Chapter Text
“It’s a Welanthorn.”
Jayce says that like Viktor is supposed to know what that is.
“Is that a brand…?” Viktor asks.
A pothole in the road makes the whole car jump, including whatever it is he has in his hand. Viktor holds the bulbous, crescent shaped bag at an arm's length, considering it with feigned interest. He raises his eyebrows and nods like he’s supposed to.
The bag is shockingly ugly. Anyone who wore it would look like they have a large tumor growing out of their side. It feels like a prank. But Jayce really isn’t into pranks, so Viktor tries to wrap his head around why Jayce would give him something so ridiculous.
“It’s the it accessory right now! All the councilors were talking about it. Was pretty hard to get my hands on one, honestly,” Jayce said, excitement turning his lips.
Well, that explains it.
“Supposed to be ergonomic? ‘Cus of the curve of it, I figure.”
Jayce is a brilliant, beautiful man. Who clearly doesn’t know what ‘ergonomic’ means.
Or maybe he’s just blinded by his need for public approval, buying into the fads for high society favor. Because there is no possible way Viktor would be able to fit even the smallest of his textbooks into that stretched kidney bean of a satchel. Which—maybe that’s why council members love the bag so much. Half of them can’t read anyway.
“Oh, is it?” Viktor muses. He turns the strap over and around, pretending to inspect the monstrosity. He’s not the greatest liar, but he’s doing well enough that Jayce doesn’t seem dissatisfied with his reaction. “It is a very striking handbag. Very striking.”
“You think so?” There’s genuine surprise there.
“Yes, absolutely,” Viktor nods, returning the bag to the armored box from whence it came. Jayce assists him with the unwieldy packaging.
Viktor isn’t much bothered by the bad gift. Such parcels were a rare commodity in his youth and he never thought himself entitled to them. It is the thought that counts. That anyone would remember his birthday—let alone go out of their way to purchase him something—is a gift in and of itself.
“Oh good. Well, Happy Birthday! I thought it might be useful for going to investor meetings or things like that,” he says, “To put your best foot forward. Oh. Uh. Sorry, I gotta stop using that phrase.”
Viktor laughs low, unbothered.
Two and a half years into his partnership with Jayce Talis, the man continues to amuse him. Either with that natural charm, that wide-eyed innocence, or the offbeat silliness that comes over him from time to time. There is much about him to like, really. A little too much. But that is a thought for another time.
The academy car rolls to a stop and the driver taps the window near Jayce’s head.
“We’ve arrived, sir.”
“Thank you, Brax,” Jayce calls through the barrier. He gathers his and Viktor’s belongings, like the gentleman he is.
“Are you sure this isn’t any trouble?” Viktor asks.
Jayce is halfway out the car door, “Nah. Not at all. My mom loves having company. Always looking for an excuse to use the good plates. Practically strong armed me into inviting you. She’ll be mad if you back out now. Said she’s been cooking all day.”
Viktor’s eyes go wide. “All day?”
The pressure to perform is mounting. He has to pretend to like the house, the cooking, the decorations, the family photos—actually, he’ll probably really like those. Viktor is desperate to see what an adolescent Jayce Talis looked like when those alarmingly sizable adult teeth began to grow in.
Viktor exits the car himself, waving away a helpful hand and opting to use the car door as extra leverage. Jayce is always so willing to help, but Viktor must do things himself sometimes. It’s good for his body and self-esteem.
Jayce shuts the door behind him and waves to the driver.
“Shall we?” He heads through a white stone and iron wrought gate. Viktor follows suit, pulling his collar up to the cold.
The Talis home is an older, unassuming two-story structure. It’s in a nice part of town, adjacent to the academy and down the street from several bustling marketplaces Viktor is familiar with. It reflects much of Piltover’s architecture; ivory stone lining, steepled roofs, and brass edged window panes. But the maroon brick exterior is moody and older, covered in creeping vines and a layer of age.
“This isn’t a surprise party, is it?” Viktor asks, as Jayce thumbs through set of keys on the front porch.
“No.”
“You would tell me, right?”
“Sure, yeah, I’d tell you.”
