The Stage Underneath Our Feet

by calestle

Summary:

“Stop talking to your feet and look at each other.”

Jayce muttered something under his breath. Viktor started counting from a hundred backwards. Slowly, Jayce turned to look at him. Viktor met his gaze. Their expressions were both blank.

“If I profane with my unworthiest hand,” Jayce began. “This holy shrine, the gentle sin is this: my lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand to smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss.”

While dealing with the aftermath of their fall out, fourth-year theatre students Jayce and Viktor are cast as Romeo and Juliet in their final Shakespeare production.

a shakespeare theatre university au

Notes:

inspired by ml rio’s if we were villains but i used a mix of modern trans and the orig shakespeare texts from folger shakespeare library, myshakespeare, and litcharts so no one gets a headache

disclaimer for the theatre nerds: lets just pretend this is how university theatre works irl

Chapter 1: All The World’s A Stage

---

THE CAST

Romeo Montague – Jayce Talis

Juliet Capulet – Viktor 

Tybalt Capulet – Caitlyn Kiramman

Mercutio – Vi

Benvolio Montague – Steb

Count Paris – Marcus

[...]

---

 

Viktor read the cast list once. Then twice, for good measure. Then a third and fourth time. When the names did not rearrange themselves as Viktor hoped they would, he placed the paper down. A typographical error, then. He dialed Sky’s number.

“Hi, Vik,” Sky said once the line connected. “If this is about the cast list, then no, it’s not a mistake.” 

“Were we at the same audition or did I hallucinate that clusterfuck?”

“Take it up with Mel. It was her call.”

The Piltover Classical Conservatory was located on the edge of the northern district, spanning almost thirty acres of land. The theatre that Viktor practically lived in sat right at its south, overlooking a deep man-made lake. From the outside, it didn’t look like much. A simple three-storey building made of white stone walls and a dome, poison ivy crawling along its parapets. 

Inside, however, was a different story. 

Rows of reclining seats stretched from the doors to the stage. Glass balconies jutted from the second and third levels. Several chandeliers hung from the arched ceiling, appearing like constellations when the lights were off. Mel sat in the front row, head buried in a script. Viktor ignored the whispers and stares as he walked down the aisle. 

He was still ten feet away when her voice cut through the auditorium. “The cast list is final.” 

The murmurs stopped, but Viktor continued walking.

“Last time I checked,” he said as he sat beside her. “Benvolio and Juliet have very different personalities. So different, in fact, that you wouldn’t cast someone who auditioned for Benvolio as Juliet. Right?” 

“The cast list is final,” she repeated.

“What on earth made you think I’d be a good Juliet?”

“You can be anyone you want, Viktor. Isn’t that what you’ve been trying to show me this past year?”

They stared at each other, hard. 

“Not with him,” Viktor said.

Her expression didn’t change. “Better start putting those acting skills to use, then.”

 

☽𖤓☾

 

There had only been three people in the theatre when he returned for the callback for Benvolio. The first was Sky, their stage manager, and then Mel, their play director, both of whom were in the same year as he was. Unlike other acting institutes, his conservatory offered only a handful of theoretical classes. The rest was run by the students, from pre-production to closing night with minimal supervision from professors. They believed that exposure was the best way to learn, which was why the directors and heads of their plays were students as well. 

Viktor used to be one of them before he had changed his major to acting. 

A decision that he was starting to regret when he saw the third person in the theatre. 

Jayce stood on stage, wearing a white buttoned-down shirt with sleeves rolled up to his forearms. Viktor hadn’t seen him in six months, nor did he ever want to see him again, but alas, here they were, breathing the same air. 

There were dark circles under Jayce’s eyes, and his stubble, which was usually trimmed, was way past five o’clock. He was staring blankly ahead, wearing an expression like he was next in line to a beheading, and his eyes slid to Viktor as he climbed the stage steps, expression unchanging.

Viktor stared back. Jayce looked away.

“Congratulations, gentlemen,” Mel said when they were both on stage. “I presume you already know why you’re here.”

They were doing a chemistry read for Romeo and Benvolio which, to him, was a complete waste of time. There was a reason the play was called Romeo and Juliet, not Romeo and Benvolio. 

Surprisingly, Jayce was the first to break the silence. 

“Is this really necessary?” he asked. “They’re cousins. There isn’t a dynamic that needs to be followed, unlike for a parent and child or between siblings.”

It was like he plucked the thought right out of Viktor’s head, which annoyed him even more. 

“We’ve got time,” Mel said, smiling. “Right, Sky?”

Sky’s expression said they in fact did not have time, but she nodded. 

“Line reading for Romeo and Benvolio,” she said, clicking the camcorder. “Whenever you’re ready.”

“Good morning, cousin,” Viktor said without missing a beat. The sooner they finished this, the sooner he could go back to his dorm and curl up in bed. And scream into a pillow. “What’s making you so sad that it makes the hours seem long?”

“Not having the thing that would make them seem short,” Jayce answered. He sounded lifeless, dull. Not the man who wielded the stage as though it was an extension of him. If Viktor didn’t know him so well, he would’ve thought he was just being in character.

“You're in love?”

“Out of favor with the woman I’m in love with.”

“Wrong,” Viktor said before he could stop himself.

Jayce looked at him. His stare could burn a hole through concrete. Okay, fuck getting home early. 

“What?” Viktor arched an eyebrow. “It is wrong. You should’ve said, ‘Out.’ Then I’ll ask ‘Out of love?’ then you’ll say ‘Out of favor with the woman et.’ Did you even review the script?”

Jayce clenched his jaw. “Forgive me for skipping ahead. I was under the impression we both wanted to get the fuck out of here.”

“Where did you get that? Because I’m having a fantastic time.”

“Gentlemen,” Mel said, a warning in her voice.

Viktor bit his tongue. It was like the air shifted, charged with a tension that was too thick to be cut through, and he said the next words as though they were acid. 

“It's unfortunate how love can look so nice but be cruel and rough when you actually experience it.”

“Isn't life full of contradictions?” Jayce shot back. “Why then, O brawling love, O loving hate, O anything of nothing first create. I have love, but I have none for this feud. ” He didn't take his eyes off Viktor. “Isn't this laughable?”

“No.” Viktor held his gaze. “It makes me weep.”

“Should we just go straight in without an apology?” 

The line was from Act I Scene IV, four scenes ahead from what they were reading. 

“I’m not in the mood for dancing,” Jayce continued, “and since I’m feeling heavy I may as well hold up the light. I sink under this heavy burden of love.”

“You would indeed burden love if you were to sink inside of it, which is too much for a tender little thing,” Viktor spat out. It wasn’t even Benvolio’s line.

“Love, a tender thing. It is too rough, too rude, too harsh. It pricks like a thorn.” 

Jayce emphasized each word as though it was Viktor who was too rough, too harsh. A thorn in his side, and they stared at each other, their breathing too loud.

