Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Jayce had been electrocuted before.

Not badly— just a little static discharge from a prototype gone wrong, a minor miscalculation in energy output. Enough to send a shock up his arm, make his muscles lock up for half a second, leave his nerves buzzing.

This was, decidedly, worse.

Because at least then he’d known what hit him.

Now, standing in the middle of the lab with Viktor’s hand fisted in his shirt and Viktor’s lips very much on his, Jayce held no such convictions.

His brain stalled. His breath caught somewhere in his throat. The world narrowed, blurred at the edges, focused entirely on the warmth pressed against his mouth, the barely-there imprint of fingers curled into his collar, the way Viktor was leaning into him, just enough to steady himself—

And then it was over.

Viktor pulled back as abruptly as he had surged forward. His hand slipped away, leaving Jayce chasing after him before he even realized he was consciously doing so.

Jayce stared, still caught mid-processing, mouth ajar.

Viktor looked… normal. Or, at least, he was trying to look normal, though there was something oddly stiff in the way he adjusted his grip on his cane. His fingers tapped a restless beat against the handle, and—

Jayce’s eyes caught on the faint pink coloring Viktor’s ears.

Why was he noticing that? He shouldn’t be noticing that. That wasn’t important. What was important was the fact that Viktor had just kissed him and Jayce still hadn’t caught up to why or how or—

His mind unhelpfully replayed the sensation. The warmth. The way Viktor had leaned in. The surprising softness of his lips, at odds with the firmness of the motion itself.

Something in Jayce’s chest clenched.

What the hell.

“What,” he managed, voice rougher than he meant, “the fuck was that?”

Viktor exhaled sharply, looking mildly irritated— like Jayce was the one being inconvenient or utterly unreasonable right now. “Sky was coming this way.”

Jayce blinked. His brain refused to make the connection. “…And?”

Viktor gave him a flat look, like Jayce was being deliberately slow. “She asked me to dinner last night.”

Jayce’s stomach did something complicated. “ And ?”

“And I did not feel like being asked again.” Viktor’s grip on his cane adjusted. His gaze flickered to the side, just for a second, before he looked back at Jayce. “I am running out of ways to make my disinterest clear.”

Jayce was still trying to catch up. His thoughts bounced between Viktor kissed me and Viktor kissed me because of Sky and why the hell am I still thinking about the first part .

“You could have just told her you weren’t interested, you know.”

Viktor gave a short, dry huff, almost a laugh. “You would think so, but some people prefer to ignore words.”

Jayce wanted to argue— because, no , that still wasn’t how normal people handled things— but before he could, his brain snagged on one particularly troublesome detail. 

Viktor kissed him. Viktor kissed him in front of Sky. 

Jayce groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “She definitely saw that.”

Viktor tilted his head, expression unreadable. “Yes, that was the point.”

“That was the—” Jayce cut himself off, exhaling sharply. “People are going to talk , Viktor.” 

“People do little else.”

Jayce opened his mouth to argue, but nothing came out.

Viktor was, in all technicalities, right. People would talk. Jayce had been the subject of gossip for years— Piltover’s golden boy, the rising star, the Council’s youngest member, the man who had created magic through science. He knew how this worked.

And yet, for the first time in years— since he’d been young and fresh-faced, attempting to dispute every falsity with equal indignation— the idea of people talking made something in his stomach curl in on itself. Not because it was untrue— he’d been the target of false rumors before. He knew how to brush them off, how to laugh along, how to not care.

Hell, he’d been the target of even more unwanted attention and flirtation in much more public settings and had never been so bothered by it. 

Except this wasn’t unwanted , because it was Viktor . That was the part he couldn’t reconcile. Viktor’s attention had never been something he minded. If anything, Jayce sought it out. He liked the way Viktor challenged him, the way his words always carried meaning— so different from the mindless chatter of Piltover’s upper echelon— the way he would tilt his head in consideration and make Jayce want to prove himself. He liked the rare smiles, the glimmers of amusement in his sharp eyes, the way his mind worked at angles Jayce couldn’t always follow but wanted to.

He liked—

No.

That wasn’t it.

Jayce blew out a breath, arms crossing over his chest, fingers pressing into his biceps, grounding himself in the motion, the sharp pinches of pressure against the taut muscle. No. That wasn’t— this wasn’t like that . He was just— he was just frustrated. For Viktor’s sake.

Viktor shouldn’t have had to go that far. He shouldn’t have had to back himself into a corner just to get Sky to leave him alone, in their lab, of all places. That was what Jayce was upset about.

That was all he was upset about.

He realized he must have been silent for too long when Viktor spoke. “My apologies if such a movement was unwelcome,” he said, voice strangely stiff and shoulders taut. “I recognize I am not your usual choice of companion. I will endeavor not to put you in that position again.”

Jayce blinked. “Wh— no, that’s not it,” he refuted, not knowing what had led his partner to come to that conclusion but immediately wanting to rid him of that terrible, tense expression. “Just— I was just caught off guard. Maybe a little warning next time?”

It was intended to be a light hearted joke, a way to ease the tension along the line of Viktor’s spine. Jayce realized, a little too late, just how the words sounded coming out of his mouth. 

“Not that— I want you to be put in that position again,” Jayce stuttered, backtracking. “Just that— y’know, I would want you to be the most comfortable, and if I can help, then— and if that involves, uh, this, then—” he clamped his mouth shut, well aware he was only digging himself into a deeper hole here.

Viktor studied him for a long moment, head tilted just slightly, eyes flickering over Jayce’s face like he was taking apart a problem— breaking it down to its simplest components, searching for the logic buried underneath.

Jayce hated when he did that.

Mostly because Viktor was usually right about whatever conclusion he came to, and right now, Jayce wasn’t sure he even had a conclusion for him to find. His stomach was still twisting itself into impossible shapes, brain still stuck on the sensation of Viktor’s mouth on his—

No. Not important. Not relevant.

Viktor hummed— soft, thoughtful. Then, with a slow, deliberate arch of his brow: “So you would like a warning. Next time.”

Jayce’s brain short-circuited.

“No— I mean— Not like—” He dragged a hand through his hair, fingers snagging on the strands. “I’m just saying you don’t have to do that again. I mean, obviously, I wouldn’t— er, mind , necessarily, but I wouldn’t want you to think you have to, because you don’t.” He realized, abruptly, that he was rambling again, and snapped his mouth shut before he could say anything else deeply regrettable.

Viktor was still watching him, something unreadable in the curve of his lips. “Ah,” he said simply. “I see.”

Jayce squinted. “Do you?”

“No.” Viktor’s mouth twitched, then, like he was fighting back a smile. “But it is entertaining to watch you try and explain.”