Viktor’s eyes narrow, watching Jayce’s silhouette.
“Because I am not one for surprises.”
“Yeah, I’m getting that.”
“And I will leave.”
“No, you will not.”
“Just watch me.”
It’s an empty threat, of course. Viktor would never.
Jayce gives Viktor an exasperated look before turning the key. He opens the front door and ushers Viktor inside like a gentleman. Two and a half years into his partnership with Jayce, and this is the first time he has stepped foot in the Talis home. Viktor is curious, to say the least.
“Mom! We’re here!” In an action steeped in habit, Jayce dumps his keys into a bowl on the lace-lined credenza in the foyer.
Not as much a foyer as an entryway; a small, well used space with a coat rack, a long flight of stairs, and a few open doorways that lead to other parts of the house. The dated wallpaper appears original to the house, but Viktor appreciates the vintage feel. One person might say the space is cramped and cluttered. Another might say cozy.
“Can I take your coat, Vik?” Jayce offers.
“Hm?” He had been too busy peeking around corners. “Oh. Yes. Yes, thank you.”
Viktor feels… awkward. And rushed in an unfamiliar environment where he is the ‘Honored Guest’, as Jayce had said on their ride over. His coat is then whisked away and hung on the rack alongside Jayce’s. The accidental brush of Jayce’s fingers on the nape of his neck sends a shiver down his spine.
“Hello, hello!”
Ximena Talis appears in one of the open doorways, a colorful, embroidered apron over her clothes. She smiles, familiar and inviting, and slings a flour-dusted hand towel over her shoulder before opening her arms. “Welcome!”
Jayce moves in for an embrace. Ximena scowls, tuts, and knocks him aside with the back of her hand. “Ah. Guests first,” she scolds, playfully. Jayce steps aside, incredulous.
Viktor is not one for much physical affection. He has learned to navigate his preference with a quickly offered handshake, wave, or bow of his head. But, no matter how hard he tried, he could not avoid the constant touching of the Talis family. The moment he met Ximena, Viktor understood where Jayce’s desire for physical intimacy had its roots.
All that being said, he would never dare reject a hug from Ximena Talis.
She hugs him with an uncanny amount of strength for her small form, as if pressing harder would shake the mortal sadness from his bones. And it does, actually. He feels lighter when she pulls away, grasping his slim forearms to keep him close. Her eyes smile.
“Happy birthday, Viktor. It is good to see you.”
“It’s been some time. Thank you for inviting me to your lovely home.”
Comment on how nice the house is—check.
“Oh goodness! We have been here so long, even the foundation has the family seal on it. Jayce—” She gives Jayce a pat on the chest and a kiss on the cheek before turning back to Viktor, “—wants me to move into something grander, but I simply cannot part with the place. Too many memories.”
“Too many repairs,” Jayce retorts, “Seems like every time we turn around, there’s a new home project to take care of.”
“That is what I have you for, mijo.”
Jayce hoists a large package off the floor. “Yeah, in all my spare time I moonlight as a handyman,” he says, wryly. The package is likely something for said home improvement and Jayces takes it away through one of the open doorways.
A series of notches on the side of the doorway molding mark the growing height of a young Jayce Talis. He had quite the leap between thirteen and fourteen—nearly half a foot. Viktor wonders how they weren’t eaten out of house and home during Jayce’s teenage years.
Ximena leans toward Viktor, a conspiratorial sparkle in her eye, “He says that, but he would be heartbroken to lose this home. He offers a new one because that is what he always told me he would do—get me a palace with a cook and a butler and a gardener and a fancy car—etcétera etcétera. All these things: when he was rich and famous.”
“Yes, well, he’s certainly done that,” Viktor says with a chuckle.
Since the rollout of the Hexsprinters—a small prototype of their larger, Hexgate plans that could transport small packages in the blink of an eye—Viktor himself has more money than he knows what to do with. With Jayce as the face of their endeavor, he has well outearned Viktor; something Jayce has attempted to rectify with his investors for several months. But Viktor is satisfied. He has moved from his dormitory room to a modest, but clean apartment on the edge of the academy grounds and he has sent money to organizations in need. It was all Viktor needed and wanted.
