Chapter Text
It starts with the rain.
Or maybe with the cold.
Jayce can’t quite decide which should be higher on the list of things that he doesn’t like about the country, but neither works well with the genius idea that brought him here in the first place. To this soggy, freezing corner of the world so far from the blue skies and dry heat he grew up with.
Edinburgh’s charm, he’s been told plenty of times by many (many) people on his first week, is in its cobblestone streets and its castle looming like a ghost over the city. But currently, Jayce is too focused on keeping his coffee from spilling while the wind attempts to rip it out of his hands to notice any of it.
Not that this coffee deserves saving. Weak and lukewarm, it’s a poor substitute for his go-to gas station brew back home, served boiling and strong enough to survive a Texas summer. He misses it. Cheap, dependable, and exactly what mornings like this demand.
He dodges a puddle, but maybe he should’ve simply walked over it considering he nearly loses his footing on the slick stones while going at it. Fucking hell, a quiet curse under his breath, he isn’t built for this, and neither is his wardrobe. Still, he’s trudging up the hill to the university’s Physics and Engineering building so early that the sun is only starting to rise.
Because apparently, you don’t get to make groundbreaking discoveries and avoid morning lectures at the same time.
For the record, Jayce usually enjoys teaching. He likes the questions, the curiosity, that moment when a studen finally grasps a difficult concept. But today? Today, he wants to be at home. Real home. Where the temperature dares to rise above sixty degrees on a regular basis. Somewhere with actual sunshine and air that doesn’t feel like a wet towel smacking him in the face every time he steps outside.
He sighs as he pushes through the heavy wooden doors of the building, shaking off the rain like a drenched dog. Inside it’s no better, not really. The temperature only climbs up by an inch, like the building’s heating system is as old as the stone walls. He drags a hand through his wet hair, flicking droplets onto the worn carpet as he makes his way down the corridor. If only there was decent lighting, Jayce wouldn’t have to feel like the defensless protagonist roaming a haunted castle in a black and white movie from the 20’s.
There’s a moment of pure delirium when he checks his watch to see if it’s midnight indeed. But the numbers only tell him how he has twelve minutes to go. Enough time to wring out his coat and maybe salvage what’s left of his dignity before the students start filing into the lecture hall. His office is just ahead, one step, two, three, maybe four if he’s dragging his legs.
He’s almost there. Almost. Except, there’s a voice freezing him in place: sharp, clipped, and undeniably accented.
“Careful. You’ll drown half the department.”
Jayce turns, just a bit frustrated, only to find Viktor leaning against the doorframe of his own office, a cup of tea steaming in his hand. The sweater he’s wearing is new, or at least, Jayce hasn’t seen it before. A soft reddish-brown knit that hangs loosely on his shoulders, the sleeves just a bit too long, ending at his knuckles. The colour should wash him out, but instead, it softens his complexion, the faint flush from the cold adding a bit of life to his otherwise ghostly appearance.
Wait. Pause. No. Full stop.
“How are you not wet?” Jayce asks, and only when the words are out does he realise how clumsy they are. His brain stalls. Oh no. A flush starts low in his chest, creeping up his neck and settling in his cheeks because now he just can’t unthink it. He swallows hard, guilt curling low inside his gut because why on earth his mind would go there? Actually, that’s relatively easy to answer: involuntary celibacy.
Viktor raises a single eyebrow, his lips twitching in what might be the beginning of a smile. “Umbrella,” he says, lifting his tea as if the explanation couldn’t possibly be more obvious. It couldn’t; Jayce is just a fool. “You’ve heard of it, eh?”
The sweater clings to Viktor’s frame just enough to be distracting, and again, Jayce’s mind, the traitorous thing, latches onto that. Not Viktor’s perfectly logical explanation. Or the fact that he’s making fun of Jayce. No, it’s how Viktor doesn’t look rushed, doesn’t look all over the place. Doesn’t look like he’s just come in from the same weather that turned Jayce into a drowned rat. Instead, he looks—
Jayce clears his throat, a little too loudly. “Right, uh. Umbrella. Makes sense,” he says, his words stumbling over each other as if trying to escape before he makes things worse.
Oh, but it still makes it worse.
“Is that surprising to you?” Viktor asks, a tiny bit of amusement slipping into his tone.
“No!” Jayce says too fast. God, maybe he should just stop talking. “I just— Look, it’s been a long morning, okay? I wasn’t thinking.”