Jayce scowled at that, though unable to feel truly annoyed at the rare outward display of amusement. Before he could attempt to unpack that thought, Viktor shifted, already moving past him.

“Well,” he said, voice back to its usual wry cadence, “if it makes you feel any better, I do not believe Sky will be approaching me again anytime soon.”

Jayce wasn’t sure anything could really make him feel better right now. (Except for maybe the warmth to come back—)

“Yeah,” he said, after only a beat of hesitation, forcing his voice into something almost normal. “Guess that’s one problem solved.”

Viktor only gave him a singular glance before returning to his work, as if the whole thing hadn’t even fazed him. As if this was just another experiment, another equation solved, another problem efficiently dealt with and discarded.

Jayce wished his brain worked like that.

Instead, his thoughts were still tangled, looping over themselves, stuck on the feeling of Viktor’s mouth on his, on the way he’d leaned in without hesitation. And then gone, just as quickly, like it hadn’t meant anything at all.

Jayce blinked rapidly, three times in succession, then shook his head. Because it hadn’t . It hadn’t meant anything. It was just a distraction. And, after all, what was a favor between friends? They’d both seen each other at far more vulnerable points over the years. A three-second kiss paled in comparison when he looked, in full, to what Viktor had done for him throughout the course of their partnership.

He’d just forget about it and put it all behind him.

—

Jayce’s life was officially over.

Okay, maybe not over, that was a little dramatic, but—

Everyone knew.

Which was ridiculous, because it had barely been a day. Not even a full twenty-four hours. And yet, somehow, impossibly, every single person in Piltover had apparently caught wind of the fact that Viktor had kissed him in the lab yesterday.

Alright, again, perhaps a bit dramatic, it probably wasn’t everyone, but he’d already heard two separate conversations about it: One from a group of junior researchers whispering in hushed, excited tones— scurrying away the second they caught sight of Jayce— and another from a pair of Council assistants discussing how “it was about time.”

About time for what ?

Jayce had half a mind to turn around and demand clarification, but he knew that would only make things worse. The last thing he needed was to add fuel to the already raging fire of speculation.

Still. People were talking about it like it was some inevitable, foregone conclusion— but it wasn’t inevitable. It wasn’t even real .

Well. It was real in the literal sense— Viktor had, in fact, kissed him— but it hadn’t meant anything. Not in the way people seemed to think.

And it wasn’t just the junior researchers and assistants whispering about it. That would have been too easy. The universe, in its ever-infinite cruelty, had decided to take things a step further.

Mel knew.

Jayce still wasn’t sure how, exactly, but she knew. 

Which, in and of itself, was not particularly surprising. Mel had a propensity for knowing everything. Jayce was convinced she had some kind of preternatural ability to predict events before they even happened. It was the only explanation for how she always seemed five steps ahead of everyone else.

But still.

He hadn’t even made it to his workshop this morning before she’d found him, greeting him with that signature smile of hers— slow and amused, the kind that made him feel like a particularly entertaining piece of theater she was enjoying from the best seat in the house.

“In the lab?” she started, voice lilting in its amusement, not even bothering with a greeting. “You do know there are better settings for romance.”

Jayce barely managed to keep himself from choking on his tongue.

Mel had let the silence stretch just long enough for him to start panicking before she’d added, “Then again, I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. You’ve never been one for subtlety.”

Jayce made the mistake of opening his mouth without a plan. He’d long since stopped wondering how Mel found out these things so quickly, but he could perhaps take the opening as an opportunity to clear the rumor up.

“It wasn’t— That’s not—” he started. Unfortunately, his tongue did not get the memo, and he sputtered on the words instead.

Mel had only hummed that infuriating, knowing sound, and patted his arm. “Try not to overthink it, Jayce. You’re already doing enough of that for both of you.”

And then she’d walked away.

Which was. Not great. And also totally unfair. He was not overthinking. He was… processing. Completely different things.

So now, not only was everyone talking about it, but Mel was being cryptic, which meant she knew something Jayce didn’t, which meant he was probably going to have an aneurysm before the day was over.

But fine. Whatever. He could deal with that. 

Except, the longer he thought about it, the more he realized— there was one person who wasn’t talking about it at all.

Viktor.

Viktor, who had kissed him, and then acted like it was nothing. Viktor, who had shown up to the lab this morning like usual, made some offhand remark about a heat coefficient calculation, and then proceeded to work as if nothing at all had changed.

Jayce, meanwhile, had nearly spilled coffee down his own front when Viktor had so much as glanced at him.

So.

That was where they were at.

And Jayce was going to lose his mind.

He was still trying (and failing) to figure out how to bring it up when Sky walked into the lab.

He barely looked up at first, too busy pretending to be invested in the blueprint spread out in front of him, until he caught sight of her expression— flustered, hesitant, apologetic— and every alarm bell in his brain started ringing.

“Um,” she started, clasping her hands together. “I just— I wanted to apologize to you both for, uh… yesterday.”

Jayce frowned. “Apologize for what?”

Sky hesitated, biting her lip, her eyes darting briefly to Viktor before settling back on Jayce , strangely enough. “I didn’t mean to— I wasn’t trying to step on any toes, I promise.”

Jayce stared, even more confused, and Sky winced, rushing to explain. “I should’ve realized— I mean, of course I should’ve realized, but it just never occurred to me, and I feel so bad—”

Jayce glanced at Viktor, desperately, for some kind of help, but Viktor just looked… thoughtful. Nowhere near as confused as Jayce himself.

“Just— I really respect you both, and I’d never want to overstep! I hope you know that,” Sky finished, with a small, awkward laugh, eyes flicking to Viktor again. “I mean, I didn’t know you two were… together.”

Hold up.

Together?

Jayce nearly choked. “We—”

Viktor shot him a pointed look— one that very clearly said do not continue speaking . Jayce spluttered, too caught off-guard to come up with any reasonable response. 

Sky, taking his silence as some kind of confirmation, relaxed slightly. “I mean, it makes sense. You do spend all your time together. And—” she hesitated, as if debating whether or not to continue before adding, “I guess I just feel a little silly for not noticing sooner.”

Jayce was going to die. Right here, in this lab, from sheer secondhand embarrassment and utter confusion.

Sky thought they were together. She wasn’t the only one. And instead of correcting her, Viktor had— what, silently agreed? 

A kiss— a single kiss— was one thing. Dating was quite another.

Jayce gaped at him, but Viktor had his focus on his notes, leaving Jayce on the other end of Sky’s expectant look.

“I, uh,” Jayce started, but he had no idea where he was going with it. “Thanks?”

The rise at the end of his tone made it sound like a question. Though, truly, what the hell else was he supposed to say? No, Sky, don’t feel bad, you’re not silly, because actually, we’re not together, despite the fact that apparently the entire city thinks otherwise? That wouldn’t make things awkward at all.

