth an infinite amount more than any Piltover swine.” A lick of irritation ignites in his stomach and he resents himself and his father simultaneously: his father for calling Jayce swine and himself for being upset about it.

“Jayce has done so much good for Zaun, if it was going to be anyone then he–” His father stops him with a hand under his chin, forcing Viktor to meet his eyes. They’re sad.

“My son,” Silco says, sighing. “Do you take me for a fool?” His voice is quiet and Viktor fights the urge to rip his face out of Silco’s hand. He can’t bring himself to respond. His father is many things, but a fool he is not. “He is not the same as he used to be. He’s not that same boy, not anymore.”

Of course his father knows. For all Viktor knows, he’d only met Jayce once, when he was young, but of course he remembers. Viktor remembers everything about that day. His bedsheets had dinosaurs on them. Jayce held his hand. Viktor has done his best to be careful over the years, not saying Jayce’s name around anyone who would care to be listening, especially if it was his father.

“Your place is here. In Zaun. By my side.” Silco reaches down to cup Viktor’s face in his hands and Viktor feels like a child again. “You are Zaun.” Viktor’s eyes squeeze shut and he wills himself to stop shaking as best he can.

“Go home,” his father tells Viktor then, stepping away from him. “No more of this Piltover marriage nonsense.” Just before Silco closes the door to the lab, he calls back: “Jayce Talis is not your friend anymore.” Viktor’s heartbeat has never sounded so loud in his ears.

—

He can’t let it go. There are only two days left, supposedly, until the ball, and Viktor can’t bring himself to stop thinking about it. He does his best to busy himself with his work, and to busy himself with Jinx, who turns out to be a much better distraction than work in the end. She’s completely past the whole marriage debacle, not even batting an eye after Viktor told her that it wasn’t happening and citing his source as their father. She’d only given him a shrug and pulled her goggles back over her face before resuming welding a casing for some ungodly explosive she was trying to convince him was for mining in the Fissures. Viktor isn’t buying it, but he’s also found himself frequently in the mood to blow shit up, too, so he doesn’t force her to focus on something else.

“So,” she asks one day with a mouthful of a meatbun that Viktor had grabbed for their dinner on the way home from work. “You gonna do it?”

“Do what?” he asks before taking a bite himself. They’re both sitting in front of the large hearth in the center of their home playing chess, which he can never seem to win with her. He’s convinced she cheats, but he has yet to figure out how she does it.

“Go to the thing. Marry the guy.” She says it so casually. Viktor nearly chokes on his food, sputtering and coughing hard enough that he needs a drink of water. “I’ll take that as a…yes? I mean, you offered yourself up and everything. It was pretty sweet.”

“No,” Viktor answers, brows knitting together. “How do you even know about that?” A smile slithers across her face, devilish. It’s one he’s seen many times before, and it means she’s scheming.

“I’ve got ears everywhere, bro.” She knocks over one of his pieces in a move that Viktor is certain is illegal, but she only offers him finger guns when he protests.

“You’re a gossip and you snoop too much. Check.”

“And you aren’t going to actually pass it up, right? Think about it.” Jinx stands up then, holding her arms out wide after taking another bite that’s way too big for her mouth. She continues talking through her food. “You’ve got big dreams. Way bigger than this place. Plus, you’d get to marry some hot hunk, and you can’t tell me that’s not also a reason why you’re gonna do it.”

“I don’t want out of here, Jinx. This is my home. Are you going to take your turn?” Jinx sighs and rolls her eyes.

“I’ll tell ya a secret, Vik.” Viktor raises an eyebrow, unenthused. He knows everything about Jinx. They’re glued together at the hip. She crosses the room and leans against one of the tall windows, staring into the dark. Something outside crashes, and there’s a yell. “One of these days, I’m going to hop on one of those big airships and get the hell out of here. I think you should, too.”

That he did not know about Jinx. In all their time together, she had never even hinted at any displeasure she felt living in Zaun. Silco had, for the most part, sheltered her. But maybe that’s was why she’s so hungry to get out.

“You’re way bigger than this place.”

“And marrying some Lord from Piltover will do what? Remove the chains that keep me in Zaun and anchor me to Piltover instead?” If anything, Viktor thinks, it might even be worse. He would have no idea what he would be getting into. Would he be anything other than an ornament hanging off of Jayce’s arm? Would he still be allowed to create? A part of him pipes up, a little deceitful little worm in his brain, telling him that wouldn’t be so bad. Not if he was with Jayce.

“No,” she drawls. Her head thuds against the glass. Jinx trains her eyes on Viktor as he sits. The room feels too stuffy all of a sudden. “But it could be a ticket to somewhere better. A stepping stone, I guess.”

“I like Zaun just fine.” Lies. He’s a liar. He’s lying to the most important person in his life. Does that make him a bad person? He doesn’t hate Zaun, but he thinks that maybe, in another life, he’s attending Piltover Academy. Maybe he’s the Dean’s assistant. Maybe he’s a professor. Maybe he’s nobody.

“Whatever helps you sleep at night, Vik.” Jinx sits herself in front of Viktor again, staring down at the board. She’s still for a beat before dropping a piece in front of his King. “Checkmate.”

—

There’s one day left, and the ball is all Viktor has been able to think about. Ever the early riser, his eyes pry open at five-thirty in the morning but instead of going through the motions of his usual daily routine, he stares at the ceiling. He’d hardly been able to sleep the night before.

Jayce Talis is not your friend anymore.

That was objectively true. It’s been ten years since he last saw Jayce, and their last day together had been tense. Maybe Jayce was glad to be rid of him, but there was a part of Viktor that couldn’t help but wonder how different things would be if he hadn’t gotten sick. If Jayce didn’t believe him to be dead.

Or, his mind unhelpfully supplies, maybe Jayce knew he wasn’t dead but used that as an excuse to sever contact with him. Anything was possible, good or bad. Still, Viktor couldn’t lie to himself: the years he spent with Jayce at his side were the best years of his life. He remembers Jayce’s hands on his shoulder or in his hair after Viktor did something particularly impressive, and he remembers the kindness in Jayce’s eyes when he told Viktor he was “so cool.” He remembers the warm brown of his skin, and how sometimes he would show up with random things that he said made him think of Viktor. He would bring Viktor things just because, and he never asked questions about his leg, or gave Viktor grief for having to walk slowly on his bad days. Jayce Talis, ten years later, is still ruining his life.

By the time noon rolls around, Viktor finally finds it in himself to drag his aching body out of bed. Today is a bad day. His hip hurts so intensely that it burns, shooting pain up his side and into his shoulder. Viktor curses, running his hands through his hair and staring at the floor.

It’s fucking stupid, but he’s already made up his mind: he’s going. He has to.

It’s funny how at war Viktor is with himself about the whole thing. He whips wildly between anxiety and excitement. He thinks Jayce will be elated to know that he’s alive. Or, perhaps, he’ll be disgusted that Viktor was insane enough to offer himself up as a candidate for marriage. Maybe Singed is rubbing off on him. Maybe he is insane.