“I noticed. Though, eh, I assumed that was your default state.”
Jayce shifts awkwardly, his wet shoes squeaking as if to punctuate his discomfort. He hates how flustered he feels, how ridiculous he must look. It’s not like Viktor is doing anything on purpose. Hell, he’s barely even moved, but somehow, that makes it worse.
“So, uh,” Jayce starts, vaguely gesturing at the cup in Viktor’s hand. “What’s that? Earl Grey? Chamomile?”
“Black with lemon.” Viktor tilts his head as if considering whether Jayce deserves more of his time. Turns out, he does. “Would you also like an analysis of its chemical composition?” There’s another pause. Only long enough for Jayce to open his mouth to retort, but no more. “Eh, no need to feel left out. I can brew you a cup if you’re that curious.”
“Okay, fine,” Jayce groans because even he has a limit for taunting. “Mock the guy battling the elements for the last twenty minutes.”
Viktor chuckles, the sound low and brief, sending an annoying jolt through Jayce’s chest. “I wasn’t mocking. Simply observing.”
“Well, observe this,” Jayce mutters, waving a hand at his soggy coat before turning toward his office door. “I’m going to dry off, and you can go back to whatever it is you were doing. Looking smug. Drinking tea. Wearing sweaters.”
“Careful,” Viktor calls after him, the amusement still thick through his words. As much as his accent. “With flattery like that, I might think you’re fond of me.”
Jayce stops just short of his door, his breath hitching despite himself. He’s not sure if Viktor meant it as a joke or if it’s just his own overactive brain twisting the words into something more. He risks a glance back and finds Viktor already retreating into his office, the door closing behind him.
Jayce exhales slowly.
He thought the weather had secured first place on his list of grievances, but now he isn’t so sure. What is worse, the rain on his skin or Viktor under it?
The ink hadn’t even dried up on Jayce’s PhD diploma when the job offer landed in his inbox. Prestigious, well-funded, and in a country he had never even considered moving to. At the time, it had seemed like the opportunity of a lifetime. A chance to carve his name into the world of innovation and research. But being there now, staring at a stack of unread emails, most marked urgent in varying degrees of exaggeration, Jayce wonders if he’d been too eager to say yes.
For all its good reputation, the university could be maddeningly slow at times. Paperwork stuck in limbo, requests for lab equipment vanishing into the ether, and meetings scheduled at the worst possible hours. Jayce hadn’t realised how much of his life would be eaten up by administrative nonsense.
He came here to innovate, teach, and change the game, but lately, it feels like, he spends more time fighting bureaucracy than breaking ground.
And there’s Viktor.
Viktor, who had arrived six months earlier, was already familiar with the department by the time Jayce showed up. Viktor, who speaks with a careful rhythm, his accent shaping each word like it’s meant to cut. Viktor, who always seems to know exactly where to press to make Jayce second-guess himself. Not intentionally, at least, Jayce doesn’t think so, but in a way that makes every interaction feel like a puzzle he hasn’t solved yet.
Then there are minor things that Jayce has absolutely no business tracking and making mental notes of. For one, how Viktor’s cane taps against the ground like a second heartbeat in every room he enters. How his fingers linger on the edges of his books, running lightly over the spines. How he talks to others, not unkind, but distant, his words cautiously chosen, as though he is holding a part of himself back.
When Jayce first arrived, he had heard the rumours. Gossip from students about Viktor’s transition was exchanged in hushed tones like it was some secret worth unearthing. At the time, Jayce had wondered, too. But then he’d seen Viktor in action, watched how he moved through the world with quiet, unshakable conviction, and realised he didn’t need answers to questions Viktor hadn’t offered. Viktor wasn’t mysterious because of some buried history. Viktor was just extraordinary, full stop.
Jayce came here to make his mark, and somehow, it’s Viktor who, without even trying, has carved out a space in his head.
It’s not admiration, though Jayce could probably convince himself it was if he tried hard enough. It’s not dislike either because, despite the frequent tension between them, Jayce respects Viktor far too much for that. No, it’s something far more complicated, something that nags at the edge of Jayce’s thoughts, insistent and unyielding.
Jayce groans, willing himself to focus on the Prague conference presentation still open on his laptop. The numbers and bullet points blur together as he tries to organise his thoughts into something presentable. It’s not Viktor’s fault. Well, not entirely. But there’s no denying that the man is a constant distraction.
