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It’s been snowing in Piltover for three days. Intricate layers of white covering every street in inches of snow, and no matter how many times people begin to clean it up, more continues to fall. Piltover is used to snowfall, but this much is rare, and they’re not quite equipped to deal with it. Therefore, the city has become barren, citizens opting to light their fireplaces and wrap themselves in blankets instead of trekking through the snow to get to their places of work. Viktor and Jayce, however, crushed by the responsibility of constantly pushing out new Hextech designs, have not opted to stay home.
Taking a day off from work is utterly insane when working on the most incredible technology the planet has ever seen. There is absolutely zero time to spare between taking notes, exchanging notes, trying new equations, and building new inventions. Viktor and Jayce want to help people as soon as possible, and they can’t spare a day of slack.
Being stuffed in the lab all day isn’t so bad. Sure, it gets cold with the air sneaking in through the sealant of the window, and the dark atmosphere due to the lights being off because no one in their right mind should be on the grounds doesn’t help at all, but they manage. If anything, the cold motivates them to work because if they stop actively working for even a second, the cold becomes unbearable.
The need to be constantly focused to avoid turning into an ice cube is how Viktor finds himself hunched over at his desk, having not spoken to Jayce in hours, and completely unsure of what time it is. A faint orange glow is casting itself over his desk, but he’s not facing the window, and whether it’s sunset or sunrise is a mystery to him. Jayce is across the room somewhere, fervently scribbling notes down on the chalkboard, seemingly in a world of his own.
Viktor sighs quietly and turns back to his notes. He’s not even close to being done with the theory he’s writing out, and his mind starts to revert to his native language the longer he goes without sleep, meaning writing only becomes harder. The characters begin to turn out as sloppy, jagged lines, words have odd spacing, and ink ends up in all sorts of places. Later, he’ll place the notes in a neat stack and forget about them until he needs to show them to Jayce, by which point he’ll realize just how illegible his handwriting was at the time of writing and have to painstakingly translate it, but he’s not worrying about that quite yet.
Viktor is called out of his working trance when a voice beckons to him. “Hey, Viktor. Come take a look at this, will you?” Jayce calls, making an audible click as he sets some chalk down and takes a few steps back to stare at his work.
Viktor nods, the energy to speak not quite in him, and pushes himself up from his chair. When he leans over to grab his cane, a sharp shooting pain climbs up his leg and reaches his mid-back. He pauses for a moment, regulating himself before he takes his cane in hand and heads over to Jayce. The worst of the pain subsides, but a dull thrumming continues through his leg as he walks, making his steps much stiffer than usual. It’s usual to feel pain like this after sitting for a while, but it never fails to leave Viktor mildly distraught. Sometimes, with all of his other responsibilities, the fact that certain things are going to cause him pain fails to cross his mind. It’s in the pursuit of greatness, after all. What’s a little pain?
“Are you okay?” Jayce asks as Viktor staggers up next to him, struggling to disperse the pressure and stand evenly. He ends up settling for an odd pose, noticeably leaning into his cane and dropping his left shoulder to relieve some weight from the left. He supposes that’s what he gets for choosing to sit for hours on end.
“Yes, I’m fine,” he replies solemnly. Jayce’s pity and assistance is not needed in this situation. Viktor has dealt with much worse before, and he doesn’t want to cause a fuss and disrupt the good work that they’re doing. Of course, if Viktor were to say “No, I’m not fine,” Jayce would jump at the opportunity to help him, and it wouldn’t hinder any annoyance, but he would much prefer it if they would both pretend like his leg doesn’t exist.
“You’re sure?” Jayce confirms, a raise in his eyebrows that tells Viktor, “I don’t believe you.”
A twinge of annoyance rises in Viktor as he replies, “Yes, Jayce, I’m sure.” Jayce is constantly convinced that Viktor is lying about his state of being, and yes, sometimes he is, but he doesn’t want to be dotted upon and checked in on constantly as if he is a child. Jayce grew up in Topside with a decently sized house and a respectable family business. He’s not used to having to endure pain the way that Viktor is. He didn’t even realize how serious his disability was until he escaped the Undercity. Down there, a limp is nothing compared to missing limbs, paralyzation, torn-out eyes, and diseases that go without treatment. Sure, the pain was unbearable, but not unbearable enough to complain about, and not unbearable enough to ask for help with.
Jayce still manages to find ways to help Viktor without him getting the chance to protest. He always grabs a stool when Viktor begins to uncomfortably shift his weight, but he sits down in it first and then stands to try and convince Viktor that it’s for both of them. Viktor has known this since the first time Jayce did it, but he still finds himself taking the seat eventually, thankful that he doesn’t have to drag it across the room himself. Jayce also makes sure to keep Viktor in different positions when he knows his pain is bad. If he’s sitting for too long, Jayce will suddenly want to go work together on the board, and if he’s standing too long, Jayce will suggest that they sit down and review notes. Although Viktor’s natural inclination is to call Jayce out on these actions and remind him that he doesn’t need any help, he finds the idea of losing these things saddening. Deep down, despite his refusal to admit it, they really do help him, he’s just not sure how to accept help.
Viktor carefully looks over Jayce’s work, tracing his finger over lines and checking the math in his head. It seems that Jayce has created a Hextech machine capable of administering sutures to humans, something that would be especially helpful if Viktor could incorporate it into the Undercity somehow. All that’s left to do now is build it, which Viktor is ready to jump right into, considering he needs to keep himself busy.
“What supplies should I get?” Viktor inquires, a hint of eagerness to his tone. His favorite tools to design are ones to help people medicinally. If someone were to ask him why, he might just say that they are particularly impressive, but he truly likes them because he knows exactly what it’s like to need help and not get any.
“Supplies?” Jayce questions, raising his eyebrow. “Viktor, we should turn in for the night. We’ve been here for thirteen hours. We can start building in the morning.”
Viktor finally turns his head to the window and tracks where the sun is in the sky. It is, in fact, sundown. “What do you mean ‘turn in?’” he sputters, motioning to the not-yet-black sky.
Jayce runs his hand over his face. “It doesn’t matter that it’s not dark yet, we’ve still been here for thirteen hours. Would you trust a machine built by two sleep-deprived men to give you sutures?”
