Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

A sharp curse cuts through their long stretch of measured silence.

“Shit.”

Viktor hears the jarring scrape of wood over tile as Jayce stands abruptly from his seat. On the other side of the lab, the battery prototype for the Hexgate drops the desk in an array of sharp clings, loose bolts pinging inside the hard shell case.

“Careful,” Viktor says, soft and lulled. He glances up in Jayce’s direction, but doesn’t bother focusing on the source of his sudden lapse in composure. The instinctual warning has been ready on his tongue all day, and he’s not keen on breaking his focus again just to be met with Don’t worry about my end, V. I’ve got it covered.

However, instead of insisting with any congruous phrasing, Jayce throws his hands up and scoffs. “I can't—I didn't...” The irritated edge apparent in his tone is an undesirable addition to their shared workspace. “This should've been one of the easiest steps, considering the scope.”

Viktor, for his part, has made good progress today constructing the central suspension membrane for the prototype. Unfortunately, without the inner casing Jayce promised earlier he was nearly finished with, the design is incomplete and unsuitable for presentation. The date initializing the start of Hexgate construction is rapidly approaching. While this is the only task left to polish off, their last-ditch efforts over the past week have been anything but polishing. It really shouldn’t be down to the wire… but these small miscalculations have added up, and now they’re behind schedule. Another month could easily pass with no forward trajectory. At this rate, he worries they’ll finish the prototype within hours of the deadline.

Viktor decides it's in both their best interests to set his soldering iron down. He pulls his welding goggles over his forehead, rubs the indents that ring his eyes, and indulges in a timid moan. The alleviation of hours-long consistent pressure is divine, but he’s disoriented by a stark contrast sans the tint of ochre lenses. Their lab is bathed in a particularly piercing shade of blue.

“What happened?” Viktor asks, his simple request subtly strained.

“Something... easily avoidable,” Jayce laments, pinching the bridge of his nose with a sigh.

Viktor chews at the inside of his cheek and considers the best way to reroute the bleeding mood. He doesn’t want to come across as critical. Viktor values Jayce’s positive influence just as much as his brilliant mind, as he’s been a reliable foundation of optimism throughout this sluggish stretch of Hextech testing. His steadfast conviction when faced with varied levels of disappointment is a godsend, really. Little laughs and charming smiles reframe their miscalculations as easily rectifiable. The meditative purse of his lips while deep in thought is much preferred to these short, irritated grumbles. So when Jayce does slip into fits of bemoaning, self-pitying complaints, Viktor understands it must be his turn to step in.

He finds taking up the mantle of idealistic encouragement is somewhat awkward when the position is naturally filled by the man he loves. But Jayce can’t seem to find that spirit at present. So Viktor tries—his other half, his partner, obviously needs a break.

He fully removes his goggles, sets them aside, and shifts forward in his stool, his focus now wholly fixed on Jayce, not the prototype they’re attempting to finalize.

“Mindless steps are often the most vulnerable to error... but I doubt reconfiguring the internal cabling would be a challenging fix for you,” Viktor says gently. “Retrace your steps. Determine what you can salvage.”

“There’s no salvaging this. Two hours, just... gone. I cut the insulated wiring short by—gods, maybe four millimeters?” Jayce explains, sounding exasperated by his own lack of consideration. Brows tightly drawn with his jaw set, arms crossed, bottom lip bitten raw; it’s a pose Viktor knows well, usually followed by sharp self-reproach. “There isn't enough length remaining to solder properly. I’m sorry, I’ll have to gut it and start over. I thought I’d left a usable margin for error but I didn’t double check the measurements. I don't know why I didn't, I really should’ve—”

“Jayce! It’s fine,” Viktor laughs, cutting in before Jayce fully commits to this unprompted reprimand. “This is a minor setback, especially in comparison to last week.”

“Don’t remind me,” Jayce groans. He toes a spot in the marble tile where the finish isn’t quite what it used to be, permanently discoloured by sulfuric acid. “But... you’re right. This mess isn’t nearly as corrosive.”

“Take a moment to collect yourself,” Viktor continues with an air of benevolence, as his efforts to ease the tension are taking effect. “There is no need to rush. We have plenty of time.”

“Uh, well...” Jayce does not seem fully comforted by Viktor’s reassurance. Unable to disguise his anxiety, he glances at the mounted clock and runs his thumb over the rune embedded in his bracelet. “We don’t, actually.”

This grants Viktor pause. Sure, the average Piltovan might be ready to crawl home, but the cofounders of Hextech regularly plough away in their lab past midnight.

“There is still a sliver of light left in the day,” Viktor points out. “I thought you were adamant on completing this portion of the assembly tonight. If you require an extra set of hands, you know I would be more than willing to... assist.”

The subject of his attention doesn’t appear to be listening anymore. Jayce replaces his bottom lip with the edge of his thumb, catching the already-bitten skin between his teeth.

“Jayce, I am offering to help.”

Any proportionate response continues to be withheld. Jayce stares at the frame on the desk, oddly pensive, his features frosted in calm determination.

Oh, Viktor knows this expression just as well. His partner means to spurn logic as if it isn’t the basis of ubiquitous scientific integrity.

“[Sunshine],” Viktor lilts in his native tongue—ironic, as Jayce is anything but sunny right now—because it never fails to guide his boyfriend back to the present. “Your mind has wandered too far for me to reach.”

“Sorry, I was... hm." Jayce’s brows scrunch even more despite his mumbled acknowledgement. “Do you think I could cut and rewire another set within the hour?” he asks, entirely serious.

Viktor rolls his eyes.

Jayce cannot appreciate it, as he’s still busy boring holes into the casing with his brain.

“This line of thinking is certainly what cost you in the first place,” Viktor says, now mildly annoyed. “Even if you were able to, we would be forced to gut it again. ‘There is nothing more counterproductive to linear progress than impatience’. One would assume Heimerdinger’s droning lectures concerning efficacy would stick....”

When Jayce still refuses to look back, or even banter playfully, Viktor cocks his head. He presents the question with a benign layer of derision, hoping to snap Jayce out of this trance: “Do you truly have anywhere else to be at this moment?”

Jayce hasn’t torn his gaze away from the prototype yet, knuckles over his lips. He answers under his breath, “Yeah.”

Oh. Viktor expected a smirk sent in his direction or even a cursory laugh. The situation he faces now has not been considered, given their current trajectory—every weekday is work; every weeknight is more work or recovery from work. The fact Jayce has failed to mention he had a prior commitment (and meant to cut their time short because of it) causes Viktor to choose his next words with an air of rationality.

He doesn’t want to appear jealous. Jayce has been in the lab with him all day, all week, for hours on end. And as their work often bleeds into tomorrow, it only makes sense for them to leave together as well, breaching the cold night temperatures in overcoats with the same distinct scent. The act of mixing their laundry is now standard with the convenience of Jayce’s in-unit washer. In turn, the advantageous location of Viktor’s flat provides easy access to the lab come morning, which is where they end up on a regular basis.

But he’d been looking forward to a warm, hearty broth diligently prepared while observing with leisure from Jayce’s dining table. Viktor hasn't been gifted with the opportunity to watch Jayce cook for him in weeks—not in the avid, inspired way he does when time allows. Tonight was supposed to be... theirs.

Viktor would have appreciated clear communication, if the plan had shifted.

But he does not want to sound jealous.

“Then perhaps it’s for the best that you have found a place to pause,” he finally says, snatching his crutch from the edge of his desk and walking across the room to Jayce’s portion of the prototype. “You attend your engagement, and I will finish up here.”

“That wouldn't be ideal,” Jayce says.

“It’s fine. We can reconvene tomorrow.”

“The reservation is for two.”

“Two,” Viktor echoes, and takes up staring at the case just as Jayce does, designating the meticulously arranged (if not five millimeters too short) wiring as deserving of his muted disappointment.

Now side by side, he allows himself to lean slightly against his lover’s right shoulder. Maybe they should have worked at the same desk. Maybe then, Jayce would have told him earlier. And if Viktor is denied the doting proximity of Jayce’s presence for the rest of the evening, at least he can indulge for a moment now....

A reserved chuckle prompts Viktor to look up.

Jayce is smiling at him. It cuts through the tension as easily as it always does, genuine and adoring, meant only for Viktor in the solitude of their lab. Or across the table at lunch, conversing about everything they have and have not yet accomplished that day. Or in bed together, silently cataloguing the other’s rhythmic habits before drifting off to sleep.

“You and me, Vik.”

“What?”

“The reservation,” Jayce clarifies. He uncrosses his arms to turn and lays his hands on Viktor’s shoulders. “I said I’d take care of dinner tonight, remember?”

“You said...” Viktor feels heat flush his cheeks. He absentmindedly adjusts his weight within the proximity, and the distinct discolouration on the floor suddenly becomes quite worthy of his attention. “Oh.”

A humbling seed of guilt worms its way under his skin. Assuming Jayce would ditch their evening for an unknown, unspecified companion... The notion seems far off now.

“I wanted to celebrate completing the Hexgate preproduction stage with you,” Jayce says. “No investors, no performative preambles... just us.”

The comforting, familiar manner in which Jayce usually conducts himself has returned, which means Viktor can relax. So he mirrors his lover’s expression, smiling in kind, both relieved and amused.

“You may have underestimated the finalization of this project by several weeks.”

“I see that now. I booked it a couple months in advance.”

“Are quick and crude meals in the dead of night inadequate? I was under the impression you would reheat something once we got home.”

“Quick and crude?” Jayce gracefully performs a withered, exaggerated version of shock. “That’s how you’d describe my cooking?”

“Only when, eh, inedible.”

“I burnt the sopa one time.”

“Quite the feat, from what I understand. Ximena would—”

“Don’t bring my mother into this,” Jayce warns with a laugh. “You promised you wouldn’t tell her.”

“I haven’t! At least, not yet,” Viktor teases before nudging him gently.

Jayce sighs. “Actually... coming from you, she might take the disappointment better. Although it’s possible she’ll ban me from her kitchen for a few weeks.”

“Jayce, I do appreciate when we both have the energy to enjoy a meal that transcends simple practicality,” Viktor assures him. “I was looking forward to whatever you meant to prepare, in whichever kitchen happens to inspire you.”

Jayce hums, short and affectionate. “Practical meals work for most nights, I guess,” he says, and his palms shift to cradle the back of Viktor’s neck. “But when’s the last time we slowed down and went on a real date?”

It has been quite some time. Months, most likely, since they’d last gone out as a couple when the dialogue hadn’t been wrapped up in Hextech, sending for the check early, itching to get back to the lab.

Viktor lets his weight sink a little further onto the support of his crutch. “At this rate, we will spend every waking second together,” he murmurs, and the thought somehow warms his cheeks even more.

“Work doesn’t count. Hextech doesn't count, V.” Jayce’s pleasant smile softens, and one of his lovely, expressive hands finds the curve of Viktor’s jaw. “You know that.”