It doesn’t have to be about the marriage bit, though, he supposes. Really, at the root of it all, it’s just a good opportunity to see Jayce again. Even if it ends poorly, at least he’ll have closure. If it ends badly then he’ll have a reason to hate Jayce instead of being a sopping mess of admiration and affection over someone he used to know when he was a child. For all he knows, Jayce Talis is a colossal dickhead now.

Viktor mopes around the house for the remainder of the day between trying to figure out the logistics of going to the ball. He has a hard enough time making his way from home to work, and a journey on foot to Piltover is out of the question. He can’t drive, because he’s never really needed to learn how, and he doesn’t have a car anyway. There’s no way he’d be able to borrow the car that drives his dad around, because that’s in use daily, and he can’t let his father know he’s going. He supposes he can make his way as closely to Topside as he can and hitch a ride, but he’ll have to dress nice, and how would he explain that to someone? Truthfully, he doesn’t even have anything nice enough to wear in the first place.

Viktor stares into his closet, nursing his sixth cup of tea of the day and sighs. His clothes are fine, but they’re stained with grease from work, or have tiny little flecks where battery acid has eaten through the cuffs. Nothing fine enough to present himself to Lord Jayce Talis. It’s like offering pig shit on a rusty tin platter. Viktor scrubs a hand over his face and sighs.

“What am I doing,” he says to no one, eyes squeezed shut.

“What are you doing?” Jinx’s voice startles him so hard he nearly drops his cup, spilling tea over the sides and onto his fingers.

“What are you doing?” he asks, head whipping around to look for his sister. Clearly, he wasn’t paying attention, because she’s sitting cross-legged in the middle of his bed. Beside her is…

“I found this,” she says, pointing to the suit next to her. It’s his father’s, but it’s not one he’s ever seen him wear before. It’s almost entirely black, which is typical, but the accents are a fine silver and the material is, honestly, obviously impeccable even from across the room where Viktor stands.

“Jinx, I’m not going.” Viktor pinches the bridge of his nose. Fuck. He feels the beginnings of a migraine pulsing behind his eyes.

“Yeah, of course you’re not. But this is for you anyway.” She sits back on her hands with a sly grin, tossing him a wink. Viktor only sighs. “Just say the word and I’ll arrange your carriage, my prince. I’ve got someone special on retainer just for you.”

Viktor freezes, eyes wide as he looks across the room at his sister. His beautiful, wonderful, intelligent sister who is the biggest thorn in his side and his biggest supporter. She’s perfect and wonderful and one hundred percent a maniac. And she’s going to help him.

“Anyway,” Jinx says, standing up and stretching her arms over her head. He hears her back pop. “Dad and I are going to dinner tomorrow around eight, and then we’re going to the beach. There’s supposed to be some big glowing jellyfish migration, or something, so we probably won’t be back until the morning after since it’s a bit of a ways out.” As she saunters past him, Jinx stands on her tiptoes to kiss the high point of his cheek. “Go get ‘em, bro.”

He tries on the suit after he’s sure that his bedroom door is firmly shut and locked.

He feels like an idiot. The suit is undoubtedly beautiful, and his measurements are similar enough to Silco’s that it doesn’t make him look like a child wearing their father’s clothes, but he still feels like an idiot. What the fuck am I doing, Viktor asks himself as he fidgets in front of his mirror. The juxtaposition between his battered crutch and brace against the fine suit isn’t lost on him, and he so very clearly does not belong in clothing like this. Jayce is going to hate him. He’s going to laugh him out of Piltover, and then Viktor will simply walk into the sea and never resurface.

No matter how loud the voices at the forefront of his mind scream at him that this is a waste of time, he can’t ignore the tiny echo bouncing around in his heart that sounds frustratingly similar to Jayce’s voice long enough to convince himself not to go. To try.

—

He wakes the next morning riddled with anxiety, which was to be expected, but Viktor does his best to go about his day as normally as he can. His father is home, which is a surprise, and he has a cup of coffee waiting for Viktor when he shuffles into the kitchen. It’s almost six, but he’s still groggy, so it’s appreciated.

Silco tells him of the plans he has for the day, echoing Jinx from the night before, and Viktor hopes he’s putting on a good act of being surprised, telling his dad that it sounds like fun, but he’ll have to pass.

“Hard at work on your proposal still? This is draft four, then?” Viktor smiles over the rim of his mug. “I’m sure it's good enough to present to the council by now.” Viktor hums.

“It has to be perfect,” he says, and Silco squeezes his shoulder before passing him.

“I know,” is all he says, and then his father leaves.

The rest of the day is spent distracting himself as best he can, and Viktor finds that he actually does a decent job at it. Singed is gone for the majority of his day at work, leaving Viktor to supervise the laboratory assistants. They’re currently working on improving Zaun’s water purification system to be used in the deeper, filthier water basins just outside of Zaun, as well as methods of rainwater collection and purification. The lab assistants are eager, but many of them are not formally educated, so Viktor finds that he has to guide them a bit more than he’d like. They try their best, though, and he admires them for it.

The ball starts at eight, and by the time everyone has left, it’s only six. Viktor has no idea if parties in Piltover are like those in Zaun: the start times are loose, and the end times are even looser. He’s pledged himself to arrive maybe just fashionably late. Eight-thirty? Nine?

The waiting is killing him, though, and he finds himself standing over the suit laid out on his bed for far too long. His fists clench and unclench, his chest rises and falls with nervous huffs of breath. He doesn’t smoke, but he desperately wants a cigarette. A concussion would also do nicely, he thinks.

Viktor dresses himself slowly and meticulously, and fits his brace over his pants as carefully as he can. He’d polished the beaten brass and conditioned the worn-out leather of it the day before, but it still looks like shit on account of daily use. His crutch, too, has seen better days. But these are the cards he’s been dealt, and it’s too late to go back now.

He does his best to tame his hair into something resembling presentable instead of looking like a mad scientist, trying not to think about how much of a fraud he feels like. Viktor does his best to keep his mind free of the image of Jayce rejecting him, casting him out into the cold streets of Piltover to limp pathetically all the way back home with a broken heart. Who is he kidding? Who does he think he is? This is a mistake.

“It’s been a long time since that suit has seen the light of day.”

Viktor whirls around, nearly tripping. His father stands in the doorway and he thinks, I have really got to pay better attention to my surroundings. Silco’s arms are crossed over his chest as he surveys Viktor languidly, and Viktor braces himself in preparation of the tongue lashing he knows he’s about to receive. His father is smiling. It’s small, but it’s there.

“I thought– Jinx said–” His father chuckles, a low and rumbling thing.

“You really think I don’t know my own children, Viktor?” When his father pushes himself off of the doorframe and takes a step into the room he feels a chill run up his spine. His stomach sinks. “As much as both you and Jinx are my whole heart, neither of you are subtle or sly enough to get very much past me, I’m afraid.” Silco’s smile fades into something much smaller then, almost nonexistent.

