Science of Love

Shockingly, but much to Viktor’s relief, the next few weeks passed without further trouble. Perhaps it was some way for the universe to apologize for the overstuffed first week that had left Viktor not only emotionally drained but leaning on his cane more painfully. He’d actually been starting to research back braces more seriously, especially after the incident in the lab. 

Ah, the incident. Viktor hadn’t yet had an opportunity to discuss that day with her. Well, moreso Viktor didn’t want to ruin a perfectly good moment of silence or contentment with his still-bitter confrontation. 

He understood why she’d left the lab, really. Still, something about that day seemed to wear at Viktor’s subconscious and weigh heavily on his ribs. It tugged at him, to say the least. 

But in accordance with his inability to break the underlying tension with Caitlyn, he’d noticed that her and her girlfriend had become much more reserved from the public in general. It didn’t really concern him, he was pretty sure they were just trying to work things out, but it also meant another raised barrier between Cailtyn and the rest of Piltover, including Viktor. After she’d already shown such vulnerability to him, after she’d allowed him into her beloved group and joked and drank with him. 

After that night at the brick bar, the group, for lack of a better term, had not reunited. Every student at the university had been somewhat occupied in the endless mountains of work that streamed in, typical of the first semester. 

Viktor found himself bound by the relentless ebb and flow of his weeks, occupied by stressful and tedious mondays and tailed by weeks full of hunching over yellowing textbooks, huffing the dust out of his nose that had accumulated either from the old books themselves or from the ages he’d spent pouring over the course material. 

The time he spent in his library was unparalleled by anywhere else, even by his own bed, much to Viktor’s chagrin and the burden of his overly-strained spine. It was a place on campus that Viktor truly felt like he understood. Or empathised with, in a way, at risk of sounding insane. The stretching pillars of ornamented wood, a mid-tone that shone like gold when the brazen summer sun plastered its overzealous rays over all over the gaping rooms. The unfathomably tall ceilings that arched organically into a ceiling, as if the ancient trees they’s been fabricated by had just grown that way naturally, branch-like beams sprawling like geometric vines across a domed roof, supporting the weight of a dark-tiled spire in a sort of architectural miracle. It was as if the place had veins, like Viktor or like the xylem of a plant, or like any other living creature, and blood made from centuries-worth of knowledge coursed through them. Long chains, blackened with time, hung stiffly from them, clutching at wide stained-glass chandeliers whose bulbs stood just high enough to avoid bumping a head of the university's tallest student, head likely bowed in a textbook, anyway. They scattered warm drops of light like rain on a summer’s day, pelting the enchanting floor whilst still shining brightly, trying uselessly to emulate Piltover’s own grinning sun. 

Not to mention, the stained glass windows that cast diffused daylight into the very air of the library subtly and infused the space with an inherent sort of colour scheme, were something that spoke to the cultivation of craftsmanship from long-dead Piltover natives. Viktor wished that there was some sort of committee, bureau, or team, or something dedicated to preserving historical architecture similar to it. He would like Piltover much more, anyway, if he could occasionally duck into the allure of a coffee shop and be greeted warmly by that same type of opulent wooden design that he loved so much. 

The library was one of the only places where Viktor, truly, felt connected within the ever-modernising city. It opened its jowls invitingly, and Viktor would never hesitate before allowing himself to become swallowed, enveloped completely by the tall shelves of classics and shadowy corners of obscure literature, long-forgotten to the world around it. 

Even when he had caught up on coursework (as much as he physically could, anyway), he found himself prowling the alleyways between bookcases and running his eyes across alphabets- no, bibles worth of gilded letters from titles to authors’ names to various accolades printed shamelessly on the spines of the books. 

There was something quite charming about the small gold accents that dusted the entire library, no matter where you looked, you could find it everywhere. It only added to the warmth of the library. A different warmth than Piltover’s suffocating sun, which dozed lazily upon clouds that were too few and far between, and rose the temperature in each building a fair ten degrees, and which unabashedly shone upon the faces of thousands of students, relishing its own expanse and affect. The warmth of the library was much more comparable to the click and whirr of a heating unit in the heart of a grey winter. The sort of unyielding warmth that melted away memories of sharp ice and shivering joints, the clacking of chattering teeth or of a cane against snowy concrete. It was a relieving feeling, a warm heavy blanket that wraps lovingly around your shoulders and might make you sneeze with its age, but you love it nonetheless. So, naturally, Viktor allowed himself to relish in the weighty feeling of the space around himself and grow warm with the familiarity of study. 

It was the sort of thing that had trailed Viktor throughout his whole life — like his own illness — but much lighter than its burden and igniting a longstanding interest in his heart. He enjoyed studying, however lame that was. It didn’t occur to him to care, really,  as he occupied his time with much more adult things like watering his plants or perusing internship opportunities instead of worrying about the opinion of others like he was still in secondary school. 

Anyway, it was natural to find Viktor there as of late, and he began to wonder if his adventure of a first week had really even happened at all, as each member of their absolutely gripping, if nothing else, party had seemed to forget about each other. It was typical of a fresh, first-semester type friendship that Viktor might see in the undergrad students, between young people, flesh still pink with the freshness of their life, eyes just beginning to open to the world around them. Honestly, Viktor didn’t expect it of his group, if you could call it his at all. Caitlyn and Violet were, obviously, still filling their free time with each other, interrupting study sessions and traipsing about campus with locked arms, but their reservation from Mel, Viktor, and most notably Jayce had seemingly put a damper on the group as a whole. 

Well, it wasn’t like Viktor was really leaping at the opportunity to go bar-hopping with the strange plasticky amalgamation of forced smiles and suppressed issues that was Jayce and Mel’s relationship. Whatever had upset Mel that night had passed, though not without a long period of awkward and more-than-a-little-cold goodbyes after each instance she’d come to their suite to spend time with the man. Viktor didn’t want to push, especially after his misstep in the slightly distasteful confrontation with her on move-in day, so he didn’t mention anything. Not even when he caught sight of Mel ducking out of the way of a chaste kiss goodbye, opting instead to press her lips into a firm line and pat Jayce’s shoulder lightly, gaze fixed on his chest and not his searching eyes. Viktor had presumed they were searching, anyway. He wasn’t privy to Jayce’s true expression, as he’d caught the small incident whilst ducking out of the kitchenette, excitedly holding a scalding foil tin of some steaming concoction he’d purchased at the nearby convenience store, which was probably more plastic than food. 

It wasn’t hard to imagine the somewhat pained but overwhelmingly withdrawn expression that probably flickered across Jayce’s features, eyebrows maybe furrowing slightly toward the middle and mouth dipping into the crease of his cheek, dimpling the flesh but not in a smile. Viktor could have imagined the small sigh that escaped his lips, but the undeniably tense, problematic atmosphere between the two told him otherwise. 

They had problems of their own. Problems that Viktor didn’t want to see hashed out at the hands of too-strong alcohol that had an infamous tendency to loosen lips and disjoint hearts from their Piltover-brand birdcages. They could work it out on their own, thank you very much. 

Viktor’s uncomfortability with the potential vulnerability didn’t stem from any deep rooted suppression of his own emotions, nor was it a result of some traumatic event that left him rejecting emotions forever. It was that, well, after the incident with the lab, and the few hours spent with Caitlyn at the ramen shop in the wee hours of the night, Viktor felt like things were going way too quickly. He’d compartmentalised his opinions of what friends should be, from coworkers to acquaintances to amicable to…well, romantic partners. 

Viktor hadn’t really expected to surpass the gaping line between friend-of-a-friend and confidant in the span of hours, to say the least. It left him reeling and questioning the depth of their relationship, or his lack of awareness at the progression of it, anyway. Surely Cailtyn Kiramman, blue haired political science major who was dead-set on fighting against the rigidity of Piltover starting with her own parents and ending, probably, by becoming the goddamn mayor or something, was not the type to spill her long-held secrets to any random passer by. Viktor truly had no idea what had prompted her sudden trust, their sudden closeness, and the sudden modicum of warmth he felt when her eyes lit up in recognition when he entered their shared classrooms, or when she spotted him from a sidewalk, or when their relentless studying inevitably landed them both in the library. 

It shoved him unwillingly into a position of not knowing, with conviction, where he stood with her. He thought he knew, but his expectations were significantly diverted, rug swept from beneath his feet, as some would say. He figured knew where he stood with Mel. He didn’t want any drastic changes to that, with the awareness it would no doubt be for the worse, if their clashing personalities were anything to go by. 