Viktor does. It’s a rare thing to indulge in these days, slowing down, focusing on each other as opposed to their joint responsibility. Just because their time has been consistently intertwined over nearly four years does not mean each and every moment is intimate. If anything, constant interaction has created a divide in their day to day: professionalism at odds with the affair of their hearts. The slower side of their relationship is put on the back burner more often than not for the sake of Hextech, an unfortunate but necessary expense. It seems Jayce had sensed the inertia enough to take preemptive action months ago.

Viktor allows the mood to shift towards the grounding calm of closeness, the warmth of his partner’s caress, if only for a minute or two.

“So, you're propositioning me for a date, and... forgot to mention it?” he jests, his free hand roaming to fidget with the buttons of Jayce’s shirt.

“It was supposed to be a surprise,” Jayce says, attention fixed where slender fingers skim his torso. “You have no idea the strings I had to pull in getting us a table.”

Viktor is suddenly wary, palm flat against the other man's chest. “Where do you mean to take me, Jayce? And please, do not say The—”

“The Crimson Luxe, yeah.”

Viktor huffs a laugh. “I mentioned it once. I did not mean to imply we should actually go.”

Jayce moves his hands again, thumbing over the pressure-induced circles embedded under Viktor’s eyes. “I could tell you were excited about it.”

“Excited?” Viktor raises an eyebrow. “Intrigued, maybe.”

“You went off about the subversion of bias within class for ten minutes. That’s ecstatic in my book.”

“It was only an observation that the menu appeals to a wider audience than basic Piltovan delicacies.”

“Exactly! You rarely make a point about food. I had a ride scheduled. I even brought an extra set of clothes for us...” Jayce’s tender smile and affectionate touch is unwavering. His hands settle back on Viktor’s shoulders, and he presses a chaste kiss to his forehead. “I just thought it would be a nice change of pace from all this.”

Viktor feels a mild heat rise to his cheeks again. Jayce always seems to listen, to hear him, in ways no one else does. Despite this, he glances at the unfinished casing on the desk. “While I appreciate the forethought...”

“I know.” Jayce pulls Viktor closer into a firm embrace. He slots his head against Viktor’s, arms winding around a lithe waist. “I'll reschedule the dinner.”

It's subtle, but of course Viktor can read between the lines of his beloved’s soft tone: Jayce sounds dreadfully put out.

“It isn't that I don't want to,” Viktor states over Jayce’s shoulder. “I would like that, truly. Intentional time to unwind in the comfort of each other's company. A meal neither of us have to prepare. But—”

“Not tonight.”

“Perhaps later next week,” Viktor offers, “once the prototype of the battery is completed. The restaurant will still be there, no?”

Jayce pulls away just enough to meet his gaze, and Viktor is relieved to see that glimmer of light in his eyes is a lovely shade of gold amidst green, reignited by their compromise.

“Sounds like a plan, V,” Jayce whispers against Viktor’s lips.

The energy between them is temperate, unrushed, when Jayce tilts his head to kiss his other half in full.

Viktor’s eyes slide shut. He feels light. The weight of Jayce’s lips on his own reconfigures the way he grips the crutch under his arm, and a broad palm cradles Viktor’s back, anticipating the buckle before it happens. A gentle moan, loud enough to catch both of them off guard—who it's from is indeterminable—before the brief kiss breaks. Jayce doesn’t miss a beat and plants another to the mole above Viktor’s lip, only a peck this time, then again under his eye. The movement leads him to tuck his head back in against Viktor’s ear.

“I love you.”

It always sounds so natural coming from Jayce, the simple phrase levied in a warm shell of affection, just as genuine now as it had been the first time. Jayce reaffirms it often enough in a passing instinctual slip, or like this, idly locked in each other's arms. Viktor doesn't profess the endearment nearly as often aloud. He doesn't feel pressured to, because he is satisfied in the reassurance that his partner knows, regardless of how he chooses to reply: lingering contact, validations delivered in a velvety tone, notes left in his journal, trinkets bought with consideration....

“My heart is yours, darling,” is all Viktor says, because in this small, quiet moment his words carry greater worth.

Jayce continues to hold him. Viktor feels a sharp inhale and hears a low hum against his ear. Jayce smells of iron and sandalwood, his embrace, the warm, consistent pressure of a slept-in comforter. They drink in the last moments of honey-sweet proximity before they inevitably pivot back to the work that had originally woven their lives together.

“I hope you know,” Viktor continues as his lips hover under Jayce’s ear, “it is your presence that I cherish most. I would enjoy a reheated meal at one in the morning on your couch just as much as any overzealously priced dinner. ”

To Viktor’s surprise, Jayce groans in dismay.

“That's your estimate? Past midnight, again?”

“Well, I mean—what with our current pattern of behavior, why would tonight be any different?”

Jayce barks a strained laugh, pulling away to straighten Viktor’s tie. “Fair point. I did botch the wiring twice.”

“Twice?”

“I, uh... won’t do it again? If we’re slating at least five hours just for that, I can slow down.”

“Eh, perhaps we should switch off. If you incorrectly cut the length a third time....”

“Good call.” Jayce presses one last kiss to Viktor’s temple before walking across the room. He snaps the goggles to his face with an air of ease. “Let’s get to it, then. Hextech thrives when we're locked in here through the early hours, right?”

Hextech suffers terribly through the early hours, as it always does. Both scientists see the pattern. They know a sharp mind works best with a healthy dose of quality rest, and yet, the drive to complete outweighs rationality. Working through the night off the influence of caffeine could theoretically reap substantial benefits, but “one more hour” is never just that, and in their efforts both scientists uncover long-standing oversights within their initial design.

The workload doubles, and when their triple-checked calibration of the flow pump connected to the suspended crystal does not output as intended, Viktor anticipates that they may never savor the acclaimed delicacies of The Crimson Luxe.

Days pass, tallying to weeks. Jayce reschedules their date four more times over the course of a month. The continual decision to sacrifice sleep compounds their mutual desperation to finish their current agenda. The hours flit away as usual, fallen leaves riding rapids with no way to recover them, and they both refuse to make the call to go home at a reasonable time. Midnight becomes a commendable benchmark for turning in, whether in the comfort of a sheeted bed or the bare-bones cot that has been making its presence known more and more often.

It's well past midnight now. Wednesday evening hadn't been much more than a blur of condensed conversation and fine tuning. Neither scientist had noticed the extent of their iron-willed focus until it was too late.

And Jayce is whinging again.

Unfortunately, Viktor doesn’t quite have the capacity to address the mood with even-tempered generosity.

“At this point, I wouldn't be surprised if we're blacklisted from the restaurant,” Jayce says dryly, rubbing at his closed eyes with the heels of his palms.

The first few times, Jayce had acted on the opportunity to forewarn the establishment that their table would remain unclaimed. Tonight, the hour passed without consideration. The restaurant has long since closed. No attendant could be sent to deliver a contextual apology and plea for understanding.

“They’ve been accommodating so far, but... I can imagine this hit a nerve,” Jayce continues, watching from a short distance as the device they’ve sunk months into becomes a single piece. “You think I could swing something if I drop by when they open? We’ve had a consistent dialogue for months. I can try pleading our case in person.”

“You do have an impressive range of tactics at your disposal where flattery is concerned,” Viktor mumbles as he ratchets the tiny internal bolts within the prototype tight. “It’s possible.”

“What’s my best option, then?” 

Viktor considers a particularly effective technique. The warm, intimate memory that slinks behind his mind’s eye and under his skin threatens to uproot his current agenda.

“You could fall to your knees.”

With the stutter Jayce jumps into, Viktor knows even without looking that his casual phrasing has landed as intended. “I, uh, well—I was actually hoping to appeal to basic empathy. If that doesn’t work, I can drop a few names.”

One method clearly holds precedent to the other. Viktor is keenly aware which one will win out.

He wants to affirm to Jayce that the worldly influence of Hextech will surely override any outstanding grudges once the gates are activated. The symbolic gesture of this lavish date may be inconveniently timed, but the intention warms Viktor’s heart all the same. This passion is an endearing thing to behold, especially when the context revolves around him.

“You’re worrying over nothing, Jayce. We have many options available to us that would not require such a substantial wound to your pride. There is little reason to care what they think.”

Viktor’s wording doesn’t quite alleviate his partner’s stress in the ways he’d hoped.

“Of course I care!” Jayce stalks forward to plant a hand on the desk and leans in, generous with his weight like it's the only thing keeping him upright. “I still wanna take you, V. I promised. Not on some improvised date or an easy substitution for the real thing. I wanted something special. For you. For us.”

It sounds childish, the way Jayce insists as if this date holds more value than the innovative achievement they've been slaving away to complete—and so Viktor can’t help but laugh. He laughs because Jayce loves him enough to fully lose his composure over the potential loss of this fancy dinner.

It isn’t in part because his beloved’s theatrics are all the more amusing when his head feels stuffed with cotton.

“I'm serious,” Jayce says, but he's unable to stop the bend in atmosphere towards levity from the way Viktor giggles. “This means a lot to me.”

“I know, darling. I’m—I swear, I am not laughing at you.”

“You are, though.”

“I’m sorry. It is... very sweet. I appreciate the effort you’ve invested. But with how this strings you out...”

“Not strung out,” Jayce mumbles from above Viktor’s shoulder.

“Mm.” Viktor spares a glance up. If he did not have both hands engaged in work, he would have squeezed that stuck pout until it eased to a grin, and planted three quick kisses to ensure the change would stick. He stifles another laugh instead, which turns into a drawn-out yawn. “No, no, you’re right. I have never seen you more composed.”

Jayce does indulge in a sportive chuckle, ending in a yawn to match.

“What if they don't let us in?”

“A problem for tomorrow.”

“But tomorrow is today,” Jayce sighs, and Viktor does not relish the idea of accommodating these anxious thoughts any further.

“I promise you, Jayce... we’ll see to it later,” Viktor says, but the way his assertive tone has fallen away to an even hush is telling. “We’re almost done here.”

Jayce takes the hint. He nods, rubs at his eyes once more, and resettles with both palms on the desk to watch Viktor work.

They aren't tired.

It's nearly two in the morning. They’ve been here nearly sixteen consecutive hours. The halls outside the lab are absent of additional life, and their tools are scattered in a discordant manner over desks and chairs. The evening round of coffee had been burnt, and the tea they’d switched to had initially been considered a fine substitution, until the racked-up dosage of caffeine had effectively worn off.

The night prior, Viktor had only acknowledged their need for rest when he’d woken to the smell of his welding tip smoking a mark into the desk. Jayce had already been passed out next to him. The night before that, their breaking point had been Jayce heaving a hefty sob when he accidentally dropped the internal suspension membrane Viktor had spent days soldering with painstaking patience—it had snapped in two, indifferent to hours of conscientious labor.

From lofty propositions to thoroughly tested simulations, the preproduction stage of their current Hextech project had been a waltz of steps forward and backwards for over a year. The last three months concerning the battery had wrought havoc upon their endurance. Seven revised and recalibrated formulas for the internal electrolyte pump system channeling the energy of the crystal. Six rounds of shaping for the structural membrane to withstand high voltage fluctuation. Five iterations of remodeling the steel frame and insulation for the casing. Four prototypes sit discarded amongst metal scraps for deconstruction and later usage, accumulated exclusively over the past three weeks.

