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“You know, I’ve never had anyone come in here to buy measurements.”
The tailor flips through the worn pages of their huge old notebook, thick and bound in leather.
“A tape measure, once. A godawful long time ago. But not measurements.”
They glance at Viktor apprehensively. Viktor’s nose wrinkles, itching from the flying dust and the smell of ink on yellowed parchment.
“Usually, people just ask me to make whatever they need. Feels strange to sell a client’s measurements, you know?” They shrug, nonchalant. “Not that I care. Money’s money. It’s not like measurements could be worthy blackmail material, but still. It’s weird.”
They look up and stare oddly at Viktor, as if to emphasise just how fucking weird they think it is. Viktor’s fingers twitch around the handle of his cane, annoyed.
“Perhaps you should have considered that when I offered to take it off your hands for free.”
The tailor’s face twists in disgust.
“Free? No way! I gotta make business somehow.”
They resume their search through their absurdly thick measurement book. Viktor watches him silently, seething.
“Let’s see here…mmm…aha!”
They fish out a paper, waving it in the air. Then they hold it out to Viktor between two fingers, eyeing him curiously, an eyebrow raised.
“You sure you don’t want me to make..whatever it is you want made?”
Viktor takes the paper, unfolding it along the crease. The tailor is rambling on again, something about prices and quality, but Viktor isn’t listening anymore. His thumb brushes over the letters of Jayce’s name, scribbled along the top. It reminds him, achingly, of when Viktor had first thumbed through Jayce’s notebook, filled to the brim with manic sketches, and of course, his signature, feverishly scratched into the corner of every page.
It was his theories that had intrigued Viktor first and foremost, that much is true. But it was his ambition which Viktor first recognized, his desperation which Viktor first saw himself in, spilling from every haphazard letter of his notes—a wild hubristic desire just this side of madness. Viktor had peered into his writings and found instead a mirror, reflecting his own secret cravings, that same innate, immutable urge to pursue some greater knowledge and achieve some greater good, but not only that, to mark it with his name.
And it wasn’t just lofty dreamings. His notes weren’t just the musings of a madman, but a genuine intellectual pursuit into a domain no one dared to try. This man had the sharpness to carve the vision and the drive to see it through. He dared to ask the question and chase the answer. Most Pilties don’t ever go down into Zaun, and most certainly do not buy illicit materials from shady undercity stores to conduct illegal research.
Viktor had known from the very first moment they’d met. From the blackboards in the rubble of his blown up apartment, from his impassioned speech in the courtroom, from his frankly neurotic notes—Jayce Talis is different. Brilliant. Rare.
And not a single other person cared to see it. How could they shun a man brimming with such potential? How could they be so blind to a mind so bright?
Yes, it was his theories that first drew Viktor to him, but it wasn’t what kept him, wasn’t the reason he sought Jayce out. It was the mind behind it, the man himself, his will and his audacity to dream which possessed Viktor, inspired him, rekindled his own audaciousness.
Jayce made him brave. Jayce made him daring. Daring enough to go behind Heimerdinger’s back, daring enough to swipe the notebook, daring enough to seek Jayce out.
It’s just too bad it didn’t make him any braver when it came to…matters of the heart. He was never brave enough to breathe a word of this to Jayce. Then the world sought to cow Jayce’s spirit, steer him towards their own agendas, and Viktor? Viktor had pressed his lips together and remained silent. He’d let it happen.
If he hadn’t…would things have been different?
“Hey, are you even listening?”
The tailor’s voice snaps him from his thoughts. Viktor steps back, just in time to avoid the tailor’s hand coming down onto his shoulder.
“Really not gonna consider-”
“No. Your services are not required. These measurements are sufficient.” He drops a pouch of coins on the counter, nodding curtly at it. “This is enough, yes?”
The tailor grabs at it, beginning to count them out, but Viktor has run out of patience to spare. He turns sharply on his feet.
“Wait-”
“That will be all then. Thank you. Goodbye.”
He strides out of the shop, ignoring the tailor’s noise of protest. Carefully, he folds the slip of paper and tucks it safely in his pocket. Then he sets off at a brisk pace back through the weaving alleys of the undercity.
He has a lot to do and a day to do it.
It’s a short journey back to their humble abode, a little nook they carved out for themselves, near the roots of the great tree at the heart of the Firelights’ safe haven. Ekko, ever so gracious, had offered to accommodate them elsewhere, but neither Viktor nor Jayce had wanted to impose. The community was overcrowding with refugees as is, occupying precious room was out of the question.
Besides, it wasn’t too hard for him and Jayce to build a place for themselves, somewhere a little more discreet yet low level enough to not pose any issue to their legs. Building and architecture…aren’t their area of expertise, but with Ekko’s help, and some other Firelights’ assistance, their little hideaway slowly became less makeshift and more habitable.
The space is small, rough, and missing plenty. But…it’s home now. It’s where he and Jayce spend most of their time. And living together with Jayce? It’s taken getting used to, but Viktor is getting used to it. It’s…nice. Living with someone else for a change.
They’d been close enough to it, back in the early days, in the lab where they spent nearly all their waking hours (and more often than not, their non-waking ones too). But that had been under a formal setting in a strictly working environment. Though the lines…blurred over time, they'd still somewhat functioned under the guise of a working relationship.
Now? In a shared home? This…decidedly domestic setting they’re cohabitating nearly 24/7?
It’s wonderful. It’s terrible. It’s too much and not enough. Living together is a dream and a nightmare. It’s everything Viktor had imagined and hadn’t dared to imagine.
Jayce is a constant presence. Constant. Not that Jayce coddles him—he knows better than to do that, and Viktor would rip him a new one if he tried—but the companionship is…overwhelming. Overwhelming, yet comforting. Overwhelmingly comforting. How could it not be, with Jayce? His smiles, so warm and earnest, and all for Viktor, despite how much he less than deserves it.
And the touches, god. Jayce had always been open with his emotions, and he’d never been shy to express it, either through a reassuring hand on the shoulder, or sometimes, rarely, a hug of pure excitement after a breakthrough. Physical affection came to him as easily and naturally as breathing, a thoughtless impulse he acted on without reservation.
But lately…it’s like he can’t keep his hands to himself. Whenever they’re in the same room (which is nearly always), there’s at least one point of contact between them, be it an arm round the shoulder, or their knees knocking under the dining table, or even their pinky fingers hooked as Viktor reads a book and Jayce sits next to him, pretending not to also be reading said book until he dozes off, head dropping onto Viktor’s shoulder.