“So, instead,” Ximena continues, “I make him feel useful. Make him come home to work on this and that. A broken cupboard, a leaky pipe—Things I can do myself, you know. I was the head of this household for a very long time.”
She is the kind of woman who can do it all.
“He gripes, but it is an excuse to have him home for dinner and lets him make use of his father’s tools. I get to ask him about his day. Things like that. Your mother would understand, you both work so much.”
Viktor knows she didn’t mean to touch a sore spot.
“My mother actually passed when I was young,” he says, quick and precise.
Ximena’s resting smile drops and she places a hand on his shoulder. Like mother, like son. “Oh, I’m sorry to hear that, love.”
“It is okay. It has been a long time.”
“And your father?”
“Never knew him.”
There’s a complicated story there, one he hopes Ximena will not ask. He would rather she have a better opinion of him and not have her thoughts of him tainted by an unseemly upbringing. Whenever the conversation of Viktor’s family arrives at the table, things always get uncomfortable. Piltovians often can’t relate.
“His loss,” she says with a firm nod. “You’ve become such a fine young man without him.”
It’s the most graceful way anyone has closed that subject. Viktor smiles, appreciative.
Ximena moves on swiftly, “We should have had you over ages ago. If you boys were fifteen years younger, I would have suggested a sleepover. What fun that would have been.”
Jayce hollers from somewhere in the house: “Mooom.”
“Although you still can. We have plenty of blankets. Pillows,” she leans back slightly, and with emphasis, “Stuffed animals.”
“Mooooooom!”
Ximena laughs to herself. “I embarrass him. I do not get the chance often. He doesn’t bring friends home.”
“He doesn’t?” Viktor asks, surprised. Between the academy and their Hextech work, Jayce has plenty friends and friendly acquaintances.
“No. You are the first in quite a long time. He thinks highly of you, Viktor. Talks about you and your projects all the time,” she says, almost… pointedly. What she could gain from it, Viktor does not know. But he does love the idea that he is important in Jayce’s life.
“In fact, you are one of the few people Jayce mentions by name. My son does have other friends, doesn’t he?”
Viktor chuckles. “Yes, most definitely. He’s too handsome not to have a lot of friends.”
Why did he say that?
“He takes after his mother,” he quickly adds.
Saved.
Ximena’s mouth turns with something mischievous. “You flatter me. Jayce?” She maintains eye contact with Viktor.
“Yeah?” Viktor’s partner calls, still in another room.
“Did you hear that? Viktor thinks you’re handsome.”
Outed. Immediately.
He shoots a look of panicked betrayal at Ximena.
She giggles and taps his forearm. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I couldn’t help myself.”
Jayce peeks his head out from the doorway, expression open and pleased. Too pleased. “You think I’m handsome?”
Viktor has never had to deal with the woes of a parent’s purposeful teasing. He never got to reach that milestone with his mother. So he’s not as practiced at moving on and taking it in stride like Jayce.
“Don’t get a big head about it,” is Viktor’s attempt at deescalation.
“Jayce takes after his father, much more than I. His picture in the parlor,” Ximena says.
An alarm trills. She starts, “Oh, oh—the rolls!”
She dashes for the kitchen, leaving Jayce and Viktor alone, watching one another across the entryway. Jayce has a funny look on his face as he leans a shoulder against the doorway. His frustratingly handsome face, with the perfect jaw, pretty eyes, and enticing lips.
“Handsome, huh?”
“I was complimenting your mother. She made a… good product.”
“Still, you said ‘handsome’.”
“I also used the word ‘stupid’, so,” Viktor lies.
“Like stupidly handsome?”
“Like handsome and stupid.”
They’re grinning at each other like fools. If it wasn’t Jayce, Viktor could swear it was flirting.
But he knows better.
He knows better.
“Jayce!” Ximena calls from the kitchen.
“Yeaah?”
“Be a good host! Give Viktor a tour of the house! Offer him a drink!”
Jayce straightens and asks a question he’s asked Viktor a thousand times. At every investor’s reception and every Hextech event: “Red or white?”
“White, please.”