Before the betrayal and lies, they never ran out of things to talk about. Words came to them as easily as breathing, and every thought Viktor had was already completed in Jayce’s head. Now, they couldn’t even hold a conversation without borrowing someone else’s words. 

And it still crumbled around them.

 

☽𖤓☾

 

After his futile attempt at getting out of the casting, Viktor took a walk. A very long walk that left his leg aching. Then he took a bath, ate, and stared at the wall. 

Everything he’d accomplished in the last six years swirled in his head. A lifetime ago, he was a street performer with only a cent to his name. He acted on a dirty sidewalk among people too immersed in their own heads to pay attention to others, and Viktor felt like he was screaming into a void. Invisible, cursed to play a role that died with time.

Turns out, he wasn’t as invisible as he thought. 

He was offered a seat in Piltover’s most renowned acting conservatory. It wasn’t an acting role, but it was something.

He took it. In just a year, he was head stage manager. Another two and he was here – under the spotlight that he only dreamed of years ago.

Viktor only had six months left on stage. Maybe even less. Would he really waste it all just because he didn’t want to share it with Jayce? 

He rubbed his eyes. All he had to do was the same thing he typically did. Be someone else. Pretend to be Juliet Capulet, the girl deeply love-struck by Romeo, until the curtain fell. 

Could he do it? He didn’t know.

But he could try.

The table reading was held the next day in The Pit, which was located in the adjoining building of the conservatory. The school always made sure its actors were at their most comfortable – though Viktor believed it was just to maintain the ridiculously overpriced tuition fee – and their idea of doing that was by digging a hole in the ground and slotting in a conversation pit. As much as he hated to admit it, it was preferable to a table and chair, which killed Viktor’s back after three hours. 

Viktor was the first to arrive, a habit he’d retained even before he became an actor. Fifteen minutes early is on time, he always used to say. 

He slid a hand along the wall and tapped his cane forward, looking for the light switch. Footsteps sounded down the hall just as he took a seat. Viktor braced himself. He knew those footsteps. And he knew the only other person who always arrived early.

Jayce stepped through the doorway. He froze as their eyes met. Viktor forced his expression to stay neutral.

Jayce glanced at the door, as though thinking of just coming back later, then he released a breath. He stalked into the room, making a point of looking away from Viktor, and plopped into the corner and crossed his arms. 

No one spoke. 

I am alone in this room, Viktor repeated to himself, feeling strangely empty. There is no one else.

Eight minutes and forty-five seconds had gone before the door opened again. A group had come in, laughing and talking over one another, followed by Caitlyn and Vi. Viktor could feel their glances, and after a few moments, he felt the couch dip. 

“You know,” Vi started, “I could see it. You’ve got that demure look on your face.”

“Why are you not sitting with your girlfriend?”

“Because my friends are choosing to act like teenagers.” She frowned. “Eugh, can’t believe I called Talis my friend. The world is going to hell.”

He only met Caitlyn and Vi because of Jayce, and after their falling out, he didn’t think they’d still talk to him. But they had always stuck around, even in moments like these. 

Like Viktor was their friend. 

That strange emptiness gave way to something else, and Viktor sucked in a breath.

“You okay?” Vi asked carefully.

“I’m fine.”

“You don’t look fine. You know, if you really want out, you can talk to Heimerdinger. They can’t force you to do something you don’t want to do.”

“I know.”

“And you’re still here.”

Viktor shrugged. “We’re actors.” 

Vi eyed him warily, but didn’t push it. 

 

☽𖤓☾

 

It was the middle of October when he met Jayce Talis for the first time. The production for King Lear was well underway. The stage was cluttered with half-painted backdrops and an assortment of props – plastic swords, royal banners, and a bucket of brown-red liquid that was being pumped into a plastic bag. It was like a medieval marketplace, complete with the chaos and yelling, and Viktor stood in front of it like someone who didn’t give a fuck that an entire neighborhood was burning down behind him. His face was angled towards the tech booth, finger pressed down on his walkie talkie as he scanned the script.

“Stand by LX 3 through–you there! Quiet, please. Stand by LX 3 through 5…GO!” 

The lights dimmed, followed by a flash of lightning. 

“Sound Q4…GO!”

A clap of thunder boomed from the speakers. 

“Viktor,” said a young woman, who he recognized from costume and make-up. “Sorry to interrupt, but we couldn’t contact the supplier. We found a different one, but even with the rush order, the materials wouldn’t be here in time for the publicity shoot.”

“Check with fine arts if they have leftover materials from their last exhibit. We’re doing the same setup so it should work.”

The woman had barely left when she was replaced by another one asking all sorts of questions. Viktor bit back a groan. He was exhausted. He hadn’t slept for twenty-hour hours and his leg was killing him and he was only halfway through the tech script.

“Um, excuse me.”

Viktor’s head snapped up. The voice belonged to a man he’d never seen before. He had a chiseled jaw and broad arms. Warm, brown eyes and a friendly smile. He looked like he stepped out of a painting and brought the sun with him. 

The man shifted on his feet, and Viktor realized he was staring.

“Hi,” he said, a faint flush creeping up his neck. “I’m Jayce Talis. I, uh, got in last week? I’m not sure where I’m supposed to go.”

Even though students were automatically accepted into each production, their theatre supervisor still conducted interviews for every newcomer. It was the only thing Viktor liked about this place. It didn’t matter if you were loaded and had connections; if you didn’t have the necessary talent and equivalent skillset, you were sure to start at the bottom rung. 

As stage manager, Viktor should be aware of every newcomer joining the production – whether they were an actor or part of the technical crew. But he came up blank as he stared at Jayce. 

Pretty, his brain said instead. He kicked the thought away.

“Right,” Viktor said, snapping his fingers. “The assistant stage man. Perfect.” He handed the script over. “Call out the cues and make sure tech follows them. Revise if it doesn’t fit the flow. I just have to sort out some mess in props. And maybe grab a granola bar.”

Jayce glanced at the script. “Wait. I’m not–”

But Viktor was already gone. The problem with props took longer than expected. He ended up not getting the granola bar he wanted, which made him even more cranky, and he was muttering and cursing under his breath by the time he walked back to stage. He hoped to god that Jayce had at least made some progress.

What he saw made him stop in his tracks.

Jayce was surrounded by a flock of people. They were taking notes as he talked animatedly, pointing at the script Viktor gave him as though he’d committed the entire thing to memory in just thirty minutes.

“...and during the intermission, the backdrop would be changed back to Gloucester’s palace. I assume that’s the one with the white and brown throne room. Then, in the last act, it’d be replaced by – there he is.” 

Suddenly, Jayce was looking at him, relieved. Viktor snapped back to his senses and made his way over. Jayce handed the script back.

“They’re asking about the backdrop changes,” he explained.

Viktor glanced at the throng of people, who had flushed to the tips of their ears. It was like looking at a dozen deers caught in the headlights. He sighed. “All of you, back to work.”

“Why did you do that?” Jayce said, watching them leave. “They were just asking for help.”

“Which they don’t need. I gave them a copy of the script three weeks ago.”