Case in point, Jayce knows Viktor is approaching his office before he even enters the room from the faintest sound of his cane. Like some Pavlovian response, Jayce sits up straighter, his heart lurching. It’s ridiculous. Like his body has decided that Viktor is some kind of event to prepare for, even though it’s probably just another meeting or, worse, another observation. Jayce barely has time to arrange his expression into something resembling neutrality before the door swings open.
“Busy?” Viktor asks, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation. His cane taps against the floor as he crosses the room, one, two, three, too many steps. He’s too close. He’s also carrying a folder, which he sets down on Jayce’s desk without a preamble.
“Depends on what you’re about to ask,” Jayce shoots back, leaning back in his chair. A vain attempt at pretending to be unaffected. “What’s this?”
“I need your help.”
Oh. That one is new for sure. Viktor never asks for help, at least, not from him. “With what exactly?”
“A knee joint prosthetic,” Viktor elaborates. “Specifically, one capable of supporting variable load distribution without sacrificing flexibility or durability.”
“Alright,” Jayce says slowly. This is nowhere near his actual field of study, but he can be a wall to bounce ideas off of. “What’s the issue with your current model?”
“Several issues.” Viktor taps the folder with a finger. “As you can see here.”
Jayce finally flips open the folder, his eyes scanning the schematics inside. The sketches are meticulous, and the notes are full of technical jargon, but it’s clear that Viktor’s design is ambitious. Too ambitious for the materials it relies on.
“You’re asking the wrong questions,” Jayce says after a moment. Well, maybe he can be more than just a wall, after all. “The problem isn’t just the materials. It’s the whole structure. You need a hybrid assembly. Something with a carbon fibre framework for flexibility, but reinforced with a high-strength polymer to handle the load.”
Something changes about Viktor, then. His shoulders drop slightly. “And you believe you can design such an assembly?”
“Believe?” Jayce asks back, supposed incompatence long forgotten. “I know I can. The question is, how fast do you need it?”
“Yesterday, ideally,” Viktor says dryly, his free hand finding its resting place over the edge of Jayce’s desk. “It’s urgent.”
Jayce chuckles, shaking his head. “Alright, alright. I’ll take a crack at it. Give me a day or two to run some simulations.”
“Good. The sooner, the better.” With that Viktor turns to leave, the tap of his cane echoing in the quiet office.
“Hey,” Jayce calls after him, and Viktor pauses at the door, glancing back. “Why not just go to one of the biomechanics specialists? This seems more up their alley.”
“I did,” Viktor says, and there’s that look again. As if the explanation couldn’t possibly be more obvious. “They lacked creativity.”
Jayce swallows that weird little feeling crawling up his throat. “Creativity?”
“Your work has flaws.” Viktor tilts his head slightly as if appraising him. “But it is rarely uninspired.”
Then, without another word or an explanation, he turns on his heel and walks out of the office. Jayce stares after him, mouth slightly open, the schematics still spread out before him.
“Rarely uninspired,” he repeats under his breath, with a touch of mockery, as though saying it aloud will make it sound less loaded.
But it doesn’t. It sticks.
The door swings open again, startling him.
Viktor is back, standing in the doorway like he hadn’t just left Jayce’s brain in a knot. “One more thing,” he says, his tone deceptively casual.
“Uh, yeah?” Jayce sits up straighter, scrambling to look composed. “What’s up?”
“The carbon fiber-polymer hybrid you mentioned,” Viktor starts, “Ensure the joints allow for a modular design. It will need to accommodate future updates.”
“Modular, right, of course.” Jayce nods quickly, trying to focus on the technical point instead of the way Viktor’s accent shapes every word like it’s something sacred. “Makes sense.”
“Good.” Viktor doesn’t move, his gaze lingering a second too long, and Jayce swears he feels his face heat under the scrutiny.
“Anything else?”
“No. That will be all,” Viktor says, and his lips twitch, not quite a smile, but close enough. Then, he turns to leave, but before he steps out, he adds, “You are remarkably easy to read, Jayce.”
Jayce’s brain short-circuits. “What?” he asks, spinning his chair to face the door.
But Viktor doesn’t answer. The door clicks shut behind him, leaving Jayce gaping at the empty space where he’d just been.