This, in itself, isn’t too unusual. They’d fallen asleep against each other enough times in the lab, it’s practically routine. But it’s what comes after that’s changed. When Viktor nudges him awake for dinner, or Jayce rouses of his own accord, instead of pulling away with an awkward smile and a sheepish apology, Jayce reaches for him. He’s always reaching for him, now. He’ll nuzzle his nose into the crook of Viktor’s neck, inhaling deeply, arms snaking around his waist, and Viktor will stiffen and shiver but he’ll let him, he always lets him.
There’s nothing thoughtless about these touches, nothing casual about the way he sighs contently, breath warm against Viktor’s skin, his movements careful yet deliberate as he reaches for Viktor’s hand, rubbing his thumb in circles over the top, and lifts it to his lips and-
Viktor jolts out of his thoughts, arriving at their doorstep. He keys open the door, stepping inside hurriedly, brushing himself off at his palms, his shoulders, his neck, as if in doing so he could brush away the memory.
They haven’t discussed it. Not really. This…thing between them. It’s driving Viktor insane. The smiles, the touches, the looks. Jayce is always looking at him. Back then, it had been all Viktor secretly yearned for. Now? It fills him with a heat he scarcely knows how to handle.
He sets his cane aside. The house is quiet. It is 8.09am. Jayce is not here.
Just this morning, Viktor had sent him off on this very doorstep. He’s off on a laundry list of errands. It’ll be his first time back in Piltover since…since they “died”, so to speak.
Viktor had tried not to let his agitation show, acting as cool and collected as possible. It’s only a day trip, things are relatively mellow between Zaun and Piltover right now, and he’s going as a masked Firelight. Ekko agreed to send someone to accompany him too and show him the routes to remain unseen, so there should be absolutely no reason anything would go wrong.
Still, the idea of being separated from Jayce for such a prolonged period unsettles him. The what ifs niggle at the back of his mind, a constant whisper of doubt. Meanwhile, the house is too quiet, the tiny rooms somehow made large in his absence, empty without Jayce’s larger-than-life personality to fill the space.
It frustrates Viktor to no end. He doesn’t need Jayce. No, Viktor is a perfectly independent man in his own right, they both are, and neither of them need anyone else to function. They can certainly pass one day without being around each other. They did it all the time back then, for crying out loud.
But those were different times, distant times. They were different people back then. They didn’t orbit each other, the way they do now. Jayce didn’t…touch him the way he does now.
Just this morning, he’d cupped Viktor’s cheek just so, and Viktor hadn’t said a word, had been so careful to conceal the depths of his agitation, but somehow Jayce had seen through him, had understood him all the same, and so he’d pulled Viktor in by the waist, cradled his face and said everything will be okay, I promise. Then he’d smiled, bright and reassuring, and left. Just like that. Left him with a promise and a smile and the lingering sensation of his touch on the fucking doorstep, which Viktor had stood at for a whole minute, heart racing, flushed all over and staring after him like a pining maiden, god forbid. He should’ve just kissed him and be done with it, the infuriating man.
Fuck. Fuck. He’s livid just thinking about it. The audacity. Does he have any idea what he does to Viktor? No, Jayce Talis has no idea and that’s the worst part. The man is nigh incapable of being anything less than earnest, and he’s utterly oblivious to how much of a torment he is upon Viktor’s heart. Viktor cannot stand it.
He needs to pull himself together. It’s only been less than an hour, and he’s spent every minute thinking about Jayce. He can’t help it. He misses him terribly.
He always had, even in the early days, when Jayce left the lab. When he’d been missing more and more to play politics with the Councillors, Viktor had felt a yawning hole in his chest grow achingly wider. But he’d ignored it, then. Turned his mind with single-minded focus onto the Hexcore.
After all, he’d been dying. Dying people don’t have time to pine.
Although…Jayce had proven him wrong on that point too. The way he’d held Viktor, back in the arcane, or later, on top of the Hexgate, when he lay bleeding out upon Viktor’s lap and looked up at him like…like……
He shakes his head, pinching the bridge of his nose. It’s impossible. Jayce consumes his every thought. After all, if he didn’t, Viktor wouldn’t be embarking on this secret mission of his.
He sighs frustratedly. Gathering himself, he sits down by their table, upending his cane—or rather, the metal pipe which they’d fashioned into somewhat of a cane, sorely missing in sturdiness but therefore conveniently hollow, a perfect hiding place to stash his secrets.
Viktor unstops the bottom, opening a little hatch. With a gentle shake, a roll of papers slides out. He fixes his cane, then spreads the blueprints out on the table.
A knock. It’s 8.15am. Viktor opens the front door.
“Right on time,” he says, in lieu of greeting.
Ekko grins from behind the box of spare parts.
“I always am.”
Viktor waves him inside.
“Where do you want it?”
“Eh, here is fine. You have everything, yes?”
Ekko sets the box down at the corner of the table, brushing his hands off.
“Yep. Sorry it’s not much, we’re still a little tight on resources.”
His eyes drift to the blueprints, scanning over the designs with piquing interest. Viktor waves him off.
“No apology needed. I appreciate your assistance. And your discretion,” he adds pointedly.
“You’re making him a cane?” Ekko asks, undeterred, a slight frown on his face as he considers Viktor’s notes and sketches. “I didn’t know he needed one.”
Viktor hums noncommittally.
“Most days, no. It is not like my condition.”
He rifles through the box, turning the bits and bobs over in his hands while running over a mental catalogue. Ekko is a man of his word. There is indeed everything he requested. Hopefully, he won’t end up needing anything more.
“But…?” Ekko prompts.
Viktor sighs. He was hoping Ekko would drop it, but, well, curiosity is the vice of all great minds.
“There are…bad days. Days when the injury flares without cause or reason.”
He looks down at his own leg, bracketed in a new brace Jayce had made for him out of spare parts. There are bits from Jayce’s brace too—bits Viktor vaguely remembers seeing in the schematics of his hammer.
It was made out of good metal, well-forged, by his own hands and the heat of the Talis forge. Scavenged parts can’t compete with that quality. Jayce knows this, and so, without telling Viktor, secretly deconstructed his own brace to use its critical weight-bearing pieces on Viktor’s.
Viktor hadn’t noticed, initially. But Jayce began compensating for his bad leg more, and then one day……
“Viktor…”
Jayce, stiff and trembling upon the bed, eyes glassy with pain, breathing his name like a prayer for salvation. There is none. No relief but to suffer and endure it, ride it out.
