Recurrences, Recurrences

The beauty of the room is contrasted sharply by how sickly Viktor looks. The plump pillows threaten to drown the man laying on them. There’s an acrid tang of antiseptic in the air that even the menagerie of flowers can’t quite cover. 

Jayce falters, just slightly, when he sees Viktor just… laying there. Like a doll.

An unmoving, cold, doll. 

Viktor lies on a narrow bed, tubes and wires snaking around him like chains. Even though his eyes are open, he’s struggling to keep them open. It takes a few moments before he turns to look at Jayce, and smiles so, so faintly as recognition flickers across his face.

“Jayce,” he breathes, as if every breath costs too much. How much debt would he accumulate, before someone would come for him? The soft whisper of Jayce’s name sends him running forward.

Jayce’s breath catches painfully in his throat as he reaches his side. The man crosses the room and falls to his knees at Viktor’s bedside before he can think twice. His hands reach out instinctively, grasping Viktor’s frail fingers between his own, and he doesn’t let go. Is that Viktor’s hand trembling, or his own?

The other man looks weak. Weaker than he ever has. His skin is pallid, the hollows of his cheeks more pronounced than before, and there’s a fevered flush still clinging to his complexion. His hair is damp with sweat, his body melting into the sea of blankets and tubes.

But none of that matters, because he smiles.

“Vik,” he breathes, like it’s a prayer, like it’s the only word in the world that exists. “Viktor. Viktor.” The sound of it is soothing, every reaction from the man affirmation that he’s still there.

Viktor’s fingers twitch weakly in response, his eyelids fluttering with the effort to stay open. His lips part, struggling to say something, anything, but only a breath escapes—the barest whisper of Jayce.

“Don’t,” Jayce murmurs, shaking his head. His thumb brushes lightly over Viktor’s knuckles, then again. And again. Just reminding himself Viktor is here. “Don’t force it. It’s okay. It’s okay. I’m here. I won’t go anywhere… I’m sorry. Heimerdinger kept talking, and then I didn't realise how much time had passed, and when I got back you were just… Just…”

Viktor exhales softly, eyes slipping shut for a moment before open again, fighting for every second of consciousness. His gaze locks onto Jayce’s—tired, dazed, but steady. Jayce feels tears well in his eyes. Viktor looks so sick, so weak. If this occurred before the fall, why hadn’t he noticed? If this occurred after, why hadn’t he picked up on the signs?

“You’re… noisy…” Viktor’s voice carries softly, barely audible and fighting to be heard over the hum of machinery, but still just as teasing. Just a little bit more strength, and Jayce knew the other man would be relentless. 

Jayce swallows hard, blinking away the sting behind his eyes. 

“Gods, Viktor,” he whispers, his grip tightening around Viktor’s hand as if sheer force of will could tether him here, keep him here. “I thought—I thought I’d lost you.”

Viktor makes a soft, tired noise—something that almost resembles a scoff. There’s an attempt, at least, to push the teasing. His fingers shift slightly in Jayce’s grasp, conveying a you idiot as clearly as if it had been spoken.

Jayce lets out a breathless, broken laugh, his forehead dropping to rest lightly against their joined hands. He doesn’t care if his voice shakes. He doesn’t care if the nurses or Mel or Heimerdinger or the whole damn Council hears him now.

“I’m not letting go,” he murmurs, pressing his lips against Viktor’s knuckles, soft and gentle. Viktor stares at him, a glint of the sunlight catching in his eyes. 

Unreadable is barely enough to describe what’s on his face. Enigma might be a better attempt.  Viktor mumbles something incomprehensible and slowly lets his eyes shut. 

“Noisy…” he whispers.

Jayce holds on, and makes no attempt to let go.

Viktor falls asleep not long after that. When nurses wander in to check on him, Jayce inches closer to the sleeping man. 

“Sir,” one nurse whispers, eyes flicking between the interlocked fingers and the two men. “Visiting hours are over. You can’t stay inside here. Hospital rules.” 

“Please,” Jayce whispers, wrapping Viktor’s hand with both of his own. They would have to pry the fingers from his cold, dead hands. 

Really? 

Little Viktor doesn’t sound impressed as he pops back into Jayce’s head. 

Cold, dead hands. Really?

Please shut up. 

“P-Please, let me stay. I’ll be quiet. I promise. I’ll… help keep watch. I’ll do anything. Please, I can’t leave him. Please, no one will even know I’m here” 

They look at each other, and by the grace of gods, they let him. 