So the group - once teeming with electricity and the anticipation that came with an unfamiliar addition like Viktor - had been on a pause. It was clear to Viktor that Jayce and Caitlyn’s friendship wasn’t one that could easily simmer or fade, but he wasn’t sure about the rest of the party. 

There was, of course, the possibility that they were in fact spending time together, and just neglecting to invite Viktor along. He supposed he would understand, if it came down to it, but he figured Caitlyn liked him enough to dismiss the thought from his head. Violet probably liked him too, if Viktor had read her correctly, and there was of course a sort of camaraderie beneath his and Jayce’s endless arguing.  

So, really, the thought was senseless, just another hypothetical that had been wasting Viktor’s precious thoughts and invading his otherwise peaceful period of uninterrupted time to himself. He knew he was well-liked enough to become a return-guest in their sit-com-like dynamic, but lately his assumptions had been far off kilter, and sent him spiralling off into unfortunate fizzles of unsureness. He didn’t actually know anything, not when it came to the four- or three richest people in all of Piltover that had decided to recruit Viktor into their sucking orbit and send him flying throughout the cosmos of an unfamiliar universe. 

It didn’t really upset Viktor, the thought of them spending time together without him, as he definitely wasn’t as close with the others as they were with each other, but it did press on his somewhat consistent worry that he’d been reading every situation wrong. 

Whatever. It wasn’t bothering him. He preferred studying to going out any day of the week, though the lightweight feeling of easy conversation that intensified a heady buzzing in his ears as heat crept up beneath his cheeks and laughter echoes in his ear drums was something to be missed, in his opinion. 

Another thing Viktor liked about Piltover, placing high on the small but growing list, were the seasons. The way each quarter of the year was parted perfectly into distinct periods, sewn loosely together by the lolls of warmth that ebbed or flowed depending on the time of year, leading the inhabitants gently into the next phase. The vibrant greens of spring, dotted with a shy splash of coquettish colours that brighten the very earth itself and welcomed thunderstorms thirstily, to the merciless beauty of winter, cold and pure white, piercing and unyielding in its icy gaze and unrelenting with its cold grasp. The suffocating heat and haze of the summer sun that glittered through small leaves and shone proudly, hung upon a baby-blue sky as boyish as a toy truck or small pair of sneakers worn from too much use. 

Autumn, though. Autumn was by far the most amazing season in Piltover, crowning the few months it had to show itself as the best of the year. It had a severe tendency to reach its tawny vines into even the late summer, encroaching selfishly but shamelessly through a particularly frigid breeze or a cool evening. It had always seemed that, overnight, some impish spirit or fairy or something had set fire to every single tree within the city like a warmer Jack Frost — lighting the hillsides with a blaze of honey yellowed, golden oranges and a maple reddish colour that seemed to positively burst out of its trunk. Plus, it was a nice chance for the haughty sun to humble itself behind a few cloudy days, and retract its invasive heat into a much more manageable warmth, until about the middle of October, when it resigned completely to the clutches of an oncoming winter. 

If anyone had been keeping track, perhaps it would have been a surprise, considering Viktor’s absolute adoration for keeping plants alive and not watching them die, but having lived with a constant reminder of his own mortality for his entire life, it was a sort of comfort. A familiarity. Plus, though he hated to admit it, Zaun had a very disjointed sense of seasons. The heavily polluted air had always teemed with a cold acidity, even in the dregs of late July, and heavy smog blanketing the sun too thickly to sense even a drastic change in temperature, much less a gradual one. It was a wonder of nature, and allowed Viktor an easy gateway into thinking about what he loved to think about: earth. Soil, roots, plants, animals, trees, leaves, air, the sky, the sun. 

Not to mention, it was far easier on his joints than the sweat-inducing summer or shivering winter. He could feel himself relaxing more as each day passed, days as slow as molasses but weeks quicker than the snap of a whip. Time passed obscurely, measured in study sessions and naps and bringing with it the relieving coolness of his beloved season, a much needed dip in a pool after a steamy summer’s day. 

Contrary, though, to Viktor’s growing ease, was Jayce’s discomfort. Though Viktor spent little time at the apartment, it was what little time he did spend there that allowed him to try and gauge the extent to which the man was spiraling into insanity. He was always at the suite, constantly blasting his Portuguese music obtrusively and cursing profanities, some in English, some not, at his notes. His habit of never fully closing the door to his bedroom allowed Viktor subtle peeks of a chalkboard, fastened hastily to one of his walls in place of the framed pictures and hanging medals, which seemed to be crammed with incoherent notes and diagrams. 

There were measurements and remeasurements, crossed out drawings of anatomical studies and furious scribbles that may have not been any language at all, and certainly not contributing helpfully to any of his work. Already solved equations littered the edges of the poor thing, but sat unacknowledged unlike the chalk sitting on the small lip of the board, whittled callously to the bone, if it had any. 

The sight was somewhat more than concerning to Viktor, but he’d met his fair share of true prodigies in his life, most of which notably not in Piltover, and he recognised a ‘process’ in the witless scratchings and irritating music volume. He knew a true scientist when he saw one, and Jayce suited the very definition of the word. Mechanics was, apparently, the man’s entire life. There were equations and formulae that Viktor was pretty sure he hadn’t even seen before, invented either too recently to have been printed in his textbooks or by Jayce himself as a last-ditch effort to make sense of whatever he was working on. Viktor almost pitied the man, but scientists were, in his opinion, a type of wild animal, and no wild animal ever felt sorry for itself. Well, the analogy sort-of fit. Jayce definitely felt sorry for himself, but Viktor knew there was no point in feeling pity for him. Jayce was pragmatic, almost similarly to Viktor, searching for the value in everything he did and rejecting anything he deemed not worth his time.

It was possible, even, that Jayce’s well-sculpted head was too far into his research that he didn’t realise how bad it had gotten, cheeks sinking in ever-so-slightly and eyes growing swollen then purpled and baggy with his lack of sleep. Viktor wondered if he even took bathroom breaks. 

It made him think about the cleverness of the suite designers, pawns of not even the university but of the punishing industry, placing private bathrooms into each bedroom. Encouraging an absolute and unwavering dedication to work within its students and conditioning people, like Jayce, who are desperate to uphold their image and achieve popularity amongst internship providers, into toiling endlessly at their research without so much as a two-minute bathroom break spent away from their work. 

Coming as what must have been a great relief to the man, seeing as his shoulders deflated and eyebrows raised almost obscenely, Viktor found himself inviting him to get drinks. Not that Viktor needed to, obviously,  just that he had caught up as much as the university would allow him to in his work, and Jayce looked like he’d been needing a break for ten years for the past few days. 

“Oh my- yes, that sounds great, really.” 

Viktor nodded and glanced around the room from his perch between the open door and its frame, furrowing a brow pointedly at the chalkboard of horrors, as he’d dubbed it in his mind.  

Jayce just sighed. “Science, I guess.” 

Viktor nodded solemnly. He tried harder to make sense of the random diagrams and anatomical studies, tried even harder to recognise some of the half-finished equations that littered the board, but to no avail. 

‘Well, damn, don’t sugarcoat it, I guess.” Jayce’s faux-defensiveness had the man in his doorway raising an unamused eyebrow, and he sighed again. “It’s…not great at the moment. But I’ll get there.” 

“Notgreat is an understatement, you might find it easier to make sense of all this-” Viktor stepped forward, jabbing his cane in Jayce’s directions as he made his way toward the thing, subtly grasping the noticeably unused eraser in his right hand. “If you start by erasing some of these-” Viktor’s sneer was interrupted by a broad hand flying out in a flurry to stop his wrist, and a bumbling mess of repeated waits sent his way by Jayce. 

Viktor moved to face the man but he’d already leapt out of his desk chair, planting himself squarely between Viktor and the chalkboard. 

“I- I just- just wait, I need all this stuff! You can’t just erase a man’s chalkboard-!” His hands gestured wildly between his chest and Viktor’s, twitching as if holding back a desire to physically push Viktor away from the thing, but Viktor remained in place. He relinquished the hold his left hand had on his cane, letting it fall to the floor as he instead used it to shove Jayce’s shoulder out of the way of a particularly perplexing diagram of a hip-joint. 