It takes three days.
Three days of late nights, coffee-stained notes, and simulated fractures before Jayce finally figures out a starting point for Viktor’s knee joint design. By the time he sends the updated schematics, the sun has long disappeared, and his desk is littered with crumpled drafts and empty takeout boxes. He’s not expecting a response until the morning, but Viktor is nothing if not punctual.
“You’re still awake,” Viktor’s voice comes through Jayce’s phone not ten minutes after the email is sent. Somehow, both accusatory and impressed.
Jayce leans back in his chair, rubbing a hand over his face. “Didn’t peg you for someone who checks their email this late.”
“I do not sleep much,” Viktor says. Jayce could picture him shrugging and maybe sitting on his couch. Wearing pajamas and all. Stop. “Your designs show potential, but, eh, there are flaws.”
“Flaws, huh? Care to elaborate, or do I get to guess?”
There’s a pause long enough for Jayce to feel self-conscious. “Come to the lab,” Viktor says finally. “It is easier to show you.”
Jayce blinks at the time. It’s just past midnight, which, funnily enough, works too well with his recurring horror movie fantasy of the city. “You sure?” he asks still. “Not exactly peak hours for collaboration.”
“Peak hours are irrelevant,” Viktor says, and probably for the first time, he sounds excited. Well, something close to that. “But if you are too tired, I can wait.”
“Nah, I’m awake. Be there in twenty.”
Distantly aware that it might be their first meeting outside of working hours, Jayce pulls his jacket tighter against the wind. The rain has stopped for the day, but the chill hasn’t relented, and the slick cobblestones are still shiny under the streetlights. His mind is too restless to focus on the cold, though. Too caught up in everything that could go wrong.
It’s not exactly his field. Biomedical engineering and prosthetics are specialities for people who have spent years studying anatomy, material science, and biomechanics. Jayce is good (great, even) at mechanical engineering, but this? This is winging it.
Rarely uninspired.
Jayce shakes his head, picking up his pace. Maybe he is overthinking. No, he is definitely overthinking.
The lights are already on when he reaches the lab, spilling a pale yellow glow into the hallway. As he pushes the door open, it creaks slightly, and he steps inside to find Viktor hunched over a workbench, his cane propped against the table.
The scene is quintessential Viktor. Focused, precise, and utterly unbothered by the late hour.
“You’re here,” Viktor says without looking up.
“I told you I’m coming,” Jayce says, slightly out of breath. There’s no time to catch it, though. He shrugs off his jacket at once and drapes it over a nearby chair. He wants to be there, to see, to know. Only a second later he’s already peering over Viktor’s shoulder.
The workbench is cluttered with parts, tiny gears, polymer sheets, and what looks like a partially assembled knee joint.
“So,” Jayce starts, leaning against the table’s edge, “What’s wrong with my design? Be gentle.”
“Gentle?” Viktor glances at him. “Do you like it gentle?”
Jayce scrambles to process the words. Do you like it gentle? His mind trips over itself, jumping over professionalism and landing squarely in dangerous territory.
“What?” Jayce finally asks, his voice a little too high, a little too panicked.
Viktor doesn’t miss a beat, tilting his head slightly with a faint smile. “You asked me to be gentle,” he repeats. “Should I assume that is your preference, or are you simply afraid of critique?”
“I—I didn’t mean it like that!” Jayce sputters, dragging a hand through his hair in a futile attempt to compose himself.
“Mm.” Viktor hums, turning his attention back to the prototype on the table. “Good. Because I do not believe in coddling when it comes to engineering. Precision demands honesty.”
“Alright, yeah,” Jayce forces the words out. “Lay it on me, then.”
Hours pass in a blur of adjustments, calculations, and quiet conversation. It’s almost comfortable, the rhythm they fall into. By the time the clock edges past three in the morning, the prototype is beginning to resemble something functional. It’s still crude, still far from perfect, but there’s a spark of promise.
“Hold this,” Viktor murmurs, sliding a slim, reinforced pin toward Jayce. His focus is locked on the assembly in front of them, his fingers adjusting the alignment of two polymer components.
Jayce takes the pin, his fingers brushing Viktor’s in the process. He pretends not to notice, forcing his grip to stay steady as Viktor leans closer to inspect the assembly. The lab feels too quiet. Suffocating.