Viktor frowns because no, he wouldn’t, and there’s really no other defense other than the fact that he doesn’t want to go home and deal with his leg. If he pretends it doesn’t exist, well, problem solved.
“And I don’t live here like you,” Jayce adds. “I don’t want to walk back home when the sun is gone and it’s in the negatives. I don’t like being in the cold.”
Viktor retreats and nods, trying to cover his limp as he makes his way back to his desk. It must not work very well because he can feel Jayce watching him in confusion. “We’ll start building tomorrow, then,” Viktor declares, stiffly lowering himself into his chair. “You go ahead, I just need to finish a few notes,” he explains, picking up his pen. Jayce opens his mouth to argue, but Viktor watches as he realizes that he’s done enough of that for one night. Instead, he walks to the door and grabs his coat in silence.
“Just don’t spend the entire night here,” he requests before disappearing through the door. Viktor tries to respond, but a cough catches him off guard, and by the time it’s over, he’s rushing for a tissue, and Jayce is already out the door.
Admittedly, Viktor does feel a little bad. Jayce is very easy to sadden and disappoint, and it’s very obvious when he’s feeling those emotions, akin to a puppy. The poor guy doesn't even know how easily his face portrays precisely what he’s feeling. Tonight, Jayce walked out the door with droopy ears and a tail between his legs.
Viktor can’t dwell on that for too long because he’ll start to feel the pulsating pain in his back and his leg. Onwards he goes, falling into his endless notes and rambling on and on about all of Hextech’s capabilities. The ideas begin to flow so naturally that an hour turns into three, and he manages to completely tune out the throbbing in his leg. That’s what happens when Viktor is passionate about something, it consumes his entire life– becomes his reason for being.
He only realizes how late it is when the streetlights all turn off at once and the office becomes significantly less illuminated. He groans and puts his pen down, deciding that it’s time to head back to his dorm. Making a calculated reach for his cane this time, careful not to move his back too independently from his leg, Viktor takes his cane and stands up. The pain is worse now, more pronounced in his lower back and hip, rising up and down his leg in a quick pattern, sort of like an elevator.
He sucks in a sharp breath at a particularly odd step, freezing as he waits for the ball to drop, but nothing worse happens. He doesn’t seize up and collapse or clammer to the nearest wall so he has something to lean on while his body explodes in pain. The new pain just finds consistency with the pain he’s already experiencing, blending right in. He figures that’s better than being rendered immobile, right? He coughs again after the pain subsides, beginning to feel an all-too-familiar pressure in his sinuses.
Getting down the steps proves to be quite the challenge, each one sending a stronger wave of pain through his body, but he manages. Thankfully, after the steps, the walk to his room is all flat ground, the only challenging part being that he needs to cross the courtyard to get there. He doesn’t think of it as much. Who’s a little snow ever hurt, anyway?
Viktor shoves his arm against the doors to the courtyard in order to open them, rushing through before they close on him. There’s about a foot of snow on the ground now, which means it’s about three times easier for Viktor to eat shit trying to get from point A to point B. He braces against the cold and begins to walk anyhow, preferring this challenging trek over sleeping on the marble floor of the lab.
His muscles tense and spasm as he moves, causing him to falter in his steps a few times, and it ultimately makes his journey much slower, in turn, exposing him to the harsh conditions for much longer. Jayce must already be fast asleep in bed, having taken a warm shower and eaten a nice dinner. Viktor begins to regret his decision to stay so late. As it turns out, Jayce can be right sometimes.
Viktor’s room is really more of an apartment due to his title as “Assistant to the Dean,” despite the fact that he doesn’t work closely with Heimerdinger anymore, far too swept up in Hextech. It sits alone in a corner of the courtyard, completely stone on the outside with intricate windows. The inside is small, but large enough for one person. It has one bedroom with an attached bathroom, a small area where Viktor has managed to fit a desk and a couch, and a small kitchen. It’s not much, but he’s filled it with things he’s fond of, and he finds that it’s a comforting place to return to after a day of work, even if he’d rather be neglecting sleep back at the lab.
Tonight, however, as Viktor opens the door, he’s met with a stark chill. The inside of his room feels no different than the blizzard outside. He purses his lips, the thrumming in his leg growing a little harsher. Desperately, he tugs on the string that turns his lights on.
Nothing happens.
A sudden wave of frustration hits Viktor as he lets go of his cane and watches it clatter to the ground. The frustration has been building throughout the night. He’s upset that the weather is so bad because the cold always makes his leg hurt, and he couldn’t focus enough to write good notes, and he wanted to get started on Jayce’s new machine, and– he stops himself, taking a deep breath and swinging the door shut behind him. His leg feels like it’s being torn off of his body, and the pain that started in his lower back has spread. It’s not fair that some people get to live their lives without even a prick on the finger and Viktor has to go through excruciating pain every day just to do work that benefits others. When is someone going to do work that benefits him?
Then, he’s mad at himself again because Jayce does try to help him and he never accepts it so he’s not seen as weak. If he pretends that his leg doesn’t hinder him, then people will start to ignore it, and Viktor can be known as something other than a guy with a bum leg from the Undercity who follows Jayce around like a dog.
He collapses onto his couch and begins tearing at the brace he has on his leg. He only started using it four, maybe five months ago, and it’s been nothing but a hindrance since then. It squeezes his thigh like a snake out for blood, and all of the screws press into his skin, wearing his pants out and leaving him bruised. Worst of all, it makes it glaringly obvious that he has a bad leg. People notice the cane, sure, but people notice clanging metal, shining surfaces, and a cane more.
Impatiently, Viktor starts manhandling the mechanisms to try and get it off, beginning to feel like he’s trapped. The scrambling makes the searing pain in his body worse, but he pushes himself past his limit and continues ripping the brace off until there’s a loud pop and it springs off his leg and onto the floor. He watches in hatred as a large chunk of metal dislodges itself and a few screws go flying. Good, he thinks, it’ll be easier to limp around than live with that thing.
Overwhelmed, Viktor places his head in his hands and grits his teeth. His right leg is shaking uncontrollably against the wooden floor, forcing his muscles to remain uncomfortably tense. He stays like that for a while, trying to ignore the cold wracking through his body, but his frustration doesn’t cease.