Jayce sucked in a breath and, almost instinctively, darted out to catch the wooden stake before it clattered on the cool laminate, in turn revealing the rest of the poorly drawn leg. 

Laughter, poorly controlled by Viktor’s pressed lips, exploded out of his mouth in an unflattering bark as he tried to regain composure and attempt a civil conversation about Jayce’s piss-poor leg anatomy, but the image had him throwing his head back and cackling louder, louder still as Jayce groaned and ripped the fabric eraser from Viktor’s right hand, moving to cover the thing with his broad body and erase it quickly. 

Jayce’s muttering and heated cheeks had Viktor inhaling smoothly, coming down from the gales of laughter and regaining a sense of sincerity. 

His accent curved the vowels in his speech more severely through his grin, but he’d already been trying hard not to laugh, so it was the best he could manage without doubling over in laughter as he spoke. “It is- it is not terrible, it’s not bad! Really, it’s just… well it could certainly pass as a horse’s leg instead of- eh- a human’s, shall I say?”  

Jayce, who had ultimately found himself unwilling to erase even that disaster of a diagram from his board, looked between it and Viktor with his mouth agape and eyebrows furrowed. He tried to form a sort of defense, to come up with a remark that would sear or embarrass Viktor equally, but his voice caught on a huff of air. It produced a sort of laugh, strange and strangled, intensely incredulous, but a laugh nonetheless. One that tumbled like a small snowball down a steep hill and grew larger and quicker until it became too dense and fell apart into breathy giggles. 

It was a sound that Viktor didn’t think existed outside of his hazy memory of the bars, something raspy but childlike and, well, embarrassing that would otherwise shock Viktor if he hadn’t already seen it happen. 

Viktor found himself laughing synchronously when his hearing finally caught up with him, no longer fixated on the oxymoronic and bubbling giggles that spilled over Jayce’s full lips and instead again at the chalkboard. 

“Ohh, wow, I really thought it wasn’t half-bad, too. Think I’ve been cooped up a bit too long.” He sighed happily, even as he stared scrutinously at the drawing, “Yeah. I think a drink would do me some good.” 

Viktor checked the small bronze watch on his right wrist, which read an innocent 17:46. “Shit!” He deadpanned, looking nervously at Jayce, whose brows furrowed the second he processed Viktor’s panicked tone. He straightened his spine, meaning forward and raising the front of his eyebrows questioningly. 

“We’ve got fifteen minutes until happy hour ends! Quick- erase that and let’s go!” He gestured his hand hastily toward the horse-leg drawing as he whipped around, grinning wickedly and shutting the door loudly behind him. 

Naturally, Viktor’s attempt at being somewhat smooth or clever was immediately shot down with the realisation that he’d left his cane in Jayce’s room, but his pride had him hopping on one foot over to the kitchen stools and sitting rather patiently until Jayce swung his own door open, air whooshing at his force, brandishing a simple black coat and, of course, Viktor’s cane. The grin on his face was positively wicked — clearly determined to reach whatever bar they were heading to before the hour was over, in hopes of starting a heavily discounted and, more importantly, bottomless tab for the night. 

Viktor had little time to ponder on the man’s unquestioning consideration — he really wasn’t expecting him to bring him his cane, much less remember it was even forgotten in his room in the first place. A very solemn look overtook Jayce’s features as he came to a stop in front of Viktor and fucking knelt. 

Corny as ever, the large man brandishes the wooden staff like a stoic knight would his sword, nodding gravely when Viktor lifted it with both hands — not only matching the astronomical levels of lameness emanating from Jayce but far exceeding it, tapping each of his shoulders and hereby dubbing him Sir Jayce of Piltover University. 

Rolling his eyes through the last line, Viktor snapped a quick “Now let’s go!” as he stood up and hurried toward the shoe rack in the doorway. 

He barely had time to tug the heel of one of his shoes over his foot before he was all but shoved out of the door, caught in a tangle of bustling legs tripping over each other to reach the elevator first and slam an outstretched finger onto the poor call button. 

They jabbed increasingly competitive threats at each other the entire ride down, which in reality was only about a minute, and Viktor felt a growing tension in his shoulders loosen ever-so-slightly. 

Whatever had been keeping Jayce- the group so busy definitely didn’t have anything to do with a sudden distaste for Viktor, much to his unwilling relief. He knew he wasn’t their best friend, nor even closer than any peer or acquaintance, but he knew that he enjoyed himself when they were all together. And Caitlyn seemed more than accustomed to him, anyway. It did something to his heart, something gentle and tentative, similar to how Viktor might have held an injured fledgling that had experienced an unfortunate fall to the cold, hard ground from the safety of its nest. It held him, but didn’t cage him or prod uncomfortably, simply sitting still but supportive halfway caught between appreciation and a fear that he might scramble out of the grasp at a moment’s notice. 

He did feel very similar to a fledgeling, eyes just barely opened to a world he’d never dared see before, the world that allowed to people to have names like Kiramman or Medarda that were so merciless and constricting that a child could be cast aside with a single word, but also the world that had been built upon years of craftsmanship and an adoration for progress, something Viktor himself could relate to, something wooden and carved and waxed where Viktor himself was splintering. Similar, perhaps even carved from the same branch, but inextricably different, weathered and worn and chipped in a proud stature, potentially evoking a pitiful glance had he not stood so tall and so determined. 

What he didn’t relate to, however, was the flighty nature of a bird. Though not one to throw himself into relationships, he didn’t feel any particular sense of temporary-ness to the group. Jayce’s friendship with Caitlyn was enough to dismiss that from anyone’s mind, as it was, and instilled within Viktor that feeling of the small fire of potential that came with excited friendships, of bonds to be formed, and memories to be shared. 

To say the least, Viktor was happy that his concerns had been quelled regarding the state of his budding friendships. He was also happy that Jayce was the same, ever-polite man he’d been since the first day Viktor had met him, and didn’t make a comment about the way Viktor’s mind had trailed off so intensely that he hadn’t realised they were approaching the warm familiarity of the same brick-lain bar as before. 

There was no press that typically came with silence in Piltover during their short walk. The sun hung lazily in the sky, though not relenting in its blazing heat, and a few clouds tried unsuccessfully to take their place in its light. It was nearing sunset, but not near enough to light the city up in a blaze of gold. Still, the light speared through thin leaves on each branch of the campus trees, speckling the light cast upon the sidewalks they traversed. 

Jayce didn’t strike Viktor as the type of person who enjoyed silence. The boisterous volume of the music he played whilst he worked was sufficient enough evidence. Still, he left Viktor to wander in his streaming river of thought until they found a table inside the bar. 

It was busy, to be expected at that time of day, and a few television screens illuminated with the scores for some recent sports game Viktor couldn’t bring himself to care about. A few small but noisy groups dotted the place, bartop flanked by stragglers looking for an excuse to drink, or talk, or… something else. 

Viktor’s eyes passed over the unrecognised figures and he took a seat at the waxy bar top, which boasted, once again, a dark wood that shone under the warm lighting. Viktor almost shook his head, there seemed to be some sort of pattern there, but he figured he’d spare Jayce of further silence and avoid diving into the rabbit hole of the building materials in Piltover. Wasn’t even a big deal, really. 

Sighing, he chanced a glance up at Jayce, who was leant somewhat unattractively over the counter to point at some draft beer, unbelievably light beer with an alcohol content of probably none. Jayce, certainly, was a wonder of nature. A commentary by the universe on the difference between nature versus nurture. 

Jayce’s nature, seemingly, was his burly masculinity. His rippling shoulders stretched tense across a broad chest, scruffed with dark hair and divided by a considerable amount of light scars, misshapen and likely from laboratory accidents, or the clumsiness of childhood. It was the five-o’-clock shadow that dusted his strong and angular jaw after just a day without shaving it clean, and it was the wide, strong hands that held tiny sticks of chalk harder and harder until they broke, distracted in the unyielding passion and excitement about whatever senseless equation he was solving at the time. 

Jayce’s nature, well, Viktor wasn’t sure what his nature was. Something that had the man scrambling in the late hours of the night to rescue Viktor from a rather unfortunate lab accident. Something that had him holding Viktor tightly to his chest after that day, breathing a sigh of relief at Viktor’s wellbeing after just knowing him for less than a week. Something that had him slamming his hands on the table after a spitting comment from Viktor about the nature of gravity, or of kinematics, or of some other physical concept, eyebrows furrowing unconsciously as he tried to explain his own thoughts through a wall of suffocating alcohol and slowed neurology. Something that drew people like Caitlyn Kiramman, like Mel Medarda, into his gravity. 