They are not tired. They cannot be tired now, because if the extensively reworked design for the battery is wrapped within the next day, they can celebrate in practice. Not theory.

But of course, Jayce asks.

“You’re tired, right?” he mutters in question, watching as his partner works.

Viktor's socket wrench slips from around a tiny bolt.

“I don’t mind finishing it off,” Jayce offers.

“That might be for the best,” Viktor sighs, and tosses the tool onto the desk. The grey wash of metal is all but a blur to him now. “Although I’m unsure how much better you will fare.”

Jayce doesn’t take the bait to quip back; he’s far too busy eyeing Viktor’s fingers as they dip under the top latch of his brace to ease the knotted muscle beneath. Jayce sways further onto the stability of the table before gathering the energy to push off and grab his own chair. He positions it flush to the left of Viktor’s before dropping into the seat and scooting forward.

Viktor plants his feet in an effort to roll away, his intent to provide Jayce the space to pull up in front of the device—but a hand grips the bottom of Viktor’s stool to disallow the movement.

“Stay,” Jayce says bluntly. He doesn't currently have the eloquence available to make it sound like a heartfelt request.

Viktor hums a light laugh, and his stool stays where it is. He rests an elbow on the table and turns to watch his partner take over the final task of their night. Even this late, lit from two unflattering angles as opposed to distant and forgiving overhead fluorescence, the man he loves is beautiful.

Jayce picks up the socket wrench and flicks the handle to twirl it across his fingers—a consistent habit when picking up any tool that signals his focus—but it slips from where he means to catch it and the tool clunks onto the table.

“Sorry,” Jayce mumbles on instinct. He grabs the socket wrench and does not attempt the maneuver a second time.

Viktor wouldn’t have minded a second attempt. Or a third, really, because now that his focus has shifted to Jayce’s hands, he’s reminded what a gift they are. Skillful and thorough when operated by a mind sated with more than four hours of sleep. Whether calloused from work or smooth from meticulous care, those dexterous fingers splay across Viktor’s torso with reverence. Blunt nails caress his thighs, more than capable of bringing him towards—

Janna help me, Viktor thinks, and huffs sharply through his nose.

“What?”

“Mm. Nothing.”

The potent memory is now entirely unimpeded by anything Hextech. It manifests in high contrast and phantom sensation: Jayce on his knees between Viktor’s legs, his greedy hands clasped behind him, twitching and tensing in a dutiful effort to keep off as he opens his lips for Viktor’s cock. He’s good—exceptional, even, especially when his focus is fixed. Jayce’s determination to please is borderline devout when he compliantly restrains his instinct to touch. But it’s worth it for both of them, because once Jayce is finally allowed, his hands grip and splay and grasp without hesitation, intent on providing exhilarative, electrifying stimulus. Unwavering attention given with warm, passionate consideration.

Viktor sinks further onto the support of his palm and pouts. Whatever dexterity is left in those skillful hands does not belong to him tonight. So he watches as Jayce works, slow and faltering.

“You're unsteady,” Viktor notes softly.

A beat passes before Jayce draws his bottom lip between his teeth, a subtle flush rising to his cheeks, and his gaze flicks over to Viktor’s passive hand.

“So keep me steady.” The assertive bite in Jayce’s tone is familiar in a context once removed, but here, it’s subdued by a perpetual undercurrent of exhaustion.

Janna help us.

Viktor’s chest feels tight. He lays his free hand over Jayce's thigh, fingers first, sliding carefully until his palm is evenly pressed against firm, clothed muscle.

Jayce physically relaxes, but his accuracy suffers when the wrench knocks noisily against the metal frame.

“Will this actually benefit what you mean to accomplish, or do you just crave my hands on you?” Viktor teases, his allegation delivered in a silken lull with discernible notes of affection.

“Both can be true.” Jayce shifts so his leg sits flush with Viktor’s, allowing access. “Need you close in case something goes wrong.”

“What could possibly go wrong? You're ratcheting steel nuts.”

“Anything. I could tighten one past proper tension, and the whole thing could burst apart from the resulting strain. Every piece, pinging off. Scrap heap number five in the making.”

Viktor hums in amusement before turning his attention away from the prototype he knows Jayce will take proper care of.

This close, Viktor can see how fatigue has stained Jayce’s handsome features: ruddy bags under his eyes, the sheen of oil. His intense stare, soft sage green delicately flecked with bronze, is glazed with weariness. Jayce’s plush lips are pursed as he works in slow movements, precision phasing in and out of priority as the wrench is positioned over each bolt.

Viktor imagines he looks just as drained. Attending an upscale dinner is the last thing either of them need to worry about. But his partner, lovely and considerate and kind, not to mention terribly stubborn, is dead set on treating him no matter what.

He rests his head on Jayce’s shoulder, his thumb rubbing lazy little circles over white trousers in dire need of a wash. Where his fingers rest, he could easily inch closer. Access has been given. Desire has been woven between both their tired sentiments. Viktor could dip into the enticing warmth of Jayce’s inner thigh, tease him through the fabric, elicit a lewd moan that has no place echoing off the high ceilings of their lab.

“Am I distracting you?” Viktor asks, and his eyes flutter closed. He can tell by the way the posture under his head straightens that Jayce is smiling.

“No,” Jayce denies too quickly. He can claim whatever he wants, but his movements make it clear: his mind is not engaged in a sole focus. His right shoulder moves as little as possible to avoid jostling where Viktor rests on him. He shifts his thigh out slightly, nudging Viktor’s knee, then in, tempting his fingers to curl.

Viktor knows a similar train of impulsive thought is running rampant through his partner’s head. It’s a road they’ve delved into before, with varied success, but the lapse in judgement is not without regrets, especially during periods of intensive work where their timeline has been reduced to a matter of hours. Once it starts, it’s impossible to stop, and the last time they’d broken protocol that way....

Viktor sighs and rubs one last delicate circle with his thumb before letting his grip slacken.

“Mm. Wake me when you're done, my love,” he says; the whisper fades out, lost within the mild hum of ventilation.

Mutually exhausted like this, the self-imposed lines between their professional commitment to Hextech, the ache of unfulfilled intimacy, and tender affection blur.

The desklamp that spotlights their task does little to keep Viktor from indulging in half-conscious rest. The meticulous shift of muscle beneath him and rhythmic, even breathing have a sedative effect on his already tired state.

The dull clink of metal on metal fades out to join the lullaby of muted sounds.

Viktor isn't sure how long he's been dozing. He only comes out of his stupor once thick fingers run through his hair, parting it in controlled strokes. The distinct points of gentle pressure soothing over his scalp may be intended to rouse him, but it doesn't yet shift Viktor away from his relaxed position of drowsy serenity.

“Is it finished?” he asks, the question slurred and heavy over his tongue.

“Built, yeah.” Jayce sounds relatively awake, even though he speaks in a whisper. “I’m honestly impressed by how seamless it looks.”

Viktor opens his eyes and feels a swell of pride as the sentiment is confirmed. Jayce had done a marvelous job in recrafting the exterior case in the forge this past week. The black-varnished steel cylinder sits perfectly, no warping to be found, locked fast by the many intricate mechanisms holding the piece together from the inside. The elegant appearance perfectly disguises the complexity of the battery’s inner workings.

“It’s beautiful,” Viktor mutters.

“Mhm.” Jayce tilts his head and presses his lips to Viktor’s forehead, indulging for a moment before continuing his assessment. “We’ll have plenty of time to install a crystal and run the final impedance tests tomorrow.” The quiet warmth in his voice suggests he’s thinking of anything but charting diagnostics.

“My place tonight,” Viktor says. He doesn’t move from where he’s resting on Jayce’s shoulder, and his eyes slide closed in spite of his assertion. “It would be best to start early.”

“Sure,” Jayce breathes against soft brown locks.

When Viktor still does not stir from where he’s positioned, Jayce drops his tone.  

“Does this mean I’m carrying you?”

Viktor groans, nuzzles against his partner’s shoulder one last time, and blindly grasps for the Talis-branded crutch situated to his right.

Chapter Text

The light of Thursday morning sneaks up on them with a rap of knuckles on the distant front door of Viktor’s flat. There's a sentence or two muffled behind a thick layer of wood, yet it doesn’t stir either inhabitant from the sanguine safety of the bedroom. Maybe an hour earlier or later and one of them might have been half-awake enough to hear it, but the unfortunate timing denies the messenger the privilege of addressing either sleep-tossed scientist to his face. In exchange, a tubed letter thuds into the delivery mechanism next to the door.

Viktor wakes first. He unwinds his limbs from his partner's toasty limp form to stretch as he perches on his side of the mattress. A soft flutter rises in Viktor’s chest when he looks back to the familiar sight of Jayce’s bronze skin, sheathed only in plain cotton trousers, twisted around his light-toned sheets. Jayce stirs once and mumbles a discontented string of words; a pillow is tugged over his face to block out the light of morning before sleep pulls him under again.

Nothing had happened last night. Nor the night before, or before that... and from the way Jayce gently snores into the pillow he holds tight, Viktor doubts either of them has the bandwidth to satisfy their simmering amatory needs any time soon.

Fuck, it’s irritating.

But Jayce looks so lovely when a lack of consciousness blankets his stress in peace.

So in the absence of his companion, Viktor begins his day alone.

The slight sheen of droplets on the floor tile and a damp towel hung next to his suggest that Jayce had started and stopped his routine a few hours earlier. Viktor’s shower, as usual, starts colder than necessary to kick start his brain and ice out his sexual frustration before it swings warm to soothe his muscles. The routine of soap, shampoo, and conditioner is an almost subconscious process while sitting on his stool. Viktor catches his reflection in the glass and doesn't stare for longer than what is absolutely necessary. Sleep hasn’t done much to ease the exhaustion from his features; in all honesty, the bags under his eyes might have even deepened in hue. He only has one person to ask, and yet Viktor knows Jayce wouldn’t provide an answer other than You're beautiful, you're always beautiful, or something akin to it.

Viktor purses his lips and lets the water run over his face, indulging in the steaming warmth when his other half is not present to provide it so dutifully.

It isn’t that Viktor could possibly miss Jayce at this moment. He’s in the other room. He knows he could crawl back under the sheets and squeeze into those softly tanned, muscular arms if he chose to. But Viktor finds these rare minutes apart sobering, because they remind him of how his life had been before. He hadn’t necessarily been discontent, as being in love had been a far off desire when academic duty and a drive to prove his worth were prioritized, but the contrast in his regimen and his mood are profound.

The persistent proximity of someone he cares for, who he understands with great empathy, who absolutely cares for and understands him in the same way, is a comfort Viktor doesn’t take for granted. He adores this deceptively simple routine they share: small moments of affection disguised within an ambitious mission of grand design. He's undeniably imbued to this kind, warmhearted, brilliant man as a confidant, a lover, and a trusted companion all at once. But there's a thin layer of apprehension he's unable to fully ignore, because he might enjoy this life too much.