“You’re holding it crooked,” Viktor says. His hand moves to adjust Jayce’s grip, and their hands overlap entirely for a second.
“Maybe you’re assembling it crooked,” Jayce mutters, unable to resist the quip. Goodness gracious, why does he sound like that?
Viktor glances at him, and for a moment, Jayce swears he sees something flicker in his eyes, something entirely out of place in the clinical lab setting.
Jayce’s pulse quickens. It’s a stupid reaction, really. They’re working, Viktor’s probably not even aware of the contact, and yet all Jayce can think about is how close they are. Closer than they’ve ever been. Closer than they probably should be.
“You’re distracted,” Viktor says suddenly. The understatement of the century.
“I’m not—” Jayce starts, but the words falter when Viktor tilts his head.
“You are,” Viktor counters, and he almost sounds curious. “Your grip is slipping.”
Jayce looks down at the assembly, realising Viktor’s right. He adjusts his hold quickly, muttering an apology under his breath. Viktor doesn’t move away, though. If anything, he leans in further, his focus locked on Jayce as if the prototype no longer matters.
“You’re too close,” Jayce says before he can stop himself, the words slipping out in a rush.
Viktor’s lips twitch, his version of a smile. Subtle, knowing, and a little infuriating. “Am I?” he asks, the question almost a whisper.
“Yes,” Jayce says, though his voice lacks conviction, his traitorous brain supplying the thought: not close enough. He swallows hard, his heart pounding in his chest. His eyes flicker down to Viktor’s lips before he can stop himself, and when he realises what he’s done, his face burns.
“Jayce,” Viktor says quietly, his voice a little softer than usual, the accent curling around the syllables. It’s not a question or command, just his name, drawn out like a tether.
The world narrows to the space between them for one suspended moment. Viktor’s so close now that Jayce can feel the warmth of his breath, and his chest tightens with the overwhelming urge to close the gap.
But then he doesn’t.
He leans back instead, his movements awkward, like a rubber band snapping back into place. “We should—uh—test the joint,” he says, his voice a little too loud and forced.
“Of course,” Viktor says. He turns his attention back to the prototype. As if nothing ever happened. “We will need to run multiple simulations.”
Jayce grabs a nearby tool to busy his hands. His face still must be red and he knows Viktor must have noticed, but neither of them acknowledges it.
It goes on for a while. The silence. Jayce wonders if it’s possible he will drown in it.
“How’s your presentation for the Prague conference coming along?” Viktor asks suddenly, ending Jayce’s suffocation.
“I’m working on it,” Jayce says, somewhat awkwardly. When did he forget how to talk to another person? “The slides are almost done. Why?”
“They asked me to go as well. Instead of Heimerdinger.”
“Wait, I thought Heimerdinger was presenting the keynote.”
Viktor adjusts the alignment of a polymer joint. “He was. Unfortunately, he is indisposed.” He glances up. “Health concerns. His physician advised against travelling at the last minute.”
“Wow.” Jayce huffs, still confused. Because shouldn’t someone have mentioned that to him? “That’s, I mean, I hope he’s alright.”
“He is old,” Viktor says matter-of-factly. “Age comes with limitations, as I am sure you will discover one day.”
Jayce watches him work silently for a moment, the weight of the conversation settling in. Prague. With Viktor. It’s not just about sharing a professional stage. It’s the days leading up to it. The travel, the rehearsals, and the chance encounters during coffee breaks and dinners. All of it pressed together like some highly combustible chemical reaction waiting to happen.
“That’s kind of a big deal, though,” Jayce says finally, his voice trying and failing to sound casual. “You stepping in. It’s a lot of responsibility.”
Viktor tilts his head, adjusting a screw. “I am capable.”
“Of course you are,” Jayce blurts, stumbling over his words. “I didn’t mean—well, I’m just saying, it’s big. That’s all.” Heat creeps into his face, and he curses himself for how obvious it must look.
Viktor pauses. “Are you surprised?”
“A little,” Jayce admits, his fingers drumming nervously against the workbench. “I mean, not that you wouldn’t be the first choice after Heimerdinger. You’re—you know—brilliant.”
“A glowing review,” Viktor hums, and oh, he’s smiling. “Should I include that in my conference biography?”
“Very funny,” Jayce mutters. “You know what I mean.”
Viktor returns to the prototype, the smile lingering as if savouring Jayce’s discomfort. “I believe I do.”