He watched as understanding dawned on Jayce’s face. 

“Oh,” he said, heat rising to his face. 

Viktor flipped through the pages. It was scribbled with notes. The cues had been rearranged, and there were even suggestions on his blockings to maximize the stage. 

“You’d do well in stage management,” Viktor remarked, impressed.

“Thanks.” Then Jayce’s eyes widened, as though remembering something. “Right. About that. I’m actually not–”

“Jayce,” said a voice. They both turned to see Mel approaching them. Her hazel eyes flickered between him and Jayce, before settling on the latter. “What are you doing here? The rehearsal meeting is at the back.”

Viktor knew he might’ve made a miscalculation when he saw Jayce surrounded by all those people. Someone with a face like that belonged at the center of the stage, not in its wings, so it made a lot more sense that Jayce was an actor, not his assistant stage manager. The same way a string not standing on its own made sense. 

What didn’t make sense, however, was that Viktor had known assistant stage managers who struggled to read a tech script despite weeks of training. Yet here Jayce was, explaining Viktor’s notes to others so well, especially when he’d never seen this play’s tech script before.

Pretty and smart, his brain whispered. 

“Sorry, Mel,” Viktor said, as though to interrupt his own thoughts. “I thought he was the new ASM.” 

“He hasn’t arrived?” Mel asked, turning to him.

“Unfortunately not.”

She took a deep breath. “I’ll talk to Heimerdinger. He’ll find you a new one. But we’re way behind the readings. Jayce?”

Jayce hurried after her before stopping in his tracks. He quickly turned around and jogged back to Viktor, a sheepish grin on his face.

“Sorry,” Jayce said. “I don’t even know your name.”

He felt the corners of his mouth lift. “It’s Viktor.”

 

☽𖤓☾

 

Compared to the chemistry reading, the table read – or more accurately the pit read since there wasn’t even a table – went by more smoothly. The cast’s high spirits diluted the toxic waters he and Jayce had been drowning in the last six months. Viktor was grateful for it. It made pretending a whole lot easier.

The reading continued for another day before they moved on to initial blockings. Sky marked the stage with tape while Mel directed where they needed to stand. He and Jayce didn’t talk. They weren’t looking at each other, choosing instead to blind themselves by the stage lights as they said their lines. 

Viktor thought they were doing well. No one was yelling and snapping at each other, unlike their last chemistry read. It’d been a significant improvement.

Mel, however, didn’t think so.

“This is getting ridiculous,” she snapped on their second week of rehearsals. “Everyone, take fifteen. You two, don’t move.” Her next words made Viktor’s ears ring. “Jayce, take Viktor’s hand.” 

“I thought you don’t want us to move.”

“Don’t be a smartass.”

Jayce’s jaw clenched. Then, without looking at Viktor, he held out his hand, palms up. 

Pretend. 

Just pretend.

Viktor placed his hand on his palm. Jayce’s fingers closed around his. 

“Sky, line,” Mel said.

“I can’t do anything about it now,” Sky said, “but Romeo’s intrusion into our party will turn my polite facade into bitterness.”

Jayce took a deep breath. “If I profane–”

“Cut!” 

“What now?”

“Stop talking to your feet and look at each other.”

Jayce muttered something under his breath. Viktor started counting from a hundred backwards. Slowly, Jayce turned to look at him. Viktor met his gaze. Their expressions were both blank. 

“If I profane with my unworthiest hand,” Jayce began. “This holy shrine, the gentle sin is this: my lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand to smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss.”

“Good pilgrim,” Viktor said, “you do wrong your hand too much. For saints have hands that pilgrims’ hands do touch, and palm to palm is holy palmers’ kiss.”

“Don’t the saints and the worshipers have lips, too?” 

“Yes, pilgrim, lips that they should use for prayer.”

“Well then, dear saint, let our lips do what our hands are doing.” Jayce closed the distance between them. “They’re praying for something after all, a kiss, so their faith doesn’t turn into despair.” 

Viktor went still. “Saints don’t act first, although they may respond to prayers.”

“Then don’t move while I get my prayers answered.”

Jayce’s face drew nearer. He could feel Jayce’s breath on his face, a wisp of fresh mint, and if Viktor tilted his head just a fraction, they’d be kissing. Memories of a night from a lifetime ago began to stir, charging the air with something Viktor didn’t want to name, and he stopped breathing. But before their lips could touch, Jayce pulled back. 

“Now all the sin has been purged from my lips,” Jayce said. 

The silence was so loud that even a coin dropping would’ve sounded like a bomb. Viktor realized it was his line. 

“Then that sin has passed from your lips to mine,” he heard himself say.

“Sin from my lips? O trespass sweetly urged! Give me my sin again.” 

Jayce leaned in. Viktor felt another rush of air against his lips. 

He couldn’t remember what happened next. When he came back to his senses, he heard clapping. 

They had finished the scene. 

The others had returned from their breaks and were watching them with mesmerized looks. Vi was flashing them a thumbs up. Caitlyn, however, looked concerned.

“The two of you can take five,” Mel said, sounding pleased for the first time. “Then we’ll run it again from the start.”

Viktor retreated into the stage wings. 

Then he released a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

Chapter 2: Shall I Compare Thee To A Summer’s Day?

The choreography for the ball scene was supposed to be a simple waltz. But given Viktor’s leg, Amara, their dance instructor, had to revise the choreography to minimize excessive movements. Viktor had found it considerate until she said, “We need to remove your cane.”

“What’s wrong with my cane?” Viktor asked, furious.

“Nothing. But a waltz requires hands on your partner. I’m sure Jayce would be able to support you throughout the dance.”

“I don’t want him supporting me.” And touching me. 

“It’s a dance, Viktor. The first intimate display of affection between Romeo and Juliet. You will be pressed up against each other whether you want it or not.”

They hadn’t talked to each other after their almost-kissing scene weeks ago. The stage had turned charged after their break, neither of them looking each other in the eye. He thought he’d be glad about not having to talk to Jayce after all that happened, even more so when Jayce didn’t seem eager to talk to him as well, but he hadn’t expected the bitter taste it left in his mouth.  

Amara ran them through the choreography while Viktor mentally counted the remaining scenes they had together. Despite playing the titular characters, they only had five scenes in total – one in Act I, two in Act II, and one in III and V. The ballroom scene was still a part of Act I, which meant they still had four more to go. He sucked in a breath and tried to ignore Jayce’s presence beside him.

It was difficult. The man was wearing a dark turquoise button down with the sleeves rolled up to his biceps. His muscles flexed every time Viktor gripped his arm as they walked forward. He was too close, a familiar warmth that his own body wanted to melt into, and it took every part of Viktor to push it deep into the recesses of his mind. They were both excruciatingly stiff and tense, which made Amara yell stop and again and from the top more than fifteen times.

“This isn’t working,” Jayce said to Amara, exasperated. “He needs to put his hands on my shoulders.” 