He thought he could see through the small slips in Jayce’s precarious mask. The times he’d be humming to himself the same tune that had been playing on repeat for the past few hours as he stood in front of the far-too expensive coffee machine in their kitchen. When he had a bit too much to drink, and allowed a broader, much more lopsided smile peek through his well-trained plastic one. When he’d walked out of his room with no fucking shirt on because he’d been wondering when Viktor would return home, or if he would at all. 

Call Viktor selfish, but he wanted to be privy to that side of Jayce, too. There was an intrinsic sort of pull to him, Viktor almost desperately wanted to discover. Call it scientific curiosity. He was a part of their group now, anyway, whether they liked it or not. Something he’d decided, well, just then. If that meant venturing outside of his semi-routined life at the library to have a few drinks with the man, so be it. Viktor wasn’t really complaining, mostly relieved Jayce didn’t suggest bringing Mel along. 

So he good naturedly took the straw-coloured drink from Jayce’s hands, albeit too eagerly, and took a determined swig, slamming it back down on the counter. An ignition of fizzling excitement had been lit in his chest, and it shot long tendrils of light throughout his arms and legs, jerking his movements and vibrating in his blood as if his very bones were trying to escape, to move closer to the man in front of him and physically close the distance of between them before time and affection could. 

A small chuckle tumbled out of Jayce’s lips, not pained but rife with a sort of awkwardness that came with the first drinks of the night. Viktor tried not to notice the way his sharp canines glinted in the light. 

“Oh, right, I,eh, forgot that you were supposed to sip politely here, wait, let me just-” Viktor huffed, extending his pinky finger out from his hold on the thing, tipping it forward to clink loudly with Jayce’s glass.

“What, no beer back in Zaun?” The smug joke had Viktor raising his eyebrows, surprised at the ease in which Jayce had jumped into a particularly forwardjoke, maybe even erring on the edge of offensive. 

“Just our savage moonshine, obviously. Very illegal and very scary.” Viktor waggled his fingers dramatically. 

Jayce nodded along. “They give you that for colds when you’re young? Might explain how you can throw back a shot like nobody's business-”

“Does Piltover feed its young silver spoons when they’re sick? Might explain your, eh, fixation with metal.” 

“Metal?” 

“You know. Mechanical engineering and stuff. Metal, gears, the like.” 

Jayce sighed loudly. “Mechanics, huh?” 

Viktor hummed in affirmation. “As opposed to real science, of course.” He didn’t really know what he was saying, definitely not drunk enough to explain away his divisiveness and painfully aware of the words spilling out of his lips, words that he didn’t even believe, probably just an excuse to keep the conversation afloat. Trying to extend their time at the bar for as long as possible, trying to get Jayce to show the part of himself Viktor knew he was hiding. 

“Oh, real science like, ah, let’s see, Czech Literature?” 

Okay, fuck all of that. Fuck Viktor’s nerves, his scientific curiosity — to hell with it all, to hell with Jayce. Viktor sputtered and scoffed at Jayce, choking slightly on his beer and shaking his head incredulously. What came out of his mouth was more of a lazily strung together twine of words as opposed to an actual sentence, syllables tumbling over each other made even clumsier through his thickening accent.

“How did you- it doesn’t even- forgive me for filling my time with things that might actually interest me as opposed to-” Viktor waved a hand wildly at Jayce, “Serving coffee, or whatever it is you do when you’re not locked away in your room blasting some music-!” 

Jayce gasped, “Some music?” but Viktor hadn’t finished with his directionless spiel.  

“Writing down… senseless equations and diagrams for… for horse anatomy!” Jayce nearly choked at that, cackling loudly and clutching his stomach whilst waving his other hand.

He inhaled greatly only to expel it all again in another peal of laughter, genuinely slapping his knee, which Viktor was sure he’d never seen anyone do before, and stuttered a sentence through hitched breathing. 

“Didn’t- didn’t realise it was such a sensitive subject…” His grin deepened further, and all Viktor could do was attempt to set the man on fire with his gaze. 

“Wow, we’ve downgraded to wordplay. Very clever, Jayce,” 

“Not everyone,” Jayce sat back up, leaning further into the low back of the barstool and letting his grin fall into a relaxed smirk, “can be as clever as you, Viktor. Hell, maybe no one can.” 

It wasn’t a compliment, but Viktor had never really understood why people took that offensively anyway. He smiled. “You might have had a, eh, fighting chance, if only you had a real education.” 

He didn’t know exactly what he was talking about, the lack of appropriately-timed lunch earlier and now-drained glass of beer weighing somewhat on his mind, but Jayce laughed anyway. 

“First I’m just a mechanic, now I’ve never even been to school? Your opinion of me remains flattering, as always.” 

Viktor rolled his eyes, remembering through his thickening haze the actual point of the conversation. How did he know which classes Viktor assisted? It was possible, in fact expected, that he’d gotten the information from Caitlyn, but it wasn’t really the how that tugged at Viktor’s thoughts. Why on earth would he want to know that? There were severe implications that at some point within the past month, or so, of school, he had taken the time to either ask Caitlyn about his subjects or look it up on his own. Viktor wanted to shake his head clear of the thought, but the light buzz had thickened the stream of crystalline water that flowed through his thoughts and shaped his ideas into a dozing molasses pool, overshadowing every minute thoughts whilst grabbing tightly to the bigger ones and refusing to let go. Ever the scientist, though, Viktor knew that his theories could be entirely false and place him into a rather undesirable light, assuming without a doubt that the man had taken time to consciously note that information down instead of considering the possibility that he could have just caught sight of viktor’s schedule, or that caitlyn had mentioned it in passing, or something similar. 

He realised he’d been staring, or glaring, for a few seconds too long at Jayce, so he tried to rid his mind of the confounding thoughts with a question. “So it is that, then?” 

Jayce was clearly not as affected by his drink as Viktor would, which only caused him to bristle more uncomfortably as the man quirked a thick brow.  

Viktor repeated himself. “International, eh, economics or whatever it was I said. You do take it?” 

Jayce was looking toward Viktor but more so throughhim, eyes darting away at the mention of his choice of studies. His small grin faltered. “Nah, just mechanical engineering. Don’t think I’ve done anything else fun since… well since ever, probably.” 

“I’m not sure I would call that a particularly fun class, but I, eh, see what you mean.” He raised his shoulders appeasingly. “And why not?” 

Apparently Jayce’s mind had decided to cease its function at that exact moment, leaving him staring rather invasively in Viktor’s direction, eyes lidded slightly and lips pressed together pensively. 

It reminded Viktor, slightly, of the look he’d been shot by during their first escapade as a group. Standing with Caitlyn at the overpriced marble counter, waiting for some cooler-than-thou hipster to serve a few disgusting drinks to her so they could return to their table victorious, and turning his gaze to the table. Being pinned to the bartop under the burly man’s dark gaze, heatless and intentional, and not even bashful upon being caught, just persistent. A goofy smile spread across his face, laughing at some joke that the rest of the universe was deaf to. 

Something in Viktor’s stomach stirred, and he frowned deeply, leaning forward and snapping loudly beside Jayce’s ear. 

Smoothly, as though he hadn’t been sitting quite stupidly and silently for the past few seconds, he ducked his head and chuckled, apologizing dismissively. “What was that?” 

It was sort of like Jayce had been looking up at the universe or some god, and being told a piece of vital information. And he wanted to. Badly. It was everybody in a room knowing something he didn’t, it was shared secrets behind giggling hands, glances thrown his way and darting away quickly. Something more genuinely bristling dislodged in his chest. What was Jayce thinking about, what inside joke was he sharing with himself and everyone in his world except for Viktor, possibly about Viktor? 

Viktor sighed and turned to face the countertop for the first time that night. “Nevermind.” 