“Coming right up.”
Free of the Talis clan for the time being, Viktor breathes easier. Though, it is not as taxing as he thought. Maybe because he knows Jayce well and has met Ximena on several occasions, but the conversation is nice and the pressure is low.
Viktor crosses to the nearest open archway to find the aforementioned parlor. A large bay window facing the courtyard brightens the room with indirect sunlight, cooled and calm. Across, a narrow fireplace burns a modest flame, dampened by an art nouveau stained glass screen. The room is small, quaint; draped in ruby red and decorated with a few choice paintings in oval frames and indoor plants that hang from hooks in the ceiling.
It is a far stretch from the dwellings of Viktor’s childhood. He did live in a house. Once. But never a home.
Viktor approaches the fireplace: a picture of the family sits on the mantle in a gilded frame. Jayce couldn’t be older than eight in the photo; big eyes scrunched up with a gap-toothed smile, a certificate of achievement in his small hands. Cute. Pure. With two new-ish Beaver-sized teeth crowding the front of his mouth.
The similarities between Jayce and his father are striking. Big brows, strong face, broad shoulders, and, despite all the prior, a soft countenance. Attractive, to boot.
Jayce finds him and joins him at the mantle, offering a generously poured wine glass.
“He died when I was thirteen,” he says.
“Mm.”
Jayce had spoken of his family often, but Viktor had the personal experience to know better than to ask the details of it all.
“Lung and heart problems. Kind of young for it. But he started working forges when he was old enough to lift an anvil and it took a toll on his body. This was all before the new regulations.” Jayce takes a sip from his own glass.
“Right.”
“I was old enough to know him. Old enough to be really mad at the universe for taking him. It’s a good thing I was smithing by then. I can put a lot of anger into a hammer. Who knows where it would have gone otherwise.”
Viktor ruminates on that piece of lore for a long moment, looking between the smiling faces in the picture. Then, to Jayce’s distant gaze. Sometimes, life simply isn’t fair.
“And now you put your efforts into bettering lives, so others may not share the same fate?” Viktor asks.
Jayce blinks, snapping back to reality. “That’s a real poetic way of saying it but, yeah, guess so. My dad isn’t the reason for it all. But he’s part of it. Part of the story, sure.”
Viktor nods, then moves on. Too much talk of dead parents. He explores the paintings on the walls, the nice throw pillows on the sofa, and the antique globe standing in the corner.
“It’s nice. Homey,” he says.
“The tour, Jayce! The tour!” Ximena calls from a faraway kitchen.
“Yes, Mom!”
◈ ◈ ◈
Jayce shows him the rest of the house: another family area (apparently, a parlor is different from a living room), the first story water closet, and the back door leading to a small patio and a quaint vegetable garden. It’s all very nice. Viktor says so, like he’s supposed to.
Then, the second story: master bedroom, two bathrooms, and, finally, Jayce’s room. Little Jayce’s room. Which Viktor considers to be the crowning glory of the tour and half the reason he even agreed to go to Jayce’s house in the first place.
“My, my, you really have always loved magic,” Viktor says, investigating the litany of magician’s posters, advertisements, and memorabilia plastered on the walls.
Most children have an obsession or two during their formative years. But between all the fantasy novels on his bookshelf, dyed crystals on his desk, and the starry sorcerer’s costume hat hanging off his bedpost, Little Jayce is particularly one note.
The room feels sacred, like a dear memory locked away in a music box, preserved in time and tone. A childhood room is an intimate, private thing. Viktor never thought he would be privileged enough to see it.
“Yeah,” Jayce shrugs, guiltily. He’s strangely anxious, nursing his half empty glass as he watches Viktor move through the small room. Like he’s afraid of what his partner may find, or the judgements that will follow. “Never really grew out of it.”
Viktor places his glass down on a desk and picks up a particularly fake looking stone, “An early Hexcrystal prototype?” he teases.
“Haha. Maybe it is.”
“It is important for children to dream. Childhood dreams turn to adult ambition,” Viktor says, placing the rock back on its stand. “You seemed to know what you wanted from an early age. Ah! Now this—”
“Hey—”
Viktor picks up the blue velvet magician’s hat by its point. “This is a real magical artifact.”