Viktor never wanted Jayce to learn this pain. His heart clenches, his own leg throbbing in tandem, some sort of phantom pain in response to Jayce’s.
Helpless, he sits next to him, murmuring soft words of comfort, nonsensical and useless in easing his agony. Even so, Jayce clings to every syllable, clutching Viktor’s hand in a white-knuckled grip.
“Viktor”, he chokes wetly, between every shaky gasp, “Vik……Viktor…”
Viktor’s heart aches and aches. He holds him through it, wipes the cold sweat from his forehead, brushes his tousled hair out of his eyes.
“I’m here,” he promises in return, “I’m right here.”
And Jayce says nothing, cannot say anything over the haze of hurt, but his fingers curl around Viktor’s and his head shifts into Viktor’s touch, and if that could offer even the tiniest comfort, then Viktor would give it. He would give it all.
Viktor blinks away the memory, dragging himself back to the present. He turns to the blueprints, his drafts for a new cane.
“The brace is not quite sufficient. Not anymore.”
“And so you’re making him a cane.”
Viktor looks up at Ekko, who regards him with open sympathy.
“Yes,” he says, quietly, “to limit the bad days, and aid in them when they arrive.”
Viktor draws out the slip of paper with Jayce’s measurements from his pocket, unfolding it. He sighs.
“And…well, you know how he is. Sitting still, it is against his nature.”
At that, Ekko shakes his head with an amused huff, arms crossed.
“When I first brought you two here, I didn’t know what to expect. But I didn’t think he would be so…eager to help with the community.”
He waves his hand where a dozen contraptions lay strewn across the shelf, rough sketches stuck haphazardly to the wall. They’ve kept themselves busy ideating ways to improve the lives of the Firelights. Jayce had taken to it like a duck to water, spending nearly every spare minute drafting up ideas to improve the enclave.
“Viktor!”
Jayce bounds into their living room with all the energy of an over-excited puppy. His hair sticks up in odd places, his face smudged with chalk and pencil marks, and his eyes are sparkling with the familiar shine of a new idea, ever the picture of an overzealous scientist. Viktor hums amusedly in acknowledgement, setting his book aside as Jayce launches into his latest brainchild, gesticulating wildly.
“I was thinking, I mean, this huge tree was able to grow down here, so surely other plants could, right? They just need some help! Maybe a..a greenhouse of sorts, that would help with the food supplies at the very least, or-”
Jayce paces around, spinning the pencil in his hand as he talks, glancing over at Viktor every so often to check if he’s following. He doesn’t need to. Viktor would follow him anywhere. He couldn’t look away if he tried.
A well of fondness bubbles up in Viktor’s chest. He smiles slightly.
“Enthusiasm is in his nature. Jayce has always been quick to throw himself wholeheartedly into every endeavour he feels to be a worthy cause.” A pause. “Including yours.”
The boy jolts, caught off-guard by the compliment. The comment touches him more than Viktor expected.
“Thanks,” Ekko mumbles, rubbing the back of his head.
Ah, humility. Jayce could stand to learn a thing or two.
Speaking of Jayce, it’s now 8.22am. If he intends to finish building this cane before Jayce returns then he needs to start now.
He pins the measurement paper to the corner of the blueprints sheet. Then he stretches his arms slightly, cracking his knuckles before reaching for their tools. Ekko, sensing the change, leans forward.
“I can help,” he offers.
“Thank you, but I can manage.”
“It would go faster with me around.”
“I’m sure you have plenty of other, more pressing matters to attend to.”
“They can wait,” Ekko insists, oddly determined now. “You want to surprise him, right? You only have less than a day. I can help.”
It’s true. The work would be faster with a second pair of hands. Ekko is intelligent and inventive, and able to source for further materials, should he require it. There’s no reason to decline.
Even so, Viktor chews on the inside of his mouth, eyeing him apprehensively.
“And…you’re just doing this out of the kindness of your heart?”
Something shifts in Ekko’s expression.
“No,” he says softly, “not entirely.”
He doesn’t elaborate. Instead, he reaches into the box of parts, pulling out a piece and holding it out to Viktor.
“We start here?”
Viktor hesitates. He looks from the part, to the drafts, to Ekko, his eyes serious.
Viktor takes the part, nodding.
“Yes. Let us get to work.”
They work all through the morning, and then some.
The hard part is getting the right shapes without using any molds, since there aren’t any forges down here to work with.
The other hard part is figuring out what the right shapes even are. He has the measurements, sure, but they were taken for tailoring clothes, not making canes. He doesn’t exactly have the size of Jayce’s palm memorised, so figuring out things like the width and circumference of the handle has taken a bit of guesswork. Nothing they can’t work around, though.
“Did Jayce make your cane?” Ekko asks conversationally while working away at a bit of metal.
“This one? Eh, it was a joint effort.” Viktor shrugs. “The previous one, Jayce had forged, I believe, some time after we first met.”
“Huh,” Ekko says, as if that surprises him. A beat. “Why? How? He’d need your measurements, right?”
“He certainly did not have to buy them…” Viktor mutters.
Ekko stares. Viktor coughs lightly.
“Ah, well…”
“Viktor, you alright?”
Jayce’s palm lands on his shoulder, concerned. Viktor is not yet used to the way Jayce is so comfortable with casual touches, though it no longer surprises him. He massages his leg a little, wincing.
“Mm, just sore. This cane is…less than ideal, so to speak.”
It’s his old cane, from when he was an adolescent. Shorter, and thinner, not quite able to support him the way it should.
“You don’t have a better one?” Jayce asks. It’s not a judgement, but Viktor bristles all the same.
“I did,” He retorts a little heatedly, “before the guards shattered it when they broke down the door to the Professor’s lab.”
“Ah. Right.” Jayce says, stilted. “I..forgot.”
Viktor sighs. He’s not exactly short on money, but custom-made canes cost a fortune he can’t afford, and it’s a pain to source for a standard-issue cane that meets his needs. He’s not looking forward to going through the hassle of it all over again, so he’s just been putting it off, enduring the pain and discomfort.
“This one’s too short, right? That’s the problem?” Jayce asks, a thoughtful look in his eyes—odd, how he can be so perceptive at times, and so oblivious at others.
Viktor can’t exactly change his situation, but he’ll accept the invitation to complain. It’s Jayce, after all. He knows him well enough by now to know he wouldn’t judge him over this.
“That is one issue, yes,” he concedes, “but it is also older, thinner, made of a weaker material, and less sturdy overall.”
It feels good to voice his frustrations to someone, even if all they can do is nod sympathetically. He sighs again.
