Chapter Text
Viktor likes his coffee black. Jayce, for one, can’t understand how he stands the bitterness and the tang of coffee bean. When it is Viktor's turn to get their drinks, he always tells Jayce he can barely make it out of the cafe without gagging just at the thought of how much sugar is in his cup.
As much as Jayce feels terrible asking him to fetch coffee some mornings, what with his condition and all, he knows Viktor gets upset with people when they assume he can’t do things. Even if he can’t, he still pretends he can just to spite them.
Jayce sees through his bluffs. His only obstacle is Viktor's crutch, the thing he tries to bash Jayce's skull in with when he refuses a favor.
Morning light streams in through the tall window in their lab, kissing his skin. On any other day he'd sit back for a couple minutes and savor the warmth of the sun on his face. Today, the added heat makes him sweatier than he already is.
Despite having showered twice this morning, every shirt Jayce tries on seems to want to cling to the wet look. He went with something simple, plain-black. Not as terrible looking if he were to sweat. The sheets of paper underneath his hands stick to the pads of his fingers, and the pencil in his grip is uncomfortably warm.
Even though the notebook hasn’t done anything to him, he digs the tip of the pencil down as hard as he can, thickens every single line in his sight even if it doesn’t need it. The only things he doesn't touch are the sticky notes bearing sketches of Viktor, because of how long they take Jayce to draw. He's not sure how on Earth he's going to make it through the rest of the work day.
As though on cue, a cup is set down to his right and he breathes a sigh of relief that his partner has arrived. Viktor gives him a crooked sort of grin, as though he wants to smile but can’t tell whether it’s an appropriate time to.
“Everything alright?” he asks, mumbling his words.
Jayce purses his lips into a half-smile in response, “Now that you’re here, yeah.”
“Ah. So you’ll stop abusing the research?”
“The research is fine. As am I.”
Viktor looks at him blankly for a moment, something swirling around behind his golden eyes.
“Jayce, you’re shaking,” Viktor says simply.
He breathes. Notices that he is, in fact, shaking.
“It’s nothing that you need to concern yourself with.”
“I really think it is."
Viktor's gaze hasn’t moved. He’s dead serious. Jayce's throat lets out a kind of whiny sound, a warbled groan.
"Viktor, you know of my relationship with Councilor Medarda?" He asks, even though he knows Viktor knows the answer.
It is something he's told him brief stories about.
He nods, mouth twisting into an expression Jayce can't quite make out.
Viktor is interesting. The type of man who you meet and need to know everything about, though it feels as though the opposite is unfolding every time you see his face. The more you learn, the more you feel you need to learn. It's like peeling back the layers of a gift only to find three more in its place. Constantly regenerating. Every time Jayce thinks he knows what the wrinkles by Viktor's eyes or what the slight tilt of his head mean, he's thrown for a loop.
Somewhere in his head he wonders if there's ever been a person Viktor has let in.
Jayce presses his lips into a thin line, holds up one finger to Viktor, bends down under his desk. He reaches into the depths of his bag until his fingers curl around the familiar shape of the black velvet box he's been carrying around for a month. He opens his hand, brandishes the box. And he opens it.
Viktor's eyebrows instantly rise.
Before he can say anything, the words spill from Jayce's mouth. "She's said before she doesn't want a big, tacky diamond. Not directed at me, obviously. As a random off-hand comment. And it's gold because it's Mel."
"It's beautiful."
They stare at the simple gold band, just sitting there. It looks radiant in the sunlight.
After a pause he asks, "Can I be honest with you for a moment?"
"Of course."
"I didn't take you for the kind of guy to put this much thought into it. Really, I thought you'd be the type to grab the first expensive ring and buy it on impulse."
"Ouch."
"Of course, I've never known you in any setting other than professional. So what would I know about your personal life?" he murmurs. "Just a thought."
It's so quiet Jayce can hear their slow heartbeats.
"Viktor?"
"Hm?"
"Are you seeing anybody?"