Viktor sinks his teeth into his own nerves and fights down the urge to cow under his father’s presence. He loves him. He respects him. But this time it’s his turn to call the shots in his life.

“I’m going,” he says, doing his best to stand up to his full height. His leg throbs and his back aches and aches and aches. “I have to see him.” Viktor’s voice breaks as he speaks, but he does his best to remain steadfast.

“Viktor,” his father drawls. He’s disappointed and tired, Viktor can tell. He’s heard that tone plenty of times with Jinx.

“If I don’t do this, I’ll never know.”

“I’ll tell you how this is going to go,” his father interrupts. “You’re going to show up to this Piltie party, with their bright lights and big bottles of champagne and gluttonous appetites. You’re going to tell Jayce Talis that you came all the way from Zaun to see him. You’re going to offer him your hand in marriage–” Viktor does his best not to flinch. “And he’s going to break your heart.”

Viktor feels an icy pang in his chest and for a moment he thinks he might be sick. His head swims and his heart hurts. He opens his mouth but before he can get a word out, his father interjects again.

“You and Jinx are my entire world, and I would not be able to sit idly by while the only joy I have comes back home in pieces.” Silco pauses then and takes a step back into the doorway, reaching for the handle. “I would burn the world to the ground to keep you happy, Viktor. Please know that.”

“Then let me go,” Viktor says, taking a step forward. His father fishes a key out of his pocket and Viktor’s vision swims as a pulse of panic zips up the back of his skull. “Please, just let me try.”

“You know why I can’t let you do that,” Silco sighs. Viktor, eyes wide, takes another step forward. It’s almost comical how the door creaks as Silco steps back and shuts it, and the lock clicking from the other side is the loudest sound he’s ever heard in his life.

Viktor’s breath comes in great gulps then and he hears his father’s voice on the other side of the door, saying, “Stay posted here until morning. Nobody goes in or out.” before his footsteps retreat down the hall.

He can’t help it then. Viktors knees wobble and shake, and a sharp pain shoots through him as he sinks down to the floor, teeming with anger. He clenches his fist and shouts, throwing his crutch as hard as he can toward the door, where it falls pathetically to the floor, and he cries.

He cries because he’s angry, and he cries because he’s embarrassed. He cries fat, wet, ugly tears and he lets them fall down his face and patter onto the scuffed up hardwood floor beneath him. He hates himself for crying, hates himself for getting himself into this mess, hates himself for loving Jayce Talis for ten long, agonizing, lonely years. He hates, and he hates, and he hates, and he hurts.

The clock ticking above him is a cruel reminder; he is here, feeling sorry for himself on the floor as time keeps going on, and Jayce is somewhere else. Full and warm and happy, surely smiling down at a kind face that isn’t gaunt and pallid and eyes that aren’t rife with turmoil. Jayce Talis will go on living happily in Piltover, and Viktor will be here, forever chained to whatever empire his father is piecing together for him.

He doesn’t hate his father. The rational part of his brain says that this is for the greater good– Viktor will never know what it’s like for Jayce to reject him. Jayce had never done so before. Sweet, wonderful Jayce had always been there with open arms and an open mind to whatever ridiculous idea that Viktor had thrown his way. Jayce always heard him out and made him feel like the smartest person in the world, and Viktor loves him for it.

Viktor isn’t sure how long he’s wallowed in his misery before he hears a loud crash and a curse outside of his window, and he peels himself away from the floor. It’s a slow task, and his hip and leg are screaming at him all the while. When he finally makes his way to the window, Viktor almost jumps back when a shock of blue shoots up from the ground, followed by a bright flash of green.

Viktor pries the window open and peers outside to see his sister on the other side, arms wound around the middle of a man with a mask pulled over his face.

“You throwing a pity party in there without me?” she asks, and Viktor wipes at his face. “Are you crying? Sheesh, dad must be really on one to make you cry.” She stands on the back of a hoverboard that inches just a bit closer to the window.

“What are you doing?” Viktor asks, voice raspy as he wipes at his face.

“Arranging transportation for the future prince of Piltover,” she says, matter-of-fact. Viktor huffs out a laugh. “I told you I would call you a carriage.” Jinx jumps off of the hoverboard and through the window without warning and the man left standing on it shouts and wobbles in the air, thrown off balance. Viktor stumbles a few steps back to let her in and she wraps her arms around his middle.

“You’re going to get in trouble,” he says to her, resting his cheek atop her head. She squeezes him tighter. “I know.” Jinx pulls back and offers him a wide smile. She opens her mouth to speak again, but Viktor can hear footsteps in the hallway and he shushes her. He’s helped Jinx sneak around enough to know those footsteps, and knows he doesn’t have any more time to spare. “I got this. You go. Ekko’s gonna drop you off in style.”

Viktor barely makes it onto the hoverboard before he hears his door slam open and his father’s voice, loud and irate, filters out the window as they make a mad dash away. Frankly, being on a hoverboard is horrifying and terrible and also he forgot his crutch. He curses under his breath as he holds on as tightly as he can as he and this stranger– Ekko, Jinx had called him– zip through the narrow alleyways and backroads of the less traveled paths of Zaun. They can’t take the bridge– it’s too slow, and security is too tight. Viktor recognizes some of the pathways they’ve taken as some that Jayce had used to sneak into the Undercity when they were children.

“So you’re really doing it, huh?” By the sound of the stranger’s voice, he’s around Jinx’s age. His hair is a vivid white atop his head. Viktor’s never seen him before, and he doesn’t have time to answer before he speaks again. “Bold move. Tight turn here, hold on.”

It is a tight turn, but Viktor is already holding on for dear life as it is, so he’s ready for it. He can almost taste how the air gets cleaner the closer they get to Piltover. They’re nearly across the river now.

Naturally, because his life is a comedy of errors, Viktor knows exactly who’s tailing them when he hears the loud buzzing of more hoverboards behind them. He spares a glance over his shoulders and confirms his suspicions: they’re being followed.

Where Ekko’s hoverboard burns a wild green, the hoverboards used by those in his father’s employ are accented with wicked shocks of purple. Viktor sees a few faces that he recognizes, and some that he’s even been mostly agreeable with throughout his life. They call out to him, and they are rapidly gaining on them.

“Ekko,” he says, sounding panicked over the wind whipping in his face.

“I know,” Ekko shouts in front of him. “Hold on.” Ekko’s lithe body crouches closer to his hoverboard and Viktor, still clinging to him, follows suit. Dingy lights flash by them in a blur and the turns Ekko takes are sharp. Truthfully, Viktor isn’t sure how long he can hold on like this. They’re zipping over the ground at breakneck speed.

One of the members of the vicious pack trailing after them breaks apart, ducking sharply to the right and disappearing before Viktor can see where they went. Then another does the same but to the left, and the five who were chasing him are reduced to three. Something in Viktor’s gut tells him that there is no way this evening is going to end well at all. There’s just no chance.