The nighttime is peaceful. The faint sounds of crickets drift through the windows as the city winds down. Viktor—also thank the gods, has been asleep the whole time. Jayce falls asleep with his head resting on the edge of the bed, fingers still intertwined with Viktor’s. 

Someone, Jayce was too tired to figure out who, came in with a warm blanket as the air started to grow chilly. He pulls the fabric around himself tighter, too scared to let go of Viktor’s hand. Is he the only thing holding him to this mortal realm? 

Is that selfish? 

The sound of Viktor’s coughing jolts Jayce awake. The form in front of him, almost convulsing with each cough, looks like his spirit is trying to leave. 

Should he go get help? Would Viktor take the chance to slip away if he did? Jayce pets his chest, whispering awkward, useless nothings until—blessedly, his coughs die down, and Viktor returns to sleep.

Jayce only settles down once he counts two-hundred-and-seventy slow, deep breaths from the other man. He sits by Viktor’s bedside in the stillness of the night. The clock’s chimes have stopped by now, so it’s somewhere after midnight. Even then, adrenaline still keeps him up. Jayce is scared.

No, he’s terrified. 

There’s no immediate emergency. Viktor, by all accounts, is simply sleeping off the injuries. The worst risks are over, because he is awake and he is safe. But…

What if Viktor’s fever surges at any moment? What if something happens and they’re sent straight back to square one? He strokes the back of Viktor’s hand with his thumb. Blinking only when necessary, he’s terrified that if he looks away—even for a moment, Viktor will slip away from him. 

Three-hundred and forty-four breaths.

“Mm,” Viktor murmured, stirring faintly in his sleep. Seeing his eyelids fluttering, Jayce’s heart skips a beat. He scoots the chair closer, wincing at the sound of metal scraping against tile. Don’t wake up. Don’t wake up. Don’t—

Viktor’s eyes, half-lidded, drift open just enough to reveal a certain glassiness in them. His breaths sound shallow, each exhale laced with a struggling rasp. He mumbles Jayce’s name—fighting so hard for the single syllable it’s barely audible. So softly that Jayce leans in, heart pounding, just in case this is it.

“What is it? What do you need?” Jayce whispers, reaching out to brush Viktor’s hair away from his forehead. With his other hand, he gently squeezes the other man’s hand, ignoring how frail Viktor’s grip is—the important thing is that he’s trying. Even the faintest twitch is something he’ll take. As much as he can.

Viktor wheezes, “Why… you ‘wake?” Every word slurs with feverish exhaustion. His eyes flutter, threatening to shut in another bout of sleep. His brows knit together in concentration of confusion or maybe both.

Jayce musters a trembling smile. 

“Just thinking,” Jayce whispers. He feels the warmth of Viktor’s fever through their joined hands, as if Viktor is burning up from the inside. Is that better? Better than the cold and the freezing? “About us… and other stuff.” 

Other stuff like how quickly Viktor could die, or maybe how bad his fever could get in a single day. Or how this was all his fault and he would pray to the gods every day if Viktor could just heal. How he would give up work on the Hexcores forever if he could just see the other man happy and healthy. Normal things like that.

For a moment, Viktor’s brow furrows, beads of sweat appearing as he processes what he’s said. Jayce sees the confusion in that gaze, hints of Viktor’s usual curiosity peeking through—he’s listening, but not entirely there.

The silence between them stretches infinitely, filled only by the shallow rasp of Viktor’s breathing and the rhythmic beeping of the monitors. Jayce watches his expression shift, the tiniest flicker of recognition, confusion, understanding—before it fades back into exhaustion. Thinking is difficult, even for the most rested. 

Viktor is slipping again, teetering on the edge of sleep, and Jayce knows he should let him rest—should be satisfied that he’s still here, that he’s still breathing.

As much as he wants to, he can’t. 

Not when there’s so much he hasn’t said. 

Selfish. Selfish. Selfish, selfish Jayce. Golden boy Jayce. Selfish golden boy Jayce. 

Second tick by, and Jayce can’t help but think about how many more Viktor might have left.

Jayce tightens his grip on Viktor’s hand, relief flooding his veins as Viktor turns to look at him, fighting the exhaustion. 

“Viktor,” he whispers, voice unsteady, “I need you to stay with me. Just—just a little longer.”

Viktor’s eyelids flutter, the corner of his mouth twitching in his best attempt at a smile. 