“Still, it is…serviceable. Besides, I do not exactly have any other options until I can buy a new one.”
Jayce is quiet. Viktor figures that’s the end of the conversation. His leg still aches, but he’s wasted enough time sitting around. He collects his cane, moving to stand.
Jayce stops him, a gentle hand on his forearm. Viktor looks up inquiringly, but his partner merely fidgets in place, a nervous look in his eye.
“Spit it out, Jayce,” he says, a little too impatiently.
Even so, Jayce dithers a few beats longer, struggling to find his words.
“Jayce-”
“I..I could make it for you…? If you want,” he finally blurts out.
Viktor stares at him, taken aback.
“…What?”
“I said I could make it for you. Your cane, I mean.”
“You know how?”
“Well, no, but!” He hastens to add, waving his hands defensively, “you know, my family owns a forge. I might not be taking over the family business, but I did learn the trade. I could probably make a cane. I think? With the uh, the right measurements. And maybe a bit of trial and error.”
It’s a tempting offer, truth be told, given the sheer headache it is for him to buy the right one. Still…
“I can’t ask that of you,” he says softly, “the time it would take to complete such a project, nevermind the price-”
“You’re not asking,” Jayce insists, “I’m offering. I do these sorts of side-projects all the time. This wouldn’t be any different. I’d just be making something someone will actually use for a change.”
Jayce leans in—when had he knelt down?—his palm still resting on Viktor’s forearm, a warm weight.
“Please Viktor,” he implores, eyes fixed on Viktor’s braced leg, his other hand hovering over it, “it was my fault your cane was broken, let me make it up to you.”
“It was my choice,” Viktor argues, but Jayce shakes his head.
“It’s not just that. I just feel like…” he chews his lip, averting his gaze, “like I owe you so much. You’re the reason Hextech is even possible. The reason I’m still here.”
Viktor jolts at that, not quite a flinch but close. The circumstances of their partnership don’t elude him, but it often slips his mind, the reality of it, of what Jayce would have done if Viktor hadn’t sought him out.
Would he have done it? Would he have gone through? Viktor hates to think about it.
‘You wouldn’t have jumped. You would’ve figured things out, even without me.’ It’s what he would like to say, but even thinking it, he knows it’s not true.
Viktor had saved his life, in more ways than one. That’s an indisputable fact. But somehow, he doesn’t want Jayce to think of him like that. As his…saviour, god forbid. The mere thought makes him cringe, the idea of it so viscerally wrong to him.
All his life, people have looked down on him. Only three people, other than his own parents, have ever seen him otherwise.
Jayce is the first to see him as an equal.
That night, writing out the equations on the chalkboard, testing the theory…it was like finally being in conversation with someone on his wavelength. Viktor had never clicked with anyone so well. And Jayce had felt it too. After all, why else would he so freely share his dream with Viktor? “Our dream”, he’d said. “My partner”, he’d said. Equals.
And yet, the way Jayce is speaking now, like he owes his existence to Viktor, like he should be indebted to him, like Viktor is..is……
He doesn’t mean to slap Jayce’s hand away so harshly, but by the time he realises it, he’s already done it. Hurt flickers over Jayce’s face, ever an open book. Viktor’s stomach twists with guilt.
He retracts his hands, occupying them with pulling his old cane close to his body. ‘Forgive me’, he wants to say. ‘Sorry, forgive me.’
“You owe me nothing,” he stresses instead, unable to look Jayce in the eye, to bear that injured expression.
Silence, heavy and tense.
A hand on his knee.
“Okay, V,” Jayce says, soft and relenting, “okay.”
Viktor chest loosens. He exhales in relief. But Jayce isn’t finished.
“Would you accept it? As a gift, that is. A gift between partners,” he proposes, his eyes meeting Viktor’s, so sincere. “You..you can give me something too. If you want. It’ll be like a..a gift exchange. To, uh, commemorate the start of our partnership. Not that I expect anything from you,” he says quickly, “but then neither of us will owe each other anything. Which is..what you want, right?”
Viktor studies him, the earnesty in his expression. It is indeed exactly what he wants. Startling, how Jayce seems to read him so effortlessly.
Absurd, too, that he seems to care so much about Viktor’s cane. Viktor tells him so.
“Is it?” Jayce replies, frowning slightly. “I just care about you.”
The response comes to Jayce so naturally, for a minute, Viktor doesn’t know how to react. He simply stares at Jayce, his heart jumping, stricken speechless. Warmth stirs in his chest, entirely against his own will. His face heats.
Jayce, misreading Viktor’s silence as discomfort, backpedals nervously. His eyes widen, his hands flying up as he stumbles over his words.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to- I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. If I’m overstepping with the cane, just give me the word. I’ll stop, I swear. But I just thought- well, you’re my partner, V. I just want to do something nice for you,” he finishes awkwardly, shrugging his shoulders helplessly.
Viktor closes his eyes, breathing deeply.
There’s nothing ‘just’ about this. No one has ever ‘just’ wanted to do something nice for Viktor. No one outside his parents have ‘just’ cared about him.
It’s sweet. It’s kind.
It’s dangerous.
Viktor is caught between recoiling from it or yearning for more.
It frustrates him, how much this moves him, how easily such honeyed words go straight to his heart. In Zaun, this would be a recipe for disaster, basically an open invitation to letting himself get fucked over.
But if there’s something that Jayce isn’t, it’s a liar. Not even by omission—he couldn’t even keep his mouth shut in court under threat of exile, for god’s sake. Honesty is in his blood.
And wouldn’t Viktor be a fool, to deny himself this kindness? Even if it were to turn out a lie? Why is he even trying to deny himself this, when the world has denied him so much, and here Jayce is, offering it to him freely?
He opens his eyes. Jayce is watching him, agitated, but waiting. Viktor pushes himself to his feet. The old cane creaks under his fingers. A twinge of pain shoots up his leg. He ignores it.
Slowly, he makes his way to their blackboard and picks up a piece of chalk, observing their work. Their handwriting mixes upon the board where they finish each other’s thoughts, filling in each other’s blanks. An exchange. What’s one more exchange?
When Viktor finally speaks, he doesn’t turn.
“You will need my measurements. I will bring them tomorrow.”
“V!!”
Viktor doesn’t need to turn. He can hear the excitement in his voice, can nearly see the way Jayce is beaming at him in his mind. He shakes his head, focusing on the board.
“There are certain other requirements to be met, which I will also tell you so you don’t bring me back a stick.”