He lifts both legs onto the couch eventually, avoiding the pain of walking to his room and changing clothes. Unfortunately, there’s not even a blanket around for Viktor to use while he spends the night in his freezing, pitch-black living room.
Funnily enough, whether it’s delirium or not, the atmosphere begins to remind him of home. He lived deep in the Fissures, tucked into a small shack, miles below the surface. His parents tried their best to keep their family afloat, picking up extra jobs, even illegal trade from time to time, and it was all for Viktor.
Their house had two rooms, a small bathroom, and a cramped kitchen. There were no working lights, meaning if light wasn’t coming through the Fissures, light wasn’t coming into their house.
Viktor would spend his winters huddled up in his bed, tinkering with metal scraps to keep his hands from going numb as he watched his breath float into the air. He grew used to the cold after only a few years, but the darkness never did cease to frighten him, especially during the winter. With earlier sunsets, there was less to see, and with that, Viktor could only feel the scraps in his hands, and that never did him much good. He would resort to twiddling his thumbs to solve that issue, but not tinkering left him focused on the way that the cold made his sore joints lock up in pain and his weak muscles shake. Viktor has never cried much, but he vividly remembers the winters he spent alone in that room, crying because he was in too much pain to move, and utterly blinded by rage because no one could do anything for him.
His parents never even took him to a doctor– not that there were any official ones in the Undercity. It just wasn’t worth it. Everyone knew that there was nothing to be done for Viktor’s health. The only vital thing to know was that he needed a cane to support his leg, and the problem stemmed from his right side. A diagnosis just to have a diagnosis was wasteful and expensive. As an adult, Viktor often wonders how differently he could have turned out if he’d grown up in Piltover with adequate medical treatment.
Viktor spent the ages of seven to twelve with the same wooden cane. Although, he outgrew it when he was nine. His father was able to widdle him a new one when he turned thirteen. It was the only birthday gift he’d ever received. It was a beautiful cane made of dark wood with intricate lines and vines carved into the handle. He wishes he still had it now, but he doesn’t even remember the last time he saw it.
At sixteen, both of Viktor’s parents died. His mother went first. It had been coming for a long time, but the shock didn’t cease. She died in the middle of the winter, and Viktor recalls kneeling on the floor with her, only capable of cradling her head as her breaths became shorter and shorter. She used her last words to tell Viktor that she was dying so he could know to look into her amber eyes one more time and let the timbre of her voice sink into his bones.
Later that year, his father passed suddenly during a coughing fit. Viktor remembers that day less, but it was awfully cloudy for a summer day, and his father had mentioned not feeling well earlier that morning. He didn’t get any last words, for the world is cruel and takes without purpose, but he squeezed Viktor’s arm, slipped the biggest smile he could muster, and nodded at the shelf of Viktor’s creations before he slipped away. After that, it was up to Viktor to interpret what he meant.
That little nod is what got Viktor to pull himself up from the depths of the Undercity and into Piltover. He didn’t have any destination in mind, but running into Heimerdinger on the street and being doted upon by him for an hour because of the state that he was in certainly helped him get a strong start. By the time winter struck again, Viktor was Heimerdinger’s assistant at the academy.
On his first night, he’d done something similar to this– turned the power off, laid on the couch, and rolled a piece of metal between his fingers as he watched his breath dissipate in the air. In Piltover, a little light managed to sneak through the windows, but it wasn’t so much that it left Viktor feeling far from home. His leg pain hadn’t bothered him that night because he knew nothing other than to accept it. To him, there was no life spared from tragedies, and everyone was dealt tough cards. A twinge in the leg because of the cold is only scraping the surface.
Tonight, almost a decade later, the only thing Viktor can feel is his insurmountable pain because truthfully, there are plenty of people spared from tragedy, and Viktor is simply unlucky. Now, he’s spent so much of his life helping others, and Piltover is doing nothing to help him in return. Tonight, the pain is bitter; it hates, it writhes, it settles.
***
The first thing Viktor notices upon waking up the next morning is the burning throughout his entire body, ceaseless and powerful. He groans and brings his hand down to his right leg, applying pressure to his hip and flinching at the feeling. The pain from that rouses him out of his semi-conscious state, and then everything begins to feel worse.
There’s an uncomfortable soreness in his throat that makes swallowing feel like eating fire, and his nose is so stuffy it’s nearly impossible to breathe out of it. A common cold would explain the intense aching across his body. He’s never been able to handle things like this well. Even as a child, he would be bedridden for days due to the pain in his muscles and joints, even if his other symptoms had cleared.
The light from the snow outside filters through the window. It beckons Viktor to it, and it almost feels warm– like he could fall into it and sleep as it blankets him. He rises a little higher, painfully supporting himself on his elbows. A significant amount of snow has fallen overnight, and based on where the sun is in the sky, Viktor should have been at the lab about an hour ago. He’s never been one for late starts, preferring to beat Jayce to the lab and begin reviewing the previous night’s work.
Hastily, he swings into a sitting position, doing it quickly so the pain and dizziness only hit him after he’s already completed the task at hand. It’s a much harder battle to fight when he starts to see stars only halfway up. He then grabs his leg brace from the floor, noticing a scratch that he left in the wood after tossing it last night. Viktor’s never been one for home appearances, but the idea that he’ll have a permanent reminder of just how frustrating his disability is on his living room floor until he moves out brings out a sudden sense of violence that takes him much strength to control.
Fumbling with the leg brace, Viktor runs his hands over his calve and realizes that the piece he broke off last night did not reassemble itself while he was sleeping. The leg brace seems to snicker and point at Viktor. It’s certainly won this battle. Now, having caught a cold and in severe pain from the weather, Viktor is going to have to hike to the lab and spend the entire day there without his leg brace.
Jayce will notice, he’s sure of it. Jayce always notices. Every movement Viktor makes is carefully analyzed by Jayce. It doesn’t matter if it’s the way he eats his sandwich, or the designs he creates for Hextech. Sometimes, when Viktor catches him staring, his eyes twinkling with wonder and lost in thought, he wonders if Jayce knows more about him than he does about himself.
Viktor’s never psychoanalyzed himself, he just is who he is. There’s no rhyme or reason for his behaviors. He doesn’t know why he wants to be reminded of the dump that he grew up in at every opportunity, or why he always lets Jayce take the spotlight, or why he portions his food so strictly. Those things are natural to him; things that have been a part of him since before he could speak. To Jayce, however, they have meaning, and it scares Viktor that he knows what the meanings are.