Viktor can’t help but feel a tug of unbidden, premature grief in his heart. He tamps it down without too much extraneous thought. Jayce hasn’t given him a reason to worry; if anything, he means to cling on even through the worst lows yet to come.

It’s almost intimidating.

Viktor turns the shower cold again to clear his head. Oh, the affirmations Jayce would no doubt kiss him mute with, were he awake.

He towels dry in no rush, under the assumption Jayce will spend another ten minutes tangled within the sheets. When he returns to the bedroom to check, he’s proven right: Jayce has turned over with not one, but two more pillows tented over his head in addition to the first.

Viktor tugs on his clothes and affixes his leg brace with tired but habitual movements, rising and returning to his seat at the bed in leisurely repetition. The sporadic dip of the worn mattress doesn't bother Jayce any more than the sound of sliding fabric. Viktor then leaves his partner to rest, ambling out of the bedroom with the intention to scrape together a semblance of a first meal.

The kitchen is not well stocked, as it isn't the apartment they utilize for more indulgent meals. Viktor throws together twin sandwiches with what's available to him while seated at a high padded chair set at the kitchen counter.

He hears a stumbling scramble of thuds from the bedroom. Soon after, Jayce passes by in his cotton trousers on his way to the bathroom.

“Sleep well?” Viktor calls after him.

“Not a chance.”

Another few minutes drag on before a clothed and refreshed Jayce joins him in the kitchen, just as one of the slices of toast is gingerly pulled from the small oven on the counter. Hotter than anticipated, Viktor curses and drops the bread back onto the tray.

“You okay?” Jayce asks, voice rough from morning disuse when he comes up behind the chair.

Viktor sighs sharply. “Fine, thank you.”

Jayce doesn't need to say Let me. The nerves in my fingers are burnt off at this point anyway. He simply grabs the bread and lays each slice in a stack on the cutting board. He then gently turns over Viktor’s hand and kisses the tips of his fingers.

A soft heat graces Viktor’s cheeks. He doesn't reaffirm that he's quite alright—this attention is unnecessary. He knows the conversation would continue as it always does, with Jayce assuring him I know, I just wanted to touch you.

And Viktor’s blush would deepen, and Jayce would smile, and perhaps his lover would let that unambiguous affirmation slip once again.

“I could easily sleep another six hours,” Jayce says once he releases Viktor’s hand, “but five is good enough for now.” He grabs matching ceramic plates from the modest cabinet storage, placing them where Viktor has access.

“It seems my body has become accustomed to waking at eight in the morning despite whatever time I end up nodding off,” Viktor says with a shrug. “The quality leaves much to be desired, though.”

“Yeah, I heard you get up twice.” Jayce turns his attention to commandeer the coffee machine, measuring the grounds with practiced ease. “I think my record of jolting awake is once every ninety minutes.”

“We’ll have the opportunity to fix our schedule over this coming weekend.” It’s more of a hope, but Viktor presents the idea as a signed and sealed promise. “The impedance tests today, the presentation for the Council tomorrow... then, two days of indulging in long-overdue rest before oversight begins on extended production.”

“Don't forget dinner tonight,” Jayce says in a cheery lilt before pressing a quick peck to Viktor’s temple.

“Ah. I thought yesterday the reservation had been considered abandoned for good.”

“There was a message delivered this morning. We missed the drop off, but I saw the scroll when I came out for an early shower. I thought you would’ve seen it; I left it open.”

Viktor hadn't bothered to check the contents of the letter set on the dining table, his one-track mind since waking up now resulting in a disservice. “Anything of importance is usually sent straight to the lab. I rarely bother to check what's delivered to this address.”

“Yeah, cause I check them,” Jayce chuckles. “Like I’m your own personal mail attendant, V.”

“One of your many unsolicited priorities I am grateful for,” Viktor says as he plates the food. “What did it say?”

Jayce talks loudly over the whir of the machine. “Oh, you know. 'Last chance, or you're banned for life’, give or take a forced formality.”

“How generous. Have they never had the pleasure of a couple with an unpredictable schedule before?”

“Not anyone quite as elusive as us, I'm sure.” Jayce lets out a sigh of relief. “I'm just glad they're still letting us in.”

“While I’m pleased to hear we’ve been allowed another opportunity,” Viktor says as he reaches for his cane and shifts off the stool, “I am not entirely convinced this place will live up to your lofty expectations.”

“Mel raved about it.” Without prompting, Jayce takes the plates and relocates their food to the dining table with the letter. Routine. “She said there's no better place to enjoy authentic Ionian cuisine.”

“Better than in Ionia? The population may argue otherwise.”

“In Piltover,” Jayce amends. “We don't exactly have time to hop across the ocean. After the Hexgates are completed, maybe we’ll get the opportunity to make a fair judgement.” He's busy adjusting the coffee pot under the machine, ensuring the drip of the old device does not reach the crack in the bend of its heat-deformed side.

“Ionia wouldn't consent to the construction of a gate on our terms,” Viktor points out. He sits down at the plain dining table and sets his cane by the wall next to the window. “We would have to make the trek without magic.”

“That sounds like a request for extended leave,” Jayce says. “We've never taken a trip like that before.”

He grabs two mugs while waiting for the pot to fill. Viktor watches as Jayce breezily begins to clean up the limited mess as it stands: opening and closing the fridge, dusting crumbs into the sink, rinsing off the cutting board, turning off the toaster oven. Jayce flits through the cramped flat with ease like he’s lived here for years, and as if Viktor has already secured the surname Talis.

Viktor must be in a continual state of exhaustion, he must still be out of it, because he doesn't hesitate to drop the suggestion as if it's the most casual thing in the world, “Then it may be best to save that request for our honeymoon, [Sunshine].”

Jayce turns his way suddenly, struck silly by the offhanded nature of the statement. His smile widens considerably, and the tired way about him seems to vanish in the bright gleam of his sun-touched sage irises.

“Don't say that unless you really mean it,” he cautions softly, like it's a long-coveted gift he's afraid to open just yet. “I’ll hold you to that, V. You know I will.”

Viktor realizes, then, that he cannot imagine a future without Jayce by his side.

He already looks quite dashing in white.

Viktor adjusts in his seat and brushes his chestnut locks back over his ears, then dusts his pants, anything to distract from the red blush that pricks his cheeks with heat.

“I expect you to,” Viktor assures as confidently as he can, because at this moment the formal union is not an impending promise, and he knows Jayce will find joy in this theoretical trip for weeks on end. “Although, I would prefer you tell me once you begin making overseas plans, as opposed to informing me the day of,” he adds before taking a bite of the warm, simple sandwich he's fixed up.

“For something like that? Absolutely.” Jayce is intently focused on Viktor while leaning over the kitchenette counter, coffee and food now a distant priority. “Are you set on Ionia, or would you prefer somewhere closer? Not to rule it out entirely, I'm just curious if there's anywhere specific you’d want to visit if we do get the time. I hear Demacia has an incredible subculture of ancient magical rites. Thats—that's more aligned with Hextech, though, if you'd rather just relax... I'll warn you now, I do get airsick easily, so—”

“Jayce. You really should eat,” Viktor chides after swallowing his bite, a little quicker than intended to reroute the wandering tangent. He stifles a cough. “We have a prototype to test.”

The testing process, for once, goes off without a hitch. The backlog of tweaks and alterations made to the battery over the past few weeks has paid off, and their back-and-forth collaboration flows like a well-oiled machine.

They spend the morning calculating the resolve of the device in relation to fluctuation, jotting down notes as energy swells and ebbs through simulation. Their planned configuration consists of seventy-five batteries to power the teleportation ability of each Hexgate slated for creation. Mass reproduction will begin in tandem with the physical construction of the gates, already approved on various continents. If the singular prototype continues to act as anticipated, replication should not raise any further issues.

The crystal inside emits a soft blue light, suspended inside the elegant casing finalized over months of tested, scrapped, redrawn, and retested designs. The flow state of energy pulses softly while hooked up to additional machinery, simulating how the gate will draw power.

Viktor resists pointing out that things are going well. While he isn’t necessarily a superstitious man, the number of occasions in which an experiment has blown up in their faces following casual optimism is too much of a coincidence to ignore entirely. He knows by the way Jayce smiles (but does not comment) that he’s sitting in the same thought.

They test another set of variables, a stronger theoretical load this time, with Jayce carefully adjusting dials and Viktor taking note of the consumption data. Each fluctuation is clean, no jarring unanticipated variation concerning the voltage. Viktor easily calculates that the threshold for error is well below their considered safety limit.

Viktor quirks his lips and looks up at his partner, weighing the possible fallout for what's poised on his tongue. “Well... this looks—”

“Not yet.” Jayce raises a hand and shakes his head. “Save it. We’re nowhere close to being finished.”

Viktor snorts and lays his pen down on the desk. “How many other simulations would you like to run?”

“All of them. This has to be flawless before we pass it on to manufacturing.”

Viktor glances at the clock. They have a few hours left before the many-times rescheduled dinner, although he’d been hoping to freshen up a little before subjecting himself to a high-class establishment. They look a mess, Jayce must know this, but he doesn’t seem to think much of it.

“Wouldn’t you rather have time to prepare for tonight?”

Jayce shifts on his chair across the room, considering. “It’ll be fine.”

“You’re sure?”

“If we don’t get this done now, it’s all we’ll think about over dinner,” Jayce says.

“Ah, yes. Let’s avoid another napkin incident.”

“That was years ago.”

“You happen to be a creature of habit.”

“You really think I’d—”

“Yes. And ink does not wash easily out of cloth. We’d have to hide the evidence.”

Early on, when they had spent less time tucked away in the solitude of their lab, Jayce had been struck by inspiration during a quick trip out for lunch. While the first equation had been relegated to a small single-use napkin, his reconstruction of the formula had taken another eight unfolded tissues to fully flesh out. The server had given Jayce an entire box by the third time he’d gotten up to request another.

“I won’t bring a pen this time, then.” Jayce laughs lightly and starts to stand. “Right. Let’s configure an unrealistic voltage pull, something... oh.”

Jayce sways and scrambles to catch the arms of his chair, half-suspended.

Viktor braces his feet against the floor, glancing towards his cane. “Are you alright?”

“Oh, uh...” Jayce sounds winded. “Yeah. I’m good.” He doesn’t move from where both hands are planted on the armrests, as if afraid he’ll slip without the support.

Viktor raises an eyebrow, but Jayce’s gaze is trained on the ground, centering himself.

“You seem far from ‘good’,” Viktor presses in a soft tone. “Sit. Would you like a drink?”

“We’ll probably drink later.” Jayce’s lashes flutter as he lets out a heavy breath.

“Water.”

“Oh, yeah. Yes. Thank you.” What follows is another attempt at laughter, but it’s painfully strained, every hour of scorned sleep catching up to him.

“Sit down, [sweetheart].”

Jayce does as he’s told, slumping back into the seat with little decorum. He can never hide the exhaustion well. “I’m fine, V. I just... need a second.”