“I won’t, I promise V, it’ll be the best cane you’ve ever used-”
“I will be the judge of that,” Viktor interrupts quickly. He taps the board twice with his finger, an unspoken direction. “Let’s not waste anymore time. I believe I’ve figured out the solution to this.”
The chalk scratches against the board as Viktor picks up where Jayce last left off, completing the other half of the equation.
Jayce strides over, taking his place next to Viktor. He picks up his own bit of chalk. They write.
“So was it?”
“Hm?”
“Was the cane the ‘best you’ve ever used’ orr…”
Viktor snorts. He sets his bit of work aside, wiping his hands off with a cloth.
“What do you think?”
“He brought you back a stick,” Ekko answers instantly.
Viktor does laugh then.
“Not quite. Though it was close. I believe even my present cane surpasses his initial attempt.”
He glances at it leaning against the wall, a shoddy thing. At times, Viktor still finds himself expecting to see red and gold accents instead of unassuming grey. Once upon a time, he’d groused about it relentlessly to Jayce.
“I’m aware you have an ego to feed, but even this is a bit much for you. Your house colours, Jayce?”
“Uh-”
“And is this your house crest?”
“Well-“
“I do not know what possessed you to engage in such showmanship but-”
“It’s not like that, V! I just..I do it for everything I make in the forge, I didn’t think-”
“No, I doubt you did-”
“Vik!”
”-so self-possessed as to imprint your brand onto your creations-”
“Viktor-”
“-not forgetting the signature on every page-”
“-oh come on, that’s-”
He reaches out, fingers brushing where those obnoxious gold accents would have been on his old cane. Strange, how much he misses it now.
“He got there in the end though, right?” Ekko asks, less of a question, more of a statement.
Viktor quirks an eyebrow at him.
“What makes you so sure?”
“Jayce doesn’t seem the type to give up,” Ekko responds, with as much certainty as one would describe the sun coming out every morning.
Viktor’s heart squeezes.
“No,” he murmurs softly, “he truly isn’t.”
In the end, Jayce had kept his promise, because of course he had. By the fourth cane—which became more of a crutch, due to the progression of his illness—Jayce had perfected its making, down to the last detail. No cane before or since could compete with it: the make, the grip, the precise way it supported his weight. It was irreplicable. Not by anyone but Jayce, and even he couldn’t do that now, without the forge or his tools or the right materials.
Viktor sighs a little, taking his current cane in hand. He and Jayce had cobbled it together soon after they’d arrived, and it serves his needs well enough, but…well, it just isn’t the cane he’d grown used to having, the one he’d relied on for the better part of 7 years (at least).
He certainly hadn’t felt all that attached to it at the time, even despised it, a physical reminder of his worsening condition and the ailment that has plagued him since birth. Now though, he can’t help but feel like he took Jayce’s craftsmanship for granted, just a little.
“You…could’ve asked me for more materials. You know that, right?” Ekko says suddenly, a strange note to his voice.
Viktor looks up to Ekko watching him intently.
“Mobility aids are considered essentials here. If I’d known…I would’ve brought more. Or…we could help you make it. We wouldn’t deny you, it’s your right.”
Viktor’s lips tug into a ghost of a smile. Ekko is a good man, a good leader.
“No, you would not have,” he agrees. “And that is why I did not ask.”
Ekko stares at him, stunned. For a moment, it looks like he has more to say, his mouth opening and closing several times. In the end, though, he chooses wiser, refraining from pushing the subject. Viktor is grateful.
He picks up his cane, pushing himself to his feet. Multiple joints in his body pop as he does. Ekko winces in sympathy. He too stands and stretches, shaking the stiffness out of his body.
It’s nearly 2pm, Viktor realizes with surprise, then guilt.
“My apologies, I did not intend to keep you from lunch.”
Ekko waves him off airily.
“Nah, I chose to stick around.” He grabs his hoverboard, throwing his hand up in a playful salute as he heads for the door. “I’ll grab us a bite. Be right back!”
Before Viktor can tell him that no, he doesn’t need anything for lunch, the Firelight leader is gone, zipping away on his board.
It appears stubbornness is a quality shared among all of Heimerdinger’s students.
Viktor huffs exasperatedly, turning back to his work. He can probably get a little more in before Ekko returns…
Viktor insists upon paying Ekko back for the food, though he tries to argue against it. They eat, for the most part, in silence.
Viktor finds his mind drifting back to Jayce again, wondering what he could be doing right now in Piltover, whether he’s gotten anything to eat. Even with the beard, he might still be recognisable. Perhaps he won’t chance it for the meal and just skip lunch altogether. Ah, an oversight on his part. Viktor should have reminded him to bring a sandwich or something. Though surely neither his mother nor Kiramman would let him go without eating?
“So,” Ekko asks suddenly, drawing him from his musings. “Are you guys together?”
Viktor chokes on his food.
“Why,” he manages, after composing himself, “do you ask?”
Ekko shoots him a dry look.
Okay, so they’re kinda obvious. Fine. But-
“It’s not like that,” he tries, ignoring how very much he would like it to be like that.
Ekko scoffs, entirely unimpressed.
“You two sure act the part.”
“It’s..complicated.”
“Is it?” He challenges. “Because I know ‘complicated’, and what you two have right now? Seems straightforward to me.”
Viktor looks away. He did not expect this particular line of interrogation—and he’d expected an interrogation.
“I did not ask to be grilled on the details of my…personal life,” he hisses, frustrated.
“I’m just saying,” Ekko starts.
Viktor shoots him a withering look.
“I’m just saying,” he repeats, both hands raised in surrender, “Jayce clearly adores you, and you…you care for him too, right?”
“Is that a question?” Viktor shoots back, incredulous.
Ekko blinks at him, eyebrow raised. Viktor bristles. That anyone would question his feelings regarding Jayce is…
“Of course I care for him,” Viktor says, offended. “Jayce is..”—my partner, my one true constant, the only one who understands me— “...dear to me.”
Words are insufficient in describing their relationship. How to encapsulate all that they are to each other? “Friends” is an egregious understatement. “Soulmates” seems far too dramatic a term. “Partner” was always Jayce’s favoured descriptor, but using it here would only feed into Ekko’s point.
Yes we’re partners, and not just in the lab, but we’re not *that* kind of partner either, not quite, or is it not yet?— yeah, no. Language is inadequate. Labels are unbefitting. They simply are, without words. Jayce understands, and no one else needs to. As long as they understand each other, that’s enough.
When he looks up, Ekko is studying him, again with a strange expression Viktor can’t quite parse.