“You just have to walk me across the stage and give me a few spins,” Viktor retorted. “How difficult could that be?”

“Well, if you would just relax, it would be a lot easier. You’re gripping me like you want to cut off my blood circulation!”

“That’s because you might drop me,” Viktor snapped. 

“Why on earth would I drop you?” Jayce sounded offended. “This isn’t going to work if you won’t trust me.” 

“Can you blame me if I don’t?” 

For the first time, Jayce looked at him. His gaze was hard, and he scoffed. Viktor had heard that scoff before, mostly directed at those who nagged him about schedules when he was still stage manager, but this was the first time that it was directed at him, and something sharp zipped through his chest. 

“If you allowed me to explain instead of shutting me out for six months,” Jayce began. “Maybe we wouldn’t be in this predicament right now.”

“Maybe if you hadn’t signed that contract–”

“Gentlemen,” Amara interrupted. “Whatever personal dispute you two have, I do not want it in my dance hall. Now, Viktor, hands on his shoulders.”

That was the last thing Viktor wanted to do. His blood roared in his ears, making everything too loud and vivid and overwhelming. But Amara’s eyebrows were drawn, lips pursed, and Viktor knew her enough that if he didn’t put his hands on Jayce’s shoulders right now, they’d be spending an extra three hours in rehearsals. 

So Viktor put his hands on Jayce’s shoulders. Jayce’s hands settled on his waist. Amara began to count. It was slow enough that they could easily follow, but every time Viktor felt Jayce’s fingers dig into his hips to raise him, his entire body went rigid. His next step made him stumble, and Jayce’s grip only tightened to keep him from falling face-first into the ground. Viktor forced himself not to jerk away.

“You need to relax,” Jayce said again. 

“I am relaxed,” Viktor hissed. 

They ran the choreography over and over again until Viktor could feel the soreness in his bad leg. He was supposed to inform Amara if his leg was aching, but hubris was a deadly sin for a reason and he kept his mouth shut. 

“We need to call it a day,” Jayce said, stopping.

“I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not,” Jayce snapped. “If you want to ignore me for another six months, fine. Ignore me for a year or forever, I don’t care. But I draw the line at you hurting yourself because you’re trying to prove a stupid point!”

“What point?”

“That you don’t care.” He suddenly sounded so angry that Viktor could only stare at him. “I’ve known you for four years, Viktor. Avoidance has always been your default. You don’t like confrontations, you don’t like conflict, so you repress all your feelings and pretend they don’t exist until it all implodes in your face and you break down!”

“I’m not made of glass, Jayce. I don’t break. Has it ever occurred to you that maybe what you did was shitty enough for me not to want to speak to you for months? Or did your ego stop you from further self-reflection?”

“I know what I did was shitty. God knows how much sleep I’ve lost over it. How many times I thought about that internship and how I should’ve listened to you instead. But you’re lying if you said you never once wanted to talk to me for months.” 

Viktor was aware of how his hands were still digging into Jayce’s shoulders, how Jayce’s hands were still gripping his waist. They were both breathing hard and glaring at each other and Viktor wanted to – he wanted to break something. But all he could do was dig his nails harder into Jayce’s shoulders.

“You sound awfully confident for someone who burned down everything we worked hard for,” Viktor said.

“Yes, I am, and do you want to know how I know? Because we’re having this argument.” The anger bled from his voice, and he sounded tired. “I know you’re not mad at me, Viktor. You’re trying to be, because then maybe the anger would become real. But it wouldn’t, which is what actually makes you mad so can we please stop this farce and just–I don’t know. Talk about it like normal people?”

“Get your hands off me,” Viktor said, voice calm. 

“Your leg–”

“I’m not paralyzed.” 

Jayce sighed and let go of his waist. Viktor limped towards his cane, trying to ignore the sharp, shooting pain every time his weight shifted on his bad leg. 

 

☽𖤓☾

 

After a long, gruesome rehearsal of King Lear, Viktor found a leather journal between a crate of boxes and the stage drapes. The spine was flaking, bits of brown leather smudging his hand. The pages were in a similar state of use – dog-eared and wrinkled, as though fingers pressed on them too hard. Words were scribbled in the worst handwriting Viktor had ever seen, but he managed to make out the first line:

Runeterra

-J.T.

It was a draft of a script. Viktor should leave it backstage where its owner will come look for it tomorrow, or maybe place it back on the floor and pretend he never picked it up. Or perhaps Viktor could give it to the owner himself. After all, only one person in their class had those initials. 

Viktor glanced around the empty auditorium. He waited for a few moments. Then he sat on the stage steps and began to read.

It was a story about two mad scientists. The Machine Herald and The Defender of Tomorrow, who ended up on opposite sides after clashing ideals. By the time he finished it, it was past one o’clock. He knew he was going to regret the lack of sleep, especially since their call time was at five, but the rush in his veins was making his head swirl. 

Thoughts formed and shifted. Then it settled into one.

He found Jayce pacing in the dressing room the next day. He was reciting Edmund’s lines, the script for King Lear scattered on the table among markers and pens. When he saw Viktor, he stopped. His eyes flashed with surprise, before it slid down to the journal in his hands and back to his face. 

“We should collaborate,” Viktor said, handing it back. 

“With me?” He sounded surprised.

“Unless there’s someone else here that I don’t see.”

Jayce flushed. “I, um. I didn’t know you write.” He turned the journal in his hands. “I’ve pitched this to several producers, but they all turned me down.”

“Well, you’re missing the most important part.” Viktor waited, and when Jayce didn’t tell him to shut up or to mind his own business, he continued. “Your plot is good. The conflict and tension are there. But your characters don’t have souls. I can’t feel them. They’re too black and white.”

Jayce opened his mouth, then closed it. Something came alive in his eyes – a spark that caught onto cotton and started consuming it completely. “What do you propose then?”

 

☽𖤓☾

 

“So instead of Giopara blowing up the lab and destroying the crystal, he tries to listen to the Herald,” Jayce said. “But that would defeat the ending. We’re trying to show that ‘heroes’ aren’t necessarily good. If Giopara kills the people that the Herald is trying to save and returns to Piltover as a hero, it leaves a more lasting effect on the audience. They’d get pissed with Giopara and side with our Zaunite antagonist.”  

“That’s the problem,” Viktor said. “Nothing changes from Act I. Giopara is still an asshole. The Herald is still taking the fall for everything. There’s no resolution to their character arcs. If we get Giopara to crack, however, that would propel the story forward. Break it out of its static narrative.”

“They’re supposed to despise each other.”

“They spent a decade sharing the same lab. Surely affections would’ve formed, no?”

“Not if they have opposing moral views,” Jayce grumbled, but he handed the laptop over. 

“Love and hate. Two sides of the same coin.”

Viktor edited the script for weeks. It could’ve been finished way sooner if not for the King Lear rehearsals, which had him juggling all the creative and technical departments and barely giving him time to breathe.

After the initial revision, he showed it to Jayce. 