Maybe it was just a result of Viktor’s chronic misfortune, once again a subtle jab from the universe at his expense like an endless well, a horse that won’t die no matter how much it gets beaten. He[‘d just wanted to get closer with the man, he was just trying to be a good roommate, but instead he’d had too much beer too soon and was spouting senseless jabs at him, now bristling under Jayce’s still smiling stare. He’d just wasted their time, really, apparently unable to avoid his own callousness and making fun of the man the entire time, unable to do anything but argue. The only thing was… it didn’t feel that serious, not really, Viktor had actually quite enjoyed himself so far. Jayce’s look earlier had just reminded him of his years being the willing butt of every joke amongst the people he’d called his friends, rolling over and allowing it to wash over him like saltwater, pushing him in strong waves and slamming him humiliatingly against the sands of cruelty again and again. He figured, no, he knew that Jayce wasn’t like that, but the feeling of being left out of a joke that everyone seemed to know except for him was something Viktor had been too accustomed to in his youth, having thankfully grown out of his appeasement since but not without some remaining scars. It was a shame that though his own cells were constantly replicating, replacing each other and taking the space of the one before, the same could not be said for his memories. Why was it that a fond memory did not take the place of a bad one? What was his mind but its own organism, an ecosystem of interests and ideas that was ever-expanding and ever reaching its own grabby hands into knowledge, and why couldn’t it hide scars as well as his skin could? 

He couldn’t really blame Jayce, not with a clear conscience, and the man was tugging at his sleeve, prodding at him to respond to his question of what did you say, and somehow still chuckling. Viktor knew Jayce wasn’t like that, but it was hard to jump into any pool of water, no matter how still or clear, after nearly drowning in a furious ocean. 

It was a gift, truly, that Jayce couldn’ read his thoughts, which upon reflection were soured with more repressed bitterness than it would have been had he not been drinking, but beer had a tendency to bring it out in him. None of this sourness had truly been aimed at Jayce, his jibes holding no weight, but it was still present. At least Jayce found him funny. 

Chest not nearly as light as it was when it was fluttering with anticipation earlier, beating curiously as he’d asked Jayce for a drink, he turned back toward him and sighed exaggeratedly. 

“I said why not? There are plenty of subjects you might take an interest in, I’m sure.” 

Ignorant of the torrent that had just rampaged through Viktor’s head, probably assuming it to be another one of Viktor’s deadpan looks, Jayce threw one of his hands up to his forehead dramatically, swooning into the back of his chair to complain about something, no doubt. 

“I probably would have if I had any hobbies, but kinematics is about it. I had to take some sort of elective in undergrad, just like any normal person, but to be honest I can’t even remember what it was.” His hands were clasped loosely over his thighs, tipping forward with each point and eventually moving up to rest behind his head. He sighed loudly, punctuating it with a strained sound to emphasise his own apparently hopeless, hobbyless situation. 

“Bullshit.” No, really, bullshit, Viktor thought. No one can go through life without any sort of hobbies… surely. 

Jayce smiled, seemingly thrilled with the opportunity to talk about himself, over his response. “Nah, really. Grew up in my dad’s forge, didn’t really have a choice but to become a world class engineer considering it’s what I spent just about one-hundred percent of my childhood doing. Even before I moved here, to Piltover, I was helping him pound metal.” 

There was a lot of information Viktor had to race through within that small declaration. First, Jayce grew up in a forge. Viktor had grown up in the forges of Zaun. Jayce, though, was a part of it himself, and Viktor imagined him working indefatigably alongside a larger, probably wiser version of himself. The fires of the forge conjured something so indescribable to Viktor, so meaningful, so life-altering and so shifting that he’d considered it the very foundation of his scientific ability, and it lived inside Jayce. A piece of himself that he’d held so dearly, a precious morsel of his origins that he’d been holding close and protectively to his heart as if the wrong — or right — person could swoop in and take it from him, unknowing that the man he’d spent the past month living with had it woven into his very fibres of existence. Almost immediately, Viktor felt the shiftiness of his gut explode into a bubbling fountain that threatened to escape his throat and spill down his front, but it wasn’t from the alcohol. 

No time to ponder on it, though, as Viktor realised the second part of Jayce’s story. Jayce moved to Piltover when he was young. Jayce was not born in Piltover. Jayce was not born in Piltover. Jayce, Piltvoer’s sweetheart, the golden man who shone so brightly underneath its sun, who embodied the sturdy cleanliness and scientific determination without question, who also fell victim to the merciless industry, who had built spanning dams around himself and bore a plastic mask just as Piltover asked its citizens to, was not born in Piltover. The very humanity of Piltover itself, the ‘piltie prodigy’ and the probably-filthy-rich idea he’d harboured of Jayce, when faced with it, were devoid of any true substance. How had Viktor been so wrong? How could he have looked at something formed, shaped and made from the very thing that had shaped him, and labelled it with the same name as he would Caitlyn’s bacterial bioweapon. He wasn’t a product of Piltover, he was simply someone who’d adapted, and well, to its constraints. A young boy who’d probably had to relearn what it meant to exist in a new environment, this time with much higher stakes and a freshly painted plastic mask to hide himself with. 

Emotions, nameless feelings with a depth comparable only to the deepest trenches within the oceans or the tallest mountain peaks, simultaneously crushed Viktor and overfilled his blood, threatening to burst at any moment. There was no amount of words he could say, no amount of grovelling at Jayce’s feet or apologizing or infuriated screaming that would do justice to what he was feeling. So instead he just huffed weakly. “World class is pushing it, surely.” 

Jayce scoffed for what seemed like the millionth time that night, and rattled on about some medals or accolades he’d received that must have been proof enough (surely, he’d repeated with the same borderline offensive mock-accent) but Viktor couldn’t hear it. He had to say something else, anything else. Anything that could possibly even attempt to reach the level of profoundness that Jayce had so effortlessly grazed, anything that might cure the tidepool rippling in his thoughts and less-than-subtly yanked at his heart. 

“You must enjoy something mechanics-unrelated…?” Viktor found that, at the best of times, he wasn’t the most adequate with his words. Blame it on the accent, blame it on the alcohol, blame it on whatever is most apparent at the time. Articulating his thoughts was, to say the least, difficult. 

The man pondered at that, again leaving Viktor silently considering if he should just cut his losses and move out that night, or enroll in How To Be a Human Person 101. With just two glasses and a half, realising with much delay that Jayce had ordered twice more and he himself was already halfway deep in his second, the haze in his mind had somehow removed all eloquence that he so usually held himself with, stripped him of the armour he proudly brandished against the harsh and quick-paced current on Piltover. Maybe it wasn’t even the alcohol. 

“Well, I… okay don’t laugh, I can already sense it. I, uh, actually quite enjoy, like, uhm, art. Drawing and stuff and, uh, looking at it and, yeah. Art. Is something I like to do.” Jayce had stiffened considerably and his clasped hands had found their way to his lap once again, this time clutching each other tightly whilst a thumb rubbed over the taught skin of his knuckles. 

Viktor wasn’t about to chance words again, and the beer had reached its way into the centre of his brain and nestled comfortably there, bisecting the impulse control centre and the impulse centre. He reached across the bar in Jayce’s direction, the man sitting up straighter as his diverted gaze shot up, but Viktor curled his lips into a small smile as he reached his arm further past the man. He grabbed a small, white cocktail napkin and, with his other hand, a pen from his back pocket. 

Balked was not really the right word for it, but it came close enough for Viktor to confidently believe that Jayce balked when he placed the two objects on the counter in front of him. 

The man looked around skittishly, shifting around in his seat quickly and in a way that didn’t satiate his growing discomfort. “I- I mean I can’t just- I wouldn't even, like, know what to even draw I can’t just-”

“Draw me.” Viktor almost raised an eyebrow at his own boldness, confidence barreling out of an invisible place within his chest. He wanted to make it up to Jayce, to allow him the semblance of freedom he’d been denied by Piltover his entire life, entering the city as a guest but staying trapped under its iron thumb. Under the same metal that Jayce had probably worked so hard to shape. 

Jayce had turned a much paler shade, and sat entirely still, which was considerably more concerning than his previous fidgeting. Viktor didn’t think he’d ever seen Jayce be truly still. His small smirk widened into a bigger grin, pushing the skin on his high cheekbones and squinting his eyes mischievously. 

“Go on. Cannot be too hard, right?” Viktor leaned in and pushed the pen further at Jayce. Jayce gulped. 