“And what about you?” Viktor asks in return, part deflection, part curiosity. “Is there anyone…dear to you?”
For a while, Ekko doesn’t respond. He looks away, gazing out the window, disappearing somewhere Viktor can’t follow.
“Only in my memories,” he replies, voice distant.
Suddenly, it clicks for Viktor, the questions, the help, the unwarranted interest in him and Jayce. A quiet, helpless envy. Not the resentful kind, no. Simply the kind of wistful longing that comes from watching someone else have what you can’t. Viktor can empathise. Once, it was all he knew.
He knows, therefore, how little pity is desired. What good is it to add sorrow to sorrow? Viktor cannot offer him solace, not really. But empathy? At the very least, he can try.
He takes a page from Jayce’s book, reaching out, laying a gentle hand over Ekko’s. Ekko jolts, stunned.
“Tell me.”
“What?”
“Your memories,” Viktor clarifies, not unkindly, “tell them to me.”
Ekko stares. Viktor offers him a smile.
“It is only fair, no?” He says lightly. “I have shared much about myself with you today. Now, you tell me your story. I am a decent listener, or so I have been told.”
Something in Ekko’s eyes shifts. A light. Recognition, of the olive branch Viktor has extended towards him.
The tension in his shoulders falls away. Ekko smiles. It’s a familiar sort of smile, the kind that’s pain and regret and relief and gratitude, all in one.
“Okay,” he says, and tells him.
Viktor listens. Time goes on.
After lunch, they return to work, falling into an easy rhythm. Some sort of steady understanding seems to have passed between them, for though they work in relative silence, it is a companionable one.
By 4pm, they’re pretty much done. Viktor just has to attach the handle and finish some touch-ups. It’s at least two hours earlier than he’d expected to be done with it. He’ll have to find a way to repay Ekko properly.
In the meantime, though, he busies himself with fixing the handle properly. Ekko occupies himself with tidying the area.
He’s just about to ask Ekko to hand him the last piece, when Ekko fishes it out from the bottom of the now-empty parts box, frowning.
“Most canes I know don’t need a cog to work,” he remarks, holding up the cog to his eye and looking through the center.
Viktor’s lips tug into a small smile. He plucks the cog from Ekko’s fingers.
“That’s because they don’t.” He examines the cog, cleaning it gently with a cloth. “Think of it as a…design choice.”
Turning the cane over in his hand, Viktor fixes the cog to the collar. He screws the handle on, then hands it to Ekko to test the give of it. He does so, handling it appraisingly. When he returns it, a question still brims in his eyes.
How to explain the significance of an object as insignificant as a cog, the depth of its value to Viktor? How to explain the impulsive desire to somehow apply that value to this new creation too, to christen this gift with the sentiments attached to this enduring symbol of their partnership?
He hadn’t told Ekko, but earlier, when Viktor was sure he wasn’t looking, Viktor had carved a single letter under the crown of the cane’s handle. Two strokes, carefully etched into the curve. A tiny ‘V’.
The impulse had overtaken him, suddenly and violently, some abrupt, mad urge to mark himself upon it. Selfishness, probably. A lapse in restraint. Perhaps he is as egotistical as Jayce after all. Even so, Viktor can’t find it in himself to regret it.
Ekko hadn’t noticed, much to his relief, and Viktor had not pointed it out. Not out of shame. Not really. But a part of him, the selfish part of him, wants Jayce to be the first to discover it. His stomach churns with anticipation just imagining it—Jayce would take the cane, turn it over in his hands, fingers roaming over every inch, thorough as always in his examination, his thumb would inadvertently brush over the groove and he would pause, the gears turning in his head, maybe he’d bring it closer to his face, angle it up to the light and squint at the lettering just to be sure, and then, and then…
He shakes his head, blinking away the vision. No. No, he’ll find out in due time. Better not to presume or expect anything, no use picturing it now, lest he set himself up for disappointment—over what, exactly, god knows.
He runs his finger over the divots of the cog, a silver ring around the cane’s neck.
“Jayce will understand,” He finally says.
Ekko nods. Somehow, his words are answer enough.
They wipe the cane down one more time. Ekko suggests tying a ribbon round the neck, in the spirit of gift-giving. Viktor finds that a little too over the top, so they settle for a simple box to stash it in.
They exchange a few more pleasantries. Viktor walks Ekko to the door.
“Thank you. I am in your debt.”
Ekko adjusts the box of scraps under his arm again, waving him off.
“I told you, it’s nothing.”
“Your favour will not go unreturned,” Viktor warns, practically a threat.
Ekko laughs. He hops on his hoverboard.
“Good luck!” He yells, grinning, before zipping away.
Viktor sighs exasperatedly. He turns back into the house.
It is 4.27pm. Jayce is supposed to be home by 7. He has a couple of hours left to burn.
Viktor spends it as best as he can. He cleans the house a little more. He takes a shower. He works a little on the equations Jayce left upon the rickety blackboard, marvels again at his brilliance, his eagerness to contribute to the firelight community.
At 6pm, to quell his growing restlessness, Viktor busies himself with preparing dinner—or at least, attempting to put together some semblance of a meal that’s better than “just edible”.
Cooking is far from his expertise, but Viktor isn’t in the mood to go out looking for food, and Jayce has had a long day. He’s also convinced now that Jayce probably skipped lunch and casually omitted this information from Caitlyn, his mom, and whoever else he’s meeting up there. The least Viktor can do is try to have a warm meal ready for him when he returns.
By 7pm, a random stew filled with the most random assortment of ingredients simmers atop the stove, thrown together from the little they had in the kitchen to work with. He stares at it, faintly proud. Despite all odds, it actually tastes decent enough.
He checks the clock. 7.03pm. Jayce is late. Viktor tamps down on his nerves.
He takes his time laying the table, setting the utensils, arranging the bowls. When that’s done, he checks on the stew again. He considers popping open a precious bottle of wine…mmm, no. Later. He washes the glasses instead. Dries them. Arranges them on the table too. Opens the box to check the cane one last time. Puts it back in and lays it on Jayce’s chair. No. His own chair. He’ll hand it to Jayce himself. Yes. What else? Check the stew again. Its taste has not changed. He deliberates adding more salt. No, no leave it. Something else, must be something else he can do……
There’s nothing else. He’s exhausted every possible task. There are no footsteps at the door. No creak of the doorknob. Reluctantly, Viktor checks the time.