It takes Viktor at least a minute of deep breathing and grunting to pull himself off the couch and grab his cane, putting significantly more weight into it than usual. He tries to think of the work he did yesterday to distract himself from the pain, but the sickness swirling through his brain fogs it too much to think coherently. Instead, he feels every painful twinge of his leg, and every upset nerve as he ventures through the icy courtyard and into the main building.
Despite the fact that the pain in his leg is nearly unbearable, Viktor is filled with an odd sense of pride because yes, he can survive without his brace, and yes, he is perfectly fine, and no, this is not a debilitating injury.
By the time Viktor reaches the lab, he’s gasping for air and flinching at every step, beginning to resent his earlier thoughts. His arms are shaking too much to properly open the door, so he sort of just pushes himself against it until it swings open and he comes stumbling into the office. Luckily, Jayce hasn’t arrived yet.
Viktor takes a moment to compose himself, feeling as though he is a child trying not to get caught while doing something they shouldn’t be. He smooths his grey vest out and runs a pale hand through his dark hair before limping to his desk and not-so-gracefully collapsing into the chair. There’s no days to be wasted in the invention of technology like this, and Viktor will push himself to the brink of death in order to succeed– to prove to others that there is hope because that’s all he wants, really, hope that this pain will not always exist.
The first hour or so is hazy. Viktor goes through the motions of a day at work, but he can’t quite describe anything he’s doing, and none of it seems to be real work, just something to keep his mind off of the throbbing and aching. His penmanship is even worse than last night, scribbled in messy diagonal lines, running off on the table, dry and scratchy in some places, and he even thinks he may have reverted to his native language a few times. Unfortunately, his vision is too blurry to read back and see.
By the time the sun begins to shine through a perfect circle in the window, hitting the back of Viktor’s head like a halo, Jayce walks in bearing tea and sandwiches. Viktor slowly cocks his head, relying heavily on the hand on his cheek to support it. He offers Jayce the best smile he can muster.
“Morning, Viktor,” Jayce beams, kicking the door shut with his heel. “Sorry I’m late, Mel wanted me to be part of some last-minute meeting to discuss winter fest because they want to feature our stuff, and you know how hard it is to travel through the snow.
Viktor begins to reply, attempting to say it’s fine, I’ve just been taking notes, but his throat is too dry to push the words out, and for some reason, he can’t stop thinking in his native tongue. He’s quite sure that what he lets out instead is an embarrassing grumble of sounds that doesn’t resemble any language, ever, and he figures he’s right because of the odd look Jayce gives him.
“Vik, you okay?” he asks, his blurry outline beginning to shuffle towards Viktor. That can’t be good. Things have been blurry all day, but not like this. “You look pale.”
Viktor attempts to push himself up and out of his chair in order to meet Jayce halfway. He’s not sure why he gets the urge, maybe just to prove that he’s just fine. “Just a long night,” he mutters, swaying from side to side as little black dots fill his vision.
“I can’t understand you,” Jayce returns, closing in on Viktor. Viktor grows frustrated. Had he not spoken the right language? Why can’t he get himself to function?
“Just a long–” His sentence is cut short as he tries to repeat it because of the sudden pain that flares up his leg and sends him leaning to his left, far too much to stay upright.
Jayce must catch it before Viktor does because he’s no more than halfway to the ground before Jayce slips his arms under Viktor’s and lets him down easy, the motion of collapsing only worsening his pain. He wants to push away from Jayce and tell him off, but he’s comfortingly warm, and the blackness catches up to Viktor before he’s fully on the ground.
***
When Viktor comes to, his head is lying softly against Jayce’s chest, and Jayce’s arms are lightly supporting his front. Viktor grumbles, his body beginning to alert him that someone is holding him, and he’s not quite sure how he ended up in this scenario. He tilts his head up until his dreary eyes make contact with Jayce’s, and despite the furrowed brow and pursed lip, there’s nothing but fondness displayed through his eyes. Viktor wants to reach out– just to see if this is real, but his limbs feel like gelatinous goop.
“You’re awake,” Jayce says, a little surprised. Viktor wonders how long he was out for. It couldn’t have been too long, or Jayce would have moved him, but he also had enough time to settle them into a comfortable position. “You scared me, Viktor,” he huffs, his grip tightening around Viktor’s arms.
Viktor attempts to respond, but he’s not completely lucid yet, and he’s still having trouble switching his brain to the correct language. Soon enough, a wicked cough racks its way up his throat, and Viktor is lurching forward and sputtering. Jayce holds him steady from behind, shifting his hands to Viktor’s ribcage and running his thumbs up and down his skin in a comforting motion.
The coughing subsides, and Viktor retreats against Jayce’s chest, too disoriented to do anything else. He feels trapped in this body. He’s telling himself to get up off the floor, tell Jayce he’s fine, thank you, and then go back to work, but his body is listening to none of that, and Jayce is so warm.
“You don’t have to talk,” Jayce says gently, breaking the silence. “But I think we should try to stand up and get you home. Or at least off the floor,” he suggests, and Viktor feels his chest move as he glances at the floor, likely disturbed by the amount of dust and small pieces of scrap they’re sitting in.
Viktor lets out a gargled, “mhm,” and then melts away as Jayce pushes them up from the floor.
It takes a few seconds for the pain to set in, probably because Viktor is woozy, but once it does, his peaceful moment with Jayce becomes a catastrophe. He sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth, trying to hold in the sound of discomfort that pushes past his throat. Jayce still manages to hear it.
“Okay, nice and easy,” he hums, handing Viktor his cane, although still heavily supporting his weight. Jayce is unaffected by this messiness, the pain, the sickness, and it makes Viktor wonder why. Jayce has never seen him this way before. He keeps waiting for the ball to drop– for Jayce to think, shit, the guy with the bad leg is sick and can’t walk, and become some sort of savior who insists on doing everything for him, but he doesn’t. He lets Viktor do what he needs to, but he’s still offering a hand– still telling him that he has something to rely on.