“Okay, wise guy.” Jayce’s ears are pink.
Viktor levels the other with a serious, flat look. “No, truly. I saw this in the black market the other day. Very powerful. Very dangerous. No mere child’s toy.”
Viktor is feeling particularly silly and comfortable at the moment. So much so, that he places the hat on his own head with a flourish, rubbing the wide brim between two fingers. He then brandishes his cane like a magical staff, pointing the handle toward Jayce.
“Abracadabra.”
Jayce rolls his eyes.
“I just cast a very powerful spell at you, Jayce.”
“What kind of spell?”
“What do you mean? Like a magick-y kind, of course.”
“No, like a fireball? An arctic wind blast?”
Viktor blinks. He has never been one for much of an imagination.
“An electric current,” he shrugs.
Jayce crosses his arms. “Only the bad guys use electric powers.”
“What? On whose authority?”
“It’s like, a thing. In books. Because electricity is so volatile. Hard to control. It’s a metaphor for their erratic nature. Actually, come to think of it, it’s more of an anti-hero sort of magic.”
“That makes no sense. You can just use a voltage regulator and electricity runs along a circuit.”
“Imagine it like a lightning bolt instead.”
“In that case, it still works. You are basically a giant tree. A beacon for my lightning bolt.”
“Yeah, well,” Jayce goadingly smirks, “You missed.”
Maybe Viktor is just in a festive mood because of his birthday. Maybe seeing Jayce’s childhood room spurred something in them. Or maybe they always had a propensity for goofiness and they felt comfortable acting on it for the first time, but Viktor doesn’t give a second thought to raising his cane again:
“Take that!”
Jayce pretends to dodge, making a curved shape with his body. “Missed!”
“And that!”
Jayce disposes of his wine glass on a stack of books, rushes out through the open doorway, and into the second floor hall. “Catch me if you can!”
Viktor doesn’t have speed, but Jayce knows this. He keeps the playing field as even as his ego will allow with a moderate speed. Viktor follows his partner into the hallway, relying on his brace instead of his cane, where Jayce has all but trapped himself in the narrow space as he heads for the stairs. The man spins in full dramatic fashion.
“I have you now, Talis!” Victor thrusts his cane forward and the ‘attack’ hits its mark.
Jayce does a very admirable performance of an electrocution victim.
He seizes, jostles his limbs this way and that, making a very unscientific “bzzzzt!” noise, and slumps against the bannister. He does a few post-electrocuted jolts, for good measure.
He will make a very good playmate for his children one day.
Viktor raises a fist to the sky. “Victory is—oh, shit.”
Jayce is too close to the bannister edge. His hand misses the top post and he goes sliding, off the landing, legs overhead down the stairs. Watching a two-hundred pound grown man tumble down an old, narrow staircase is about as scary as it sounds. The actual sounds are even scarier—thuds and grunts and gasps between hitting stairs—as Viktor can’t move fast enough to observe most of the fall. He just watches his best friend disappear.
By the time he makes it to the landing, Jayce is already splayed out on the entryway floor.
“Jayce, Jayce, are you—”
Laying at the feet of a confused Heimerdinger and an alarmed Sky Young.
“—Professor?” Viktor stops short. He hurriedly removes the costume hat from his head and tosses it back into the hall, out of view.
“Hello, my boys. Viktor. Jayce. Goodness, what an entrance!”
Once Jayce starts laughing, Viktor knows he’s okay. The man on the floor is all but roaring, running his hands through his tousled hair before pressing his palms to his embarrassed face. Viktor lets out a sigh of relief.
Ximena comes running from the kitchen. “What was that—Oh my gods, Jayce!”
“I’m fine, Mom,” Jayce manages to say between big-belly laughter, “I’m fine.”
“That was quite a spill,” Heimerdinger says. “He’s delirious!”
The professor is right. Jayce’s laughter is a little unhinged.
“What happened?” Sky asks.