Sky beamed, clearly relieved. “Oh, good! I was worried for a second there. But really, I think it’s great. You two just… fit, you know?”

Jayce did not, in fact, “ know .” But he nodded weakly anyway. What else could he do? Deny it in front of Viktor, when Viktor offered exactly zero protest? Sky would think he was an ass. And Jayce could not deal with the idea of making things even more uncomfortable than they already were.

“Right.” His voice cracked. “Glad we… fit.”

Sky nodded, reassured. “Well, I just wanted to say I’m happy for you both! I’ll, um— let you get back to work.”

And then she was gone.

The second the door clicked shut, Jayce inhaled sharply and turned on Viktor. He flung the pen in his hand at his partner and watched as it made direct contact with its target— bouncing uselessly off his shoulder and onto the floor. “Are you kidding me?”

Viktor finally looked up, unfazed, blinking at him as if he had no idea what the issue was. “What?” he sounded genuinely affronted, staring down at the pen on the floor. “What was that for?”

“What do you mean what ?” Jayce sputtered. “You just let her think we’re—” He gestured wildly. “Together!”

Viktor tilted his head, still half-glowering. “Yes.”

Jayce stared, waiting for some kind of explanation, some indication that Viktor had not lost his mind. None came.

“Why?” Jayce demanded.

Viktor shrugged. “Damage control. If I had corrected her, she would have asked questions. And more questions lead to more rumors.”

Jayce gaped at him. “Viktor. There are already rumors.”

“Exactly.” Viktor pointed his own pen at him. “Which is why I propose we let them be.”

Jayce narrowed his eyes. “What does that mean?”

Viktor exhaled, like this was all very tedious for him, putting his pen down. “If we tell everyone the truth now, it will raise too many questions. More drama. More explanation. More headache.” He waved a dismissive hand. “But if we pretend for a little while— just long enough for the novelty to wear off— we can say it simply didn’t work out, and everyone will move on.”

Jayce opened and closed his mouth, trying to find an argument. He… kind of had a point. People in Piltover loved gossip, but they loved scandal even more. If they made a big deal out of denying it, the rumors would only escalate. If they just… let it be, it might actually die down faster.

Simple, except for the complicating factor that meant Jayce would have to pretend to fake-date his best friend and lab partner for who-knew-how-long.

“That’s insane,” he finally said, for lack of anything better to say.

“Is it?” Viktor tilted his head. He looked smug, the bastard. He’d won the argument already and he knew it.

Jayce decided to give it one last token protest. “Viktor, people already won’t stop talking about it, and now you want to encourage it?”

“Not encourage. Simply allow it to run its course,” Viktor corrected. “Nature always takes the path of least resistance, Jayce. We should do the same.” He narrowed his eyes. “Besides, you had the opportunity to object to her assumptions and did not.”

Jayce opened his mouth. Closed it. Damn it.

When he didn’t speak, Viktor gestured with his pen again. “Path of least resistance,” he said, as though that proved his point. Which, if they were being technical, it did, but—

“You make it sound so simple,” Jayce muttered, tapping his fingers against the desk.

“It is,” Viktor said, scribbling something into his notes. “People already believe we are together. If you correct them, you invite further inquiry. If you do not, they will simply move on, satisfied that their assumptions were correct. Why complicate matters?”

Jayce let out a frustrated sigh. The truth was, it made sense. It was the easiest option, and if anything, he should find it amusing, to be able to trick everyone so easily. He and Viktor knew the truth, and that was all that mattered.

Wasn’t it?

“Fine,” he muttered at last, pointing a finger at Viktor. “But if this gets out of hand, we shut it down immediately.”

Viktor didn’t even bother to glance up. “Of course,” he responded dryly, before shooting Jayce another look out of the corner of his eye. “No more need for dramatic pen-flinging.”

Jayce huffed but didn’t argue further. Viktor had a point, frustrating as it was. Besides, this whole thing would probably blow over in a few weeks. People would lose interest, move on, and they could ‘break up’ amicably without having to worry about any awkward public denials or explanations.

—

The invitation arrived in an envelope far too ornate for anything good to come from it.

Jayce didn’t even have to open it to know who it was from. The golden wax seal, stamped with the Medarda crest, was enough of a giveaway. He sighed, running a thumb over the smooth paper before finally breaking the seal.

Council Dinner— this Friday. Attendance expected.

Plus one recommended. Your partner would be a suitable choice.

Jayce closed the letter, inhaled deeply, and then immediately reopened it, as if rereading the words might somehow change them. They did not.

Your partner. Mel meant Viktor. Because of course she did. He could practically hear the words in her tone through the paper.

He sighed, turning in his chair to peer over at Viktor, who hadn’t reacted to the noise, evidently too deep in his work. Jayce took a moment to observe his face— the curve of his cheekbone, the furrow of his brow, the concentrated curl to his lip— before blinking and shaking his head rapidly when he realized he was staring.

Jayce cleared his throat— half to compose himself and half to catch Viktor’s attention. “We have a problem.”

“Yes, we do,” Viktor agreed grumpily, scowling at the paper in front of him. “I cannot get the energy for the new recalibration to balance. If we increase the stabilization here,” he tapped the schematic, “then we lose conductivity efficiency. But if we lower the resistance, then—”

“Then the output becomes unstable,” Jayce finished, immediately caught up in the problem. He pulled a stool over, already reaching for an extra pencil that had been previously discarded by Viktor’s wrist. “Okay, but what if we adjust the discharge rate first? We could reroute some of the residual energy back into the conductor, instead of letting it dissipate.”

Viktor narrowed his eyes with interest. “That could work for the efficiency… but then we still run into overheating issues.”

Jayce hummed in thought and leaned over to squint at the paper. Viktor moved to the side to allow him room to sketch calculations in the margins. “Not if we introduce a secondary cooling conduit. Like a—”

“Like a heat sink but localized,” Viktor interrupted, nodding rapidly, jotting notes onto the other side of the paper. “Yes, yes. That could counteract the excess energy loss.”

Jayce grinned, leaning closer as he scrawled out another equation beneath Viktor’s. “And if we apply a staggered release mechanism, we can maintain the conductivity without compromising stability.”

Viktor blew out a breath, eyes flicking between Jayce’s writing and the schematics, excitement caught in the lines of his expression. “That… could actually work.”

They both turned to stare at the paper for a moment, running through the calculations once more in sync. This was the part Jayce loved the most— when they got lost in the process, bouncing ideas off each other so seamlessly it barely felt like thinking. Just motion and momentum, equal and opposite.

And then, just as Viktor started scribbling extra annotations in the margins, Jayce remembered.