Viktor, despite his deep loathing for help, takes that hand. He’s so exhausted, and the thrumming in his leg isn’t going to stop any time soon, and it’s so easy to just press his weight into Jayce’s side. Jayce doesn’t even make a big deal out of it. He just wraps his arm around Viktor and begins stepping, squeezing him a little tighter on every step to keep him upright. Later, Jayce will be upset with Viktor for pushing himself this far. Now, he’s here to help his partner, and there’s no questioning needed for that.
Viktor stays in the same semi-lucid state for their entire walk, snapping out of it for a moment when Jayce walks them all the way to his room and realizes that there is no power. He then makes Viktor sit on the couch while he grumbles about how awful it was that he slept like that, and how he needs to take better care of himself. Viktor is sure there were more words, but he was honestly nodding off for half of it.
They leave again after a few minutes, Jayce having found some decent pieces of clothing. He doesn’t tell Viktor where they’re going, but it’s easy to assume that it’s to Jayce’s apartment considering how unlikely it seems that Jayce would kidnap Viktor at this stage in their partnership. He lets it all happen, stumbling through the thick snow and taking Jayce’s jacket when it’s gently draped over his shoulders. Jayce has always hated it when Viktor is cold, which is awful considering that to Jayce, a fireplace in human form, everyone feels cold.
The urge to resist that tugs at his shoulders falls silent eventually, and even through the pain, the feeling of being taken care of begins to feel pleasant. Perhaps it’s because Viktor’s parents worked too much to take care of him, and he’s quite used to feeling like a burden when he desperately needs care, but he’s never liked it. Now, however, he thinks he could spend eternity on the streets of Piltover, tucked into Jayce’s warm side.
It doesn’t last forever, of course, but making it to Jayce’s apartment is certainly a welcomed change. Like Viktor’s dorm, it’s full of warm red and green tones. Long, healthy plants span every shelf, and there are delicate wood carvings on each window frame. He has dozens of clay sculptures and things he’s made in the forge strewn about, and a few books sit open on his wooden coffee table. The place is clearly well lived in– loved and cherished.
Jayce takes the coat from Viktor’s shoulders and sweeps a hand through his unruly hair, wiping away the snowflakes that sit delicately atop it. Viktor sighs at the contact and is immediately embarrassed because he has zero control over the noises coming out of him right now. Jayce just smiles softly and lets Viktor kick his shoes off before leading him to the bedroom. His bedroom. Not the couch that has three or four blankets on it and an assortment of pillows. No, Jayce’s bed. Maybe this is better than walking through the snow forever.
“You’re freezing, Vik,” he mumbles, as he pushes Viktor into bed and pulls a heap of blankets on top of him. He presses the back of his hand against Viktor’s forehead. “And yet you still have a fever,” he adds. “Go back to sleep. I’ll be here when you wake up.”
Viktor doesn’t need to be told twice.
***
He wakes with a startle, swearing that he’s falling– desperately grasping for a pair of hands that don’t try to catch him. He doesn’t have anyone, or maybe no one wants to have him. The traitorous hands almost look like they’re waving at him– making fun of him. Have fun doing it on your own.
He sits up too suddenly, straining something in his lower back and spiraling into another coughing fit. Jayce is at his side before he has time to recall where he is. “It was just a dream,” he tells him, a hand on his back. “The fever’s got your brain all jumbled up.”
Viktor’s still not convinced. He takes a shaking hand to the space just below Jayce’s shoulder and starts grasping at him, fisting the soft fabric of his shirt and pulling him infinitely closer. Jayce lets out a soft noise of surprise and brings his hand over Viktor’s, holding it tightly. Viktor shudders, the pressure in his sinuses making sitting up all too much of a task. He softens his grip on Jayce’s shirt and lowers himself back into bed, still not sure what to make of this situation.
He makes his decision when Jayce places his hand at the top of Viktor’s chest, circling the junction between his collarbones with his thumb. It’s okay to be taken care of sometimes.
His sleep after that is dreamless, and when he comes to again, at his most lucid state since passing out, Jayce’s hand is in the same spot. It’s a little different this time because Viktor has the brain power to feel ashamed and stupid for letting this happen– for not dealing with this by himself. His body thinks differently, however, because this is the most relaxed he’s been in years. That must speak to something, that maybe Viktor is capable of accepting affection, maybe it doesn’t always have to be a bad thing. Jayce knows that Viktor can do this by himself, and it begins to become heartwarming that he’s not making him do it alone because shit, it’s way easier to drown out the pain like this.
“Are you awake for good this time?” Jayce asks, breaking the silence between them that Viktor wasn’t quite aware of, too lost in thought to mind.
Viktor makes an indistinct noise because yes, he’s awake, but no, he does not want to talk about it.
“What do you usually do to make this better?”
That seems like an odd question. Realistically, it’s not. Viktor’s had a bad leg his entire life. Jayce knows this, which means he’s deduced that it has in fact hurt before, and that should mean Viktor knows how to deal with it. That’s the thing, though, Viktor doesn’t usually deal with it. Instead, he fills his schedule with work until he’s too exhausted to process the pain. If he’s lucky, he’ll sleep it off, but it usually just goes away after a few weeks. When you live in the Undercity for sixteen years, you don’t have the luxuries of self-care. There’s only endurance.
For a multitude of reasons, Viktor does not reveal all of this information to Jayce, instead opting for a quiet, “I don’t know.” He watches his response settle in Jayce’s brain, and then he gets those boyish puppy dog eyes, obviously having figured it out.
“I wish you would take care of yourself, Viktor. And if you don’t want to do it, then come to me sooner. Maybe before you pass out,” Jayce admits cautiously, beginning to rub his thumb in circles again.
“Jayce,” Viktor begins, “I’m not talking about this now,” he says passively, his accent uncontrollably thick.
“A bath, then?” Jayce suggests.
Viktor nods. “Yes, a bath.”
It’s an awkward clamber to the bathroom, but they manage to make it, and Viktor slips himself out of Jayce’s arm and against the wall, pressing his weight on it as Jayce pours salts and soaps into the tub before turning the tap on. He has an entire cabinet full of different slaves, lotions, soaps, oils, and other miscellaneous items; it feels deeply luxurious. He spots a small bottle on the counter filled with a caramel-colored liquid. After inspecting it closely, Viktor deciphers that it must be the cologne Jayce uses– the reason he always smells of musky bergamot and soft herbs.