Viktor grabs his cane and gives himself grace to leisurely walk over. He’d opted for the simpler mobility aid today, but now, he considers the benefit of having both on hand: the cane for himself, the crutch for his partner. It already bears his last initial, as is.

“Take as many as you need,” he says once he reaches Jayce. He lays a hand on his shoulder as he dips to press a light kiss to his temple.

Jayce slumps so his head tilts over the back of the chair and sinks down into the seat. Viktor runs a hand through Jayce’s dark hair to comb it back into place before planting a second gentle kiss on his slightly-warm forehead. Jayce's eyes slide closed, and a contented sigh slips past his lips.

This dinner should not be a priority. Viktor knows better than to drop another hint against it just yet, as Jayce would be crushed by the idea that his lack of energy could cost them the evening, despite the obvious reality that forgoing their date will mean one less thing to worry about.

Viktor returns from the sink with a glass of water, careful with his steps to avoid a spill he absolutely does not have the emotional, mental, or physical capacity to clean. Jayce sits where he was left, breathing evenly.

“Jayce.”

He only hums softly as a response and drags a hand across his brow.

Viktor decides, at that moment, it’s in his best interest to sit down in Jayce’s lap to deliver the news. He drops onto strong, muscular thighs and drapes the handle of his cane over the arm of the chair, relishing how Jayce’s eyes snap open at the sudden weight.

“What are you doing?” Jayce practically giggles. That light pep in his demeanor has returned, and one hand delicately fans up Viktor’s back.

Finally.

Those perfect hands are on him.

“You’re drinking all of this,” Viktor says, the commanding air in his voice all for play. He braces one hand on the arm of the chair and uses the other to raise the cup to Jayce’s lips. “Here.”

“All of it?”

“Yes.”

“I can do half,” Jayce counters, but the cup is already tipping. He lifts his other hand to find the bottom of the glass. “Wait, don’t spill—”

“That’s up to you.”

Jayce’s lips part just in time. The wide column of his throat bobs; the muted sound of swallowing isn’t something that should force Viktor to readjust his closed thighs where he sits.

He gives Jayce a break after a few gulps.

“You’re ridiculous,” Jayce says when the glass is pulled away far enough, and wipes the corner of his mouth with a cuffed sleeve.

The candid jab pushes Viktor to bring the cup back to Jayce’s lips. “And you are most definitely dehydrated. Drink.”

“You finish it,” Jayce says as the rim of the glass returns. “Wait—” He opens again as the cup is angled once more, and he takes a few more desperate swallows.

“Slower.” Viktor pulls the cup away.

“You should finish it,” Jayce repeats with a heavy exhale, softer this time. “We’re both dehydrated.”

Viktor glances at the wet mouth that could be closer to his own. He’s not opposed to licking the dregs off to satisfy his own lack of hydration.

Jayce draws the edge of his thumb over his lips, wiping the excess before Viktor can. “You’re just as exhausted as I am, V.”

“What makes you say that?” Viktor asks, certain he won’t receive the objective truth: how the bags under his eyes make him look that much more wearied, that he hasn’t had the time to properly iron his clothes in weeks, and how neither one of them is prepared for tonight.

The smirk Jayce wears borders on impish. “You’re out of it.”

Viktor rotates the cup in his hand to match with the muted warmth that still lingers on the edge of the rim. “Be specific.”

“You’re sitting on me,” is the answer Jayce believes is the most telling of them all, although he doesn’t sound as assertive now. He’s watching, obviously, as Viktor has tilted his head back to grant Jayce a personal view.

Viktor finishes the rest of the water in controlled swallows before resting the empty glass on his thigh. He hums and purses his dewy lips. “Is that significant?”

“You’re breaking your own lab protocol. Plus, you called me ‘sweetheart’. In Zaunish.”

Viktor blushes only slightly. He slings his free hand from the armrest over Jayce’s shoulder, inching closer. “And that's a problem?”

“It’s—I-I mean, it definitely isn't standard,” Jayce stutters. “At least not in the afternoon. Dead of night, maybe. But—”

“You’re bothered, when I’m only trying to help,” Viktor lilts, and fully sinks his weight against the other’s toned physique. “How dare you.”

Gods, Jayce is warm. It’s intoxicating. He wishes he could set the empty glass on the desk so he could use his other hand to splay down Jayce’s chest, slip his fingers beneath the buttons, palm his wide chest and—

“You’re delirious,” Jayce laughs, and his hands close over the pinch of Viktor’s waist.

“I’m feeling perfectly well,” Viktor lies easily. In truth, he’s appreciative of the way Jayce holds him, because it means he’s able to relax without concern that he will slip. He stretches to press a light kiss to Jayce’s throat. “I’m not the one swooning with very little to catch myself on. I would have brought the crutch if I had known, darling.”

Jayce raises a hand to Viktor’s hair, threading his fingers at the base of his neck. “Ridiculous,” he repeats, low and affectionate.

“And in line with your sentiment... we are still going out tonight, yes?” Viktor asks as he pulls back, cupping Jayce’s jaw and searching for a sliver of uncertainty within pools of green flecked with bronze.

“Yes. No question about it.”

There is very much a question, which is why Viktor proposed it, but the intense assuredness of Jayce’s answer leaves little room for logic.

“If you’re determined to test every possible variation of voltage fluctuation, we will have no time to get ready.”

“We can get ready here. The ride is less than ten minutes,” Jayce assures, but he looks nervous. “What, do I look that bad?”

The absolute mess Jayce looks like right now is lovely to Viktor, beautiful even in total exhaustion. If anything, the way his hair is slightly out of place, the rumpled creasing in his lapel, and the casual air about him reminds Viktor of home. Falling asleep on the couch and waking up disoriented together. Undressing in tandem with the accompaniment of easy conversation. The warm, broad thighs easily supporting his weight; the gentle tone of his voice, devoid of posturing. This is the Jayce that Viktor knows belongs to him, as opposed to the objectified ‘Man of Progress’ their city has already begun to celebritize as a pillar of innovation.

This is just Jayce Talis.

His other half. His partner.

“You look perfect.”

Jayce shakes his head and smirks. “I can’t imagine I do.”

“I am insisting otherwise.” Viktor runs a thumb over the faint shadow along Jayce's jaw, not quite as evenly manicured as usual. He’d skipped a few days. Viktor wonders how well it would suit him if he intentionally let it grow out. “Although if you would prefer, we can change into the clothes you brought for the pair of us, and you can fix up your hair...”

“So it is that bad.” Jayce’s cheeks colour slightly, and he brings a hand from Viktor’s waist to cover where his face is held.

“No, Jayce. No—” Viktor rests his forehead against Jayce’s, glassy eyes wide. “You are beautiful. You are always beautiful, [Sunshine].”

Always.

The assertion is meant as genuine, but his partner laughs anyway.

“Okay, you’re—you’re smothering me,” Jayce manages to say with the other’s face so close to his own. “I’ve already given up on getting back to my place before, I don’t know, next week. I’ll make do.”

“Beautiful,” Viktor insists again under his breath.

“I got it, V.” Jayce says gently. “You know you’re gorgeous too, right?”

“I want to kiss you.”

The hue of Jayce’s cheeks promptly darkens from a delicate shade of rose to red, dusting even his ears.

Oh, he looks so beautiful in red.

“You—uh, you can,” Jayce starts, tongue flicking out to wet his already glossed lips. “Even though that might...” He shifts in his seat, rocking Viktor slightly. “Gods, Vik—”

“What?”

“Just for a minute, okay?”

“What for a minute?”

And Jayce answers in the form of a kiss, because apparently Viktor had asked for one aloud.

Jayce leans back in his chair, guiding the other to follow. Viktor hitches his leg up so he can lean in further, awkwardly positioned so he’s forced to stretch his braced leg out as a counterbalance, despite the consistent support of one broad hand splayed up his back. His arms come to rest over Jayce’s shoulders, leisurely caging his lover’s face. Their lips are still damp, making the slide easy, a gentle parting and pressing as a mellow warmth is shared between them.

The hand not firmly settled across Viktor’s spine comes up to his chin, where Jayce runs the pad of his thumb along the sharp angle until he reaches the divot below his ear. His fingers curl up into Viktor’s hair, pulling tight, before Jayce’s mouth opens with a moan.

Viktor quite nearly drops the glass.

His eyes fly open as the sweat of his palm slips a fraction along the length of the smooth cup, and he breaks off from their kiss so quickly that Jayce startles as well.

“What’s—what’s wrong?”

Viktor readjusts over Jayce’s lap and pulls his arms back, the spark of panic slowly fading as he confirms he still has a reliable grip. He swaps the glass to his other hand and wipes his palm over his trousers.

“We, eh, do not have the spare time to clean another mess.”

Jayce makes a small noise, caught in the back of his throat. “I didn’t think... we were planning on going that far.”

Viktor scrunches his face in embarrassment, and means to clarify what he meant, but when he looks up at Jayce again he finds himself... lost.

The level of blush painting his tanned skin a florid crimson is a sight Viktor hasn’t been gifted with witnessing under ample lighting in months. Only frantic, panting, well-past-midnight depravity has presented this vision of discomposure over the past year. And Viktor almost throws the glass this time, because all he wants right now is to meld their lips again and coax that colour to spread.

But Jayce tilts his head, repositions his hand from Viktor’s back to his shoulder, and his dazed focus sharpens.

“Vik? You okay?”

Viktor takes an extra few seconds to respond, because he desperately needs to find his bearings before they abandon every test they haven’t yet finished and their date is once again postponed.

He takes a sharp breath through his nose and exhales slowly. “I meant I did not want to drop the empty glass.”

“Yeah, that’s...” Jayce huffs a short laugh and shifts in his seat. “That makes sense.”

Viktor wants to lean in again. He wants to indulge in everything they have put aside these past few months in the pursuit of productivity.

And Jayce seems to be bowing back and forth within the same addled mindset, because he gingerly tilts forward at the waist to meet where Viktor sits stock-still on his lap. He looks up from under lush lashes and smiles, the slight gap in his teeth incredibly tempting when he says, “We’ll get the chance later, okay?”

Fuck, Viktor wants this chance now. But with Jayce’s softly spoken melding of both denial and confirmation, their evening plans are set, so Viktor only hums.

Jayce has taken on that tired demeanor again, as if the feeling of Viktor on his lap could send him off to sleep right there. While his cheery smile has faded, it’s been replaced by a relaxed, reverent look of quiet adoration.

“I love you,” Jayce whispers, and his fond, expectant gaze flicks up to meet amber, as if wondering if the man on his lap might be just out of it enough to let one slip.

Viktor pulls away from Jayce to push back the loose strands of his hair, cup his face, and press their foreheads together once more. Jayce lets his palms slide back down to Viktor’s waist, holding him steady.

“[You are everything I’ve ever wanted],” Viktor confesses, muddled enough that he knows his other half will not be able to piece it together, even in his most conscious state. He can barely understand it himself. “[My most cherished star. You are so blinding it terrifies me].”