Silently, and somewhat surprisingly, he reached a tensed hand out and gripped the pen so hard Viktor thought it might break, and drew the small napkin toward himself. He hunched over the thing, wrist moving in confident lines and carefully avoiding pressuring the napkin too hard for fear it might tear and leave the canvas ruined. It wasn’t like an exam, or a high-stakes situation, but Jayce still set his jaw and contracted his shoulders until all of his upper body weight was leant upon the counter. Viktor wanted to see his progress, but with the broadness of his shoulders and the ungodly (or godly, depending on who you ask) diameter of Jayce’s well-conditioned arms blocked his view. 

Viktor huffed but sat back, the haze in his head naught but a slight buzz with the lack of panic and spiralling streams of thought that broke into coursing rivers and swirled into murky depths. It was a sort of relief from the crushing weight of the waves, he’d successfully done, well, something, to allow a little bit of Jayce to seep through the hairline fractures in his facade. Though not the unintentional slip of an embarrassing laugh, nor a heartfelt conversation fueled by too many drinks, it was Jayce nonetheless. Viktor hoped. 

Horse-leg diagram scrawled furiously onto Jayce’s chalkboard aside, because Viktor was giving him the benefit of the doubt knowing how his own motor skills progressively decreased with each passing hour spent behind a desk, working away at some impossible problem, he didn’t have any expectation for how it was going to turn out. 

He assumed that Jayce couldn’t have spent much time dedicated to furthering his artistic skill, and that he had probably spent most of his time drawing mechanical-looking diagrams anyway, so that was probably his area of expertise. That is, to say, portraiture wouldn’t be his strong suit. There was a stark difference between the cool lifelessness of a diagram, or a to-scale model of a gear system or hinge joint or race car engine and the unrivaled soul within actual art. Viktor thought himself a sort of artist, if only by proxy, taking more than his fair share of art history classes and a few artsy electives in undergrad, so he definitely knew art. 

He knew it, and he loved it. It was, and could not be explained in another way, exactly like biology. The two paralleled in his mind perfectly, the imperfect promise, the evolution, the story that was interwoven with every single piece of art, traditional or written or performed, in exactly the same way that every single living organism on the entire planet was a result of eons of perfecting and re-perfecting, of making a bold stroke of colour and surviving because of it. The story for all things, present within the DNA common to all organisms, painting a landscape of the history of everything in a way Monet may have dotted his own pieces with a thick brush. It was something that allowed Viktor a space to let his mind wander, something up to interpretation and easily manipulated, riddled with the debate of purpose and creation. So, at its basics, the same as biology. Strokes of paint and lighting choices guided Viktor’s thoughts in the same way that a pack of wolves may shape the flow of a river, through a series of chain reactions that result in one branching and omni-connected masterpiece. 

What was pushed his way by a very silent and very avoiding-eye-contact Jayce was certainly not a fractalized exposé on the nature of life itself, but it was more than leagues ahead of the failed attempt at an anatomical diagram on his chalkboard. 

It was good. Really good. It wasn’t perfect, by any means except for maybe Viktor’s own, but he’d always had a penchant for the imperfect, the organic, and this was certainly organic. Sketchy lines extended past expected borders, but remained smooth and confident in body, pressure of the pen adjusting and darkening boldly. Viktor saw in it the high slope of his nose, the carefully placed moles beside his eye and mouth and cheeks, the downward curve of his lips and the upward tilt of his eyes. His own eyebrows quirked up at him in an expression that could have been read as slight amusement, or something else entirely. An alluring Mona Lisa type of sketchy expression. Jayce’s manner of drawing was, without a doubt, clean, but it wasn’t sterile, characteristic of someone who’d spent hours perfecting the straight lines of a difficult diagram but still comfortable with the bloody, sinewy, bony flesh of an actual human being. 

And for all of Viktor’s scowling, for all of his frowns, Jayce had drawn him with a small smile and a characteristic furrow in his thick brows. 

He leaned in to scan the lines closer, to absorb the visual information like he would a novel, trying hard to read in the same language that Jayce had written so fluently in, with so much care that he’d given him a smile, and Jayce remained still beside him. His stare could have caught Viktor’s clothes on fire with its intensity. Viktor could see him chewing the inside of his bottom lip out of his peripherals. If Viktor could speak this language, instead of just look at it and ponder its origins uselessly, he may have been able to decipher the meaning laden in the drawing. He figured it had something to do with Jayce’s conversation with himself earlier, but it didn’t draw the tide of Viktor’s bitterness closer to shore. Instead it stirred something within his chest, it plucked the taught strings that had been tugging at him for so long like a guitar, shuddering his ribs with vibrations in yet another language he couldn’t understand but screamed at him. But Viktor knew that one didn’t just learn a language in a day. 

He looked up from the counter with his mouth slightly open, not having the mind to close it through the thin buzz. Unfortunately, and much to Viktor’s surprise, Jayce had taken that same time to lean in and study the image himself, hands wringing over each other in his lap as he’d probably watched Viktor’s expression for a sign of discontent or a repressed wince in reaction to the sketch. 

Viktor craning his head back up from it had brought their faces much closer together than expected. 

Shining, almost golden eyes locked with deep brown ones, Viktor’s high-set nose nearly bumping with Jayce’s sloping one. Viktor could feel the air become hotter by at least a few degrees and his panicked eyes darted back and forth between Jayce’s. He could feel Jayce’s hot breath on his mouth and the small puffs of air had Viktor’s throat tightening around a — thankfully — silent groan. He nearly seized when the deep ebony eyes darted down, breaking the intense contact, for a tenth of a millisecond and then back up hastily. 

He tried to clear his throat, but couldn’t muster up enough energy, so his breath hitched embarrassingly instead, which only worked to sear his veins even hotter because then Jayce’s eyes were lidding slightly. Viktor could feel his heart thundering painfully in his chest, he could feel every litre of blood being siphoned throughout his body, through his heart and into his lungs and through his hip, his knee, his ankle, the wrist that held his cane, and the vertebrae at the base of his spine. They all pulsed with the overactivity of his hammering heart, but the pain wasn’t even distracting, it only urged Viktor closer to the man in front of him, pleading for him to careen forward and to be caught in those big, muscular arms and- Jayce was so close to him, too, posture leaned completely forward and hands pressing against his upper thighs to keep him upright.

Was… when had Jayce moved even closer than before? He must have, at some point, because the buttoned silhouette of his nose had crossed over the straight point of Viktor’s, and Viktor thought he could see a million shades of darker brown bursting beneath the already shadowy colour of Jayce’s irises, colours he’d never seen before. Never been close enough to see before. 

His mind flashed to a phone call answered without hesitation, to pacing footsteps on a faraway sidewalk, to the feeling of a crushing hug, to smug jabs passed between them, to a broad and tanned chest that dipped down to display a silver bar of metal- was it silver or was it gold? Did it cool the man’s burning heat and snuff the fires that seemed to roar in his very skin, or did it compete with his gilded smile, shining as bright as it could but unrivalling the broad flash of teeth?  

He thought of silver, he thought of gold, and then he thought of Mel. Who’d allowed herself to take time out of her schedule to spend time alongside someone she fundamentally disagreed with, Mel, who’d shown a modicum of vulnerability in front of the people she was supposed to be closest with, only to backtrack immediately in fear, in insecurity, in a million different things. Someone who lived with the most cunning and inexorable matriarch in all of Piltover, who shared a dining table with her, and still managed to make a name for herself despite. 

Mel, who was most definitely still with Jayce. The man sitting in front of him, leaned in, eyes lidded and brain fogged with beer and leaned in and about to- 

Viktor inhaled sharply and shut his mouth with a resounding click, raising his hand up to rest on Jayce’s shoulder with the slightest pressure. He wanted to close the distance. But there were too many reasons not to. 

“It’s… good, Jayce. A good drawing.” Viktor had to raise his voice over the swelling volume of the bar, sun now completely set and tables bustling with the weight of countless groups of anonymous college students. 

He noticed the way Jayce’s eyes widened for a moment, realising himself, and the way he inhaled for a long time, blinking and rubbing his eyes before adjusting the hem of his shirt, which had begun to ride up in his… efforts. Viktor noticed, but didn’t mention it. He felt like a bucket of water had been poured on him.

“Thanks, it’s not, I mean it’s definitely not my best work, plus I need a refresher on how to do, like, bone structure, and stuff, because yours is- um, well, you like- you like it?” 

Viktor took his hand off Jayce’s shoulder to turn more completely into the counter. Away from Jayce’s inescapable gravity. “I… would it disturb you if… if I kept it?”