“Wow,” Jayce said, and Viktor released a breath he didn’t know he was holding. “This is… damn, V. I– if I didn’t know any better, I’d say there’s something going on between them.”

Viktor smiled. “Well, it’s only the first revision. Let’s see where they take us.”

They worked on the script for months. Most of the time, they stayed in Jayce’s apartment. He was living with Caitlyn back then, and she witnessed firsthand how they stayed up until the wee hours of the morning, or in worst cases, an hour or so before call time. She knew better than to tell them to go to bed, though, because once they were in the groove, there was no stopping them. It was like piloting a train at a hundred kilometers an hour – no destination in mind, just hurtling forward until they ran out of steam. 

On the more difficult nights, sleep didn’t come easy. Viktor’s brain kept pumping adrenaline and his hands itched to do something. His brain wanted to work. Usually, Jayce would also still be awake at this hour, filled with energy to last them until 3 AM, and they’d work on the script, but Mel had run them all ragged and he was now passed out.

It was too dark to see anything. But he could feel Jayce’s warmth beside him despite the five inches of distance between them. He listened to his breathing, slow and steady which was surprising since he thought Jayce would be a snorer, and closed his eyes. 

On the nights that sleep did come easy, Jayce decided it was the best time for late-night talks. 

“I’ve always wanted to ask this. Why are you helping me?” 

Viktor’s eyes were closed. He was already toeing the line between sleep and wakefulness, and he barely heard himself answer. “I know potential when I see it.”

The mattress dipped. The warmth on his side drew nearer. Viktor’s senses flooded back to him like a tide crashing on shore.

“I know that,” Jayce said. “But there are a million other stories out there that are just… better.” 

Viktor didn’t know what made him say it. Perhaps it was the strange curse that befell people after midnight – the lack of inhibition akin to drunkenness – or maybe because Jayce was pressing his arm against his and it scrambled all of Viktor’s synapses. 

“I never wanted to be a stage manager,” Viktor admitted. “I wanted to act. But I’ve always been turned down many times. And it was never for a lack of talent.” He shifted on his side. He could feel Jayce’s breath on his cheek. “Your story is not just about sci-fi superheroes, is it? It’s about the class division between Piltover and Zaun.”

“It’s naive, I know,” Jayce admitted. “Theatre isn’t as revolutionary as science and technology. Who knows if we can actually make a difference?”

“Shakespeare isn’t a scientist. Yet here we are, still discussing and dissecting his words. Who says art is not revolutionary just because its effects aren’t immediately apparent? In fact, I view it to be on a higher pedestal just for its sheer capability to influence human consciousness and reasoning.”

The words hang between them for a moment, teetering on the edge of a precipice. 

“You should give it another shot, then,” Jayce says. “Acting. Share the stage with me. We’ll bring our script to life.”

“I already share the stage with you.”

“You know what I mean, V.”

Viktor remembered the first time he entered the conservatory. He had this foolish dream of working his way from stage management to acting. They had promised him that as long as he put in the work, he could switch to any program he wanted. A year later, they still wouldn’t accept his program change request. 

Give it a few more months, they had said. Then we can transfer you. 

That wasn’t what they said, however, to the new student from Piltover who was in the same predicament as he was. Viktor had stopped trying after that.

“As long as the current system is in place,” he said. “The outcome will always be the same.”

“But do you still want it?” Jayce pressed. “To act?”

His silence seemed to be enough of an answer and Jayce sat up. Moonlight filtered through the slip in the curtain, painting his face in a soft glow that made his eyes animated. “I’ll talk to them. If they won’t listen to me, then Cait or Mel–”

“You will do no such thing, Jayce,” Viktor said, sitting up as well.

“Please, V. You’ve helped me so much. This is the least I can do. Think of it as me repaying the favor.” 

“I wasn’t doing you a favor. I helped you for the future of theatre. And Zaun.”

Jayce fixes him with a heavy gaze. “Then let me do it for you.” 

“Jayce,” he said again, weak even to his own ears. 

Jayce reached out. Viktor had ample time to move away, but he didn’t. His fingers pushed back a few curls that had fallen into Viktor’s face, fingertips grazing his cheek. “Let’s bring our script to life,” he whispers. 

A moment passed. A breath. An eternity. 

Viktor exhaled. “Alright.” 

 

☽𖤓☾

 

Heimerdinger’s class was Viktor’s favorite. Unlike other classes, this didn’t involve traditional teaching methods. The classroom resembled more of a napping room than an actual classroom. Low coffee tables littered the room, a cup of hot tea prepared for each student. Throw pillows were scattered on the floor, which allowed Viktor to stretch out his leg. He always looked forward to this class. But after that clusterfuck in the dance hall, he couldn’t bring himself to care about the discussion at all. 

“What scene sealed Romeo and Juliet as a tragedy?” Heimerdinger asked, looking at each of them in turn. It was a small class size – roughly ten to fifteen students – but that didn’t stop Viktor from sitting on the farthest seat away from Jayce. 

“Act V Scene III,” Sky said. “The death scene.”

“That’s too late,” Caitlyn countered. “It’s when Romeo killed Tybalt. It triggered a series of events that led to Romeo’s banishment, forcing Juliet to make a difficult decision. To marry Paris or stay with Romeo – even when he killed her cousin.”

“It’s the scene that sets everything in motion,” Ekko agreed, a first-year who was in lights and sounds. “But if Romeo hadn’t killed Tybalt, he wouldn’t have been banished. He’d still be with Juliet and their marriage would’ve been consummated. Which means Lord Capulet can’t force Juliet to marry Paris because she’s officially married. She has no reason to pretend to kill herself.”

“And how do you think both families would react if they found out that Juliet secretly married Romeo?” Vi said. “Welcome them with open arms and kisses?” 

“They can always run away.”

“And live a life of hiding, always in fear of being discovered and hauled back to that shithole? That isn’t tragic for you?”

“What’s tragic is that you’re being such a smartass when you haven’t said a word about what made it a tragedy.”

“Sealed it as a tragedy,” Vi corrected, then flopped back onto the couch. “Friar John.”

“Friar John,” he repeated. “The messenger sent to Mantua.”

Caitlyn looked thoughtful. “Vi might be onto something. It’s been a miscommunication from the start. If Romeo received the letter, he would’ve known Juliet’s plan. They could start all over again in a new town with no family rivalries holding them back. It’s the only way that they could be in love and still be happy. But Romeo didn’t receive the letter because Friar John couldn’t deliver it.”

“You might as well blame the damn plague.”

“So?” Vi shrugged. “It was a quarantine. He could’ve snuck around it and found some way to give the letter.”

“All of you are wrong,” Jayce said. 

Normally, it would be him and Jayce bouncing ideas, bickering and fighting until the whole class was groaning and begging them to shut up. Viktor knew the gossip about them had been spreading like wildfire – that the two best friends always attached by the hip were having the falling out of the century. His suspicions were confirmed by how their eyes darted to Viktor even though it was Jayce talking. 

