Chapter Text
Viktor had read the same passage in his book four times when he finally gave up and snapped it shut with a sigh that was equal parts annoyance and resignation. The lilting of the waltz that Jayce had playing on a loop was almost as much of a disturbance as the sight of the man himself, out of the corner of his eye, turning again and again in their living room to the rhythm of it, arms out like he was holding an invisible partner. Viktor tried to ignore it all, but after almost an hour, he'd come to recognize where the piece ended and began, and the slight gap in playback was enough to drive him to distraction. Then there were those brief flashes of Jayce in the tail of his vision: there one moment, then gone, then back, all while he muttered the steps to himself in a tone growing more frustrated by the moment. He was always more easily frustrated by things when he was preparing for some society event that Viktor wasn't attending. There had been countless of them, yet somehow, the simple dance steps never seemed to stick in his head.
At length, Viktor tossed aside the scientific journal he'd been trying and failing to become engrossed in and turned his full attention instead to his partner. It could not be said that Jayce Talis was a graceful man, not particularly. He was neither especially elegant nor light on his feet. Still, there was something truly captivating in the way he moved that had nevertheless drawn Viktor's attention time and again. At first, it had been jealousy, pure and simple: after all, movement was something that had never come easily to him, and to see a man of Jayce's height and broadness move so easily through the world was…well, frankly unfair.
But then he began to look closer. Their time spent together in the lab — and, as they became friends, elsewhere as well — meant he could better study the man and his movements. He learned the deliberateness with which Jayce maneuvered through a crowd with Viktor by his side, never calling attention to his disability, but always gently carving a path so that Viktor could pass more easily in his wake. He saw how he flexed his fingers in and out of fists when he was agitated, and swayed side-to-side when he was pleased. He noticed, in those days before their partnership in science had become partnership in all, how often Jayce began to reach for him, only to pull away at the last minute.
And now, he observed as the man with whom he was unquestioningly in love practiced a waltz in their living room. Barefoot, in only a t-shirt and a pair of worn pajama bottoms that Jayce stubbornly refused to throw away, he was counting his steps, but kept getting thrown off by turns and occasionally bumping into the coffee table he'd pushed aside. Viktor's eyes seized on the way his fingers were beginning to flex, the consternation wrinkling his forehead. It would be a meltdown soon, if he didn't say something.
"Jayce. Would it help if you had a partner?" The interruption was enough to bring Jayce out of his place of hyperfocus and agitation. He looked up at Viktor, seeming for a moment perplexed, as if he'd forgotten his partner was seated on their couch, but his expression gradually relaxed. There was that love in his eyes that was always present beneath any other emotion: that way he had of looking at Viktor as if he'd hung the moon, and which still made Viktor feel a little flustered to this day. Jayce tilted his head in consideration of his partner's suggestion.
"You think I should call Mel? I dunno, V, I think she's in meetings all day." Viktor had to remind himself not to roll his eyes at his beloved: Jayce couldn't help that he got a bit dense when he was stressed out.
"Not Mel. I could help you." The double-take Jayce gave when the offer sank in was satisfying. Even with his partner, it always gave him a wicked feeling of vindication when people underestimated him, though it soon gave way to agitation when he saw how Jayce hesitated. What he was trying not to say was clear on his beautiful, precious face, and it was infuriating: how could you possibly help?
"I didn't know you could dance," was the politic way it came out instead.
"Ehh, I'm no professional, and I will probably step on your toes, but for a time I used dance as a form of physical therapy. It was years ago, but I still remember a little. I certainly remember how to waltz." Before Jayce could act like his offer was some sort of imposition in a misguided attempt to shield him, Viktor used his crutch to lever himself to his feet. His pain level was manageable today, as close to minimal as he ever experienced anymore, so he felt confident enough to make it to Jayce unaided. Jayce was already there to meet him halfway, with so much concern in his amber eyes that it might have been offensive, had the warmth of those strong hands not pulled Viktor's focus. Even now, years into a relationship that felt like it had always been part of his life, feeling Jayce's skin against his own was enough to put all other thoughts on hold. So many times, he woke to the sensation of being held, chased by the realization and the wonder of this man is mine and he loves me.