“What, uh...” Jayce’s expression shifts, undoubtedly intrigued. “What’d you say?”

“You are the most handsome man in all of Piltover,” Viktor supplies instead.

Jayce cocks his head, and his eyes narrow. “I didn’t hear ‘Piltover’ in there anywhere.”

“Eh, there is—uh, an outdated term.” Red in the face, Viktor quickly rises from Jayce’s lap with the aid of hands on his waist. He snatches his cane from the side of the chair and steadily ambles his way back to the desk to drop the wretched empty glass down on the table. “I, ah, stated that any fine dining establishment would be delighted to have you,” he continues loudly, as if he’s the only one in the room and rambling to himself, “especially if you refrain from decimating their napkins.”

“I promise I won’t, as long as we finish this.”

“You,” Viktor sits down heavily in his spot at the desk, “will make coffee. Tea. Your choice.”

Jayce slumps back into his own chair. “More caffeine?”

“I will sit here, and ensure the documentation we have is everything that needs to be sent over. You will come back, the caffeine will be sweet, and we will be sharp and mentally prepared for this [godforsaken] meal.”

“That didn’t sound promising.”

“When has purposefully engaging with Piltovan elite ever been promising?”

“It’s almost like you’re doing this just for me,” Jayce says, and he stands from his seat with relative ease this time.

“I was ready to throw my standing at the Academy into the gutter for you. I can handle a few hours pretending I am seated in preestablished wealth and social class, if...” Viktor slides an elbow over the table, rests his head on his palm, and sighs. “If it will make you happy.”

Jayce’s attention seems caught by that, as his tone drops to something softer. “That’s not what I’m asking for, V.”

“I know,” Viktor sighs, because he does. “You would like to celebrate.” He also understands that if he truly protested against this dinner, Jayce would withdraw his proposal. But his partner’s optimism is infectious, per usual, and he can’t help but give in to the buoyant excitement that Jayce so effectively blankets him with. “I am... looking forward to our time together.”

“You won’t regret it,” Jayce attempts to guarantee. “It’ll be worth it. I swear.”

“Yes, I’m sure.” Viktor closes his eyes. “Very, very sure.”

“Coffee, right. I’m on it.”

Chapter Text

The exhaustive impedance tests have been completed and noted in length by the hour Jayce pulls out the less-than-fresh sets of clothes from the storage closet. With enough time and care the folds could have been ironed, but now the creasing might be an eyesore to the folk they’re about to mingle with. At least the matching navy should distract from the subtle orchid hue that lives under their eyes. On the off-chance the colour complements it, maybe they can play it off as premeditated.

Jayce carefully shaves his stubble away and fixes his hair in the mirror, chipper as ever.

Viktor splashes water on his face and dabs off the excess with a rough towel, hoping the cold will reset his flush.

They rejoin in the lab, and despite the perpetually exhausted air about them, everything is finally in motion for the rest of their evening.

Thank the gods, Viktor thinks to himself, resting his weight over the support of his cane. His hip has been twitching from his sustained period of sitting at the desk, and he’ll gladly take the opportunity to stretch his legs before this multi-course meal. Everything’s in place for the presentation tomorrow. It's just us, now. 

Jayce adjusts his cufflinks before bending at the waist to confirm his shoes are neatly tied. “You look good,” he says, glancing in Viktor's direction. He smiles widely, unhesitant with where his gaze roams. “Really good.”

It had taken Viktor a few extra minutes to change, but the brace sits nicely over the material of the suit; the shine of metal looks undoubtedly crisp in contrast to a cool midnight blue. The lapels and back are accented with gold in symmetrical patterns, a unique style whilst still safely shy of overt ostentation. The crimson silk lining generously imparts an extra layer of comfort that Viktor feels spoiled in, especially when he’d feared whatever scratch awaited him upon accepting this covertly commissioned gift. The tight cinch of his brace is eased in a way he hadn’t considered.

“It’s a lovely shade of blue,” Viktor says. “The texture is decent, and the tailoring is... remarkably precise, considering you only provided my measurements.”

“Nice surprise, then?” Jayce asks as he straightens, hands on his hips.

Viktor nods and thumbs through a faint crease in the crisp fabric. “Yes, thank you. I would not be opposed to owning this in more than one colour.”

“That’s a relief to hear,” Jayce laughs lightly. “The tailor was exasperated by all the specifications I asked for. Definitely worth it, though.”

Viktor wonders, for a moment, just how long Jayce had spent planning this date behind the scenes, on top of their already grueling deadline. Whether parts of his notes had been scrawled with ideas, scribbled out and reassessed, with as much attention to detail as their research had been given. 

The warmth that floods his cheeks from the gentle pulse of his heart temporarily distracts Viktor from the anxiety this impending date has caused him these past few weeks. The gift of the suit he wears is familiar in abstraction, a soft interior with a tightly woven shell… and one man has become quite the expert in unbuttoning each and every piece with careful consideration.

“It is, eh...” Viktor wets his lips and shifts his attention away from his own getup to the parallel set in front of him. “A satisfying ensemble, especially to match in this way.”

If the tailor had only received measurements for Viktor’s suit, they must have pulled out every stop when it came to fitting Jayce in person. The lines seem to match his physique down to the millimeter, where every slack fold and tight curve hugs him with grace. The only difference between their sets, other than the build they house, is the neckpiece: Jayce sports a bold and brash red tie with a golden House Talis emblem adorning the blade. Viktor had been bequeathed a burgundy cravat. Rather simple, by comparison.

Jayce seems to notice Viktor’s pointed stare. “I, uh, wasn’t sure you’d appreciate acting as a mobile Talis banner,” he says.

Viktor smirks. “I might have agreed to it, if you had asked. Perhaps on our next date.”

Jayce seems to slot this detail away for later with a tilt of his head and a similarly quirked smile. “So, you’re ready?”

“As ready as I can be.” The coffee has bolstered Viktor’s spirits back up a bit, overly sweet to contend with his dropped state. “You’ve called a ride, I trust?”

“Yeah, it’s waiting for us out front,” Jayce says brightly. He has a newly inspired passion steering his mood as well, having waited for this moment for months. “We’ve even got time to spare.” 

“I would rather be early, what with the grief we’ve caused.” Viktor squares his shoulders before feeling a hand on his left elbow, guiding him forward.

“I’m really, uh...” Jayce slides his arm to hook through Viktor's. He eyes their matching sets, adoration and pride playing his features in a loud, unabashed smile. Whatever he’d been planning on saying is simply lost to the ether. “Gods, you look fucking gorgeous.” 

Viktor squeezes the muscular arm looped with his as they walk out of the lab. “We might need to refrain from such language in the venue, darling.”

The ride is quiet, the carriage dark, and the consistent bump of the road under the wheels threatens their wakeful state with a calming lull. Jayce sits up straight throughout the short journey in an effort to stay present. Viktor leans against the door of the carriage, watching the street pass by. The sun has begun its measured descent, a warm glow gleaming through the spaces between buildings. 

The venue their carriage slows to a stop in front of is everything Viktor fearfully imagined and more. The building is one story but takes up the better part of the block; a line of hopeful patrons wait for a walk-in opportunity at the entrance. The white brick has been inlaid flawlessly, the doors a threaded assemblage of glass and gold, a notable dark red tying the production together. The Crimson Luxe drips with enough prestige that a sign designating it as such is entirely unnecessary. 

Viktor suddenly feels a wave of unease slink under his skin, offsetting the contentment he’d slipped into. Even in his formally-commissioned getup, he already feels out of place. Perhaps if they’d given themselves a grace period to doll up in the comfort of their home rather than the lab he might feel different. Now, he wishes this moment could have come about when he could truly appreciate it, as opposed to a looming apprehensive weight that had stagnated over the past few weeks. 

Jayce opens the carriage door and steps lightly onto the pavement, turning back and offering a hand to Viktor without hesitation. “I’ve got you,” he says, and that same affectionate, assuring smile is all Viktor needs to take the hand and slide across the seat. 

He carefully positions his cane to take the brunt of his weight when he steps down from the vehicle. Reverent lips grace the ridge of his knuckles once before Jayce lets go.

Viktor lingers a pace behind while Jayce walks ahead, passing the waiting line of aesthetically swathed groups mingling outside the door. Jayce pulls a letter from his chest pocket, smooths it out, and hands it to the attendant before tucking his hands behind his back to wait; he rocks idly on his heels and turns to where Viktor stands beside him. His nerves are clearly running high, but his excitement outweighs his anxiety. 

Viktor can’t say the same for himself. The fidgety shift of his weight is from anything but giddy anticipation.

They’re waved inside after a minute. Viktor glances between the attendant, Jayce’s elegantly swathed shoulders, the open doors, and the elegant space that awaits them. 

It’s even gaudier inside. An impressive fixture frames the interior of the entryway, crimson stained glass ornaments hanging like blood-red birds suspended in flight. High walls converge at a painted mural on the ceiling, a mixture of intricate patterns and whimsical foliage overlapping a night sky. The establishment is purposefully lit by flame alone, sconces along the wall and a ridiculously large chandelier that clearly serves as the centerpiece of the venue. Each table houses its own small candelabra to counterbalance the dark ambience of the restaurant. Almost every table is filled with Piltovan aristocrats who converse in chiming rhythm without a care in the world, dressed to the nines and glowing under the candlelight. 

Viktor feels a sense of disconnect once more. He closes his mouth sharply, wondering in embarrassment how long it had been open. 

“Mr. Talis?” 

Viktor snaps back to the present when he hears his partner’s name spoken, oddly sharp despite the formality of the address. 

“Yes, that’s us,” Jayce answers. His left hand winds around Viktor’s waist, holding but not pulling, designating them as the pair with the reservation in question. 

“We’re pleased you've finally found the time to visit The Luxe,” the waiter says, a tart bite still apparent in her voice. She wears the same distinctive uniform as the rest of the staff, a dark red with gold detailing to reflect the dim light. Her blond hair is pulled back and adorned with a multitude of matching accessories. 

“Yes, I’m—I’m sorry about all that. We had a few unanticipated setbacks to deal with...” Jayce starts to explain, but the waiter only nods and straightens her shoulders as she turns. 

“So I’ve heard. Right this way, Talis party.” She gestures to the only empty table, located at the far, far back corner of the dining floor, and begins to lead them through the maze.

Viktor can’t help but chuckle when Jayce looks at him with a pathetically shot-down expression on his face.

“They know your name well,” Viktor says under his breath, cane tapping along the floor as they weave through the tables. He’s thankful the other patrons seem too invested in interpersonal conversation and their tiny plates of food to watch them walk by. “But we have been allowed inside. First step.”

“Yeah,” Jayce says weakly. 

He still has his hands clasped behind him, bottom lip caught between his teeth, walking slightly in front of Viktor. He looks up at the ceiling to take in the view, and startles out of the way when he almost runs into a table. 

“Sorry, sorry,” he apologizes in passing to the couple seated, and Viktor bites back a laugh.

“One foot in front of the other,” Viktor whispers, his left hand coming to rest at the small of Jayce’s back. “I have you.”

