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There are many many downsides to being turned into cosmic dust. To name a couple of the heavy-hitting negatives, Jayce and Viktor are effectively dissolved, noncorporeal. They have left everyone they’d ever known as loved behind, and they will forever be intertwined with the fabric of the universe, for better or worse. They’ve lost their lab, late nights spent delirious with sleep deprivation in the pursuit of greater goals. Their purpose is out of reach, deconstructed, discouraged. They see everything while being able to change nothing, stuck in a perpetual state of observation.
That isn’t to say there aren’t positives. Jayce and Viktor don’t have to waste any more time eating. They don’t have to sleep and on the days their bodies ache they don’t have to move. There are no council meetings to attend, no patrons and investors to please, no ticking clocks slowly counting down to zero while they wait for their attention. They’re together.
Also, the in-suite cosmic television with viewing access to every possible reality didn’t hurt.
Cosmic TV time is Jayce’s favorite thing to do when Viktor retreats back into himself and unmingles their psyches. Becoming singular beings again every now and then is healthy, Jayce always tells himself; it gives them the closest approximation to time alone that they have. Also, if he’s guessing, he would say he’s slightly more interested in surfing through the worlds at their fingertips than Viktor anyway.
There are so many universes to explore; Jayce delights in finding the two of them in every single one. With one thought, he can grasp any universe available and pull, cast the world up into the void and view it from the safety of his mind. It’s like a big, magic theatre with unlimited movies.
Some of them are thrillers. There’s one he’s particularly fond of where he’s a superhero and Viktor builds himself a metal body to terrorize Piltover in the wake of their partnership. He chases the other to Zaun and they fight without really fighting. They make out sometimes, and there’s never any lasting damage to the towns or their inhabitants.
Some of them are more avant-garde. Jayce finds a universe where they live full lives in the blink of a eye and he rewinds it over and over just to watch it all play out again. He finds another where a single comma connects them on a page, two independent clauses combined into a single sentence. (And nothing says romance like accurate punctuation.)
Some of them are comedies. Those are his favorites. He finds one where he’s a shitty B-list actor who can’t remember his lines, one where Viktor becomes an impassioned conspiracy theorist with a tinfoil hat and a board covered in red string, one where their coffee orders get accidentally swapped and Jayce spits out a mouthful of what is effectively just warm milk and flavored syrup all over Viktor in a local cafe. No matter where, no matter when, the two of them collide, sparks fly, and the world catches on fire.
—
Viktor slips out of their common thought stream with a promise to return in a moment, and Jayce turns his attention to the space in front of him, wills the projection into existence, and immerses himself in finding something to watch on their magical, arcane-powered television.
Back in Runeterra, it had always been hard to decide what to watch at the end of a long day. He’d spend more time flicking through the menu, hemming and hawwing, than actually committing to a show or movie. Apparently, that practice seems to hold true for him even in these extraneous circumstances where the TV is projecting literal alternate realities. There is truly no winning when it comes to decision paralysis.
After a few minutes of halfheartedly flicking through new universes. Jayce gives up and decides to just put on an old favorite. He could use a laugh, and it’s hurting his very lonely brain to try and find something new.
The scene that blooms into view across his corneas is brightly colored, rounded at the edges. The proportions are off, the physics of the world flex and bend more freely. And best of all, the beginning opens on an overview of the world’s natural forestland, sprawling trees of fluff and silk.
Like a pressure behind his eardrums popping, the world snaps into action. Water in a nearby river begins to run, a breeze whistles by, tufts of the strange, alien trees wave languidly. This universe’s version of Viktor stand in the center of it all, cutting down one of the strange trees.
The brace on Viktor’s leg flexes with the swing of his handheld axe, his other hand gripping the handle of his cane. Determination sparks behind his eyes.
With a final clean hit, a telltale cracking begins. Viktor takes a small step back, propping himself on his good leg and watching as the tree creaks and slowly tips over. It lands in the tall grass with a muffled noise.