But, maybe there is. Ekko takes one more sharp turn and he crouches as low as he can over his hoverboard as they fly into the yawning maw of an unused drainage pipe. Viktor hears echoing curses behind him, and then a crash, and he thinks that maybe they might be out of the woods. Maybe this won’t end in disaster after all.

Viktor can’t see why, but Ekko shouts and he feels the sound of it against his chest, and then he’s tumbling forward. For a moment, all he registers is the pain that hits him in full force as he falls violently off of the hoverboard, skidding along the slimy bottom of the drainage pipe. And then he’s weightless.

It’s almost poetic, looking upward as he falls. He sees the sky, sees the bright purple flashes of the two hoverboards that had separated from the pack that was chasing him as they rush toward him while he falls. The night is dark and clear and the stars are beautiful above him before they’re snuffed out of his vision when Viktor hits the water.

The water in his lungs isn’t as acrid and biting as the water in Zaun, but the sting still rips through him, burning and unrelenting as Viktor does his best to fight through the cold darkness as he kicks toward the surface. He’d never learned how to swim as a child, but the mechanics of it have always seemed obvious to him. So, he does his best, which is a far cry from good enough.

His whole body is singing with pain when it happens. For a moment, Viktor is positive he’s dying. His hubris has finally come to collect its toll, and this is how he will go out: a sad, pathetic, lovestruck mess, drowned in the river that separates Piltover and Zaun. It’s fitting, really.

But that’s not what happens. Instead, the dark of the water flashes a bright white, and then a striking blue, and suddenly he’s sputtering and coughing and breathing and very much not in the water. He coughs so hard he gags, and then he pukes, and the water coming up is just as cold as it was when it went down.

After his fit, when Viktor can finally lift his head, he’s met with a ragged and worn pair of boots. They’re unfamiliar, and whoever it is simply looms above him, draped in a tattered cloak and holding a staff. Viktor’s eyes trail upward and his eyes strain to see the face inside the hood with no amount of success. He coughs again and pushes his wet hair out of his face.

“Fuck,” he swears, pushing himself upright. His arms shake with the strain and the cold as he pants and shivers in the dark. The hooded figure says nothing.

“If you’re here to mug me,” he starts between breaths. “I regret to inform you that anything I had on me is currently at the bottom of the river.” Still nothing. Viktor attempts to push himself up, and almost gets on both of his knees before collapsing back to the side. He can’t do this. He can’t do this.

“You’ve had quite the night,” the stranger says above him and Viktor scoffs. “An understatement, I am aware. Hold out your hand.” Viktor’s brows knit together and he cranes his head back up. The stranger’s face is still shrouded in darkness. When Viktor doesn’t comply, the end of their staff taps against his knee. “I will not tell you again.”

His night can’t get any worse, so Viktor complies, stretching a shaky palm upwards. The hooded figure reaches out and Viktor pushes away the reflex to pull his hand back to himself. What’s dropped into his hand is a simple thing: a chipped gemstone with a crudely carved rune in the middle. It’s unremarkable for the most part, save the brilliant blue that seems to emanate from its center. It’s dangling from the end of an impossibly thin gold chain.

“What–”

“For now, I’ve given you all you need. What you do with the rest of your night is up to you.” Viktor balks, turning the pendant over in his hands. He’s soaking wet, and the suit he wears is ruined and slimy. No matter how sparkly the necklace is, it will do nothing to remedy that.

Viktor opens his mouth to ask just what it is that this thing is supposed to do for him just as the pendant begins to buzz and shake. He’s hit with the familiar feeling that comes when he works a little too closely to live wires. It radiates up his arm and Viktor has to close it in his fist to keep the pendant from jumping right out of his palm. Thick, shiny ropes of swirling white light bleed out from between his clenched fingers and snake up his arm and he holds the thing far away from himself as it creeps over his elbow and shoulder, warmth in the wake of the glow.

His eyes, wide with fear, look up to the stranger, but Viktor finds that he’s alone now. His whole body is shaking violently with the strain of keeping his fist closed. He’s fully awash in light now, and it feels like he’s floating. Viktor can’t see anything other than white, and can no longer feel the hard, cold ground below him. He can’t tell if he’s standing or sitting or lying down.

For a moment, it hurts. Maybe he’s screaming. The only thing that Viktor can hear is a loud, tinny ringing in his ears and it makes him feel like his head is splitting in two, face cracking open for something monstrous to worm its way out of his skull. Then, just like that, it’s over.

When his eyes blink back into focus, it’s dark again, and he’s standing. Viktor’s breath comes in great, heaving gasps as he stares dumbly around himself. He’s on the other side of the river. He’s in Piltover. His own hands pat nervously across his chest and arms, surveying himself for damage before it hits him: he’s standing.

Viktor spares a look down to his bad leg but before he can think too much on that, his eyes take in what he’s wearing:

His legs are fitted with pants that are a startling white to match a perfectly tailored waistcoat that’s a shimmering pearl. Viktor feels the light weight of a cloak over his shoulders and he gathers the fabric in his hands to find it a thin, glittering material that’s colored a soft powder blue.

“What–” as if in answer, he feels a warm pulse at his collar and Viktor reaches a hand up. The pendant is fitted perfectly around his neck, still a dazzling whorl of blue. Viktor drops it back against his chest after looking it over and finding that it hasn’t changed since he first saw it, then looks back down at his bad leg. He leans a bit more pressure into it and, awash with emotion, finds for the first time since he was very, very young that he feels almost no pain.

For the most part, his breathing has slowed down, but Viktor’s hands still shake as he leans down and pulls up his pant leg just a fraction. He’s shocked by what he sees.

The pallid, bruised skin of his leg has been replaced by a dark, matte gray. Viktor’s eyes scan over where ribbons of whatever material has seemed to replace his leg weave together in some mockery of human musculature, the same pulsating blue as the pendant on his neck peeking out through small slivers between the fibrous chunks. He pulls his pant leg up as high as it goes and sees that it continues up. Viktor releases his hold on his pants to finger over his leg through his pants to find that it continues up to his hip, too, and concludes that he is thoroughly freaked out.

Viktor allows himself a few more minutes to openly panic.

He can’t even begin to count the number of times he’s wished to be built from something other than skin and bone. The flesh is a beautiful thing, but he’s been plagued by it often enough that he had considered many, many times the benefit of serious augmentation. His body has always caused him an inconceivable amount of pain. When he was younger, he hated himself for it and at times, was embarrassed by it. He understood that his disabilities made him different from other children and it had made him feel alienated. But as Viktor matured he found ways to carve out easier paths for him to take in life. It meant he had to work harder to get the same results as everyone else, but in a way, his adaptability and intellect had surpassed those of his peers and had resulted in making him who he was. It doesn’t make him grateful for his condition by any means, but Viktor still recognizes that it’s something that has impacted him in ways beyond physical. Pain is a part of his daily life, and Viktor has long resigned himself to that as gospel.