Jayce turns the tap off and pivots towards Viktor, who is very much caught inspecting Jayce’s belongings. He doesn’t say anything about it, just sort of slips a small, prideful smile, like he’s won some sort of competition. Eventually, he stops smiling to clear his throat, gazing down at his feet. “Um, I don’t know if you need help. I’m not trying to smother you or anything, but I just get the sense that you’re exhausted and this might be a lot of work.”
Viktor smirks and huffs in amusement. “Trying to get me naked before taking me out to dinner, Jayce?”
Jayce goes bright red, shrinking into his shoulders. “No! I–”
“I’m joking,” Viktor interrupts, strangely proud of himself for invoking Jayce like that, though he’s not hard to fluster. “Help would be appreciated, if you don’t mind.”
“Of course,” Jayce affirms, fumbling with the soap in his hands as he returns it to the cabinet.
He waits for Viktor to unbutton his own shirt before gently sliding it off of his shoulders and into the pile of items Viktor was able to remove by himself. “You haven’t stopped shaking,” Jayce comments timidly. Viktor hates that he makes Jayce timid. He doesn’t want him to think that one wrong sentence could lead to him lashing out or giving him the cold shoulder, but it has before.
“What do you mean?”
Jayce frowns, eyeing Viktor up and down, making him feel infinitely more exposed than he is. “Viktor, look at yourself. You’re shaking– have been since you passed out. You didn’t notice?”
Viktor nervously peers down at himself, and yes, he is shaking a bit, but it’s just muscle spasms. Stuff like this happens when Viktor’s pain spikes. It’s not the kind of thing he worries about because they don’t hurt him, and he hadn’t realized how concerning it looks to other people. “I’m fine,” he assures Jayce. “It’s just from the pain.”
Jayce simultaneously looks like he wants to scold Viktor and wrap him up in a blanket. Viktor’s not used to people caring so much about him that they feel anger when he doesn’t take care of himself, and he’s not sure if he likes it or not. On one hand, Viktor has been yearning for the kind of care that sits in the palms of Jayce Talis’ beautifully crafted hands since he was a child, but on the other, life is much easier when Viktor doesn’t have someone expecting him to care for himself.
Another few seconds of silence pass, and then Jayce decides on a passive, “You shouldn’t be in so much pain that you’re shaking.” A mix of both anger and care, perhaps. Viktor nods curtly and begrudgingly takes his pants off, too proud of a man to let Jayce do it. Jayce turns away in respect, keeping his eyes glued to the ceiling as he grasps Viktor’s waste to help him into the bathtub.
Put simply, it’s heavenly. Viktor feels his muscles relax upon entrance, basking in the warm water. He rolls his head back against the tile and groans. Jayce sits on his knees outside the tub and holds up a cloth. “I just ran it under cold water,” he explains. “Should help with your fever to have it over your forehead.”
Viktor keeps forgetting that he is very much infected with a common virus because of how bad the pain in his leg is, but Jayce seems constantly worried about it. He lets Jayce place the cloth across his forehead, and then Jayce begins to cup warm water into his hands and pour it over Viktor’s hair, and– oh, Jayce is washing Viktor’s hair. About a million ways to divert from this situation cross Viktor’s mind, but for once, he drowns them out and lets something good happen for no other reasons than selfishness, and maybe that’s okay sometimes. It definitely feels okay right now.
Jayce runs his fingers through Viktor’s hair with calculated movements, scrubbing in soothing circular motions and working in heaps of soap. He keeps telling Viktor small things, just passing comments, but the pleased humming in Viktor’s head is too much to hear them.
Eventually, Viktor finds himself leaning back so heavily that Jayce has to use his free hand to hold his head up, having slouched low enough in the tub to miss the wall. The suds from his hair run down his face and his neck, and in a way, it feels freeing– almost like the years of neglect and hatred Viktor has had towards himself are being washed away by gentle hands.
Jayce clears his throat and causes Viktor to open his eyes, which he was unaware he had shut, and peer up at him. “Are you feeling alright?” he asks, genuine and soft. “Figures your cold might be getting worse as the day goes on.”
Viktor takes a moment to think about the way he feels. The thrumming in his leg is still there, but it’s quieter under the water, screams taking longer to reach the surface. Besides, his leg hurting isn’t really a cold symptom. His nose is stuffy, and he’s had his mouth cracked open for a while now in order to breathe, the air hitting the back of his dry throat and stinging it. Along with that, his ears are clogged up, and the natural joint aching that comes with a cold is starting to rustle in his bones.
Yet again, Viktor is left with a choice. He could lie about how he’s feeling in order to avoid someone taking care of him because uncharted territory is scary, or he could admit that he’s beginning to feel worse to Jayce and accept the affection being so willingly offered to him. He’s about to say that he’s fine, that Jayce has done plenty, that maybe he should even just head home, but then Jayce is running his hands down Viktor’s neck and over his shoulders, and the decision is made for him.
“I suppose it is worsening,” he croaks, alarmed at the scratchy sound of his own voice.
“I’ll make you soup after we finish up here,” Jayce offers, a strangely eager tone in his voice, almost like his life purpose is to take care of Viktor. “It’s my mother’s recipe– works like a charm.”
“You don’t have to do that,” Viktor assures him, his accent beginning to grow thick in his mouth again, pouring out like honey. Jayce understands him despite it.
“I want to, Viktor.”
Truly, there’s no stopping it now.
***
Viktor has just finished painfully pulling the sweater that Jayce had grabbed from his dorm over his head when Jayce walks back into his bedroom, the thick scent of bone broth and vegetables traveling with him. He silently slips into the bathroom and returns a minute later, clad in a red sweater and soft pants. Viktor has never seen him like this before, homely and casual. His hair is even beginning to fall out of its usual structured style, hanging loosely around his forehead.
Jayce stands in the doorway for a moment, his eyes trailing over Viktor’s body, making him feel deeply exposed. Eventually, bashfully, he says, “Your leg is irritated. Why didn’t you tell me earlier?”
Viktor picks his head up from the pillow and glances down at his leg. Bruises surrounded by rings of irritation rest at each point where the brace applies pressure to his leg. In some places, the skin is rubbed completely raw, and embarrassingly, his right leg has not ceased shaking like the rest of his body.