The process of stripping the tree’s leaves (fur? hair?) is one that Viktor is unused to, but with an efficiency that speaks to his skill, he takes the tufts to his lab and knits them up into a garment.
From outside, there is a sound like the ozone popping. Viktor wipes his brow and maneuvers carefully back to the tree to investigate.
When he returns, Heimerdiner is standing atop the stump of the tree he just cut down, at eye level. On his tiptoes, arms crossed, he still doesn’t come up past Viktor’s shoulder. Despite the yordle popping into existence, Viktor seems unbothered, blinking lazily at the other man and waiting for him to speak.
The void around him shifts with his partner’s return as Jayce watches the alternate Heimerdinger begin to lecture a lanky, cartoonish version of Viktor. He feels his Viktor settle next to his consciousness at eye level. It’s comforting, a warm pressure that sands down the edges where his soul starts to seep into the arcane.
“Hey, Vik.” Jayce doesn’t turn to look at him, eyes still trained on the screen in front of him. He leans his head to the side anyway, knowing it’ll find the crook of Viktor’s neck. “That was fast.”
“And what might you be doing?” Viktor replies, rhetorically.
Jayce thinks that every question could be rhetorical here, where their minds are separated by nothing more than their wills alone and their consciousness can bleed freely from one form to the other. He makes a conscious effort to remain only himself, smiling. “I’m watching you. Well, another you.”
“You do like to watch me.” Viktor lets Jayce press his cheek to the ridge of his shoulder. “And what exactly am I doing this time?”
Viktor’s voice is filled with warmth. Jayce is struck by how long they had missed out on doing this while they were alive and how much longer they have to do this all at once. “I think,” Jayce hesitates. “I think Heimerdinger is about to give you your first lesson in sustainable logging.”
“Mmmh,” Viktor purrs, cocking his head. “Not one of my more educated iterations, it seems. Pity. Non-sustainable practices are a poor business model, whether they be economic or environmental.”
“Just, keep watching.” Jayce can feel himself grinning. “This one is so weird.” He loves this world for its strangeness, its cotton ball trees and singing fish. The sky feels brighter here, and this version of Viktor is always wearing a ridiculous, over-the-elbow green gloves. One of the gloves has little grips on the fingers, for better purchase on his cane.
Heimerdinger is twirling his mustache anxiously, his foot tapping against the top of the tree stump he’s standing on. When he speaks, his voice is pointedly measured. “Viktor, my boy, I speak for the trees. And that… thneed is a thing that no creature needs.” The yordle gestures vehemently at the cascading cloth Viktor is gripping in his other hand, bright pink fluff making his skin look waxy.
Next to him, Jayce can hear his Viktor choke on nothing. “What is that absolute monstrosity of a garment?”
“A thneed,” Jayce replies, unable to stifle his own glee. “Viktor, this is what we make in this world. You knitted it. Ooh, look, here I come!”
As Heimerdinger continues his protests, this world’s version of Jayce skips down the road, bright-eyed bushy-tailed, and skids to a stop in front of Viktor and Heimerdinger. He is clean-shaven and carrying an ostentatiously large hammer, fresh from his family’s forge. On his wrist, a truffula seed sits in the center of a thin leather bracelet. His eyes take in the scene with intrigue, distracted not by the arguing, but by the thing rapidly unspooling in Viktor’s bony arms.
“You cannot see the potential in that–that, glorified ball of yarn,” Viktor begs to the alternate Jayce, who cannot hear him. As the two of them watch, that world’s Jayce reaches out and holds the edge of the thneed up like something holy, ideas sparking behind his eyes.
Jayce proclaims, “What a marvelous creation, spun from nothing but fur. I must know how and why you made it, good sir!”
Heimerdinger makes a noise like a kettle boiling over.