However, the difference between wanting to feel better on his own terms and this was night and day. This, he was not prepared for. This gave him no choice, and something about that makes him unfathomably distressed.

Viktor is pulled crudely from his reverie by the loud toll of a clocktower and his head shoots up in its direction. For a brief moment, a few strips of his hair flicker across his vision and it’s white what the fuck. i>He’ll have to panic about that later, too. It’s eleven o’clock per the hands on the large clocktower looming over him. He realizes that he’s just outside the gates of Piltover Academy’s large, open event space. Viktor takes a tentative step forward and it’s frighteningly devoid of pain. There’s still a deep soreness there that apparently no amount of insane fairytale magic can cure, but slightly sore is something he is much more enthused about in the moment than the alternative.

Viktor is on autopilot as he makes his way toward the large staircase and considers how awkward it would be to walk in through the main entrance three hours late. The event space itself is large and open, three of its open-air walls lined only with tall, rectangular pillars draped in rich red curtains. The amber light from the party bleeds away across a lush garden. It’s all terribly romantic. All of the partygoers are stuffed inside the light, with nobody mingling in the darkness outside of the pillars. That’s his entrance, he concludes.

Doing his best to draw as little attention to himself as possible, Viktor pulls the sparkling hood above his head and takes the few steps leading him up the terrace. Then, he immediately feels his entire body go cold.

It’s almost comical how quickly his eyes land on Jayce. How could they not? It’s not even that there’s a horde of people surrounding him, or that he’s a full head taller than almost everyone around him. He’s radiant, and exactly how Viktor imagined he would be.

Jaye stands, proud and strong and tall and he’s even more beautiful than the last time Viktor saw him. He’d been telling himself all night long that this was a mistake, but all of that washes away the second he sees him. Viktor is so overwhelmed that he’s left breathless. He’s overcome with the need to call out for Jayce. His hands ache to feel Jayce’s fingers thread between his own and it’s pathetic, really, how quickly everything else that isn’t Jayce Talis fades away in front of his very eyes. He feels like he’s eleven years old again. He feels the same way as he did when Jayce’s wide brown eyes would find his as he crested the hill above their riverbank in the Undercity– alive and happy, and like nobody else in the world even exists.

His heart pulls him forward, willing his legs to move, but he simply can’t. No matter how hard the red string of fate tugs him into Jayce’s orbit, Viktor finds that his feet are held firm and fast to the ground. He tugs his hood tighter around himself, taking a step further back into the shadows. Then, as if drawn by some invisible force, Jayce’s head swings in Viktor’s direction and he offers a polite smile.

Viktor feels it shoot directly into his chest and his whole body is alight. He feels his skin prickle, gooseflesh licking up his arms and the back of his neck. Viktor watches, frozen, as Jayce excuses himself from his conversation and takes a few steps toward him.

For every step Jayce takes forward, Viktor takes one back. He doesn’t have to step back too much, as Jayce is almost immediately intercepted by someone else. Ever the people-pleaser, even still, he engages in polite chatter with an older man, who Viktor assumes is there in attempts to pawn off his daughter to Piltover’s most eligible bachelor. The whole time, though, his eyes keep lifting toward the shadows where Viktor stands.

Viktor curses and turns around, pulling the cloak tighter around himself. This can’t happen. This was a mistake.

“Wait!” Viktor hears behind him, and he freezes. “Wait, hold on.” Jayce’s voice is closer now. Even when they were young Viktor could never deny Jayce anything, and he’s powerless against him even now. He turns around to see Jayce jogging over to him, expression open and eager. It’s painful to look at Jayce’s smile, but Viktor has really only ever known pain from the start, anyway. Jayce has stopped a few steps away from him, still awash in the golden glow from the inside of the event space.

“I didn’t hear your name,” Jayce says, easy as breathing. Viktor’s brow furrows in confusion. “Earlier, when they were announcing– ah, nevermind. I’m Jayce.” Jayce sticks a hand out toward Viktor and takes another step. Viktor’s eyes flicker back and forth from Jayce’s eyes to his hand, which he does not take. “Right. Ah. Sorry– you probably know who I am already. That was stupid.”

“You’re not stupid,” Viktor says, mouth moving faster than his brain. Jayce’s eyes widen and his smile falters for just a moment. Viktor is the closest he’s been to Jayce in over ten years but finds that he feels even farther away from him than ever. Willing his fingers to stay as steady as they can, Viktor reaches up to push the shimmering hood off of his head and hears Jayce suck in the faintest hint of a gasp. Jayce reigns himself in, though, and keeps a Very Professional Smile on his face. “I’m– I shouldn’t be here,” Viktor says, mostly to himself.

“No, no, everyone’s welcome. To be honest, I already know a lot of these people, so it’s really nice to see a fresh face. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you before.” Jayce. His Jayce. His wonderful, brilliant, kind Jayce. Of course he knows everyone here.

“I’m from Zaun,” Viktor says by way of explanation. Jayce stuffs his hands into his pockets and takes a few steps closer. He’s fully in the shadows now. “I don’t imagine you make your way there often.” Jayce ducks his head a bit, kicking at something invisible with the tip of a polished shoe.

“I used to, actually. Snuck out all the time. Got grounded all the time for it, too.” Jayce huffs out a soft laugh and looks back at him. His eyes scan Viktor’s face and for a moment, Viktor is sure he’s caught. He’s sure that Jayce knows. “I had a couple of friends down there, but…”

“But?” Viktor presses. He feels himself tugged imperceptibly forward toward Jayce. Jayce shrugs and rights himself again.

“It’s a long story. But I could possibly be tempted to tell you over a dance?” Viktor feels like he’s going to vibrate out of his skin. His eyes nervously flicker over Jayce’s shoulder. It’s improbable, but it feels like everyone has their eyes trained on them. They can see right through him. They can see directly into his foul, lovesick little heart and they know exactly what he is.

“Not– ah, not in front of them,” he says, shrinking away. Jayce removes a hand from his pocket and holds it up to Viktor before turning to peek around the corner. Viktor can see his mouth moving as he talks to someone– presumably an attendant– before returning to Viktor. With a whisper, one of the grand red curtains lining the walls of the space drapes between Jayce and the rest of the partygoers before the rest along the outskirts of the venue follow in kind. Viktor feels a bit of his tension bleed from his shoulders. Jayce, Jayce, Jayce. His Jayce, always so kind and careful with him.

Jayce offers Viktor his hand again, palm up, and before Viktor can will himself to stop he steps forward to slide his fingers into Jayce’s hold.

The way Jayce’s hand finds his waist so naturally under his cloak has to be an act of God. Jayce’s hand fits so perfectly there that Viktor is certain he was molded by a higher power simply to hold him, just like this. Viktor lifts a hand to place it over Jayce’s shoulder and lets out a shuddering breath.