I didn’t tell you because I don’t like being taken care of, Viktor thinks, but if he wanted this to stop, he would’ve told Jayce to back off ages ago, and Jayce would’ve jumped away from him like a disciplined puppy. He doesn’t like this fight with himself, the back and forth of whether or not he’s allowed to enjoy this. Slowly, he opens his mouth, letting the words run through his head a few times. “I didn’t notice.” It’s not quite a lie, but it does stray from the truth. The truth being that the blisters and bruises have been on his legs for so long that the pain has begun to blend in and Viktor doesn’t think about it anymore.
“Is this why you weren’t wearing your brace?” Jayce asks earnestly.
“Yes,” Viktor replies firmly, and this time his response isn’t the smallest bit truthful. He would’ve lived through the pain for another day if it weren’t for the damned bolt strewn across his floor. He wonders if Jayce had seen the broken brace earlier. Perhaps he was just trying to give Viktor an out, a moment to admit what he’d done and ask for help, but he won’t call Viktor on his bluff.
Jayce disappears into the bathroom again, briefly turns towards the cabinet that Viktor had been looking at earlier, and comes back out holding a few glass containers and bottles. “Sit up,” he insists. Viktor obliges like a man under a spell, pushing himself up on his arms and resting his back against the wooden headboard. Jayce takes a seat next to him, dipping his fingers into one of the containers and gently grasping Viktor’s knee as he begins to apply it to the blisters. It causes an uncomfortable sting, but the warmth that Jayce’s hands bring as they splay across Viktor’s leg and brush over sore muscles make up for it.
Viktor thought that he’d gotten away with hiding the state of his leg because Jayce refused to look at him while helping him into the tub, and then there was a thick layer of bubbles covering him. However, Jayce, with all of his intelligence, figured it was better to grab Viktor a pair of boxers than a pair of pants despite the snowstorm outside.
Eventually, Jayce stops applying salves and begins kneading into Viktor’s muscles with purpose, pushing and pulling until his leg feels like liquid. “Why did you let it get to this point?” he inquires, making eye contact with Viktor as his thumb presses into the tensest part of his thigh. Viktor has to bite his tongue to keep from making an embarrassingly lewd noise, but Jayce still manages to catch the immense relief on his face, working harder into the knot.
“I did not grow up having supplies like this, and it’s been far too long to change my habits,” he responds, restrained.
Jayce works both thumbs into the center of the knot and presses so hard that he ends up leaning over Viktor’s leg, hair nearly grazing his skin. “I’m not saying that you need to teach yourself to take care of it, but at least tell me so I can do this for you. Viktor, it was terrifying to watch you pass out like that and have no idea if you were going to wake back up.”
Viktor, beginning to grow frustrated, snaps back. “I’m not going to become some doll that you can take care of to make yourself feel better, Jayce. I am fine.”
Jayce engulfs Viktor’s knee in his hand and then pulls it away, giving himself space. “I don’t do it to make myself feel better. I feel good enough about working every day to invent technology that could help so many people,” he returns, trying to subside the harsh tone that sits at the back of his tongue. “I just want you to feel better. And I am well aware that you’re perfectly capable of doing this stuff by yourself, but you don’t!” he releases, voice finally loud enough to be considered a yell. “It’s like you think that your pain is deserved, or that you’re removing yourself too far from your roots by accepting the resources that we have up here. Viktor, I’m trying to be understanding here, but what are you going to do when we succeed and the Undercity has access to our technology? Will you still torture yourself?”
Viktor lets a thick silence sit between them for a few seconds, unsure of what to do next. Calmly, he raises his gaze to Jayce’s brown eyes and replies, “I told you earlier that I don’t know how to do these kinds of things.”
Oddly, the fury hidden behind his eyes doesn’t fade as it usually does when Viktor responds so softly. Jayce opens his mouth for a moment and then shuts it, taking a moment to choose his words. “But it’s self-explanatory. If someone had a gun to your head and told you to take care of your leg with the items in my apartment, you’d figure it out in seconds, so it can’t be the not knowing that’s stopping you.”
Viktor purses his lips and averts eye contact, wordlessly shifting the mood. Jayce releases his stiff posture and brings his hand back to Viktor’s knee, squeezing it gently. “It’s not the way that my leg looks, or the things it prevents me from doing. I’ve lived with that my entire life, and I’m not a man of cosmetics or intense physical activity,” he says playfully. Jayce smiles unsurely in return. “The pain is what angers me, I suppose. But I have to defeat it somehow– show it that I can live through it, so doing things to make it better feels like losing.”
“That’s why you broke your brace?”
Fuck. So Jayce did know.
Slowly, Viktor nods his head. “Yes, that’s why I broke the brace. To win.”
Jayce shifts so he’s sitting next to Viktor on the bed, gently running his calloused hand up and down Viktor’s pale thigh. “When I was a teenager…” he begins, pausing to collect his thoughts. “I used to force myself to stand in the cold for hours because I thought it was so childish that I was so afraid of it. I still remember the sting of it, how red my skin would be when I came inside, how much my poor mother would fret, and how much I would cry because it never worked. No matter what I did, I was just as scared,” he admits, tentatively shifting his glance until his eyes meet Viktor’s.
“Why are you telling me this, Jayce?” Viktor inquires, encouraging Jayce to finish his thought.
“Because I walked you all the way here in the snow last night, despite the fact that I’m terrified of the cold. Also, I’ve come to the lab the past four days even with the blizzard. At the end of the day, I’m not winning because I’m still scared. It’s a compromise, though, because getting through the snow means seeing you, or in this case, keeping you safe,” he finishes, too nervous by this point to maintain eye contact with Viktor. “What I mean is you should compromise. Don’t treat your leg like it’s going to spontaneously fall off, because it won’t, but maybe just take care of it when it gets bad– don’t fight all the time.”
Viktor shuffles until his damp hair falls in front of his eyes, moving a hand to rest in a fist on his other thigh. Jayce makes a good point. It’s not fair to make himself live like this, and he’s damn capable of helping himself, but something about the inescapability of the pain is so grounding. Hesitantly, he says, “If I let my leg affect me, then all of Piltover will know that I am a fraud– I simply do not fit in here. If I push it away, they see it less, and I win.”
“You win?” Jayce repeats with confusion.