“It’s already mentioned in the prologue. A pair of star-crossed lovers. Shakespeare made sure that there was no way the play could’ve had a happy ending, and the only way for it not to be a tragedy is if they had never met each other at all.” 

“Viktor?” Heimerdinger prompted. “You’ve been quiet, my boy.”

Viktor contemplated lying. That he didn’t agree with Jayce and that Vi’s theory was more plausible. But he couldn’t dismiss what he knew was correct so he sighed and said, “Unfortunately, I agree. Their meeting is what sealed the play as a tragedy.” His heart felt strangely heavy. “Their love is what made it a tragedy.”

Viktor could feel Jayce’s gaze on him. He didn’t dare look up.

Notes:

sorry if i keep dressing jayce in a button-down shirt it's just... starts barking

Chapter 3: Love Is My Sin, And Thy Dear Virtue Hate

Notes:

backstory time!

If he was asked to pinpoint the exact moment where everything went wrong, Viktor could’ve just referred to the internship offer from Noxian Entertainment. But he knew it was way before that. 

Every year, the conservatory hosted a progress ball that brought all the different art departments together. The fine arts kids showcased their work through exhibits and galleries. The theatre kids produced a play, but since a three-hour play was not everyone’s idea of entertainment, they selected only a few scenes. Jayce thought it would be the perfect opportunity for Viktor to audition. 

“I need to tell you something,” Viktor said to Mel, strangely nervous. He rarely felt nervous, and the last time he did was way back in his second year, when the costumes for Macbeth hadn’t arrived until two days before opening night. “I’m shifting programs.”

Mel just shrugged, not even looking up.

“You’re not going to stop me?”

“Why would I? I’m not Heimerdinger. Unless you’re planning to change to costume and design, then I’ll advise you against it.”

“What’s wrong with shifting to costume?”

She gave a pointed look at his dark shirt and faded jeans which, unironically, had been his everyday outfit for the last six years. Viktor didn’t really care about his appearance, and it wasn’t for a lack of trying. He used to dress up during his first few days on set, but the longer he was stage manager, the lesser his amount of sleep which, by extension, meant he’d just pick up the first set of clothes he found on the floor. Or on the chair, if he was lucky enough to throw it there instead of just passing out on bed.

The theme for that year was Shadows of the Marketplace, so it was no surprise they were doing The Merchant of Venice. Although ambitious for a first-time acting role, he auditioned for Antonio, the titular character of the play. 

The audition went by smoothly, if the surprised faces in the crowd were anything to go by, and though his prior acting experience had helped, Viktor mostly attributed it to Antonio’s character. Melancholic and depressed. 

It was shockingly easy to channel them.

“Thank god they didn’t make us wear the wig,” Jayce murmured on the day of the event. He was dressed like a Venetian nobleman: velvet cloak over a white tunic with frills down the front and a man-skirt. “My scalp itched for days last time. How are you feeling?”

Viktor shoved his shaking hands in his pocket and kept his gaze on the stage, where those in props and set design were setting up. “Fine.”

They had been rehearsing non-stop the last few days, putting their scriptwriting aside to prioritize the play. Jayce was even more excited than Viktor when he learned they both passed the audition and would be acting together for the first time. The Bassanio to Viktor’s Antonio – best friends even on stage. 

Viktor knew he was a good actor. He had no reason to be nervous. And yet, here he was. 

“You’re gonna do great,” Jayce whispered, suddenly a lot closer than before. He squeezed Viktor’s shoulder. When he let go, Viktor tried not to chase his warmth.

Sky called out directions in his earpiece. The curtains rose, and like clockwork, the market came to life. Actors in cloaks and tunics bustled around grime-painted stalls filled with smoking potions and cauldrons that Viktor recognized from Halloween. A gothic fantasy town rather than the sixteenth century marketplace the bard had in mind, but it was not all too bad for the tight time frame they were allowed. 

Viktor stood at the center of the chaos, the spotlight warm on his cheeks. Or maybe it was just the blood rushing to his face from being pinned underneath so many gazes. He fought the urge to shove his hands in his pocket and forced them to hang loosely on his cane. 

The audience wasn’t here for him. They were here for Antonio. And Bassanio, who was standing an arms’ length away from him, a reminder that he wasn’t in this alone.

“Well then,” Viktor started. “Tell me now who the lady is that you made an agreement with to go on a secret trip? You promised to tell me today.”

Jayce sighed, looking like he was trying not to break down. The only thing that betrayed his true emotion was his eyes, which were alive and warm as they landed on Viktor. 

“Antonio,” Jayce said. “You know how I've been using up my wealth, living a more lavish life than I can afford. To you, I owe the most in money and in love. I owe you much, and, like a willful youth, that which I owe is lost. But if you please to shoot another arrow–”

Viktor took a step towards him. He placed a gentle hand on Jayce’s shoulder, the way he had done a million times in rehearsals. 

“You are wasting your time complicating my affection for you with explanation and reasoning,” Viktor said. “Simply tell me what you would like me to do, and I will do it. Tell me.” 

Jayce looked at the crowd. He sighed again. “There's a lady in Belmont who has inherited some riches and is both beautiful—more beautiful than can be described—and virtuous.” There was a dreamy quality to his voice, and Viktor didn’t know what to do with the sudden clench in his chest. “We've occasionally exchanged some knowing glances. Her name is Portia, and she lives …”

Portia, a third year named Amaya, entered from stage right as they skipped to Act III. Viktor didn’t like her much. She gave him the hardest time when he was still stage manager – always arriving an hour late to rehearsals and forgetting her lines. He tried to convince Mel to replace her with her understudy, since it was the latter who was actually attending rehearsals. 

His attempts were all in vain.

Amaya pressed up against Jayce, her slender arms wrapping around his neck. They had finished the part where Bassanio picked the correct casket to marry Portia, and they were finally at the part Viktor despised the most: the kissing scene.

Viktor had watched them kiss as many times as he’d been in rehearsals, which was a lot. It had always been a chaste, brief pressing of lips, which didn’t really do anything to quell the acid in his gut, but now, it was like he swallowed a bunch of chemicals. 

There was tongue. Tongue! The worst part was Jayce seemed to be really enjoying himself: leaning in further, his hand sliding around Amaya’s waist to pull her closer. Viktor didn’t realize he’d been gripping his cane so hard until a hand was on his arm. 

Sky.

She was probably worried he’d start swinging it at someone, and Viktor scoffed. As if he was that crazy! What did he care if Jayce Talis was kissing someone else with tongue? It wasn’t even Jayce. It was Bassanio kissing Portia. 

He needed to calm down.

 

☽𖤓☾

 

Viktor, in fact, did not calm down.

Not even as the afterparty came to life around him, and his fourth drink was shoved into his hand. He didn’t even want to go, and he wouldn’t have if Sky hadn’t practically dragged him along. The play was a huge success; everyone congratulated him on his acting debut. Turns out, he delivered a spectacular performance even though he barely remembered anything after the kissing scene. 