All eyes turn up to Viktor. He shrinks under what he perceives as scrutiny, and suddenly feels like he should leave the Talis house immediately. Like he is at fault. Like he should have never come in the first place. Like he’s about to get the blame and maybe he should because—
“I misstepped. Just clumsiness,” Jayce says, sitting up and wiping a tear from his eye. He winces. “Ow. Falling down those stairs at twelve and falling down those stairs at twenty-seven is a totally different experience.”
Ximena hovers, looking him over and checking the back of his head. “Are you really okay?”
“Yeah. I’m good. Just a bump or two.”
“Best to keep him awake for a while, make sure he doesn’t have a concussion,” Heimerdinger presses.
“No, no, I’m seriously fine,” Jayce says, rising to his feet to prove it. He stretches his back.
Viktor makes his way down the stairs—first his cane, then his foot, the other hand on the banister for safety—to get a better look and, yes, his partner appears okay. That’s what they get for horsing around. As Ximena continues to fuss, Viktor quietly places a hand on Jayce’s back. Jayce just smiles. All is well. All is forgiven.
“I’ll go get you an ice pack,” Ximena says, and rushes away.
Viktor turns his attention to the two newcomers:
“Professor, Ms. Young, is something the matter?” he asks, eager to move the subject away from the staircase debacle. He’s also mildly concerned that something has gone grievously wrong back at the lab (a recurring nightmare ever since he saw the hole left in Jayce’s old lab). “Do you need us back at the academy?”
Heimerdinger’s eyes brighten and he grasps the lapels of his jacket. “No, my boy! We’re here for dinner!”
Sky offers Viktor a modest box decorated with a bow. “Happy birthday,” she smiles.
Viktor’s eyes slide sideways to a guilty Jayce.
Jayce holds up a finger. “Five people does not constitute a party.”
The yordle lifts his arms up in celebration. “Surprise!”
◈ ◈ ◈
Gathered around an intimate table with Ximena’s vibrant stoneware, the dinner is modest, but nourishing: a hearty stew called ‘sancocho’, delectable cheese rolls with a satisfying chew, and a salad of light greens with a zesty, tropical vinaigrette. Viktor savors every bite of the home cooked meal, unable to recall the last time someone did such a thing for him.
They allow the conversation to flow where it may. Heimerdinger shares stories of olden days and strange misadventures, of experiments gone joyfully awry, and of some future plans for the academy. Sky reveals some of her background that was unknown to Viktor—her own independent research interests and her time working in a doctor’s office in the Undercity—it helps paint a clearer picture. And Ximena gets the honor of telling several horribly cute and embarrassing stories about her son, much to everyone’s delight and Jayce’s chagrin.
His favorite is a tale of when Jayce ordered a meal for himself for the first time. Upon being asked whether he wanted a soup or salad with his main dish, an excitable young Jayce said, “Ohh, I’ve never had a super salad before. I’ll have that.”
Viktor himself talks rather little. He makes commentary here and there, prompts with a question or two. Instead, he is allowed the comfort of enjoying their company with little pressure. He laughs and listens and drinks until his cheeks ache and blush.
And, all the while, Jayce’s thigh presses in on his own underneath the table.
Viktor is content.
◈ ◈ ◈
After bringing several used plates from the dining room to the kitchen, Viktor is shooed from that part of the house.
“Go sit! Make yourself at home! Jayce and I will take care of it!” Ximena insists.
He takes that time to say polite goodbyes to Heimerdinger and Sky, seeing them to the door on behalf of the family. Once they are gone, Viktor remembers the hat.
Clinking dishes and running water hides the gentle thud of his cane and his ascent up to the second floor. He plucks the sorcerer’s hat from the ground, ambles back into Jayce’s bedroom, and returns it to its bedpost perch.
Now alone, Viktor regards the room again. He searches the room for clues; evidence of Jayce Talis in the making. He surveys the books on the shelf and the pattern of the rug and even dares to open the desk drawer, though finds nothing but a mess of papers, pencils, and knickknacks.
“Typical, still,” he mutters to himself.
His eyes land on a ladder in the corner. It leads to a window above.
Viktor sets his cane aside and climbs.