Viktor’s eyes narrow. “This conversation is between him and I,” he snaps, pulling away from Jayce and letting the thneed drop between them. His eyes linger on a smudge of ash across one of Jayce’s high cheekbones. “I may bid you and your nosiness goodbye.”
Completely undeterred by Viktor’s words, Jayce continues, “The craftsmanship is ingenious, your work is inspired! Surely, your patent for such a fine invention is soon to be acquired?
There is a pause, during which Viktor sizes the other up. Whatever he sees in Jayce finally prompts him to respond. “I brought down this tree to spin the fiber into thread. Normal clothing lacks versatility; the thneed prioritizes function instead.”
Viktor made another noise. “We do not sound like that.”
“Oh, we most certainly do.” Jayce grinned. “The whole time.”
Heimerdinger all but forgotten, the two men strike up a dialogue, debating the pros and cons of various fashion industry facets, and the topic slides from the industry as a whole to Viktor’s life’s work. It quickly becomes plural, both their lives' work. The two leave Heimerdinger where he stands, struggling to get a word in, and begin their partnership.
Their entrepreneurial efforts expand rapidly over the course of the next year. It begins with Jayce recommending ways they can automate the logging process, followed by Viktor making adjustments to the thneed for comfort and support, ways to keep the material breathable while providing compression to improve blood flow and reduce discomfort.
Within four months they have tested their working prototypes enough to begin serious manufacturing. Within two more they are making public appearances, advertising the thneed as a catch-all fashion and function garment. A certain golden-freckled investor’s eyes sparkle as she personally funds their more ambitious projects. Their image becomes much more streamlined after that encounter, their faces start appearing on billboards. They hire a PR Manager, a girl from Viktor’s hometown that he trusts with his life and more importantly, his research.
Jayce forgot how much he enjoyed this universe. The abnormal is accepted as accurate, and there’s a strange whimsy about their dream. Sometimes, he gets to watch their equivalent of late nights in the lab, where Viktor and Jayce sit side by side and work on thneed production. He doesn’t love the part where Viktor’s “family” comes to help out, but it’s always them at the core of the project.
“You watch this universe for fun?” Viktor confirms. He watches as, onscreen, this parody of Heimerdinger protests the degradation of the environment, begging the boys to consider the native community of poros that rely on fruit dropped from the truffula trees.
“Yes. Let me fast forward a bit, I’ll show you how our thneed-pire expands.” Jayce concentrates, the scene in front of them blurring and dissolving. Heimerdinger’s scowl is the last thing to go.
When the scene reassembles itself, Viktor sucks in a breath. “This cannot have been our dream.”
It’s been seven years since the first thneed was knit, seven years since Jayce and Viktor struck up their unlikely partnership, seven years since they vowed to change this world for the better, to put Thneedville on the economic map as a city of progress. In their vow to do better, they failed to keep the good.
The world lies barren, sky clogged by poisonous smog. There are no more singing fish, retaining ponds doing little to hold the excess of toxic runoff pumped from the sprawling facility in the center of what used to be the forest. Stumps litter the area; the grass is withered and dead.
Jayce and Viktor look out over what they have created.
Jayce’s heart hurts all at once, and he understands a second after it starts. He sees the world through Viktor’s eyes; in front of them is Zaun, warped and wronged by human hand. Jayce watches as Viktor traces the fraying edges of every bad decision that led to this world’s environmental degradation.
He feels foolish. Jayce had forgotten how easy it was to detach yourself from the situation when you’ve been desensitized, when you knew the end already. He wraps his arm around Viktor, settling his palm against the other’s waist and thinking in hindsight that maybe he should have considered this beforehand. “You didn’t know what would happen.”
“I never do,” Viktor mutters back, the place their bodies connect chilling at his rejection of the sympathy Jaycye is trying to push into him. “Not in any universe. Not until everything worth saving is gone.”
Jayce opens his mouth to respond. Viktor waves his hand and the scene continues.