With deliberate slowness, he placed Jayce's right hand around him onto his mid-back, correcting him when it drifted down toward his waist. He tried not to flinch when his large, warm fingers traced the outline of his back brace beneath his shirt: he was still learning how to be comfortable with such intimate contact. He had told Jayce, back when their relationship was just beginning to progress beyond the bounds of mere professionalism, that his mobility aids were extensions of his body and required just as much respect. That was only the barest truth: in fact, it was more complicated than that, in his case. While he'd grown comfortable with most kinds of touch where Jayce was concerned, even on those exceedingly rare occasions when he found himself wanting sex, he couldn't shake the instinctive resistance to allowing Jayce to touch his braces. There were times when it was necessary, of course: when he was too sick or exhausted to remove them himself, or too disgusted with the limitations of his body to even look at them. But this sort of touch, this casual tenderness, sent a thrill of panic through him that he had to tamp down, reminding himself that Jayce was safe.
"Yes, good," he said when Jayce finally got the positioning of his hands just right. "A little lighter, though. Like a butterfly. You aren't holding your partner up, or embracing them. Now, on my count: one, two, three. And one, two, three…"
It was far from perfect. Jayce stumbled frequently, missing steps and losing count. Viktor could see the frustration returning, along with that tightness at the corners of his mouth that meant he was reaching the limits of what he could withstand. It was something with which Viktor was well acquainted: he didn't discuss his own diagnosis publicly — being the token visibly-disabled person in any room was bad enough, without also being labeled the Autistic Scientist on top of it — but he saw himself mirrored in his partner with enough frequency that, earlier in the year, he had gently floated the idea of Jayce getting tested. There was, naturally, a bit of resistance to the notion, born out of the usual misconceptions: he hadn't experienced a speech delay as a child; he didn't spin, or rock, or flap his hands; he had no trouble at all with maintaining eye contact. Still, Viktor was patient. He explained how the reality was often different from the stereotype, and using their shared scientific mindsets, broke down his hypothesis in a way that was easier for Jayce to digest.
For Viktor, who had grown up in poverty, with no medical insurance, a formal diagnosis had taken years to obtain, only reaching his hands once he was enrolled in the Academy and had access to their health services. For Jayce, it was a matter of mere months. The tiny flicker of envy had been dwarfed by the sheer relief in every aspect of his lover's body language. There had been the grief, of course: the mourning of what could have been, the child that could've understood who he was and how he might have better navigated the world, had he the proper tools. Viktor was no stranger to that feeling, either, and was happy to hold Jayce as he experienced those losses. Yet Jayce was Jayce, and the joy of understanding far eclipsed the pain.
"Do you need to take a break?" Normally, it was Jayce who asked this of Viktor, usually to his consternation, but now it was the reverse. The mistakes were increasing in frequency, which heightened the frustration, which in turn increased the mistakes, and so on.
"No! No, I need to get this. The gala is tonight , Vik. If I don't get this down, I'll embarrass myself and Mel, and the investors will reject the proposal, and then we'll be out on the street."
"Breathe, Jayce. You are catastrophizing. Think: you have done this so many times before, and we're not out on the street yet. Even if your dancing is utterly deplorable, which it is not, you're so intelligent and charming that they cannot possibly say no." Jayce looked like he wanted to argue, but Viktor arched a brow to head it off at the pass, and he deflated.
"You have to say that, though. You're my boyfriend. You're contractually obligated to think I'm intelligent and charming." There it was: that little bit of classic Jayce Talis banter that made Viktor smile, and let him know that the stormclouds were beginning to dissipate from his mind.
"I certainly am not. I never signed anything." The worry that snaked around Viktor's heart began to ease when Jayce laughed, the tension in his body language dissolving piece by piece. They hadn't yet stopped dancing, and in fact were doing so with greater fluidity now that Jayce was no longer agonizing over each individual step. Viktor could feel his knee starting to weaken, along with a dull, pulsing ache in his lower back, but he pushed through them. It had been so long since he'd danced with anyone, and never with Jayce, that he didn't want to permit his body's frailty the satisfaction of ruining the moment.