He emerges on a small landing, barely large enough for two maybe three people to occupy. The overlook of the city is stunning, especially at night. Buildings sparkling with golden light; an otherworldly violet haze settled on the horizon. Viktor gazes upon the gleaming academy towers, remembering the days when such an institution felt so far away. So impossible. A breeze rustles his hair.
It’s cold and he’s had several glasses of wine so standing on a rooftop is probably ill-advised. But just as he is about to leave, his foot nudges a canister he failed to notice before.
Viktor smiles. “Ah.”
He has assembled many a telescope in his time and Jayce’s belonged to a child, so it’s rudimentary work. He sets up the tripod, attaches the optical tube, and screws on the available finderscope. He peers through the eyepiece to make sure it’s working—
“Rifling through my belongings, I see.”
Viktor startles.
Jayce has a little trouble getting his broad shoulders through the window opening, but he manages, careful of the small, cardboard box in his hand. He joins Viktor and leans against the railing.
“Couldn’t help myself,” Viktor says, motioning to the telescope. “This setup would have delighted me as a child.”
“It seems to delight you now.”
Viktor chuckles, “Eh, I won’t deny that. ‘Tis a shame there is so much light pollution here in the city. Nevertheless, this has a nice aperture for a beginner telescope. It is impressive.” He looks through the eyepiece, then to a bright object in the sky, and makes some focus adjustments.
“It was my pride and joy.”
“Hm.”
Viktor almost has something in view.
“What did Sky get you?”
“Hm. Er, Ms. Young? A specialty drill bit. I have been searching all over for this one. She said she had a special supplier. Whatever that means.”
Almost there.
“That’s… nice.”
“Yes, I think it was quite thoughtful,” Viktor nods, “Ah, there! Yes.”
A small planet comes into view. One with a red hue and a thin, barely visible ring around its belly.
“Find something?”
“Yes, Carnata, I believe—”
Viktor stands to make room so Jayce can take a look.
The light of a single candle makes Viktor blink against the dark. It sits perfectly in the center of a small, glazed pastry in a cardboard box, in Jayce’s hands. The warmth glows and flickers over his handsome face.
“Happy birthday,” he offers, sincerely.
The gesture is so sweet—so tender—it makes Viktor a little teary eyed. But that’s probably also the wine.
Jayce shrugs. “I knew you’d kill me if we brought out a cake after dinner. ‘Cus everyone would try to sing. So this is our compromise.”
Viktor smiles, fondly, and blows out the candle with little fanfare. He makes no wish; he doesn’t believe in magic like that.
“Thank you.”
If his voice is quiet and emotional, that’s because Carnata is so beautiful.
“Did you have this tradition?” Jayce asks, plucking the candle from the dessert and putting it aside, “In the Undercity?”
“Yes, of course. Birthday candles are hardly Piltover exclusive.” Viktor shuffles his hands like two sides of a scale. “However, I did not celebrate my birthday much to begin with. So it is hard to say what the norm is.”
“Oh.”
His answer has made Jayce somber. So he quickly moves to take the dessert from his partner’s hands.
“Now, come, look,” he orders.
They switch places, Viktor with the cake and the two forks Jayce procured from his back pocket, and Jayce peering through the telescope’s eyepiece. Viktor watches Jayce’s blacksmith calloused fingers as they turn the focus knobs; the way he stills his large body and his breathing so he can get a better view of the planet so far, far away.
It dawns on Viktor—and this is not the first time—that he is lucky to have Jayce Talis in his life.
Very lucky, indeed.
“She’s real pretty tonight,” Jayce says, attention still stuck to the eyepiece.
“Yes. Quite.”
Did Viktor say that? Or did he breathe it?
“Although,” Jayce has that competitive lilt in his voice again, as he looks up from the telescope, “Even a first grader would be able to find Carnata on a night light this.”
“You know what—”
“I’d be way more impressed if you found Urtapo.”
“Urtapo is not even in our hemisphere.”
“That’s why I’d be more impressed.”
“Move. Out of the way. You do not deserve to be looking at her.”
“Alright, hey, hey! Watch the cake!”
“I’ll find you something impressive.”
“Sure you will, Viktor. I’m sure you will.”