“Don’t be so nervous,” Jayce ribs. He sways them just a bit and Viktor can’t help but go along with it. He doesn’t dance. He hates to dance, but he’s irrevocably and hopelessly bound to Jayce, even after all these years, so he lets him lead. Viktor would let Jayce dance him straight into the sea if that’s where this took them. “I’m nice; I promise.” Viktor feels a crack in his facade, and he smiles.

“I know,” he says simply. Jayce raises an eyebrow.

“You know? Seems like you know more about me than I know about you, then.” Viktor laughs and it’s real. It bubbles up out of him before he can stop it. He can’t remember the last time he felt so light.

“That’s…probably true.” It’s definitely true. “Wouldn’t it be prudent for everyone here asking for your hand to do their due diligence and at least do a little bit of research before they dive headfirst into marriage?” Jayce laughs at that and looks surprised. The hand that had found itself carefully resting on Viktor’s waist slides around to hold him at the small of his back. Viktor can’t tell if he’s died and gone to heaven or hell.

“That’s assuming that anyone in that room even cares about me as a person, rather than me as a concept.” Viktor’s face hurts from smiling.

“Ah, the Man of Progress feeling the weight of everyone’s eyes on him, hm? That doesn’t seem like you.”

“You haven’t done enough research, then,” Jayce bites back. He’s at least a head taller than Viktor now, and some. Viktor remembers the first time he realized Jayce was taller than him, how it had been something he thought about for the rest of the day. He was almost fourteen then.

“So,” Viktor starts after a long pause. “Your friends from Zaun. You promised me a story if I agreed to a dance. I’m upholding my end of the bargain, but you have yet to uphold yours.” For a beat, something sad flickers across Jayce’s face. If Viktor didn’t know him inside and out, he would have missed it. But he knows everything about Jayce. Or, knew.

“My best friends, actually,” Jayce says, his voice growing quiet. “I had a bit of a wild streak as a kid, and got into the habit of sneaking out when I could and eventually found myself in the Undercity– Zaun– and that was kind of the beginning of it all, really. It was a huge reason why I was so inspired to do what I could to help Zaun however I could. My best friend was the reason for everything, really.” Viktor sucks his lower lip into his mouth, biting down. He doesn’t push. His heart is on fire.

“There was a girl, Sky– she was kind and smart, and she worked at some bakery that I can’t remember the name of.” Dulce, Viktor’s mind supplies. “But it was Viktor who taught me everything. He really opened my eyes to the struggle of the people of Zaun and, uh.” Jayce pauses to shrug. “He’s the reason for all of this, actually. He’s the reason I am who I am, and why I did what I did.”

“And where is your friend now?” Viktor feels like he may crumble apart. Jayce’s hand moves up between his shoulder blades. It’s warm, and it’s so large that it stretches almost wholly over his back. Jayce clears his throat and for the first time since they started speaking, his smile falls away.

“I’m not sure, to be honest.” Jayce’s swaying has slowed to a halt. “Sky told me he– ah. It’s kind of–”

“He’s dead,” Viktor finishes for him. Jayce nods after a moment and Viktor’s eyes follow the bob of his throat as he swallows.

“Yeah,” Jayce says. Viktor’s eyes burn in a way that’s almost always followed by tears, but he does his best to reign it in. He prays to whatever god is listening that Jayce can’t see how glassy his eyes are in the dark. “Yeah, he is.”

“I’m sure he would have been very proud of you,” Viktor says, his voice small. Jayce’s mouth pulls up in a small smile. “The good you have done for the people of Zaun, Jayce– it’s impossible to quantify the amount of lives you’ve saved. The lives you’re actively saving.” Jayce’s hand slips from Viktors and as if it’s the most natural thing in the world, he leans forward to wrap both arms around Viktor’s middle, squeezing.

Surely Jayce can feel how his heart thuds in his chest, hard and fast. Blood sings through his ears and Viktor finds it almost second nature to slide both of his arms over Jayce’s shoulders. He has to stand on his tiptoes now.

“Thank you,” Jayce says then. He doesn’t withdraw from his hold around Viktor. “Even if it doesn’t mean much coming from some stupid Piltie like me, that means everything coming from you.” Viktor laughs and hopes it doesn’t sound as watery as it feels when it comes out of him.

“Don’t call yourself that,” he says. He can still hear Jayce’s voice in his head, all those years ago, saying almost those exact words. Jayce laughs with him and pulls back then, but keeps his hands firmly on Viktor’s waist. “Besides, you don’t even know who I am.”

“You kind of look like him, actually.” Jayce’s eyes roam over his face, now longer and thinner than it was as a child. He knows that his appearance has drastically changed from the time he was younger. Sickness had taken its toll on him, and apparently no amount of magic would remedy that. He’s still gaunt and ghostly, but he’s grown to be indifferent about that, for the most part. “Is that weird for me to say?” Viktor makes a noncommittal noise that earns him a smile from Jayce.

Much to Viktor’s dismay, Jayce pulls himself away from Viktor and Viktor immediately misses the warmth of Jayce’s hands on him. He wants to chase it, to tell him anything and everything that would get Jayce’s hands back on his body. Instead, Jayce offers an arm to him and says, “Walk with me?”

Already out on the balcony, the steps leading down to the garden are almost immediately behind them. The garden is alight with strings of lights draped over latticework arbors, rose vines creeping up, juvenile in bloom. In the moment, Viktor feels entirely out of his depth while also feeling completely at home with Jayce at his side. It’s an odd juxtaposition of feeling foreign and familiar.

“I can imagine your family’s expectations of this evening don’t include long walks in the garden with a Zaunite,” Viktor says after a while. Jayce smiles, facing forward as they walk.

“Probably not, but if I’m being honest, I never intended tonight to take me anywhere in the first place. This whole thing is stupid.” Viktor laughs, loud and honest.

“I’m inclined to agree.” The night air is cold against his cheeks and his fingers. As if reading his mind, Jayce’s free hand wraps over Viktor’s where it rests in the crook of his elbow. “Why all the fanfare, anyway? Why all of-” Viktor motions at nothing in particular, “this?” Jayce lets out a long, tired breath.

“I think my mother got tired of me moping around, and she skipped plans A through Y, and jumped straight into plan Z.” Viktor hums in response. “Not exactly my ideal way to find a partner, but I can’t fault her for trying.”

“And your ideal way would be?”

“Something natural. Something that happens over time. It might sound corny, but I’ve only really ever connected with one person in a way that I felt would ever go anywhere, and that was…a long time ago.” Jayce spares him a glance that Viktor meets with wide eyes, waiting. “But the night’s not all bad, actually. I’ve met some pretty interesting people.” Viktor smirks and shoulders into Jayce’s side. They’ve made their way to the big, open pavilion at the heart of the sprawling garden, and Jayce guides them over to one of the benches that line the railing.

“Well, I’m sure everyone here is having a wonderful time, Lord Talis.” Jayce rolls his eyes and it’s so familiar. Viktor feels like he’s going back in time.

“Are you having a wonderful time?” Jayce asks him. He hasn’t let go of Viktor’s hand. Viktor tries his best to look like he’s thinking very intensely before responding.