The invitation.

He groaned, flopping back in his chair and rubbing his hands over his face. “Wait, wait, wait— no, that’s not the problem I meant.”

Viktor blinked at him, momentarily pulled out of his focus. “It is not?”

“No.” Jayce thrusted the letter toward him, still clutched in his other hand. “This is.”

Viktor took the paper, eyes scanning over the contents. His brows lifted slightly before he deadpanned, “Ah.”

Jayce lifted his arm from where it was draped across his face to stare at him. “That’s all you have to say?”

Viktor folded the letter neatly, setting it aside with a shrug. “It is not particularly surprising. They do love their rumors.”

Jayce sat up straighter, incredulous. “Not—? Ugh.” He pinched his brow. “This is a formal event. Do you even have anything to wear?”

Viktor arched an unimpressed brow and shrugged once more. “I have never particularly concerned myself with that side of things. So, no.”

“That’s what I thought,” Jayce sighed. He ran a hand through his hair, already dreading what he was about to say. “Alright, we need to get you something. We’re going to a tailor.”

Viktor sighed, long-suffering, as if this wasn’t all his fault in the first place. “Is that truly necessary?”

“Yes,” Jayce insisted. “I don’t give a shit what most people think there, but if we’re going to bother to show up, I would rather avoid getting dirty stares all night for breaking the dress code.” Frankly, he wasn’t entirely sure they wouldn’t just be turned away at the door— which would sound more appealing, if he didn’t know the chewing out he’d face afterwards from Mel.

Viktor hummed, as if actually weighing the ramifications, before shaking his head. “Fine. But you are handling the details.”

—

The tailor shop was one Jayce had been coming to for years. A small, refined boutique tucked away in one of Piltover’s more affluent districts, catering to the kind of clientele that had reputations to uphold and appearances to maintain. It wasn’t that Jayce particularly cared for fashion— although he had, in general, done his best to keep up his appearances— but council functions required a certain level of presentation, and this place was efficient. They knew his measurements, knew what cuts flattered his frame, and— most importantly— were quite friendly.

Which was why, the moment they stepped through the door, the woman behind the counter— Francis, he remembered— perked up instantly, a knowing smile spreading across her face.

“Councilor Talis! I was wondering when I’d be seeing you for the upcoming dinner. There’s been quite the chatter about it.” Then her sharp eyes flickered past him, landing on Viktor. “Oh! And this must be the partner you’re always talking about.”

At the statement, Jayce nearly tripped over his own feet, only barely managing to save himself from careening into the nearest coat rack.

“You talk about me?” Viktor asked, sounding amused, turning his head to glance at Jayce instead of around the store, as he had been doing previously.

Jayce felt his throat go dry. He did, of course. He talked about Viktor all the time, to the point that it was honestly a minor miracle people hadn’t assumed something sooner. But hearing it said aloud so plainly, with Viktor standing right next to him, sent something warm curling in his chest.

And, well, he couldn’t exactly refute the assumption now, as he would have before, considering the whole fake dating bit.

So he swallowed, tried to act normal, and managed a half-hearted, “Uh, yeah. Yeah, this is Viktor. Viktor, this is Francis.”

Francis beamed. “It’s an honor to meet you. Councilor Talis has said such wonderful things.” Then she winked. “I see why he raves about you so much. He picked a cute one.”

Viktor’s expression didn’t change much— his face was always more easily reserved— but Jayce swore he saw the tips of his ears darken. A flicker of something, there and gone before Jayce could think too hard about it.

Then again, Jayce himself was too busy trying to reign in his own reaction from such a statement to gauge it properly. Maybe going to a different tailor would have been a better option.

“Well,” Francis clapped her hands together before either of them could respond. “Let's get started! Matching colors, I assume, as is customary?”

Jayce, still trying to get his bearings, could do little more than nod dumbly as Francis started to drape various fabric samples settle over his arm in rapid succession. He barely even processed them, holding out his arm on autopilot.

Francis hummed thoughtfully, flicking through swatches at an almost alarming speed, occasionally pausing to drape one over Jayce’s outstretched arm, only to snatch it back again with a dissatisfied click of her tongue. “White, gold, red,” she muttered to herself. “The usual, with the Talis insignias. But perhaps a deeper red this time, to contrast the—”

Jayce wasn’t listening. Somewhere between the second and third swatch, his brain had caught on a single phrase and refused to let go.

With the Talis insignias.

The image formed instantly and viciously— Viktor, standing beside him in his colors. Viktor, dressed in the insignia of his house. Signifying— what? That he belonged to Jayce? No, Viktor could never belong to anyone, not like that. But that he was a part of Jayce, of his world, of his legacy.

Something in Jayce’s chest clenched so tightly it may as well have snapped the cartilage between his ribs. Because that was still the truth, wasn’t it? That much wasn’t a lie.

He barely registered the fact that Francis had moved on to pinning a few swatches into place. His mind was stuck— lodged somewhere deep in the image of Viktor wrapped in his colors, a thought so all-consuming in its entirety that he almost didn’t notice the expectant pause hanging in the air.

“Well?” Francis prompted, snapping him back to the present. “Thoughts?”

Jayce swallowed hard, taking in a cursory look at the fabrics pinned to his torso. “Uh— oh, yeah. Yeah, that’s good.”

Francis arched a single eyebrow, but mercifully, she didn’t comment. Instead, she turned toward Viktor, already reaching for her measuring tape. “And for you, dear? Something complementary, I assume?”

Viktor sighed, gesturing towards the fabrics draped all over Jayce. “Is all this testing truly necessary?”

Francis leveled him with a stare, evidently unimpressed. “Yes.”

Something in Viktor’s expression twitched at that— amusement, perhaps, or maybe admiration at her bluntness— but he put up no further protest, allowing Francis to shoo them closer together, fussing over both of them at once.

Jayce barely managed to keep himself from staring outright.

They wouldn’t be identical. Francis wouldn’t allow that— she was fond of balance, as she had mentioned to him before, accounting for differences in build and frame. Jayce was broader, heavier in the shoulders, while Viktor was more sharp angles and lean lines. But the thought of them still matching in any way made something twist low in his gut.

“We’ll need a different cut to compliment your frame, of course,” Francis mused as she measured Viktor’s sleeve, jotting numbers down in easy, practiced motions. “And shoulder details wouldn’t suit you the way they do Councilor Talis. But perhaps…” She snapped her fingers. “A clasp. The insignias worked into the fastenings. And the colors, we’ll—”

Jayce found his voice before she could finish. “Actually—”

Both Francis and Viktor turned toward him, expectant.