Jayce shook his head but his mouth turned downward and his eyebrows furrowed. There was still a glassiness to his vision, a faraway look resting just behind his eyes, but Viktor couldn’t allow himself to ponder it. “Are- you want to keep it? Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m, eh, I’m sure.”

_______________________

After that, the two made it a habit to spend a night or two per week at the bar, sometimes with the rest of the group and sometimes without. They hadn’t gotten closer to each other, either. There was the obvious hand-on-the-shoulder that was typical of Jayce and everyone he knew, and the occasional brushing of hands together that made Viktor’s chest want to heave and his spine to shiver, but nothing further than that. 

He didn’t want to think about it. He really didn’t want to think about the way Jayce’s eyelids had caught the warm glow of the overhead lighting and how they’d drooped significantly over his dark eyes. He didn’t think about the feeling of Jayce’s breath, twinged with beer and something against his own face, intermingling with his breath and clouding the space between them in a thicker haze. He definitely didn;t want to think about the fact that he’d had no more than three beers, Jayce no more than four, and how that was definitely not enough, even on an empty stomach, to suggest something so impulsive and unthinkable as… closing the distance. 

It was easier not to think about it, anyway. And when had things ever gone his way, really? No matter what he wanted, the universe always seemed to have other plans. Whether that was in the shape of broad hands cupping his jaw, callouses from years spent at a forge brushing over Viktor’s face, or in the shape of Viktor’s own lithe fingers dancing across a bronze, wide chest, thumb brushing over the piercing and hands dipping even further south. 

What didn’t make it easier was Mel’s increasing visiting hours to their suite. He didn’t even know if she lived on campus, because she spent so much time hanging around and serving as a constant reminder of Viktor’s guilt so often he was suspicious she’d decided to move in. Jayce’s sudden interest in his own girlfriend was understandable, anyway. Something about crossed signals, probably. 

Viktor hoped. 

He didn’t want to be the type of person to humble a woman like Mel, he didn’t want to be the one to point out the tensions amongst her family that she was no doubt fully aware of, to be the one to argue without censorship against her naive-seeming ideas about Piltover, and especially not to be the one who drove a wedge between her and her boyfriend. 

She’d clearly been having a tough time with him before, even going so far as to allow herself some vulnerability, some sensitivity with trusted company, and Viktor had almost done the worst possible thing in response. He also knew he was one of the only Zaunites she’d likely ever meet in her entire life, and, call it childish, Viktor felt an oppressive weight to represent it well. His adoration for the city was very obviously not shared by most of Piltover but he still felt a burning desire to share his affinity for the place with everyone he met. A sort of undying flame lit within him, representing pride and fierce loyalty, representing the very element that had shaped him into who he was. At the moment, he wasn’t doing the best job he could. There were only so many stories to be shared with Violet and Caitlyn before the group was tired of observing a conversation they could not participate in, and lost interest. 

And there was something else bothering him. Something heavy that weighed on his chest, but not in the emotional sense. The recent loss of appetite, the buzzing headaches, the intensified pain in his joints, the spiralling thoughts sharper and more oppressive than usual. And, his usual tell, unrelenting thirst. His aching throat could not be soothed with even an ocean’s worth of water, from the moment he woke up to the moment he laid down for bed. 

It had started a couple of weeks before he went out with Jayce for the first time. He brushed it off initially, as most of the university’s student population was sniffling before summer could even pass its shimmering baton to autumn, but by the time fall was in mid-swing and the annual flu had made its rounds throughout the student body, even hitting Jayce for a day or two, Viktor could still feel himself becoming sick.

There was something tortuous about the way he could feel his own lungs filling with mucus or fluid, increasing in volume every day as his inhalation capacity decreased. He could feel the ache in his leg become an ache in his entire body, and the already poor posture of his back become an even poorer one. But the coughing had begun recently, maybe within the past week. 

It was a mucusy, hacking cough that sent a sharp stink throughout Viktor’s entire respiratory system and stopped his heart with its force, but it was a better alternative to a desperate inhale blocked offensively by a swell of fluid. Viktor couldn’t stand the feeling that he was drowning slowly, though never drawing closer to a body of water deep enough to finish the job. 

Once, when he had been very young, Viktor had caught a particularly nasty strain of group-acquired pneumonia. He’d spent countless hours, days maybe, laying weakly on the floor of some medical office deep within the heart of Zaun, a place where the pollution of smog was so thick that one couldn’t even see a building one block ahead. It wasn’t as though Zaun had the best healthcare, Piltover had famously taken that trophy years back and had not relinquished it for a long while. That wasn’t to say the practitioners of Zaun weren’t passionate, well-learned people who just wanted to help their communities, for the most part, but a severe lack of funding and lack of medical degrees didn’t make for the safest experience. 

Viktor couldn’t have been older than eleven, still figuring out how to walk with a cheap metal crutch that was entirely the wrong size and had him doubled over uncomfortably for many years. He remembered the feeling of his sunken eyelids stretched over his eyes, which had become caked in a thick mucus and consistently leaked tears, from irritated sinuses and his own frustration with the pain. He remembered the feeling of his pallor skin burning with the slightest brush against clothes, he remembered the laboured breaths he attempted to take that resulted only in more painful, aggressive coughing. Mostly, he remembered the night that breathing became too much of a difficulty, putting strain on his lungs that the inflamed and tarred organs that he just couldn’t take anymore. He hadn’t been eating, nor drinking water, and his throat burned acidically on the slightest intake of air. Every hack digging sharpened claws into his esophagus. He was so tired. 

So he laid down on the carpet of the place he and his mother had been staying, a place of her friends that had little room for even one person to stay, much less Viktor and his mom. He laid down, reaching for a blanket to cover himself with but finding nothing, and let his head fall on the floor. He relaxed his chest completely, expelling what little air was in there with a sharp cough, muffled against the ancient thickness of the carpet. 

Some minutes later, Viktor was taking the shallowest of breaths, letting the warmth slip from his fingers and toes, then wrists and ankles, and then the rest of his arms and legs. He was awake but barely, barest amounts of oxygenated blood pumped with ferocity to his brain in an attempt to keep it alive, unused by the rest of his body for fear of cutting the brain’s supply. His fingers would be tingling if he could feel them. 

His mother returned from her work in the fissures, overtired and beelining for the tattered couch with wrinkled eyes. She tripped over him on her way over. 

Viktor didn’t think he’d ever heard someone scream like that in his entire life, nor would he again. He didn’t like to think about it. 

She had scooped him up in her thin arms, Viktor had taken after her in so many ways, in a rush of adrenaline and maternal instinct, and thrown him in the passenger seat of her friend’s pickup truck. Viktor didn’t remember anything else, not until he was already at the medical office, sitting loosely on the pale tile whilst various nurses blurred in and out of his vision, and tubes and needles danced in his head. 

It was a long time before Viktor could leave the hospital. It had been difficult, yes, but it was hard to feel sympathy for a situation that he himself had gone through. It was just…something that had happened. It hurt a lot. It was scary. Then it was over. Swept away with the strong gales of time that had a way of lifting memories into the skies until they were the size of a shuddering leaf dancing on a breeze. 

Sometimes leaves are beautiful, like the sun-drenched branches of the campus trees, and sometimes they sting, they break their fibres off into your skin and they poison you until you can’t move anymore. It was best to avoid touching the leaves if possible. Viktor didn’t want to find out what would happen to him if he’d examined them too carefully. 

Something he could examine with confidence, though, was that he definitely didn’t like getting sick. Something about this creature growing inside of him, something about the way he could feel his throat drying with each passing day and his bones aching as if every ounce of marrow had been sucked out of them by this… thing, was distressing. 

It didn’t help that anxiety took hold right around Viktor’s heart, too close to where the illness had taken root. 

He tried to carry himself as normal, but there were too many stones placed upon his midsection, cursing him and damning him for daring to exist in such a world, to live in a way that had differed even slightly from his usual numb safety. Every time he looked at Mel it got heavier. Every time he inspired a breath and felt the way it stretched the mucus around his lungs it got tighter. Every time he tried to ignore the growing piles of work it got more painful. Every time he looked at Jayce it just burned more. 

Viktor wasn’t sure that the already weak column of his lower spine would be able to handle the growing weight, that he might topple over at any second with a snapping of his spine, with a sharp break, and leave him face down on a thick carpet once again. 