“Eh. Scale of one to ten, I’d say I’m at a firm six and a half.”

“Not even a seven?” Jayce whistles. “You’re a tough nut to crack.”

“So I’ve been told,” Viktor replies. It’s so easy to lean into Jayce. He’s radiating warmth. Everything about him is infectious.

“Tell me about you, then. Maybe we can get you to at least an eight if I know what I’m working with.” Viktor shrugs and sighs, shaking his head. A thread of white hair pushes its way into his face, and Jayce brushes it away from his forehead like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“My life is very boring, really. My father works in the industrial sector, and I’m, eh, primed to take over the family business, as it were.”

“That’s not what I mean. Tell me about you. Your father isn’t the one sitting out here with me.” Viktor’s smile falters the slightest bit and he turns his eyes back to the garden around them. He thinks he sees the briefest glimpse of a firelight somewhere in the distance.

“Well,” Viktor drawls. What can he say? Even after all this time, he doesn’t know if he’s ready to give too much away. Thus far, Jayce is just like he remembers: cocky in a healthy way, kind, quick-witted. His father’s voice still echoes around in his skull. Jayce Talis is not your friend anymore.

Viktor is still waiting for the rug to be pulled out from under him.

“I like to work with my hands,” he says.

“That’s a start. What do you do?” Jayce’s fingers curl over his own, shielding them from the evening chill.

“Not as much as I would like to, if I’m being honest.” It’s true. As he’s moved up within his father’s business, it’s a lot more supervision and paperwork and a lot less creating than he finds favorable. “As a child, I was a tinkerer, of sorts. Finding things that I could turn into things did something. Things that had a purpose, even if they weren’t impactful in any way. It kept me busy. Kept my mind off of…eh, everything else.” His leg. His back. His failing health.

Jayce is very still beside him, watching him with wide, attentive eyes. Maybe Viktor’s said too much.

“It worked, for a while. But then I got very sick, as a child, and I knew I had to shift my priorities to stop creating things simply for the sake of creating and really find a purpose.” He finally turns to look at Jayce, who leans ever closer into his space.

“God, you really–” Jayce stumbles for a moment and the mirth in his beautiful, brown eyes fades into something sad and empty. “You remind me of him so much.” All Viktor can do is offer him a sad smile. His free hand leaves the warmth of his cloak to drape over Jayce’s and he gives it a light squeeze.

“Listen, uh.” Jayce clears his throat, tearing his eyes away from Viktor’s and he shakes his head. “This is going to sound fucking crazy, but this party– I mean, this whole thing is for– ah, you know what it’s for, and I’m just assuming you came here for the same reason as everyone else, but would you.” Jayce stutters and fumbles over his words. Viktor knows exactly what he’s asking and he feels the familiar sting of panic worm its way into his chest. “It’s a big ask, but even if it’s just to get to know each other better, would you—”

The sharp toll of a bell interrupts him, and Viktor’s vision swims with white. Pain shoots up his spine and down his leg and he doubles over, groaning. The rune, strung around his neck from its delicate chain, vibrates and glows against his collar. Jayce is shouting something, and his hands are running along Viktor’s back, but he can’t even respond. His mind swims, dizziness hitting him like a kick to the head.

“I have to go,” Viktor finally grates out. He stands, worming his way out of Jayce’s hold. He’ll remember the way it feels to slide his hand out of Jayce’s for the rest of his life. He’ll take it to his grave. “I have to leave, I’m sorry, I have to–”

“Wait, what? What do you mean? Are you alright?” Viktor takes a step and almost falls. He doesn’t know how far he can make it without his crutch and has apparently having only been gifted with a fleeting moment of painlessness in the perfect amount to ruin the rest of his life. There’s something to be said about a man with wax wings and the heat of the sun, here. “Listen, I’m sorry. What I said was stupid, and this whole party is stupid, but please–”

“I’m sorry, Jayce. I’m sorry for everything, but I have to go.” Viktor stumbles down the steps of the pavilion, nearly falling to his knees. The rune burns his palm as he fists it where it sits on the chain around his neck. It hums and shakes and sparks between his fingers as he rights himself, fighting the overwhelming urge to look back at Jayce’s face as he limps away as quickly as he can. Naturally, Jayce is following him. Viktor knows he can’t outrun him for long, and he doesn’t even know where the fuck he’s going, but he’s has to do his best to get back home immediately.

“I don’t even know your name,” Jayce says, and it sounds desperate. His voice cracks in a way that Viktor would think is cute at any other moment, but right now it only cuts him to the bone. He runs as fast as he can, stumbling as he makes a sharp turn around a tall wall of roses. In the process of falling, the pendant rips from around his neck but he doesn’t have time to look for it. He has to go. This time it’s his turn to leave Jayce behind.

By the time he makes it back to the closest bridge bypass he can find, it had started to rain, because of course it would rain during what was arguably the worst moment of his life. Or second worst. It was too close to call.

If he weren’t feeling so faint, he would be surprised to see Sevika and two of his father’s goons crawling around the entrance of another larger, older drainage pipe, seemingly not having stopped their search for Viktor. As soon as she sees him, her eyes go wide with a mixture of rage and worry.

“Take me home,” Viktor says, voice grating as he limps forward. His leg is screaming in pain and Viktor knows if he doesn’t get pressure off of it as soon as possible, it’s lights-out. “Please just take me home.” Viktor takes one more step before he falls to his knees and everything goes black.

—

When Viktor wakes up, it’s to a cacophony of voices: his father’s, white-hot and growling; Jinx’s, shrill and worried and Sevika’s, rigid and angry. Viktor’s vision is black at the edges as he fights his way to consciousness. His father is crouched above him, slender hands cradling the back of his head. Viktor groans as he’s hit with waves of pain shooting through his knee and hip and he reaches a hand out toward his father.

Silco’s eyes snap down to him and he’s positively furious.

“You ridiculous, ignorant child,” he spits. There’s no real venom behind it and Viktor can’t bring himself to care, anyway. “What were you thinking? Sevika, take him to his room.” He can hear Sevika’s boots on the scratchy carpet of their entryway but Viktor pushes himself up and out of his father’s hold. He ducks away from Sevika when she reaches for him and she grunts.

“Don’t,” is all Viktor says. His own voice is tired in his ears. His eyes find Jinx’s where she stands, hovering behind their father. Her brows are knit together in a mixture of anger and concern; Viktor knows the anger isn’t meant for him, but for their father, and he’s grateful for her. He’s so, so grateful for his sister. “I can do it myself.”

He’s soaking wet, the rain having seeped through his suit. Viktor finds that the bright, shimmering blue cloak and the glistening white suit that he had been wearing has been replaced by the suit Jinx had nicked from his father and his brace is strapped firmly to his leg. Back to real life, then. The fantasy was nice while it lasted.