When they reach their destination, the waiter pulls out each chair and stands stiffly to the side. Both men take their seats, and Viktor hangs the handle of his cane over the side of the table. 

“May I check anything for you?” their waiter prompts. 

“What?” Jayce’s face is blank of understanding, his concern cast in cozy amber light and flickering shadow. 

“Your coats, or your... cane. I can take them to the front.”

“Why?”

“No, thank you, we’re quite alright,” Viktor says. He leans in towards the waiter to capture her attention, hands clasped over the table, and smiles, appeasing. “I apologize for being unfamiliar with your offerings. Is there a menu we could glance through?”

“Our selection is dictated verbally, as it changes quite often,” the waiter says. She looks straight at Viktor, her stance having shifted to address him alone. “The small plates we currently offer include a blood-orange balsamic field of greens, a mixed salad with kiln-dried cherries, an Ionian truffle bisque—”

“Wait, what about the honey sweetbread?” Jayce interrupts, and the waiter begrudgingly turns her gaze back to him. 

“The Zaunite specialties were a limited offer we served for two weeks last month,” she explains, her voice somewhat sharper with the context everyone at the table is very much aware of. 

“Oh.” 

Jayce catches Viktor’s eye, and he’s blushing a terrible scarlet, visible even in the half-light. He has a hand over his mouth, rubbing at his lips as if debating whether to silence himself. 

Viktor feels something very warm in his heart, then, as if the meager flames sitting between them have come alight to blaze within his chest. He isn’t sure what shows on his face, but clearly it drives Jayce to turn back to the waiter, deciding it’s worth it to push. 

“Are you sure you can’t—”

“Jayce, [my sun and stars]...” The endearing title slips out as Viktor cuts in, and it’s his turn to stumble over his words when he addresses the server again. “That’s—it's fine, we’ll just, ah, take the salad to start. And a pair of champagne flutes.” He gestures to his companion, coaxing him into the conversation. “We are celebrating, correct?”

“Yeah.” Jayce takes the opportunity to sit up straight and put on the most convincing smile he currently has access to. “We've just hit a major milestone in our work.”

The waiter does not seem to care about the reason for their visit, as she’s quiet for a moment before asking, “Which of the salads?”

“Balsamic,” Viktor says just as Jayce blurts out, “Cherries.”

“One of each, then,” the waiter responds smoothly as both men are caught off guard. “And... beverages. In addition, would you prefer still or sparkling?”

“The champagne?”

“Still water, please,” Viktor says before their server has the chance to react to how Jayce withers.

“Of course. Would you like to hear the rest of tonight’s menu?” she offers on impulse, although from her clipped tone it seems she’s about ready to walk off. 

Viktor stays quiet this time, anticipating Jayce will answer for the both of them—but unfortunately, his partner chooses to do the same.

“Right,” the waiter says, and the chipper chime in her voice is an overcompensation for her obvious disdain. “I’ll return shortly with your appetizers.”

Their stiff posture and purposeful silence lingers as they both watch the woman leave. Only once she’s nearly at the entrance to the kitchen do mirrored sighs break the tension.

Jayce drops his face directly into his hands, palms over his eyes as he leans on his elbows. “That was bad,” he mumbles. “Wow, that was...”

“Terrible, yes. But not the worst it could have gone, I suppose.” Viktor attempts to quell the smile that quirks his lips up, although the battle is a loss from the start.

“Gods, it’ll only get worse. You shouldn’t have ordered the flutes,” Jayce bemoans, and that familiar, fretful cadence comes across all the more ridiculous when they’re seated within such excessive opulence.

“I thought we were celebrating,” Viktor cites coyly.

Jayce looks up, affronted. “We are, we—Viktor, don’t look at me like that.” 

“Like what?”

“Like you’re enjoying this,” Jayce says, and despite his anxiety his expression splits into a smile to match. “I’m drowning here, and you’re not much help.”

“I thought you wanted me to enjoy myself.” Viktor rests his chin over his clasped hands, leans in, and allows his playful grin to manifest in full. “This was your idea, Jayce.” 

“I know,” Jayce scoffs with a minute raise of his brows.

“You were so adamant it would be worth every minute of added stress,” Viktor continues to tease.

“I know.” Jayce rubs at his temples, amused even in his premature defeat. “V...”

“Yes?” 

“We’re riding this out,” he says conclusively.

“Absolutely, I would love nothing more,” Viktor drawls, yet he amends his sarcasm by reaching across the table and resting his fingers over his lover's arm. “I mean it, darling. If you want to stay, we will stay.”

“You’re not itching to run?”

“I have a personal form of entertainment here at my table. That is a pleasure you never mentioned was provided in-house.”

Jayce shakes his head, his smile fixed. “How are you so relaxed?” 

Viktor decides to be honest, as Jayce is a bit jittery; his facetious expression slackens, yet his lips remain quirked. “I have no reason not to be. I’m seated across from the kindest man in the room, and that is a gift in itself. The greatest gift one could ever ask for.”

I’m safe by your side, Viktor means, and knows Jayce will understand. Alone, this undertaking may have brought me strain. But here and now, I only see you.

Jayce stares like he’s ready to lean across the table to kiss him at the risk of setting his new suit jacket on fire. His gaze burns warm as the green hue of his eyes disappears to copper amidst the glow of lamplight. “I love you,” he breathes on impulse, tender and soft. 

There isn't quite enough time for the well-worn phrase to hit its mark. 

“Just—ah, pretend we frequent here every Thursday evening,” Viktor advises in a rush as their waiter rounds a few tables to return to theirs. “There is no explicit requirement concerning forced pleasantries.”

She expertly transfers each of the salads from the tray to the respective positions on the table before setting the flutes of champagne and water down. 

Jayce does not move. 

He does not utter a single word as his gaze flicks over the small plates. 

Viktor is forced to nod and offer as evenly as he can, “Thank you.”

“Enjoy,” she says curtly, and leaves all without initiating eye contact. 

Jayce waits until she’s a few tables away, safely out of earshot, and exhales harshly in relief. “You’re right, that was significantly easier.” 

Viktor absolutely bursts out into laughter, head thrown back, and he belatedly tries to stifle the noise behind his hand. He’s thankful the bustle of conversation is a low hum over the entirety of the restaurant, otherwise the noise would have turned more than a few heads.

“Oh, Jayce... Yes, that was remarkably smooth, by comparison.” 

“Thanks. I’m really trying.” Jayce takes a sip off the top of the champagne flute. “Damn, that’s dry.” He makes a face and sets the glass down as quickly as he’d picked it up. 

Viktor thumbs the rim of his own flute and represses another laugh. “So... is tonight everything you hoped it would be?”

“That and more,” Jayce states with certainty. “I’m here with you.”

Viktor feels a temperate heat dust his cheeks with a blush. He knows Jayce is the only person who will see it in their dimly-lit corner of this premier Piltovan establishment, and that sits right with him. 

He leans back and raises his delicate glass to wordlessly toast their various achievements: finally settling this portion of Hexgate preproduction, mustering the last of their reserves to celebrate, and the many highs a future together is sure to offer. 

Jayce tilts his flute only an inch or so off the table, as he doesn't seem to trust himself to hold it steady much higher than that. 

They hadn’t made it past the third course. Although each dish had been appreciated, their stuttered conversation in the flickering low-light of the restaurant did not mix well with their already sleep-deprived state. The nail in the coffin had been the appearance of an onsite string quartet, which prompted both scientists to exchange a measured glance that initiated their exit. Jayce left an exorbitant amount of money on the table—as the bill had not been delivered, and the pricing of each dish had not been dictated—enough to cover the entire expenditure and quite a bit more. It might have been everything left in his pocket. 

Jayce falls asleep in the carriage ride back to the small apartment Viktor directs the driver to, despite his boyfriend’s previous request otherwise. Routing to Jayce’s flat would have added another twenty minutes to their evening, borrowed time neither could swing. Viktor’s fingers brush over Jayce’s cheek before patting lightly, rousing him from his stupor. He blinks, his heavy form limp against Viktor’s shoulder, and his cheeks colour slightly as he wipes at his mouth. 

If the elevator hadn’t been in working condition, the two might have succumbed to passing out right in the lobby. 

Jayce slumps against the wall beside Viktor when they reach the apartment door. He closes his eyes and lets out a heavy sigh. 

“I had flowers, y’know,” he says.

“Flowers?”

“Mhm.”

Jayce doesn’t elaborate further, and Viktor finds he does not have the capacity to split his focus, because he drops the ring of keys when he tries to fish them out of his pocket. The dexterity of his motion feels delayed, each flex a conscious chore. The sharp Old Zaunish curse he hisses is borderline hostile, pointed at nothing but how far away the floor seems at this moment. 

“I got it.” 

Jayce does not quite have it as quickly as Viktor hopes, as he spends a few more seconds knelt on the floor than required before standing. He hands the set over, supporting himself against the wall throughout the process.

“Thank you.”

“I don’t think I can do that again."

Viktor is too invested in sliding the thin piece of metal into the lock to drop the keyring a second time. When it doesn’t fit in on the first few attempts, he takes a moment to locate the correct one. For all he knows, Jayce could have nodded off again with his head against the wall until the mechanism finally clicks and the door opens. 

Viktor flicks up the lightswitch on instinct. Both men flinch from the sudden onslaught of standardized fluorescence.

“Off?” Viktor asks.

“Please.” Jayce rubs his eye with the heel of his palm, steadying himself with his other hand brushing every surface available as he follows Viktor inside a pace behind.

The apartment is basked in a cool glow from the outfacing windows, the twilight of evening dimming with every passing minute. The floorplan is so etched into their psyche they often step through it in the dead of night without aid, so the lack of light isn't a worry.

Jayce reinitiates his topic of conversation as if there had never been a break to begin with. “I have a few things prepared over there from... weeks ago.”

“At your apartment?”

“Yeah. The flowers. White hydrangeas. Imported wine. I shelled out for a set of matching robes, so we could pretend we'd gone on a trip somewhere....” The solemn delivery isn’t directed as a slight towards Viktor’s decision to avoid his apartment, merely providing objective context. 

“That is… very thorough, Jayce. And kind of you.”

“Everything’s so untouched it’s like I don’t even live there anymore.”

“I thought you had dropped by the other day.”

“I did. I passed out on the sofa immediately, just like I’m about to now.”

“Please don’t. I’d prefer you sleep by my side, rather than peel your husk off of leather tomorrow.”

It seems Jayce doesn’t have the energy to laugh, and deems a sharp exhale through his nose as a suitable replacement for it. “Mm. Okay.”

They sit on the couch a short ways from the door, side by side, and unlace their shoes in tandem without haste. It’s more of a hassle than their usual attire. Viktor watches as steady hands undo the brace straps from his leg as smoothly as they can manage. Jayce then gathers the dregs of his energy to sluggishly pace, hanging up their jackets and dropping off their shoes by the door while carrying the metal device at his side.

”I think we should move in together. It’ll make things easier,” he continues in a dry, indifferent tone, an ironic juxtaposition to the sentiment he presents.