It got heavier when Mel came over one night, trailing sheepishly behind Jayce and exuding a thick cloud of alcoholic perfume that Viktor could smell from his spot on the sofa. 

He’d been deeply occupied with his most recent task for his literature course, a small presentation on some post World War I poem from a fairly well-known collective. He’d been leaned back on the cushion, nursing a scalding hot tea that was actually mostly honey in an attempt to smother the growing dryness in his throat, and typing furiously away on his computer. He was no literature prodigy, no master at analysis or literary devices or authorial intent or whatever jargon he’d heard english majors used in the past to (unsuccessfully) sound intellectual, but he knew what the teacher wanted to see and was fairly good at waffling himself into a comfortable A. 

It was this furious typing that had acted as a droning lullaby for Viktor’s mind, becoming entirely enveloped in the roaring steam engines of his ideas and communicating the concept of a theme onto the poor slideshow as fast as he could, before it escaped his brain completely. It was also partially why Viktor didn’t hear quiet arguing until it had become a scathing reprimanding with a familiar feminine intonation. 

It was Mel. Yelling, or speaking firmly and slightly above her typically smooth volume, which actually may have been comparable to yelling for the woman. It almost gave Viktor chills to hear the tense inflection of her words, the strain of her voice and the rasp at the end of her declarations, it was something he’d never expected to see from a woman like Mel. 

Even when he’d thrown a cutting jab her way, after disparaging her opinion on the political state of their home cities, she hadn’t even raised her voice. In fact, if he remembered correctly, she had gotten quieter. What sort of atrocity did Jayce commit to break a dam otherwise impenetrable? What weighty hammer had he brought down mercilessly upon Mel’s unyielding resolve, crafted by his own hands in the forges of himself not to build but to tear down? Or, equally likely, what trembling insecurity of Mel’s had finally come tumbling out of her mouth, mask cracking clean in half unable to bear the weight of being herself leaving her to act so out of character? What, on the entire planet, could justify the possibility of either instance? Possibly the two most uncharacteristic scenarios Viktor could have thought of, yet the only explanations he was able to come up with. 

Thankfully, Mel’s cracking voice was indiscernible to him through the wall separating Jayce’s room and the living area, so he was not made privy to the details of the argument. Thankfully, because Viktor knew it was no business of his, but unfortunately at the same time. He wanted to know the people he was friends with. Not just grab a few drinks with, not just make public appearances for the sake of appearing publicly, like so many of Piltover’s relationships. If he didn’t know what was going on, could he truly call himself a friend? 

Caitlyn had let Viktor in so easily, so willingly, letting him see a deeply vulnerable side of her simply because she’d figured he was a decent enough person. Did other people feel the same way about him? Was he trustworthy enough to warrant a heart-to-heart discussion with someone like Jayce, someone like Mel? 

It had only been a little over a month, summer just crisping into something a bit cooler than itself, but they’d made sure to induct him as well as they could into their friendship. It was understandable at its foundation, Viktor had definitely not known them for as long as they’d known each other, and it may have been only natural to hold him at-arm's-length until time wove the gap between them tightly closed and allowed them to feel truly comfortable. 

He hated being in that gap, the space between oh, yeah we’re friends I guess, and you know my friend, Viktor. He wanted to give them space, he wanted to let their relationships flourish naturally on their own, but it was hard to give someone space when you were only physically separated by a wall and definitely trying to eavesdrop on the torrential argument. 

Still, though, he couldn’t make out the exact words being used, hearing snippets of sounds and little bits of sentences, but the meaning of each was lost on him through the muffling wall. 

Someone came closer to the wall, as he heard the voice grow slightly louder, and Viktor could hear one distinct, killing blow of a single word used. 

Break. 

Break could have meant many things, Jayce could have gotten too clumsy and broken one of her treasured gold chains, or one of the clinking cowries that she occasionally donned in her hair, a belonging of hers. 

It could have meant a breach of trust, an unkept promise that severed the final, thin thread of Mel’s patience. A secret shared, or an opinion declared, something that went against the idea of Jayce she’d been holding so dearly to her chest. 

It could also have meant a broken heart. It could have meant the painful stretch and snap of a heart, an idea, a feeling breaking into two. A result of dishonesty, of cruelty, of poor-treatment… a result of disloyalty. 

Viktor’s heart leapt into his throat violently, straining the irritated flesh and blocking his airway from exchanging another breath. Had she seen what happened that night? Had someone, one of the nameless, faceless university students reported back to her a particularly compromising event? Or had she seen it herself? The possibility of walking past a university hotspot, arm in arm with one of her friends, and catching the two men at just the wrong — or right — time appeared in Viktor’s mind. Was what happened really so extreme? What had happened? How could she have possibly known, known than it happened or known something about it that justified a break in her heart, in her facade, in her trust, in their relationship? 

Viktor tried to calm himself with an intake of breath that only sent a painful jolt into his lungs, in a feeble attempt to quell the anxious boulder in his chest that pushed painfully against his ribs and caked his heart in a cold stony cage. It was probably not because of what had happened. She would have done this weeks ago, if it were. She wouldn’t have let it build up… wouldn’t she?

The rocky formation in his ribcage shrunk to a dense cast when he heard Jayce’s bedroom door open and a pair of light, rapid footsteps pass by the kitchen to the door. As Mel crossed past the kitchen island, she came into Viktor’s view. 

Her head was down, arms up and rubbing harshly at her eyes, hidden from sight. She was still wearing the form-fitting black dress the two had gone out in, still brandishing bright gold accents in her loose locs, slipping on the same heels that balanced precariously on the sharp point of the heels. Her signature gleaming eye makeup was gone. She yanked her long coat off of a nearby hook and reached for the door. Her fingers paused on the doorknob. 

The look on her face when she turned around to look at Viktor made his stomach roll over into a strong wave of nausea, shooting sulfuric acid up into his chest in a chilling stream. Her dark eyes, puffy but just barely, were glistening in the low light of the floor lamp in the sitting room. Her mouth was pulled into a delicate frown, one that arced gently like a leaf in the wind, and her eyebrows furrowed low over her eyes. 

To anyone who’d never seen her before, she would have looked sort of neutral. Somewhat perturbed, maybe, but otherwise the image of Piltover’s perfection. To Viktor, who had come to observe every micro expression that flickered across her soft features in an attempt to decipher the unintelligible emotion that swirled inside of her, who had seen a similar expression cross her features in a genuine moment at a bar when he’d asked her how she dealt with him, and she hadn’t responded, or verbally responded, until far too late. He knew this look, it wasn’t one of betrayal or of an unloved victim of an affair. It was the look of someone giving up on something they loved. 

He sat up immediately, opening his mouth to offer something, anything worthwhile that might work to bridge the gap between them, the gap that Viktor could see crumbling away in front of his eyes, but she was faster. 

Almost a silent whisper, her voice still carried across the space and struck Viktor right in the chest. 

“I don’t know if I can do it anymore.” 

Then she was gone. Their front door clicked softly shut, despite its weight. 

He didn’t know what to do, or if he could even do anything at all. He could have sat up, pushed his computer to the side, and walked into Jayce’s room. He could have tapped him on the shoulder, could have offered a bony shoulder to cry on, thin arms to wrap his own around, he could have asked him if he was alright, could have returned the favour Jayce had so easily shown him when he was suffering on the floor of one of the biology laboratories. He could have bridged the gap between them, or mended it somewhat, allowed him to open up and be vulnerable and honest and genuine, all the things Piltover stripped away from him. He could have at least knocked. 

But Viktor’s theory, the theory that his friends wanted to be as close to him as he did with them, was outweighed by the theory that he and Jayce just weren’t close enough for that. It was just possible enough, just likely enough, that he would sneer at Viktor’s presence and project the same obliterating current that Mel had showered upon him onto Viktor, risking the entire nature of their friendship. 

Ever the scientist, he couldn't in good conscience trust his heart so blindly. Not even when it tugged and yanked and jerked in the direction of Jayce’s shut door, begging and pleading to just go check on him. He just wasn’t sure. He didn’t want to risk it, not when he’d been making steady progress thus far, he couldn’t risk it. 

Instead, he organised his papers and computer into his book bag and stepped as quietly as possible to his own room, hoping and praying that Jayce would forgive him for being afraid of something like risking a month-long friendship. 

Jayce would understand.