7.24pm. Viktor burns with agitation. He manages to sit himself by the table for a grand total of 2 more minutes before it becomes too much. He groans in frustration, shoving himself to his feet. He shuts off the stove and grabs his cane, stepping outside.
A burst of children’s laughter. Distant music. A couple of Firelights zip around, returning to their families. Daylight fades, and the tree lights up, the warm lamps of various homes flickering on one by one.
It works in soothing his restlessness, just a little. It’s hard to believe such a place could exist in Zaun, that it has existed and persisted, for years now. Everyday, he still finds himself in awe of it, and even more so that it’s his home now. No, not just his home……
“Viktor!”
A thrill up his spine. His heart races. He turns, and there is Jayce, swooping down on his hoverboard, his hair wind-mussed, his mask pushed up mid-flight so he can grin at Viktor, full of ridiculous, boyish charm. Viktor is so charmed he’s sick with it.
Distracted, Jayce wobbles on the hoverboard, and Viktor watches with trepidation as he struggles to regain his balance, only to decide upon recklessness and close the remaining distance by leaping from the board good leg first, stumbling onto the grass below.
“Jayce!”
His partner laughs, a beautiful sound. Some distance away, the hoverboard crashes into the ground. They’ll probably have to fix it later. Viktor couldn’t care less.
Jayce isn’t quite able to run anymore, but that doesn’t stop him from trying, dropping his bag aside and bounding towards Viktor far too carelessly. Viktor does the only thing he can do in this situation which is to stride up to meet him, caught between fondness and frustration.
“Jayce, your leg, don’t-”
“I missed you, V!”
His partner crashes into him, arms wrapping around him in a fierce hug. Somehow, he’s calculated the exact velocity and maximum amount of force he can launch at Viktor without toppling them over. Even in his excitement, he never forgets to mind his strength around Viktor—it’s not even a matter of memory anymore, Viktor doubts he’s consciously aware of it; it’s simply second nature, as thoughtless as knowing one’s left hand from their right.
Enveloped in warmth, Viktor trembles, all his longing coming to a head. His words catch in his throat. He presses his nose into the crook of Jayce’s neck, inhaling deeply.
“You waited out here for me?” Jayce murmurs into his ear, teasing.
Viktor huffs, feeling caught out.
“Not everything I do is on your account,” He mutters stubbornly. Just because it’s true doesn’t mean he’s going to admit it.
His fingers curl into the fabric of Jayce’s coat, traitorous little things. Jayce chuckles. His hand settles on the back of Viktor’s head, fingers sliding into his hair, drawing him closer. Viktor lets him and lets him and lets him.
“I missed you too,” Jayce whispers, warm with adoration.
Molten heat rushes through Viktor’s body, a red hot current from his heart to his fingers to the tips of his toes. He squeezes his eyes shut, burying his surely reddening face deeper into Jayce’s shoulder and willing his pounding heart to calm. They hold each other and breathe.
“I promised, didn’t I?” Jayce says eventually, far too self-satisfied.
Viktor shakes his head, pulling away to look him severely in the eye.
“Not quite. You’re still late,” he reproaches.
At that, Jayce perks up, as if suddenly remembering something.
“Oh!”
He lets go of Viktor, moving away slightly, just enough to reach behind himself. It’s then Viktor notices the long thin object strapped to Jayce’s back, and-
Viktor blinks. He blinks again. Once more, for good measure.
Red and gold Talis House colours wink back at him, glinting with fresh polish. Viktor stares and stares and stares. Lying in Jayce’s outstretched hands is his old cane, the one Jayce had gifted him at the start of their partnership. His head spins. His eyes might just fall out of his head.
“Surprise?” Jayce says, managing to sound sheepish of all things. “I didn’t tell you, but…when I made the original cane, I also made a spare, in case it ever broke again. Uhh, little presumptuous and egotistical, I know,” and here, he imitates Viktor’s voice, the accent and mannerism, “but I wanted to be prepared!”
“Right…prepared…” Viktor says faintly.
Dazedly, as if in a trance, he brushes his fingers over the handle, brand new, yet as familiar as his own hand. When he looks up, Jayce’s cheeks are flushed and his voice grows flustered, his eyes darting in every direction, his weight shifting from foot to foot.
“Anyway!” He declares, pitched too loud and high as he barrels on rambling, increasingly nervous with every passing moment of Viktor’s silence. “I didn’t have time to make one from scratch, and I couldn’t risk being seen at the forge, so I figured this would still be better than the other one. But it took me longer than I expected to find it, so uh, that’s why I’m late. I’m sorry, I swear I didn’t mean to make you worried, and- and you don’t have to accept it, if you prefer the other one, that’s okay too, this can continue being the spare, if you want that is, and-”
Viktor can’t fucking take it anymore.
He snatches the cane away, hands shaking. His heart is beating so wildly he fears it’ll fly right out of his chest.
This traitorous body. This traitorous heart.
Clutching the two canes in one hand—his current one and the one Jayce brought—he considers them, these aids which have become extensions of his own body, extensions of himself, both of which Jayce had made for him, had engraved his house symbol into and weaved his house colours into and made himself an inextricable part of.
He thinks of Jayce’s cane, perched upon their dining table, with no house colours on the accents and no house symbol in the detailings, but only because Viktor has no such house to share, he comes from nothing, he has nothing.
But there’s the table laid and set, dinner waiting in the pot, probably cold by now, haphazardly scrounged together by Viktor’s subpar cooking skills, yet Jayce will surely delight over anyway. There’s the equation Jayce had left half-solved on the board, completed now in Viktor’s scrawling letters, just waiting to be looked over, waiting for Jayce’s eyes to light up in awe. There’s the cog under the handle, a silver ring, and his initial engraved in the base of the cane, made as a mirror of his own, all waiting for Jayce to behold, and he understands now, the compulsion, to give a bit of himself away, because that’s what it is, isn’t it? Not a selfishness or a possessive staking of a claim over the other, but a giving, a sharing, of all that you have and all that you are, a sacred exchange, a means of devotion, a way of saying all that I own is yours to have, of promising all that is mine is yours to keep, of confessing I am all yours and yours to be.
Viktor understands now. He understands.
He smiles, truly smiles, and already it eases the worry in Jayce’s eyes, tentative hope like marigolds blooming in his amber irises.
“V-?” he starts, confused but anticipating, what exactly, it’s clear he doesn’t know.
But he’s waiting all the same, waiting for Viktor to clarify, to meet him in the middle—Viktor’s meeting him in the middle, alright.
His unoccupied hand fists into Jayce’s collar, pulling hard. Jayce’s eyes widen in alarm, his mouth falling open.