Jayce shifted, rubbing the back of his neck. “I never asked. Viktor, are there— I mean, are there any Zaun colors or symbols you’d want to include? It doesn’t all have to be Talis themed. I’ve never really gone with anyone before.” That much wasn’t strictly true; he’d gone with Mel, once, but both of them already wore similar colors anyways, and had distinct insignias, so there wasn’t much compromise to be had.

There was a brief moment of silence.

Viktor blinked, caught visibly off guard. For the first time since stepping into the shop, his expression wavered. It wasn’t much— just a drop of his eyelids, a jump in his brow— but Jayce had spent enough time with him to recognize it for what it was.

“I—” Viktor hesitated, sparing half a glance to Francis as though uncertain how much he wanted to say. “Zaun does not have noble houses, Jayce. No crests, no colors of allegiance.”

Jayce frowned slightly. “I know. But that doesn’t mean there’s nothing.”

Viktor’s fingers curled briefly around the handle of his cane, tapping a slow rhythm against the metal. His gaze flickered downward, lost somewhere in thought.

Then, quietly— almost hesitantly, which was not a trait Jayce had ever attributed to him— “Dark green.”

Dark green. Not a political symbol, not a house color. Just something personal that Viktor had trusted him enough to share. Jayce smiled, something warm blooming in his chest cavity. 

“We can work that in, right?” he asked, turning to Francis, who was already moving again. 

“Of course,” she reassured, not blinking an eye at the discussion, nor the revelation that Viktor was not from Piltover. Jayce knew there had been a reason he liked her. “Gold and green work well together; I’ll figure out how to incorporate it. Perhaps in the lining or an accent along the seams.”

“Sounds good,” Jayce said, nodding a little too quickly. He wasn’t sure why he felt the need to move— to do something— but standing still suddenly felt impossible.

Viktor, meanwhile, tilted his head, eyeing the selection of fabrics still draped across Jayce’s arm as Francis began to unpin them.

“Such extensive deliberation,” he murmured— although strangely enough, his voice lacked the usual dry bite that came about whenever he criticized the fashion choices or habits of Piltover’s upper class.

Francis snorted. “You’d be surprised how much politics happens in tailoring, dear. For many, their outfits are a statement of affiliation.”

Viktor hummed, gaze flicking toward the deep green fabric Francis had pulled for his ensemble. He didn’t say anything, but Jayce caught the way his fingers brushed over the edge of it— light, absent, almost curious.

It wasn’t like Viktor to linger on things like this. He wasn’t indifferent, exactly, but he’d never seemed particularly invested in the way Piltover’s upper class did things, except to occasionally criticize them. Most times, he didn’t even bother to do that, though, dismissing that it was a waste of his time that could be used on ‘far more productive things.’

For once, Viktor didn’t look like he was humoring the situation, or mentally cataloging the inefficiencies of the process, or thinking of ways he could be spending his time elsewhere.

No, this was something different.

Jayce had spent years trying to read Viktor— learning the exact ways his expressions shifted when he was focused, when he was annoyed, when he was interested. And right now, Viktor was…

Well, Jayce didn’t know what he was.

Francis, evidently finished with her adjustments, took a step back and clapped her hands together. Jayce looked away from Viktor, suddenly feeling like he had been caught staring for too long.

“Alright,” she said, smiling brightly. “That should do it. You’ll both look stunning. I’ll have everything finished before the event. You can pick it up the day before.”

“Great.” Jayce turned his attention towards her, feeling strangely glad to be finished, even though she had been nothing but wonderful the entire time. “Thanks, Francis.”

She winked. “Try not to overthink it too much, Councilor.”

Jayce blinked. “Overthink what?” That was twice, now, that he’d been told not to overthink. He didn’t like the implications.

Unfortunately, just like Mel previously, Francis gave him a knowing smile but didn’t deign to answer, already turning away to gather her materials.

Jayce frowned, but before he could dwell on it, Viktor shifted beside him, adjusting his grip on his cane. “Well,” he said, tone light, “I believe we have endured enough spectacle for one evening.”

Jayce rolled his shoulders and stretched. “You say that like the actual event isn’t going to be ten times worse.”

Viktor shrugged. “Yes, but at least then, we will not be the ones standing still while others poke at us.” He shook an arm out, muttering. “Fashion should not require so many pins.”

Jayce huffed a laugh, but the words ricocheted around his skull regardless. We. Together. 

As if it were ever just that simple.

—

The night of the dinner arrived faster than Jayce was prepared for.

He knew it was coming, of course. Hard not to, with people bustling around outside the lab all afternoon— assistants coordinating last-minute preparations, council staff ensuring everything was running smoothly. Though that, in and of itself, was not unfamiliar; it happened every single time one of the councillors put on an event (which felt like every month, these days). No, it wasn’t the event itself, but the single confounding variable: Viktor.

Viktor, who had left early. To get ready.

Granted, it wasn’t unusual for Viktor to leave before him— for all his workaholic tendencies, sometimes he left early to work from his apartment, sometimes because his leg was bothering him, sometimes just because he wanted to be left alone with his thoughts. But today, Viktor had left to get ready . He had left, before Jayce had even brought it up, stating something about ‘not wanting to be rushed.’

Which meant Jayce had to leave, too.

And now, here he was. Back in the lab, waiting.

It was ridiculous, sitting here in his formalwear on the lab stool where they usually blew things up, but they’d agreed it was most practical to meet here before leaving. Viktor had pointed out that they would be expected to show up in the same carriage, unless they wanted to draw attention to the fact that they lived in separate apartments.

That logic, however, did not make him feel any less out of place.

Jayce shifted uncomfortably, glancing down at himself. Francis had, as always, done a fantastic job— his suit was well-fitted, taut across his chest and shoulders, though not to an uncomfortable degree. It was a far cry from his usual council attire, the high-collared white coat with the bold red and gold accents. This time, the colors had been balanced differently— still predominantly white; sharp ivory lapels, rich crimson and gold embroidery curling along the cuffs and shoulders, the Talis insignia embossed delicately on each shoulder pad. Francis had introduced a deep, forest-green vest beneath his jacket— the color undeniably chosen to match Viktor’s. And, to complete the look, a golden silk cravat, nestled beneath the collar on his neck, glimmering in the low light of the lab.

It was hardly the outfit itself that was making him so restless; it was well-made, well-fitted, as comfortable and high-quality as formal wear could be. Rather, it was the ever-persistent thought that Viktor would be wearing this, too, that made him unable to sit still.

He, admittedly, had no idea what Viktor’s would look like. Francis had worked on it separately, murmuring something about contrast and complementary styles, and Jayce hadn’t pressed for details. Now, though, he was sincerely regretting that.

The sound of Viktor’s cane against the wooden floor of the hallway brought him out of his reverie— a familiar, steady cadence. Jayce felt something tighten in his chest (anticipation, maybe?) before the door finally swung open.