“I am… right here,” he murmurs, voice barely a breath.

Jayce manages a bare laugh, feeling tears starting to collect at the corners of his eyes. 

“Yeah,” he concedes, wrapping Viktor’s hand with both of his own. “You always are.”

“‘Cause… What would you do… Without me?” Viktor coughs at the end, managing to turn his face away from Jayce as he does. Even in his weakest moments, he’s the kindest person Jayce has ever known.

Silence settles over them both after that—long enough that Viktor has probably drifted off again, but then Viktor’s fingers twitch in his grip—and his eyes slowly turn to look at Jayce. He blinks, slowly, and draws in a deep breath. In, then out. In, then out. 

In, then out. 

He’s waiting, Jayce realises. 

That look in his eyes, when Jayce had ten thousand scrambled ideas flying around in his brain. Giving him time to word-vomit whatever he has to before Viktor picks them up, delicately, and pieces them together into a coherent, step-by-step plan.

Jayce swallows hard. His voice comes out barely above a whisper, quieter than even Viktor’s own.

“I love you.”

Viktor’s brows furrow, his lips parting slightly, fighting the fevered fog in his mind. His fingers curl slightly around Jayce’s, just enough pressure to let Jayce know he’s still awake—still listening.

Jayce exhales, leaning in just a little closer. 

“You probably already knew that,” he admits, rubbing his thumb in slow, steady circles over Viktor’s knuckles. “I… I think you’ve known longer than I have. H-Hell, I think half of Piltover knows.” 

A breathless chuckle escapes him. Tears prick his eyes as the first fat, desperate teardrop falls. Viktor’s hand jerks up, a weak attempt to wipe them for him. 

“I need to say it. I need you to hear it. I love you, Viktor. And I don’t care if you think it doesn’t need to be said—I want to say it. Again and again. As many times as it takes. I’ll say it forever and ever, if you let me.”

Viktor’s lashes flutter, his eyes barely open. His lips twitch, but it takes a moment for his voice to catch up. “Jayce,” he murmurs, tired but fond. He takes a slow breath, his words coming surprisingly clear. “I know.”

Jayce laughs softly, shaking his head. “Of course you do.”

“Heimer… din-ger… had a bet,” Viktor wheezes. “How long… It would take you… To say it.” 

Jayce can’t help but laugh, just a little bit, at the ludicrosity. 

“Really?”

There’s something warm in Viktor’s expression, something that melts at Jayce’s heart, even as exhaustion claws at his being, and the other man manages a small nod. 

“Gods, I should have known. What did you bet on?” 

“You are… very loud,” Viktor murmurs, voice slurring slightly, thick with sleep. 

“Sorry, sorry. I just…” 

“Betting pool,” Viktor mumbles. “Half the… ‘cademy.” 

“And what did you bet?” 

Was it really that obvious? Jayce is still crying, he can’t help it, but his tears are tinged with laughter. Only Viktor. 

“I thought it was obvious,” Viktor mumbled, his words slurring together as he finally releases Jayce’s hand, and shuts his eyes. “S’I… Didn’t.”

Jayce lets out a breath, half-laugh, half-sob. “Yeah, well,” he says, squeezing Viktor’s hand, “I still wanted to say it.”

Viktor’s eyes flicker open just enough to catch the dim glow of the lamp beside them, the smallest sliver of gold visible in his eyes. “You worry… too much,” he sighs.

Jayce nods, because it’s true. “And you don’t worry enough,” he says, swallowing.

Viktor hums, the sound barely there. His fingers twitch again, clumsy but insistent, reaching weakly for Jayce’s face. Jayce leans into it without thinking, his breath catching as Viktor’s fingers brush against his jaw, trembling and feather-light.

“Jayce,” Viktor whispers, his breath warm and uneven. His fingers slide to rest against Jayce’s cheek, the touch barely there but grounding. “I love you.”

The words are so soft Jayce almost thinks he imagined them, or maybe that Little Viktor has returned with a mocking vengence. But then Viktor’s eyes slip shut again, his hand falling limp, and Jayce feels the tears spill over before he can stop them.

He presses his lips to Viktor’s knuckles again. Then, hesitating, he rises from his seat and presses a soft, delicate kiss to the man’s forehead. 

“I’ve got you,” he whispers. “I’ve got you, Viktor. I love you.” 

The sleeping man stirs in his sleep, briefly, and a small smile plays on his lips.