Viktor doesn't move a muscle. It looks as though he's holding his breath. The look in his eyes shifts, only a little bit- to some other kind of emotion Jayce can't distinguish. It takes an uncomfortably long time for him to finally say:
"No, I'm not."
Jayce snaps the ring box shut, strokes the soft velvet with his fingers. He lets out a chuckle.
"You know, it changes everything," Jayce tells Viktor. "Being in love with someone."
He says something, quietly, under his breath. Jayce would ask him what it was, but he can tell it's more of an inside thought that wasn't meant to slip out. He can tell Viktor's praying he haven't heard anything and wants to swallow his words back.
So he doesn't comment. He drops the box back into his bag and leaves the subject alone.
And right before they get to work, Viktor says, "She's very lucky."
Jayce's head is propped at his temple with his fist, his eyes fixated on a crude drawing of Viktor's depicting the latest prototype version of a machine they call the Hexgun. Viktor tries not to look at him too much, a task that's not made easier by the knowledge that every plane of Jayce's face is already permanently engraved in his head.
He's always been someone who feels too strongly for his own good. He's always been someone whose level of affection is never returned, either because of how intense he must seem or because those sorts of feelings aren't meant to be felt towards someone like him.
The best plan of action forward is to dial it down. Because nobody likes a person who's too fiery, too full of passion, too close to bursting at the seams with comments to make.
Jayce is the same kind of handsome as a messy sketch. Beautiful in that disheleved way of his. The lines of him are rugged, thick, unpolished. But he is nonetheless a work of art rendered by some artist's hand.
Oh, Viktor hates the way that his heart clenches when he thinks of Jayce's face, of his eyes and how they're like dripping, sugary honey. But he's not sure he would call it love.
He's not sure what exactly he would call it.
Jayce's lips are moving, saying words that zip straight past his ears. He doesn't feel like he's there, he feels passive and disconnected and blurry. The only images in his head are frame by frame--as though slowed down--shots of Jayce. Viktor stares at him and notices, notices the way his shoulders seem heavier today, the way a shadow of thick stubble is beginning to show on his jaw.
“You're popping the question tonight, right?” Viktor asks, quietly.
Jayce nods in response, sits up so he can properly do that thing he does with his hands when he talks. The unnecessary gesturing. Viktor has never understood it, but it's proven to be helpful in telling whether Jayce is lying. His tell is when his hands are frozen by his sides.
Viktor has never relayed this observation to anybody. He doesn't trust anyone enough to share such information.
“I got us a reservation at Einara’s right after our lab hours finish. I brought a suit over and I'm going to change into it right before we leave,” he says, “I hope that's fine.”
Viktor mumbles, “Yes. After all, what's five minutes less?”
Jayce smiles, picks his pencil back up.
The hours pass slowly, painfully. Jayce has the time to make up around five hundred different scenarios, each of which end with a big fat no and a lifetime's worth of public embarrassment.
He stares at himself, at his reflection in the small mirror before him.
Jayce has decided to keep the stubble for now. Partially because he didn't have the foresight to bring a razor to work and there’s not really another option.
His hair is slicked back, heavily gelled. He's in a dark grey suit, a navy tie (poorly knotted, of course) around his neck. He doesn't particularly like the look, but he's only a man from the Forge. Blue-collar, through and through.
He wants to clean up. Look nice for Mel. After all, she is a Councilor.
He tugs on his tie again. Breathes.
When he steps out of the staff restroom, Viktor is still in their lab hunched over a tiny metal model. With a screwdriver, he pokes at its side.
“V.”
Jayce is nearly sweating again. Viktor looks up, something glittering in his eye.
“You clean up nice,” he says simply, not too seriously. His features then twist into a sort of confusion, and his lips curl into a teasing smile. “What happened there?” he asks, pointing a finger to Jayce’s neck.
“I just kind of improvised. Uh, my father never really…he wasn’t around.”