Viktor stood, framed by the light of the doorway, and Jayce—

Well.

He’d never been a particularly religious man, but if he were ever to experience something akin to divine revelation, he suspected it would feel something like this.

There was something unmistakably surreal about the way Viktor stood there, haloed in the golden glow from the hallway, that made him understand the fine line between ordinary and extraordinary. Jayce had always known that Viktor was striking in his own right— impossible not to, with the arch of his cheekbones to the amber of his eyes, so full of sharp intelligence that they burned— but this was different.

He looked like something sculpted, something eternal. The kind of figure an artist would paint with a certain reverence; a moment of quiet divinity. The light carved into the sharp lines of his face, and for a second, Jayce could almost believe he’d stepped straight from the gilded murals of Piltover’s grand halls— a figure of brilliance, rendered in emerald and gold.

His coat— the same rich, deep green of Jayce’s vest— draped over his shoulders, the high collar nearly drawing up to the cut of his jaw. Unlike Jayce’s more structured silhouette, the lines of his body were soft, fluid. Underneath his coat, the top was a flowing, ivory-colored fabric, cinched at the waist with a sash the same shade of gold as Jayce’s cravat. The embroidery along the sleeves mirrored Jayce’s own, though inverted— where Jayce’s was mostly crimson with green accents, Viktor’s was emerald with red and gold filigree running in sharp, angular patterns across the cuffs. Each cuff and button, if he looked closely enough, was stamped with a small ‘T.’

Jayce swallowed, suddenly aware that he had been staring too long, that the silence had stretched a little too far. He cleared his throat, shifting on his feet. “You—” His voice cracked. He winced. “You look… good.”

Viktor arched a brow, the corner of his mouth curling slightly, though he didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he regarded Jayce with an expression he couldn’t quite decipher, gaze dragging over him, slow and deliberate. Jayce could have sworn his eyes darkened, the amber hue taking on something deeper and warmer. It was only a flicker— gone as soon as Jayce caught it— but it left him feeling hot all over.

Then, as if nothing had happened, Viktor exhaled through his nose, adjusting one of the gold buttons at his sleeve. “I should hope so, considering the amount of time Francis spent fitting it.”

Jayce felt vaguely unmoored. “Right,” he said, faintly, a half-second too late.

Viktor hummed, giving him another once-over.

Don’t overthink it, Mel had said.

Jayce stepped forward, closing the last bit of distance between them, and offered his arm. Viktor blinked at him, gaze flickering down to the gesture, then back up to Jayce’s face.

A pause.

Then, slow and deliberate, Viktor took it.

The fabric between them might as well have not existed, for the way Jayce’s skin burned at the contact.

His pulse thrummed at his throat, and he forced himself to exhale, to move, guiding them toward the door as if the act had been second nature all along. As if he weren’t hyper-aware of Viktor’s warmth next to him, Viktor’s fingers curled around his forearm, Viktor’s steps in sync with his.

It was fine. It was practice. They’d have to do this at the dinner, soon, anyways.

Viktor was the first one to break the silence. His voice came softer than usual, like the words had settled in the back of his throat before making their way out.

“My, such a gentleman,” he murmured, accent thick around the syllables.

Jayce swallowed. “I can be,” he responded, voice just as low and a little bit rough. “For the right partner.”

Viktor didn’t say anything at first— simply studying him, dissecting Jayce down to his very atoms, splitting him apart and putting him back together again. It made him understand, suddenly, why nuclear fusion produced heat— warmth thrumming beneath his skin, hot and molten.

Then, almost imperceptibly, Viktor’s lips quirked, the barest ghost of a smile. 

“Good.” His voice dipped into something dangerously close to indulgent. “I would hate to be in the care of anyone less.”

For a moment, neither of them moved. Jayce wondered, idly, whether Viktor realized, whether he had any idea how easily he could do this— how a single sentence could sink into Jayce’s ribs and settle there, burning slow, hotter than the forge he was accustomed to.

Then he blinked, and the illusion was broken. By nonverbal agreement, they made their way outside, gravel crunching beneath their feet.

The carriage ride to the Medarda estate was a quiet one. Not silent— Viktor wasn’t the type for silence, not truly, even when he wasn’t speaking— but the air between them was heavy; thick, like a muggy summer afternoon.

Jayce was too aware of Viktor’s presence beside him, of the way the flickering streetlights cast gold into his eyes, of the occasional brush of their sleeves when the carriage swayed. Viktor himself didn’t seem bothered by their proximity, although Jayce was too focused on the space between them (or lack thereof) to pay attention to much else.

The carriage rocked slightly as it slowed, pulling up to the Medarda estate. Beyond the window, the entrance was already alive with movement— carriages rolling in, guests making their way up the marble steps, chatter spilling out from behind the arching doors. Warm, flickering light glowed from the chandeliers inside; Jayce could see Mel’s hand in every gilded detail.

He exhaled, rolling his shoulders in a pitiful attempt to shake off the tension that had been steadily building all evening. Another part of the act, another role to play. Nothing different.

He turned to Viktor. “Last chance to bail.”

Viktor adjusted his cuffs once more, shooting Jayce a glance out of the corner of his eye. “Didn’t think you’d be one to back down from a challenge.”

Jayce scoffed. “I’m not.”

Viktor met his gaze head-on, then, something like amusement coloring his irises. “Good,” he stated, sounding satisfied, gesturing towards the carriage door. “Then after you, partner .”

Jayce hesitated for half a second before stepping out, blinking against the bright glow of the lanterns lining the path. He turned, instinctively offering his hand to Viktor before he could think better of it. Not because of the gesture itself— he was well aware of the expectations at these kinds of events— but because it was Viktor, and not anybody else. The two of them had never played this song and dance before, and Jayce was hesitant to step on his partner’s toes. Viktor was not one to tolerate most gestures of assistance, and he half-expected to be swatted with the other man’s cane for even attempting.

Viktor eyed his outstretched palm, head tilted to the side, a clear deliberation. Before Jayce could retract his arm, he took the proffered hand, fingers cool and steady against his own as he stepped from the carriage. Rather than letting go immediately, he let his palm slide along Jayce’s as he withdrew, drawing a deliberate line down his arm before settling in the crook of his elbow. Jayce swallowed and wet his lips, trying to ignore the way his skin tingled at the contact, adjusting the position of his arm automatically to allow for Viktor’s wrist to rest comfortably.

Viktor jerked his chin to the side, and Jayce followed the movement, spotting a cluster of patrons a few feet away, watching their arrival.

Ah. Right. The show.

They were putting on a show.