He should be celebrating. He was finally back on stage after almost three years, but the thing was Viktor knew he was a good actor. He expected the praise and reaction from the crowd. What he didn’t expect, however, was for Jayce to ignore him the entire night. 

Viktor watched, fingers curled tight around the glass, as Jayce talked to a group of girls while Amaya clutched his arm like a leech. The play was already over, the Progress Ball was done, and they were literally at Marcus’ suite to celebrate so why the hell was Jayce still with her? 

Jayce hadn’t even spoken to him after the play. Not even a single congratulations. Right after the curtains fell, the cast clamored over Viktor, showering him with praises enough to inflate one’s ego to the sky, but when he turned around to seek validation from the only person that mattered, Jayce was gone. Viktor would’ve settled for a text, which wouldn’t have stopped him from being pissed, but well, at least it was something. 

Or maybe Jayce didn’t think much of his performance. Maybe he thought Viktor wasn’t that great an actor. 

Viktor downed his drink. Staying here and watching Jayce flirt with someone else was not how he wanted to end his evening. Sky left him to his own devices when she was certain he wasn’t a hazard to himself, but with the trajectory his mind was taking, it was bound to be his reality in the next few seconds.

The least he could do was say goodbye to her though, so he squinted through the dim lights and the throng of bodies swaying to the music. His gaze connected with a tall, lean man dressed in a cream-colored coat, dress pants slung low on his hips. He smiled, and considering that Viktor was the only one on the couch that didn’t have his tongue buried in someone’s mouth, he assumed it was directed at him. 

All desire to head home vanished. Instead, his eyes went to the opposite side of the room, where Jayce was still talking with Amaya. He could hear him laughing. Well. It wasn’t fair if only one of them was having fun. 

Viktor smiled at the stranger. 

A few moments later, he appeared in front of Viktor with two drinks. 

“If it isn’t the man of the hour,” the man said, offering him the glass. Rum, by the looks of it. “I’m Salo.”

“Viktor,” he replied, taking the drink. 

“You blew everyone’s breath away, Vik. Mine included. Can I call you Vik?”

“No. But that’s very kind of you to say.”

“So what is it then?”

“Hm?”

“No one shifts to acting out of nowhere.” Salo shifted closer. Their legs brushed. “What made you shift?”

Salo wasn’t his type, but Viktor was drunk and petty, and now that his vision was starting to blur, he didn’t really care what the man looked like. Viktor lowered his gaze to Salo’s lips, making sure to let it linger. “Come on, now. Is that really what you want to talk about?”

Parties like these tend to slip into all sorts of debauchery after the second round of drinks, so no one batted an eye when Salo’s hand slid up Viktor’s thigh and his lips pressed to Viktor’s mouth. He tasted like rum and dried spit, but Viktor parted his lips, letting Salo push him onto the couch. 

Viktor should be repulsed by the unsanitariness of it all – god knows what happened on this couch – but he’d been so busy with rehearsals he couldn’t even remember the last time he got laid. He wasn’t even pretending when a moan slipped out of his mouth. Arousal stirred in his gut as Salo’s hands pressed between his thighs. 

And then he was wet – in the literal sense.

Salo was off Viktor in a matter of seconds, cursing and yelling, pants drenched like he had wet himself. Someone had tipped their glasses from the table, which spilled directly onto Salo’s lap and, by extension, Viktor’s legs. 

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” Jayce said, not sounding sorry at all. “Are you guys alright?”

Jayce’s handsome face was contorted into an expression that, if Viktor had a few more drinks, could be categorized as angry. Salo was still cursing at him, but Jayce was only looking at Viktor, lips pressed into a thin line. 

How fucking annoying.

Viktor grabbed his cane and pushed off the couch. The ground swayed underneath him, but he wobbled towards the exit, trying not to seethe. Now Jayce decided to show up? Just when he was actually having fun? The cool breeze slammed into Viktor’s face, which sobered him a little. Still, he pulled out a pack of cigarettes. 

Viktor took a long drag, eyes fluttering shut, and ignored the footsteps drawing near. The menthol spread through his lungs, a welcome burn against the headache threatening to split his skull. That, and the wetness in his pants. Eventually, Viktor spoke. 

“Are you trying to make me miserable tonight, Jayce?” 

“What?” Jayce sounded so appalled that Viktor almost laughed. “No. Of course not. Why would you even think that?”

He didn’t answer.

“Look,” Jayce started. The man had always been good at reading him. “I tried catching you during the ball. But Amaya wouldn’t leave me alone. Then Heimerdinger appeared, then the Kirammans, then–” He took a deep breath. “I did try to get away at the afterparty.”

“Awfully convenient it was when I was about to get laid.”

“You were really going to sleep with him?”

“Is that a problem?”

“No,” Jayce said, his voice strained, as if he had to force the word out. “Though I thought you had better taste.”

“I’m looking for someone to fuck, Jayce, not a life-long partner.” 

He didn’t mention that he initially had no intention of getting laid tonight – as if his system was telling him to stay celibate and for what? For a man who chose to ignore him on the night he said he was so excited for? 

Viktor knew he should get home before this led to things they’d both regret. 

He didn’t move. 

“Why do you even care who I sleep with?” Viktor said.

“I don’t.”

For someone whose career was about lying, Jayce was a terrible liar. The man couldn’t lie to save himself. Viktor didn’t comment on this though. The same way he didn’t comment on a lot of things he noticed about Jayce: that there was something deep and intellectual underneath that pretty face, something Viktor would willingly drown himself in.

He finished his cigarette and crushed it underneath his boot. 

“Where are you going?” Jayce asked.

“Home.”

“You can crash at my place.”

“No,” Viktor said, pulling up his phone to call a cab. 

“You’re mad at me.”

“Not at all.” Unlike Jayce, Viktor was a good liar. But he must’ve been a lot drunker than he thought because Jayce gave him an unimpressed stare. “Okay, fine. I’m horny, Jayce, and you fucked up my only chance of getting laid tonight. So, no, I’m not staying at your place because I don’t want to do it in the bathroom.” 

Jayce was silent for several heartbeats. The screen finished loading, and Viktor was about to input his address when Jayce spoke. “You don’t have to do it in the bathroom.”

“Are you asking me to sleep with you?” 

He meant it as a joke, but it turned out sultry, his voice low. Jayce’s face went red, or maybe it was the trick of the streetlamp. Did yellow light make brown skin red? It was definitely not what he recalled from art classes. 

“I was kidding,” Viktor said. 

“Oh.” Jayce cleared his throat. Several more seconds of silence. Great, Viktor made it awkward. Damn him and his stupid mouth. He hurriedly typed his address. He should get out of here before more stupidity came out of his mouth.

“I mean,” Jayce said again, “I don’t mind giving you a hand.”

Instead of booking the cab like he should, Viktor stopped typing. He studied Jayce’s face. He was flushed, tips of his ears pink, and he was pointedly not looking at Viktor. 

Interesting. 

“I thought you were straight,” Viktor said. 