—

A full month has passed by since the ball, and Viktor is stuck on what is essentially house arrest. His father has attendants watching him round-the-clock, and it makes him feel like a child. Silco had never infantilized him or treated him like he was something that was prone to breaking in the past, no matter how poor his health or how slowly he moved on his bad days, which only makes his current situation even more infuriating.

At the beginning of his lockdown, he’d poked and prodded and screamed at his father to tell him something, to let him out. What happened to Jayce? When would he be allowed to get back to living his life? Silco had remained resolute, though, his lips firmly sealed on anything to do with Piltover; especially if it had anything to do with their Man of Progress.

Even Jinx had a hard time sneaking into his room. Twenty-four years old and he was being punished like he was eleven again, allowed only the things that Silco deemed necessary to keep him from going absolutely insane.

The high from having spent even the briefest moment of time with Jayce has mostly faded now, but Viktor was also still reeling from his abrupt and sudden change into a differently-abled body. He hadn’t felt that level of painlessness in more years than he can recall. As it stands, Viktor can’t even remember what it had felt like on a physical level, but he can still remember the foreign thrill of not having to dedicate so much energy to something that was more often an obstacle for him than not. However, the shock of it all had also been frightening and distressing.

Magic had long since vanished from Runeterra as far as he was aware, but there was no other possible explanation for what had happened to him other than it being a product of the arcane. His clothes, his hair, his leg.

Viktor considers the hooded stranger. Who were they? Why had they given Viktor the pendant? Where had they gone? They’re questions he asks himself almost every time he feels the familiar aches of his ailing body.

As soon as he’d been able to get an unsupervised moment alone, Viktor had stripped himself naked to pore over his body. His fingers pressed into his pale flesh, finding it warm and bumpy with moles and scars without any trace of the matte gray and flashing blue that it had been during the ball. Everything was as it had been as if his transformation had never happened at all.

—

Some days, his father comes into his room and attempts to talk to him about anything except what Viktor actually wants to talk about. Silco talks about movements within Zaunite politics, or how he’s been coordinating a meeting between Viktor and the council to officially propose instating Viktor’s College of Techmaturgy. Viktor feels it cruel for his father to dangle something like that in front of him, and he doesn’t know if that’s some sort of sick, twisted olive branch that Silco is attempting to offer up between them. Viktor doesn’t take the bait, staying quiet and looking anywhere except at his father, never answering his questions or comments.

Tonight is another attempt from Silco to bridge the tense divide between them. He’s come in with a bottle of something colored a warm amber and two glasses, sitting at Viktor’s desk across the room and pushing an extra stool out with the toe of his well-worn boot. He looks tired, but he says nothing until he’s pouring himself a second glass.

“He’s looking for you.” Viktor feels like he’s been punched in the gut. He looks up from the book he’s been pretending to read in bed.

“What?” Viktor asks, dumb with emotion. Silco’s eyes find his and he knocks back his drink in one easy gulp. He pours another glass for himself and also pours a thumb into the glass meant for Viktor.

“Sit.” Viktor obliges and tries his best not to look desperate as he makes his way over to the stool. His fingers absolutely do not shake when they reach for the glass. It burns on the way down, a welcome complement to the cloying feeling in his throat. “Tell me how it went. The ball.”

Again, Viktor is dumbstruck. Up to this point, his father has shown no interest in how Viktor felt, or what had even happened at the event in the first place. So, Viktor tells him.

He tells his father how alive he felt, and how it was as easy as breathing to talk to him again. He tells him that Jayce was careful and kind with him. He goes back farther, too, telling him all about how he felt as a child when Jayce was around, telling him that the years spent with Jayce and Sky on the riverbank were the best years of his life. He’s not ready to let that go and he needs his father to understand how that period of his life had impacted him.

Viktor decidedly does not tell him about the stranger, or how he had (seemingly) been all but taken apart and stitched back together. He doesn’t tell him about his pearl-colored waistcoat or about his shimmering blue cloak. He does not tell his father about the magic. Because of that, he has to make up a lie about how he had been found by a good samaritan and fished out of the river and had still been determined to at least speak to Jayce even if he looked like dogshit.

Then, Silco comes clean, too. He’s known about his relationship with Jayce the whole time, because of course he’s known. Silco has eyes everywhere. There had always been someone in the shadows, watching him. Protecting him from afar.

“You never said anything. You never told me you knew.” Viktor feels only marginally betrayed, but he understands. A little. The corners of his father’s mouth pull up into a small smile and he finally looks at Viktor, swirling the bourbon in his glass languidly.

“Of course I didn’t. You were a child, yes, but you were my child. A perfect target for anyone with the balls to test my good graces.” Viktor scoffs and Silco’s smile widens but he doesn’t say anything. Neither does Viktor. His father is quiet again for a long while before he speaks again.

“Viktor, you don’t know them.” Silco’s voice is tired and sad, betraying the smile on his face. Viktor finishes the rest of his drink and sets the glass on his desk. “You don’t know what you would be getting yourself into.”

“Isn’t the point of me growing up to trip and fall, anyway?” he says. Silco doesn’t answer, instead opting to pour Viktor another drink. The lip of the bottle clinks against the rim of his glass as Silco pours. “Aren’t I supposed to figure this out on my own?” Silco raises his brows and tilts his head to the side, considering.

“I’ve sheltered you and your sister beyond what is probably necessary, yes, but it isn’t for lack of care, Viktor.” Viktor understands. Really, he does. Nobody has been a bigger supporter of him than his father and his sister, and he would go to the ends of the world for them. He would do everything in his power to keep them safe and full and happy. Viktor is at war with himself, torn between wanting to drown his father in mud and cry in his arms. “Love makes us stupid. You may not believe me, but I simply don’t want you to get hurt.” Viktor scoffs again and fights the urge to roll his eyes, opting instead to cross his arms over his chest. After a long moment, Silco speaks again:

“Love almost ended my life, once upon a time.” Then, his father tells him a story.

He tells Viktor a story about love and loss and death and betrayal. About dark water, and about a knife. He talks about strong hands on the small of his back, about fingers running through his hair. Silco tells him about a scratchy beard and a broad chest. Silco tells him about Vander, and it’s the saddest he’s ever seen his father look.

They were both in pursuit of greatness in the name of Zaun, and how in their pursuit of greatness, they had forgotten to do good. Their ideas about what was best for Zaun were different, and their separation was violent. Still, Silco held on, stupid and in love and the last offering for peace between them ended in the death of the love of his life.

Viktor is breathless by the end of it. He can’t form a response– what would he even say? What could he even say, really?

“Love makes us stupid, Viktor,” he says again. Silco stands then, looming over Viktor and pressing a long kiss to the top of his head. Viktor’s eyes flutter shut and he leans his forehead into his father’s chest. Long, lithe arms rest on his shoulders and fingers scratch at his scalp. “You are not a stupid man, of which you’ve made me painfully aware. But.” Silco draws back, cupping Viktor’s face in his hands and bringing their eyes to meet. “Perhaps it won’t make you as stupid as it made me.” He offers one more small smile to Viktor and leaves the room, the door wide open behind him.