This, at least, wasn't unfamiliar. He knew how to play to a crowd, even with a different stage. The thing was, he wasn’t used to Viktor being part of the performance. Not because he ever shied from speaking his mind, but because had little patience for the empty grandeur of Piltover’s elite.

Viktor, with his sharp wit and sharper intellect, had spent years as his partner, counterbalancing him, grounding him, challenging him. Yet now was the first time Jayce truly had the chance to see him in a space Viktor typically dismissed as frivolous. He wasn’t nervous. He wasn’t hesitant. Jayce hadn’t expected him to be, not really— Viktor didn’t subscribe to insecurity in the way others did. He was often frustrated by the limitations of his body and his upbringing, but he knew his worth and understood the weight of his words to those who bothered to listen. Jayce had never seen him put on an act to play to peoples’ ideas— or, at least, not one so different from his usual countenance.

A slow smile tugged at Jayce’s lips.

Alright. If Viktor was going to play along, then so was he.

He adjusted his stance slightly as they started walking, angling himself toward Viktor, the shift making their proximity even more apparent. He caught a few side glances, a few raised brows, eyes flickering from him to Viktor, then back again— to their matching outfits and Viktor’s hand on his elbow.

Good. Let them look.

“Might as well give them a proper show,” he murmured, just loud enough for Viktor to hear.

“Oh? And what exactly does that entail?” He sounded amused, intrigued, even— but not alarmed. He trusted Jayce.

Jayce took that as tacit permission to shift, sliding his arm free of Viktor’s and letting his hand settle at the small of Viktor’s back, fingers curling around his waist. Viktor made a quiet noise in his throat— something that sounded suspiciously like approval— and didn’t pull away. Instead, he turned his head, glancing up at Jayce from beneath the sharp cut of his lashes.

“You are rather committed to the role,” he observed.

“Yeah, well, I don’t see you doing much about it,” Jayce murmured back in a low tone. It came across as a challenge, he knew it did, and a little thrill shot through him at the knowledge that Viktor never turned down a challenge.

Viktor hummed, considering. Then, abruptly, he stopped walking, forcing Jayce to halt with him.

Jayce barely had time to process the shift before Viktor’s hands were on him. His fingers found the fabric of Jayce’s cravat, adjusting it slowly, almost sensually— tugging at the silk, smoothing out what he was certain was an invisible imperfection. His knuckles brushed against the skin just beneath Jayce’s jaw; feather-light, but it was still enough to make every muscle in Jayce’s body lock up.

Jayce swallowed, suddenly and embarrassingly hyper-aware of Viktor’s proximity.

His breath was warm, fanning against Jayce’s cheek as he worked, entirely unhurried. Up close, Jayce could count the flecks of gold in Viktor’s irises, the sharp angles of his face softened by the glow of the chandeliers overhead.

They weren’t speaking. He should say something. He should move. He should—

“There,” Viktor murmured, finally releasing the silk, his fingers trailing over the muscles of Jayce’s neck, then the edges of his collar, before withdrawing entirely. His gaze flicked up, amusement curling the corners of his lips. “Now you are not doing all the work.”

For a second, Jayce just stood there, blinking down at him, brain caught in an infinite loop of Viktor’s hands were on me. Viktor’s breath was right there. Viktor’s fingers—

A ripple of murmurs reached his ears, just faint enough to remind him that they were very much still standing in the middle of the entrance, well within view of half a dozen guests. He cleared his throat, blinking rapidly and forcing his brain to do a rapid reboot. Viktor, for his part, looked smug, as though he’d beaten Jayce at his own challenge— and, well, he simply couldn’t have that.

“We’ll see about that,” he responded, proud of the way his voice remained level as his hand reclaimed its spot on Viktor’s waist. He gripped a bit tighter this time, a near-possessive curl of fingers, if only because he knew it would drive a reaction— albeit minor— from his partner, and he wanted to make it quite evident that this game was far from over.

They stepped further into the ballroom, and Jayce let his eyes sweep over the gathered crowd. As expected, there were plenty of curious glances, quiet observations being made behind raised champagne flutes. He caught one particularly persistent stare from an older councilman and— before he could think better of it— let his fingers skim lower, over the small of Viktor’s back. He didn’t even have to look to know it landed.

Viktor, for his part, did an admirable job in not reacting beyond the smallest of tremors. “Entertaining yourself, I see?”

Jayce couldn’t help but grin. “Maybe a little.”

“Ah, there you are,” a familiar voice spoke, causing both of them to turn in tandem. 

Mel.

Her outfit, as always, did not disappoint— a far more intricate version of her usual attire, gold draped delicately over every curve of her body. For a brief, absurd moment, Jayce could only see Viktor, earlier this evening, golden and glowing in the light from the doorway. Then he blinked, and it was Mel again, stepping towards them unhurriedly, with all the ease of someone who had already assessed the situation and found it to her liking. When her eyes met his, there was a certain kind of amusement in them, glimmering in a way that always made Jayce feel like she was three steps ahead of him in a game he didn’t even know they were playing— something that reminded him, yet again, of Viktor.

He straightened instinctively, shoulders squaring. Viktor, beside him, did no such thing. He simply tilted his head in vague acknowledgment, fingers idly tapping against the curve of his cane.

Mel’s eyes flickered between them, silent for just long enough to make Jayce feel like he should say something or do something, but then she spoke first.

“You two do make a striking pair,” she complimented. Jayce barely had time to process the words himself before Viktor responded.

“Do we?” he murmured, like he was genuinely considering the question for the first time. Jayce glanced at him out of the corner of his eye.

Mel made a humming noise in the back of her throat. “Well, it’s certainly what the people are saying,” she gestured to the hall around them.

Viktor’s lips quirked at the edges. “Aesthetic appeal is hardly the same as substance.” His eyes flickered to Jayce as he said it, and he was reminded of a conversation they’d had several times over.

Jayce furrowed his eyebrows and squinted. “Is this seriously you calling me superficial again?”

Viktor smiled placidly. “Whatever would make you think such a thing?”

Mel smiled, slow and sharp. “Oh, I wouldn’t worry, Jayce. I believe this particular instance is the exception.” Her eyes flicked to Viktor. “He does perform admirably, does he not?” 

There was something lethal about the way she said the words, something that set alarm bells ringing in Jayce’s head. Because that was the very same tone Viktor used when he knew he was winning a challenge, and it was the same one he was using to respond now, too.

Viktor clicked his tongue. “Such personal questions tonight, Miss Medarda,” he responded lowly.

Mel didn’t waver. If anything, her smile grew more coy. “Oh, but you don’t seem opposed to answering them.” Jayce opened his mouth to ask them both what the hell they were on about, but she continued speaking. “I only meant to admire the commitment. I imagine it must be… exhausting, keeping up with him.”