“That’s funny, coming from someone who acted as Antonio.”

It was a bad idea. An extremely terrible one – the worst they could’ve come up with. They were going to be acting together, writing a script together, and Viktor sure as hell didn’t want those to end. Which would definitely be the case, knowing himself. 

And so, when he found himself in Jayce’s bed that night and speared on his cock, Viktor blamed it on the alcohol.

 

☽𖤓☾

 

It should’ve been a one-time thing. But even Eve couldn’t resist the forbidden fruit, and what was Viktor but cut from the same flesh? So one time turned into two, two into three, then four into – well, he’d lost count. He blamed it all on the alcohol. On the days they did it sober, exhaustion was his victim. Too tired to think, too tired to say no. A narrative only he was privy to because if things went to shit, it wouldn’t be his fault.

He also stomped down on his feelings. Viktor wasn’t good at one-night stands. He knew his emotions tend to get tangled and twisted, almost like a bunch of ropes drenched in gasoline and just waiting for the drop of a lighter.

So when Jayce had to kiss his romantic interest for the hundredth time in whatever play they were rehearsing, Viktor forcibly schooled his expression into one that said I don’t give a fuck. It was just an act. They were here to learn. Wasn’t that the point of the conservatory? It wasn’t like Jayce would be bringing her home.

Or maybe he would. God knows how easy it was that he managed to bring Viktor home. 

So, stomping down the feelings he went. Unfortunately, choosing not to think about it came hand-in-hand with ignoring the reason he wasn’t thinking about it. 

Was it healthy? Probably not. But he managed twenty-two years of having crackers for meals. 

He was fine.

 

☽𖤓☾

 

Their internship began a month after. It wasn’t unheard of that actors acted out the script they wrote. Jayce even did him the favor of finding a production company willing to take in a bunch of underqualified, ambitious students. Which wasn’t difficult at all, as was the case with people with connections. 

Of course, Viktor didn’t let it go without a fight.

“Did they even read the script?” Viktor demanded.

“Of course they have. They loved it.”

They were Noxian Entertainment, the elite theatre company that produced several of the most famous plays. It was run by the Medardas, and signing with them basically guaranteed you’d be set for life in the theatre world. If it was Viktor who pitched the script, he doubted they’d even look it over, much less react the same way. 

The thought made him sick. 

“They’re a money-hogging enterprise, Jayce. They will make changes to our script until it’s so commercialized it doesn’t hold our original message anymore.”

“Not if we’re there,” Jayce countered. He sounded so confident that it pissed Viktor off. “The contract says they can’t change core details in the script without permission.”

“What contract?”

“The one I left on your table,” Jayce’s voice was hard. You haven’t checked it? was left unsaid. “Really, V, is everything okay?” 

“Have you forgotten my schedule?”

Viktor had to take extra acting classes if he wanted to graduate with his batch, which meant his entire summer was fully booked. Jayce should know this, because Viktor was spending most of his time at the conservatory instead of his apartment. 

Not that he moved into Jayce’s apartment. It just so happened that Caitlyn moved out to live with her girlfriend, and there was a spare bedroom, so naturally it was a waste of rent to leave it unoccupied. Which made no sense at all because he refused to charge Viktor for it.

“They only run productions from June to July,” Jayce said. “We have to work around their schedule. Otherwise, we’re gonna have to wait another year.”

“There must be other theatres available.”

For the first time, Jayce looked hesitant. “I already promised Mrs. Medarda.”

Viktor didn’t know the extent of Jayce and Mel’s relationship, only that they broke it off because of “compatibility issues.” It was probably a load of horseshit if Jayce was willing to throw away their script – and Viktor – to get chummy with his supposed-ex’s mother. 

Viktor stared at him, unmoved. “Then take it back.”

“I can’t.”

“Why the fuck not? Tell her it’s a scheduling conflict.”

“She sees potential in the script, V.”

“God, you’re so gullible. A little flattery and you’re already bending over and backwards.”

“You haven’t even read the contract yet!” Jayce took a deep breath. “What’s going on, V? You’ve been ignoring me and getting mad for no reason. And don’t say shit like I’m making a big deal out of nothing, as you always do. You’re not as subtle as you think you are.”

No reason? This wasn’t reason enough to get mad? Viktor’s eyes flashed, but the curtain was up, and what was he if not an actor? 

“I’m just tired,” Viktor said, letting the exhaustion seep into his voice. One truth, two lies. Would the audience figure it out as they always claimed? “But I’m not mad. Nor am I ignoring you.” 

Jayce studied his face. Then, like a balloon deflating, he sighed. “I’ll talk to Mrs. Medarda. Tell her we’d look elsewhere.” He rubbed his face. “I’m sorry. I should’ve realized how stressful this is for you as well.”

Cue the applause, the audience was fooled. Viktor smiled a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “It’s fine.”

 

☽𖤓☾

 

Turns out, Noxian Entertainment only needed one signatory for the contract, which had been graciously supplied during the initial meeting – the one that did not include Viktor. 

Not that any of the other meetings included Viktor.

When Jayce told him this, with his voice trembling and tears in his eyes, Viktor almost fell for it. I’m sorry, Viktor, I didn’t know, I really thought they–

That day, Viktor moved back to his apartment. He blocked Jayce’s number and ignored the messages from Caitlyn and Vi. He was glad he didn’t give his physical address to Jayce. God knows how he’d get a restraining order, even more so how to explain it since, in hindsight, you didn’t get a restraining order for this. He could sue for intellectual property rights, sure, but why would Viktor take back something that was already shat on?

If anything, he just didn’t want to speak to Jayce again. He knew he’d be unable to avoid him without dropping out from the conservatory, but maybe he could survive his senior year without having to talk to him. A futile hope, but one that he clung onto, nonetheless. It was the only thing stopping him from killing himself.

Pilties are all the same, his adoptive father, Silco, whispered. They will use you to get what they want and discard you when you served your purpose.

Was that what this was? A master class act spanning three years in the making? Maybe Jayce left his journal on purpose all those years ago, fully aware that Viktor, the unassuming Zaunite, would pick it up and return it to him – like the good-natured person he was. Knew that he’d be unable to resist sharing his thoughts, as he always did in rehearsals. Knew how to butter up someone from the slums until they actually believed they were equals.

Now, with Viktor completely erased from the picture, Jayce could freely act with a renowned A-list thespian. Not some wanna-be piss-poor actor who’d only been back on stage for a few weeks. It was almost as if Jayce encouraged him to shift to acting so that he wouldn’t be available this summer. 

Jayce must’ve been really dedicated to the bit, though, since he even took Viktor to bed. Probably for blackmail purposes because he knew how relentless Viktor could get – how he wouldn’t go down without a fight. He didn’t recall Jayce taking photos, or anything that could serve as blackmail material, but maybe Viktor had just underestimated his craftiness. 

Alas, it didn’t matter now. The only good thing that came out of this shitfest was that he was acting again. 

And Viktor would definitely make them all eat shit. 

Notes:

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