Heimerdinger stands, once again, in the middle of it all, chewing out the two entrepreneurs. Viktor’s face is tight with anger. His cane has been replaced with a familiar crutch, and it seems the polluted climate has taken a similar toll on his health in this universe. At Viktor’s side, Jayce crosses his arms. The two of them are both clothed in ridiculous, fluffy thneeds. Jayce thumbs at the truffula seed in the center of his bracelet.
As Heimerdinger blurts out “My dear boys… your Hexlogger has cut down too many truffula trees! Consider the creatures you are impacting, please!” the scene snaps back into the present, and Heimerdinger stomps his tiny foot.
Jayce watches it play out in silence. He can’t tell where his own guilt ends and Viktor’s begins. They embrace in his stomach. He watches Heimerdinger lecture the alternate versions of them one final time, watches the two of them protest, and watches Heimerdinger lift himself away by the seat of his pants with that sad, sad look on his face. When the screen only shows their two other selves sitting in the wasteland they created, Jayce deigns to speak again.
“Do you know why this world is one of my favorites?” Jayce asks Viktor. He can feel the other’s attention on him then, even if he doesn’t say anything. Jayce waves his hand, spinning the world further forward until he finds what he’s looking for.
Jayce and Viktor kneel in the dirt at the foot of their fractured empire, steel city looming over them, and they dig. Jayce removes the bracelet and hesitates. Viktor closes a hand over Jayce’s shaking fist and nods, affirming. Jayce pries the single seed from the bracelet and cups it between his fingers, reverent. He places the seed into the ground, and they pack the dirt overtop it.
The tufts of a blue truffula tree emerge from the soft earth, fragile and unsheltered in their first month of life. Jayce builds a windbreaking structure around the tree, Viktor refreshes the mulch at its base with eerie consistency. Seasons shift and blur, the tree grows taller, the trunk thickens and develops bark. Jayce and Viktor stand in front of it. Jayce still wears his empty bracelet. Viktor’s hands are bare on the top of his cane.
Time tips further forward; a young Ekko is watering the offshoot sprouts of new trees around the area while Sky stands behind him, notetaking. Jinx, her frizzy hair in two looping braid wreaths, takes soil samples and grins at what she sees. Mel Medarda walks all the way from her high office in Thneedville to the young sapling and admires its progress with a reserved smile.
The air is clearer now, the oilslick seal on the top of the water has thinned and broken in places. Years go by. More truffula trees poke through the softer points in the soil. The factories have been shut down and scrapped. The roofs are missing on several, converted to sheltered orchards and half-formed greenhouses. They gape open like metallic maws, dotting the slowly recovering landscape.
Jayce and Viktor stand once again in the shadow of their creation, grey threading through their hair and crows feet crinkling the corners of their eyes. Jayce puts his hand on Viktor’s shoulder. The river is still babbling, if you listen close enough. Overhead, a pair of swans soar.
“It’s one of the few worlds where we both stay long enough to help things get better.”
The answer could have come from either one of their mouths. When Jayce turns to look at Viktor, there’s an emotion he can’t place clouding the other’s expression.
“Yeah,” Jayce murmurs, looking between his Viktor and the one on the screen, aged and imperfect and human. There isn’t one of them he would prefer. He tamps down the part of his heart that wants to tackle the other, press himself into his arms and never let go. He has all the time in the world for that now. “But we still lost Heimerdinger.”
Viktor snorts, and the tension breaks. “An unfortunate casualty, if a self-inflicted one. The old man sure knows how to make an exit.”
“Teach him to mess with the sheer purchasing power of the thneed.”
That earns him a disbelieving groan. “I cannot believe that we called it that.”
“But Viktor,” Jayce can’t keep the grin off his face, “A thneed’s a fine something that all people need!”
“I hate you.”
Jayce gathers the other more concretely in his arms, pressing a kiss to his temple, to the mole under his eye, to the one right above his lips. “I love you too, my little entrepreneurial capitalist.”