“You’re not satisfied with our current arrangement?” Viktor asks with a smirk as he stands from the couch. He flexes his leg and shifts his weight from one foot to the other, cane in hand. 

“No.” Jayce is unable to pick up on the sarcasm, his genuine consideration disguised under a weak, drowsy murmur. “Your place is closer but gods it’s small. It wasn’t built with two people in mind; it hardly accommodates one,” Jayce laments without restraint. “Mine is too far from the lab. I’m not really attached to the place, anyway. It only makes sense to move.”

“Sound logic.”

“And I’d rather you be there when the flowers show up. They’re probably dead by now...”

“You want to live with me?”

“Yeah. I thought that was obvious. We’re practically living together as it is.” Jayce enters the bedroom and carefully sets the brace on the desk over scattered papers, just barely within view. 

After a pause, as Viktor is busy holding back a yawn, Jayce pokes out through the doorframe. His brows are drawn tight in belated apprehension from what he’d suggested. 

“Am I imposing? I don’t mean it like that. We don’t have to, if you’d rather—”

Viktor silences him with a kiss on the cheek. 

“A brilliant idea. I am only surprised you had not asked sooner,” is all he says, because everything else he wants to affirm is locked behind a paywall that requires at least four hours of sleep to access. 

“Oh.” Jayce watches Viktor walk away towards the bathroom for a moment before his lean against the doorframe is abandoned to follow. He catches up in a few easy strides, loosens his tie, and smiles. “Well... I’m glad it’s not a surprise, because I might already have a few places in mind.”

“We can talk about this at a later time, when the pull of sleep is not... quite as debilitating,” Viktor promises softly. “For now, rest is the priority.”

They each take turns at the too-small sink to brush away the limited evidence of their meal, still dressed and casually leaning into the other for support. Their routine doesn't take much longer than usual, but the simple set of tasks still feel like they drag—they’ll skip this if the clothes come off first, they both know. 

Viktor trudges back towards the bedroom first while his eyes readjust to the muted darkness of the apartment. The dip of the mattress by itself begs Viktor to crawl beneath the blankets, their mixed scent tempting him dangerously close to sleep. He could lay down like this and drift off, mostly clothed with his cane in his hand, but he knows he’ll regret it tomorrow. Firmly planted on the end of the bed, Viktor sets his cane to the side and begins to shed the layers of his attire, another process that will take far too long. 

Jayce stares at him from the door, leaning heavily against the frame. He watches with half-lidded eyes, focusing in and out through the dim lighting. The pale ambience of twilight has all but faded where it seeps in through the window, the edges of Jayce’s features highlighted by a golden glow from lamps that dot the street outside. His smile is just a loving tug at the corner of his mouth, and Viktor can’t help but avert his gaze as he unbuttons his own shirt. 

“You won’t sleep comfortably like that,” Viktor says. “Undress.”

“You’re asking me to strip?” Jayce lulls back, teasing. “Don’t—Not on the floor,” he protests, gesturing to the shirt in question.

Viktor begins to shuffle out of his trousers, ready to add them to the growing pile. “Unless you have another spontaneous date planned for tomorrow morning, I have no intention of putting anything away. We’ll wash them, darling. Don’t fret.”

Jayce lazily shakes his head and brings a hand up to his tie. He doesn’t protest any further as he joins in the practice, shedding his shirt in a way that’s more lethargic than alluring. He kicks the trousers off his ankles while holding onto the desk. Slowly but surely their clothes hit the floor in a rumpled heap, each and every expensive piece an afterthought when the prospect of sleep is so close.

Jayce eventually settles onto the mattress behind Viktor in his boxer briefs and lays his head over an exposed shoulder. The heavy dead weight is a surprise, and Viktor realizes just how conscious his partner usually is with his body when he has the mental fortitude to do so.

“Thanks for tonight,” Jayce says, barely above a whisper. “I know it wasn’t... what I promised.”

Viktor leans forward and absentmindedly runs his fingers over the length of his cane, eyes trained on the floor. He feels the heat of Jayce’s body when he’s pressed this close and anticipates the way his sheets will feel sun-toasted once they're both finally underneath them. It's the familiar security he needs to fully unwind. 

“We can always try again,” Viktor says.

“We're not getting two steps through that door.”

“Somewhere else. Forget about the restaurant... I'll find us another venue that will cater to our dining habits.” Viktor grins at his own sleep-deprived excuse of a joke before it even lands. “Shuriman cuisine. To bypass the import tax.”

Jayce is far too tired to string the vague pieces together. “Sounds like you're expecting me to laugh,” he mumbles.

Viktor chuckles under his breath. “The crystals, Jayce. What better appetizer for Hextech’s cofounders than our primary resource on a platter?”

Jayce does laugh now, although it's quiet and falls off quickly. Viktor hopes the muck of disappointment he knows Jayce is stuck in doesn't hold him for very long.

“Don’t worry your head, [sweetheart],” Viktor insists in a silken tone. 

Built arms wrap possessively around him, initiating a firm embrace that fully conveys the closeness they’ve put aside these past few weeks. There’s a kiss on Viktor’s shoulder, another on the base of his neck where he knows a mole resides, and then Jayce slots his head up against the back of his neck. Short hair coiffed in waves is a subtle tickle over his spine. 

“Mm. Love you, V.” 

Jayce says it like the phrase won’t ever lose its luster, tried and true with every utterance. A promise just as tender and genuine now as it had been the first time, as much as it will be ten, twenty years down the line when their lives might be different but still very much intertwined. 

“I'm sorry if I wear that out, if I say it too much, I...” Jayce trails off in thought, and his low hum vibrates through Viktor’s body. “I just need you to know.”

Viktor smiles at the floor. “It’s never too much.”

He can’t quite turn back to catch Jayce’s gaze through the dim light. Maybe that makes it easier. For him, the promise is harder to state so explicitly, despite the way he aches to respond in kind every instance the opportunity presents itself. There’s a hesitancy not in how he feels, but from his experience with loss, with grief, with the uncertainty he knows will eventually be catapulted from the peripheral.

But he is certain, especially right now, and the warmth from this kind, gentle, steadfast embrace is all the assurance he needs.

“I love you, too,” Viktor says quietly. Not in slurred Old Zaunish, or a meandering supplication for the profession in itself, or a hesitant mumble into his pillow. Overly simplified in regard to how he truly feels, but nevertheless an unguarded way of expressing his devotion in no uncertain terms.

Viktor should have expected the arms wrapped around his middle to tighten in consequence, and it forces him to huff at the sudden flex of strength. The warmth of Jayce’s cheek is replaced by the soft outline of lips as peppered kisses align with the ridges of his spine. 

“Say it again?” Jayce’s honey-sweet voice is barely alight in the calm air, a husky note of exhaustion on the downwind. His blunt fingernails trace back and forth where they lay over the pale, mole-dappled skin of Viktor’s ribs. “One more time? I thought you might be sick of me after how hard I pushed this dinner.” 

Viktor’s heart grows fuller, the intimate contact warming him to the touch, and can't think of a reason he would ever deny Jayce in the privacy of his room. Their room, at this point. He props his cane to the side and shifts so he can turn and face the other within the embrace. Jayce allows Viktor the leeway to do so, palms lingering as the tender hold loosens and their knees knock.

Jayce’s expression is barely visible but his eyes catch the firelight of lamps lit outside and the dim blue hue of evening, nearly extinguished. Viktor raises his hands to Jayce’s jawline to cup him gently and tilt his head into a plain kiss. He expects Jayce to press for more, draw him closer—instead, the kiss breaks off so the effort isn’t much more than a simple peck. Jayce slumps so their foreheads touch, and their limbs puzzle together in a practiced armature of mutual ease. The fresh scent of toothpaste and the lingering musk of woodsy cologne envelop his senses in a harmony that has become standard within their routine. 

“I love you, [Sunshine],” Viktor whispers against parted red lips. “I always will. A mistimed date could never dampen the affection I hold for you.”

In my heart, my soul, every fiber of my being. Whatever trials are set in my path or yours, the indeterminable lows yet to come... I don't fear it, my love, because I fall asleep at night and wake in the morning with the knowledge we will face all of that together.

Viktor finds solace in the assurance that he has both the time and grace to speak his extended truth whenever he secures the courage to do so. His lover, his other half... Jayce knows, regardless. But even still, the explicit affirmation always imbues a joy that Viktor finds disarming, as Jayce hums in wistful contentment and runs his hands up Viktor's arms to his shoulders. He nuzzles sweetly where their foreheads touch, his eyes still closed.

"Just being close to you like this..." Jayce whispers, "I missed it."

"As have I," Viktor whispers back with the same degree of reverence.

And yet, Viktor feels the way Jayce sags despite the doting atmosphere, as he clearly had other plans in mind.

“I’m... I'm sorry we couldn’t—” Jayce starts, but Viktor pushes lightly on his chest. “Oh.” Weak to any pressure, Jayce falls back and can't be bothered to catch himself as he splays over Viktor’s side of the mattress.

“No more apologies.” Viktor slides along the edge of the bed, notches his cane against the bedside table, and shoos Jayce with a lazy gesture. “Get under already. Fall asleep by my side; I have earned the right to ask that of you.” 

Jayce exhales a lingering, pleasant sigh. “Easiest task you’ve ever given me, V.”

He maneuvers across the mattress to his spot by the window and pulls the blanket down to tuck his feet underneath. It takes a few tries, toes snagging against the lip of fabric. Viktor settles in to do the same, adjusting his support cushion under his knees and pulling the sheets high to cover them.

“Kill the alarm.” Jayce yawns and nods to the bedside table, eyes already closed. “There’s no way I’m getting up before... mm, noon.”

“Are you suggesting we forgo running through the presentation again?” Viktor asks, trying and failing to stifle his own subsequent yawn.

“There's no question they could throw at us that we haven't already answered,” Jayce mumbles into his pillow. It does belong to him now, what with the amount of saliva he's marked it with. “We're all set. Just need to clock these hours in.”

Viktor’s slender fingers glide across Jayce’s exposed shoulder. The pining twinge in his chest for further intimacy won’t be sated tonight, but what with the weekend ahead of them, and the way Jayce so comfortably settles onto his side of the bed, he can sleep easy knowing the opportunity will present itself when the stars align. Even with their lives thoroughly wrapped up in a shared passion, he knows his partner will continue to rest by his side in the many years yet to come.

He wearily stretches towards the nightstand to click off the mechanism that would have interrupted their rest, and notes the time with languid amusement. It isn't even nine in the evening yet. Fifteen hours of sleep should tide them over to appear bright and refreshed for the presentation tomorrow, although they'll be cutting it close if Jayce stays true to his word. As he settles back into bed and pulls the blankets up over his bare shoulders, he turns to find Jayce’s mouth slightly slack, lashes shut, the only movement he exhibits is the subtle rise and fall of his bare chest.

“Sleep well then, darling.”

Jayce slurs something that sounds close to “Night, baby,” before his hand finds Viktor's beneath the sheets, loosely intertwining in a delicate form of tender, chaste affection.