“Yes, I win,” Viktor confirms. “I won’t get too spoiled in all that Piltover has to offer me, meaning I will not turn into the kind of person I despise, and I also get to keep a middle ground with the people up here. They will never respect me as they respect you, but they won’t shun me or push me away.”
Being this honest is a strange, new sensation. Jayce is the honest one in this partnership. He’s always revealing his feelings, adding every detail to stories, and being so direct and up front no matter what. It’s one of the things that draws Viktor to him so strongly; Jayce wants other people to see him.
Viktor is the opposite, he tucks himself into shadows and has parts of his personality that are so thoroughly boxed up that he’s not even sure if he could reach them. The idea of Jayce understanding him is terrifying, but what’s worse is the idea that Jayce wants to understand him. He could be coldly leaving Viktor in the lab, coughing on the floor and barely able to move, and they would never need to talk about it. Instead, he’s taken Viktor to his home and doted on him for hours, and now, he wants to dig into his personality– to open those boxes.
Why? Viktor thinks, why make a relationship hard? Keeping himself going has always been so much work, he’s never even thought about making space for another person before, but Jayce makes so much space for him.
“I understand where you’re coming from,” Jayce stammers. “But you’re not really winning if you’re spending days like this because of the pain instead of in the lab.”
Fair. There’s nowhere that Viktor would rather be than the lab, and every second he spends in Jayce’s bedroom is being wasted. Innovation was the reason Viktor climbed from the lowest point of the Undercity all the way to Topside, and he can’t let his pain take over and abandon his goal because of it.
Viktor brings his head up and stares at Jayce for a while. His eyes look tired, and the corner of his mouth is raw from being picked at. Viktor wants to grasp his face and tell him he’s sorry, but he’s a man with too much dignity to do so. Instead, he decides he can at least give Jayce the relief of agreeing to take care of his leg.
“I will try, Jayce,” he groans, emphasizing the try. “I will buy salves, and take warm baths, and massage the tissue, but I won’t give up any of my time in the lab for it. I don’t want to be seen as anything but a regular person.”
“That’s fine!” Jayce replies giddily. “If you take care of it before it gets that bad, then you probably won’t even have to worry about not being able to come in!” he states as though it is resounding information. Viktor smiles and nods along because Jayce is just trying to be sweet, and being needed makes him so happy.
Watching Jayce smile over his dark circles reminds Viktor that maybe he should maybe say one more thing. The poor man has clearly lost sleep over Viktor. This must have been stressful for him. Viktor’s not sure what he would do if Jayce just collapsed.
“I am sorry, by the way, for…” he pauses, motioning his hands in circles for a few seconds. “For all of this.” It’s not specific, but Viktor isn’t one to hand out apologies, and he’s not well practiced in giving meaningful ones, so really, this is him getting on his knees and begging for forgiveness. Jayce seems to understand that as well, face lighting up as if Viktor just got down on one knee and popped the question. Weakly, he smiles and admires the amount of adoration Jayce has for others.
“It’s no trouble to me,” Jayce consols, completely genuine.
***
Within the hour, Viktor has managed to take a few slow laps around Jayce’s kitchen while Jayce watches like a hawk behind him, and he’s had a heavenly bowl of soup that he wishes he could personally thank Ximena Talis for creating.
“Careful!” Jayce yelps as Viktor takes a hard step, pushing his weight into his cane a little aggressively to balance himself.
“Jayce,” he warns.
“Sorry, sorry! It just looks painful,” Jayce gushes, clutching the countertop like he’s watching Viktor saw his own leg off.
“Let a man walk you home one time and all a sudden your bones are going to shatter without him,” Viktor scolds playfully.
“Viktor! I’m allowed to be a little worried after the show you put on today!”
Viktor begins to chuckle to himself lightly, and before he knows it, Jayce has caught on and is laughing alongside him. It doesn’t take long for his laughing to turn into a pitiful coughing fit, and then Jayce is behind him, rubbing circles into his back, but he’s decided that even this is better than doing it alone and afraid.
Jayce runs off to get more cold medication, and Viktor heads back to the bedroom, lightly setting his cane against the wall before retreating back into bed. With the pain in his leg at ease, he has a lot more space to feel utterly miserable from his cold.
Jayce comes back a minute later, holding medicine in one hand, and keeping the other firmly behind his back. He places the medicine bottle on his dresser and steps further into the room, visibly gulping. “What is it?” Viktor asks.
Jayce shuffles awkwardly and then begins explaining. “Um, a little bit ago, like when you first started using the leg brace, there was a day where you were super pissed at it and you said it kept pinching you and rubbing you,” he says wearily, and Viktor can feel his face being analyzed for any negative emotion. “Anyways, you took it off at some point and then left to the storage room, but I could tell that walking without it hurt, too, so I measured it and sketched it while you were gone and figured I could make a better one.”
Viktor doesn’t have much time to react before Jayce is pulling it out from behind him.
Frankly, it’s beautiful. Sturdy silver plates running up the sides and an intricate design over the knee where Jayce must know that Viktor feels the most pain. The inside is lined with plush leather to keep it from rubbing him, and every knob is adjustable to control the amount of pressure it applies. He takes it in his hands and marvels over it for a long time before the idea of saying something even crosses his mind.
“I know you don’t like it when I help with your leg, but you were never going to do it by yourself, and you were in so much pain Viktor, even before today,” Jayce defends, expecting some sort of chiding.
Viktor has no such thing to say. “No, Jayce, this is– this is incredible. Thank you,” he replies sincerely, taking the brace in his hands. Jayce is right, Viktor wouldn’t have gotten a new brace for himself because it would feel like letting his leg win, but maybe this will help it feel a little more like coexistence.
“I’m so glad you like it,” Jayce hums with relief, letting out a long breath.
Viktor begins to slip it on and play around with the different knobs for a few minutes, looking up eventually to ask Jayce to hand him his cane so he can try walking around. When he opens his mouth to speak, he notices that Jayce is turned away from him, watching the snow fall outside the window. Viktor recalls the nights he spent in the cold as a child, in pain and wanting help, and wonders if Jayce spent those nights gazing out his window and wondering if he’d ever get to share his love with someone. Now, Viktor hopes he’s staring out the window and priding himself at just how good he is at loving.