“Ah, yes, well,” Viktor responded. “Some things are worth the trouble, as you know.”

Jayce opened his mouth, then shut it again, because something about this conversation was shifting beneath his feet, something he wasn’t quite grasping. He wasn’t used to feeling so out of depth in a conversation, so much like a bystander in his own interaction. Even if he walked into the middle of something that had started long before he’d arrived, he was usually able to take course with ease.

“Well,” Mel spoke, feigning a thoughtful sigh. “I mustn’t keep you both too occupied.” She turned to Jayce, eyes gleaming. “Though I must say, I do expect a dance from you later.”

Jayce nodded absently in agreement, still caught halfway through trying to decipher the last few minutes.

Then she continued with a glance toward Viktor, “If you’ll allow it, of course.” 

Jayce barely had time to process before Viktor replied smoothly, “I suppose that can be arranged.”

Jayce blinked. Once. Twice. It wasn’t until Mel had inclined her head in a nod and stepped away that he found his voice again. “Hold on a minute— why does she think I need permission from you ?”

Viktor turned his head toward him, and the look on his face made something in Jayce’s stomach lurch.

“Do you?” Viktor asked mildly.

“ No ,” he emphasized. “Why would I?” Even if they were actually dating— which they weren’t — it wasn’t a conclusion that made particular sense.

Viktor didn’t answer. Didn’t even react, really. He only tilted his head slightly, considering, and— no. No, there was nothing to consider here. It was a weird choice of words, that was all. Mel was just being her usual vague self, and Viktor was—

Jayce’s thoughts came to a screeching halt.

He replayed the conversation in his head. Not just the last few seconds, but the whole thing— Mel’s words, Viktor’s responses. The pauses between them.

Such personal questions tonight.
Exhausting, keeping up with him.
Some things are worth the trouble.
Commitment.
Effort.

The phrasing. The tone. The fact that neither of them had so much as looked at Jayce while they’d been speaking, like the conversation wasn’t even about him—

No. No, that wasn’t right.

It was, in fact, about him.

Or more accurately, it had been about—

Jayce’s stomach dropped, organs sliding into freefall. His face went hot so fast he thought for a second he might be having some kind of allergic reaction. Because that hadn’t been a casual conversation about their partnership. That had been the two of them conspiring, right in front of his face.

Mel had been—

And Viktor had—

Jayce’s mouth opened, then snapped shut, feeling for all the world like the last person to catch onto a joke that had already been laughed over and forgotten. 

Now, Jayce was far from a sheltered man. But he hadn’t made the connection before, between what Mel and Viktor would have in common, even though it should have been obvious— because he and Viktor weren’t really together, not like he and Mel had been (however briefly). They’d never done that , because they weren’t really— hell, they didn’t even really like each other that way, it was all for show—

(Don’t think about that right now.)

But Mel didn’t know that. She had implied. And, worse, Viktor had let her. He’d played along. Like it was nothing. Like it wasn’t a big deal. Like he wasn’t standing here now with his fingers resting lightly on his cane while Jayce experienced a full-body crisis.

People thought— people assumed—

Of course they’d assumed. It was a logical conclusion. But Jayce hadn’t, he hadn’t considered it, hadn’t thought of it. He couldn’t be thinking about it, not here and now.

And yet, that was exactly what was happening, because his brain had latched onto the implication of it, onto the idea of what people must think, of how they must picture it— of the fact that Viktor must have considered it. And now he was picturing it, except it didn’t exist, and that should have been enough to kill the thought dead except that now he was wondering—

(If they did—)

Jayce inhaled sharply through his nose, too sharply, like he could physically exhale the thoughts out of existence if he tried hard enough.

He had to stop. He needed to stop.

But then Viktor shifted beside him, rolling his shoulders, adjusting the angle of his stance, and Jayce’s brain, already operating on dangerously thin ice, caught on the simple fact that Viktor was lean.

Lean and sharp and— fuck, that wasn’t the point. That was so, so not the point here.

He needed a reset. A distraction. Something to pull him out of his own head before he actually lost his grip on reality.

And that was when he spotted Cassandra Kiramman a few paces away.

Ah. Perfect.

“Councilor Kiramman,” he greeted, practically dragging Viktor along with him as he took a few large steps in her direction. He wasn’t sure he had ever been so glad to see her in his life.

Cassandra turned at the sound of her name, eyebrows rising slightly in surprise. “Jayce,” she greeted warmly, then inclined her head slightly. “And your partner. Viktor, was it?”

Viktor gave the same mild nod in greeting, but Jayce wasn’t looking at him now; he couldn’t afford it until his mind settled. He was focused on Cassandra, who— thankfully— seemed willing to indulge him in decidedly casual conversation. Something that didn’t involve Viktor’s voice in his ear or Viktor’s presence lingering too close or Viktor , in general. Which, usually, he would not consider to be a positive outcome in any regard, but at the present moment it was actually a relief for their supposed relationship to not be the center of every conversation.

Viktor, naturally, had no interest in such formalities. He listened in silence for a few moments at first, gaze flickering between Jayce and Cassandra with something just shy of amusement, a spectator to Jayce’s obvious attempt at self-preservation. Then, rather than offering his usual sardonic interjections, he shifted his weight toward Jayce, just enough that their arms brushed.

Jayce ignored it.

Then Viktor did it again.

A nudge. A shift. Barely anything, except Jayce’s nerves were already frayed, and the contact sent a pulse of heat straight to his throat.

Still, he refused to react. He kept talking, kept engaging, determined to pretend Viktor wasn’t very deliberately invading his space.

And then— just as Jayce was taking what he thought was safe refuge in a response about industrial zoning policies— he felt it.

Viktor’s fingers, slinking along the inside of his wrist.

The touch was deceptively light, almost idle, but it didn’t matter— Jayce’s breath hitched, words stalling mid-sentence. He knew, immediately, that it wasn’t accidental. And, worse still, Cassandra noticed; whether because of his reaction or because she had sharp eyes (Cait had inherited them from somewhere, after all), he wasn’t certain. Not that it mattered.

Her gaze flicked down, taking in the movement, the touch, the ease of it, tilting her head in mild curiosity. “It does suit you,” she said, voice even. “Your partnership,” she elaborated, as though it wasn’t obvious. “You will likely be hearing from Caitlyn soon, I imagine. She’s quite happy for you, although particularly displeased at not hearing about it sooner. Actually, she’s here tonight, although whether she’s already slipped away is—” A sigh. “—yet to be determined.”

Jayce winced at the amusement in her voice, already imagining the reaming out he was going to get from Cait. This was all Viktor’s fault. He was doing it on purpose.

Fine.

If Viktor wanted to play this game, then Jayce was going to win it.