With his finger, Viktor gestures for Jayce to come a little bit closer. He does, and Vikor begins to unravel the blue silk. His fingers brush Jayce’s neck, and not for the first time, Jayce takes a moment to appreciate Viktor’s fingers. Viktor’s slender, long fingers– the type a pianist might have. The type that create beautiful things.
“Mine wasn’t either,” Viktor whispers. “I learned from a stranger who was kind enough to show me.”
“That’s lovely,” Jayce replies as Viktor pulls away. “Thank you.”
Jayce walks to his desk, grabs his belongings. He checks to make sure the ring box is still secure, and it is.
“Jayce.”
Jayce looks at him.
“I just need you to know I-”
He is interrupted by a loud rap on the door. Jayce checks the golden watch on his wrist, a gift from Mel. What a peculiar time for Heimerdinger to pay a visit.
“Come in,” he shouts. “It’s unlocked.”
And to both of their surprises, it is not Heimerdinger. It is a thin, red-haired woman in the Enforcer uniform, clutching a thick stack of papers in her hands. He immediately places her as the woman Caitlyn must’ve been referring to in her rants, an ex…lover of hers.
“Can we help you?” Viktor snaps. Jayce infers he has come to the same conclusion.
“I wouldn’t really take that tone with me if I were you,” she drawls. “I’m here on official Piltover immigration business, and I need to talk to a Viktor I was told was located up here.”
And Jayce can see the exact moment every bit of light drains from Viktor’s eyes. He leans on his crutch, panic racing up his bones.
“Sorry?” Jayce says.
She takes one look at Jayce, scans him from his feet to his hair with her eyes, and sighs.
“So, I’m assuming the other one is the Zaunite. Well, I’ll keep it short. I don’t want to hold you gentlemen on a Friday afternoon right before work lets off,” she turns to Viktor. “You’re being deported,” she states, simply. As though it were the most normal thing ever to escape her lips.
“This is a joke, right?” Jayce says, his pitch rising dangerously with every word he utters. The Enforcer hands Viktor around half of the papers from the stack, tapping on the cover image with her fingernail. It’s a sort of flyer printed on red paper, large black letters plastered on the center.
DEPORTATION NOTICE , it reads. EFFECTIVE IMMEDIATELY.
“Your residence application was denied. You’ve got a week to pack up your things,” she tells him.
It feels as though Jayce’s entire life is crumbling in front of him. All of the research. All of the time and effort and resources and money. Viktor is barely standing, his lips pursed, his eyes hollow. His back is shaking. Jayce immediately strides to his side and plants a large hand on his shoulder, rubbing.
“Hey, now, wait. You can’t just do that.”
“Don’t shoot the messenger,” she says, holding her hands up innocently.
“There’s got to be some sort of way to keep him here. At least until he can re-apply for a residence permit,” Jayce protests, the volume of his words gradually increasing.
“Unless he’s married to a permanent resident or has some sort of connection– I mean I suppose that…”
The Enforcer continues to drone on. Jayce isn’t listening. He needs to act fast. He needs to do something.
Something like a light-bulb clicks in his head.
In one elegant movement, his hand departs from its position on Viktor’s shoulder and falls to his waist, pulls him tight. He presses his lips to Viktor’s ear, frantically, quickly– praying the woman doesn’t notice.
“Just go with it,” he whispers, urgently. Viktor says nothing.
“Ah! Well, then,” Jayce clears his throat. “Perfect timing for you to come down here, eh?”
He’s sweating like a horse. He’s not sure he can pull this off.
“Hm?”
“Well, me and my boyfriend here,” Jayce enunciates, harshly. “We were just heading out to dinner. He was about to change.”
It’s dead quiet for a second. The Enforcer raises a bored, disbelieving eyebrow. Jayce resumes.
“I was going to do this at the restaurant, sugar, but now’s as good a time as any. Am I right?” he says, his voice cracking, splitting with nerves.
He reaches into his bag, drops down on his knee, and quickly utters the question.
“Oh, V, won’t you marry me?”