Viktor kisses the question off his lips.
A surprised sound crawls out Jayce’s throat, followed by a disbelieving noise, chased quickly by a laugh. Viktor kisses all of it from him too, pulling him closer, hoping to offer more, to draw out more. Except Jayce is smiling too much for Viktor to get anywhere now, his mouth stretched into a blinding grin.
“Jayce…” he chides lightly, drawing away as his partner laughs again, a beautiful sound Viktor would drink if he could, if only Jayce would let him.
“Sorry, I’m sorry,” he says, not sorry at all, laughing still, so happy it nearly hurts to look at. Then, “where are you going?” as his arm slides around Viktor’s waist, pulling him back in, his hand reaching to cup his cheek. “Come here.”
And it’s an echo of how they were this morning, how Jayce had held him in his arms like a promise, except it’s also not because this time Jayce is kissing him fervently, the way Viktor had wished he would.
There’s the lingering taste of tea on his lips, his mother’s favourite, the kind Jayce would bring in a thermos to the lab for Viktor after a long night working. It is, like the cane, more proof of just how long Jayce has loved him—since the beginning, since he’d touched Viktor’s shoulder and said our Hextech dream.
Now it’s Viktor’s turn to smile into the kiss, breaking it, and Jayce draws away, chuckling, eyes dancing with mirth. His fingers shift from cradling Viktor’s face to tucking a stray lock of hair behind Viktor’s ear, tugging impishly at it.
“Now who’s ruining it?”
Viktor, of course, takes this as an invitation to kiss him again, out of spite, can you believe it, and because he can.
Laughter bubbles out of Jayce helplessly, and it’s silly, because truly these first kisses can’t really be any good, what with the way they keep interrupting each other by smiling and giggling, but Viktor loves it, he wouldn’t have had it any other way. He presses another kiss to the corner of Jayce’s mouth over his beard, just to draw another laugh from him, just because he can.
“It’s you, obviously,” he replies, pinching playfully at Jayce’s earlobe, almost dizzy with the force of his joy. “You always make things difficult.” And now he pulls away properly to look at Jayce, fixing him with a wry look, his tone faux serious. “How long were you planning to keep me waiting, hmm? Must I always do things for myself?”
“Oh…”
Viktor relishes the way Jayce flushes red, flustered. His heart is full, and yet it feels ready to float away.
“I-I thought you- I didn’t think you would- I wanted to be patient,” Jayce just about whines in protest, “for you. I was waiting.”
Viktor raises an eyebrow.
“And so, all the times you were like this…” his eyes glance towards Jayce’s hand, settled on his hip, then to the other, curved around the back of his neck toying with his hair, before returning to meet Jayce’s eyes, deadpan. “You call that patience?”
Jayce’s face heats impossibly further, his hands jumping where they rest. Even so, he doesn’t retract them. Viktor doesn’t ask him to, simply presses his teasing.
“A test of patience would be a more accurate descriptor. Whose did you intend to test? Yours or mine, hmm? Or perhaps both?”
“I wasn’t trying to test anything…just……” Jayce mumbles in a small voice, ducking his head and looking away, embarrassed and fidgeting.
Viktor finally takes pity on him, patting at Jayce’s cheek placatingly, before tilting his head back towards him.
“Come, don’t pout-”
“I”m not-”
“-don’t sulk-”
“I’m not-”
“-I think we’ve been patient enough, yes?”
He leans in close, close enough for them to exchange breaths. Jayce stills, pupils dilating and eyelids fluttering.
“Yes,” he breathes, eyes falling shut, moving to close the scant distance between them.
Viktor smiles. It’s too easy to tease. He swiftly draws back out of reach, revelling in the way Jayce tips forward after him. He snaps out of the spell when only air keeps meeting him and he realises Viktor’s game, opening his eyes with an indignant, wounded noise. Viktor laughs.
He stands his ground, raising his canes and using the ends to gently push Jayce away.
“I want to show you something,” he says, before Jayce can complain.
Jayce pauses, tilting his head quizzically, an oddly endearing motion.
“Mmm, it’s a surprise,” Viktor elaborates, stepping away.
“And this wasn’t the surprise?!”
Viktor laughs. His fingers circle Jayce’s wrist, tugging gently, insistently, his thumb brushing over the imprint of the rune.
“Come,” he says, leading Jayce back to their home.
Their home. Their home, god.
Jayce shifts his hand, pressing their palms together and interlacing their fingers. Viktor’s heart warms. He smiles. Jayce smiles back.
They follow each other home.
Extra:
“Hey, Ekko?”
“Yeah?”
“Those two strange science guys you brought back some time ago…”
“You mean Jayce and Viktor? What’s happened?”
“Uh, nothing, just…didn’t know they were together like that.”
“What.”
Ekko looks up from his work. His second-in-command isn’t facing him, instead peering down the tree. Ekko shoots to his feet, joining Scar. He looks down.
“Ah.”
“You see?”
“Honestly? I think I’ve seen too much.”
By the looks of it, Jayce has just returned. Even from this distance, at this angle, there’s little doubt to be had in the way they hold each other.
Ekko can’t help an amused scoff, muttering under his breath.
“Right…complicated…”
“Hm?”
“It’s nothing. Just..thinking aloud.”
They fall into silence, quietly observing the scene unfolding below them.
Ekko watches as Jayce abruptly pulls away, presenting something long and thin to Viktor. His eyes widen.
Viktor is similarly stunned. They’re too high up to hear the conversation, but Ekko can almost imagine Jayce’s nervous, rambling defense.
“They seem…happy.”
Jayce is still speaking. Abruptly, Viktor interrupts him, swiping the cane from his hands. There’s a brief moment of uncertainty when the two appear to be trapped in some sort of stalemate.
Then Viktor reaches out, and the two are upon each other.
Ekko decides he’s intruded on their intimate reunion enough. He turns away to allow them their privacy. Scar follows suit. They exchange a look of dry amusement. Ekko huffs a laugh. His heart clenches, a familiar ache.
He is happy for them. He is. Someone should have that kind of happiness, even if it can’t be him.
He shakes his head.
“They are happy,” he tells his friend, heading back inside.
Around them, night begins to set in. Firelights return home to their families. Ekko sits back down at his desk, prepared to spend the night catching up on his work.
A hand on his shoulder. He looks up. Scar regards him with gentle understanding.
“Dinner?”
Ekko stares at his work. Laughter in the distance. The rustling of leaves. He smiles faintly, standing again.
“Sure.”