It had been as much out of selfishness as wanting to head off a meltdown that he'd offered, after all: he knew that he'd probably never experience this at one of the high society galas over which Jayce was fretting. Even though he and Jayce had been partners for years, and their names and faces were always side-by-side in publications and interviews, the fact of the matter was that Viktor was from a different world, and everyone knew it. Undercity born and bred, he was just as accustomed to people looking askance at him for his sharp Zaunite features as much as his limp and his crutch. For him to be taking up Jayce's time on the dancefloor when Piltover's golden boy could be lavishing it on potential investors was a waste, and both of them knew it.
Those few occasions on which Viktor did accompany him were typically only when they had something new to demonstrate. He could have gone more often, if he wanted to — his name was always on the invitations, the blank space where a family name ought to have been somehow seeming a reproach — but for as jealous as the thought of his partner dancing with countless strangers made him, the thought of keeping himself upright for hours amid over-bright lights, fake laughter, and inane chatter was even worse. So he was happy to let Jayce go, more often than not with Mel Medarda on his arm, and himself remain at home with his books and experiments.
Viktor was surprised that it was Jayce's phone that interrupted them, cutting off the music, rather than the inevitable failure of his body to keep him upright. They stopped too suddenly, though, legs tangling, and his knee finally did give way. Of course, Jayce was there to catch him before his face could meet the floor. Using him as a crutch, Viktor half-hopped, half-scooted to the couch while his partner snatched up his phone. He shot a questioning look, to which Jayce silently mouthed: Mel.
"Hey, Mel! Yeah, as ready as I'm ever gonna be. Vik was helping me practice dancing." He said it with such warmth that Viktor's heart skipped a beat, full of love. His tone shifted sharply the next second, and he snapped into the phone: "I know we do it all the time. I just have two left feet and a shit memory, what can I say? Ugh. I'm sorry, Mel. I'm just… You know how I get right before these things, and this is a big one. We worked really hard, Viktor especially, and there's so much riding on it. I don't understand how you've managed to do this crap your entire life without going completely insane. Okay, let me let you go. Yeah. Yeah. I'll tell him. See you tonight. Bye."
Jayce hung up the phone and flopped next to Viktor on the sofa with a groan. He looked exhausted already, and the gala was still three hours away. He gave a soft, sympathetic sigh and tipped to pillow his head onto his partner's bicep. Jayce shifted and Viktor was enveloped, tucked into the warmth of his side. How he wished he could beg him to stay home so they could spend the evening cuddled on the couch instead.
"Mel says hi, by the way. She wants to get lunch soon, if you're up for it. Apparently there's this new Noxian place that opened up near her place, and she wants us to come be judgmental with her."
Viktor huffed a laugh. At the beginning of their partnership, Jayce and Mel had been something of an item: nothing serious, but not quite a casual fling either. Viktor's own relationship with her had been cool, perfunctory at best. She was a key supporter of their work and nothing more. Or more accurately, nothing better . Over time, his feelings toward her thawed — coincidentally in tune to the ending of her entanglement with Jayce — and while he sometimes wondered how she really saw him, as was the case with anyone from the social stratum she occupied, most of the time he felt confident enough in himself to consider Mel Medarda a friend. (Granted, there was also that one ill-advised threesome, and all of them agreed with equal vehemence that it would never repeat.)
"That sounds fun. I take it she has doubts as to the, ah, authenticity?"
"I think what she said was it was being run by some 'obnoxious Piltie food snob whose only experience with Noxus is in his dreams'."
Their shared laughter was enough to ease the remaining stress in the set of Jayce's shoulders, brow, and mouth. By some miracle, Viktor was able to keep him laughing and relaxed almost right up until it was time to get ready. When his alarm went off, though, all the anxiety came flooding back. Viktor tried his best to soothe it away with kisses and gentle fingers in his hair.
"It's going to be okay. We practiced together, remember? Think of me while you are dancing, and everything will be just fine. But if you need, I'm only a call or text away, always." Viktor leaned forward to press his forehead to Jayce's, holding it there for a few heartbeats. Their eyes met, and though it sometimes hurt to hold Jayce's gaze for too long, this time he found that the clear need he found there was enough to override any potential discomfort. Eventually, Jayce nodded, and they parted with a final kiss.
The sounds of Jayce scurrying around the apartment in his rush to get showered, shaved, and dressed were both endearing and stressful. They were familiar sounds, amped up to eleven by nerves. Viktor wanted to take over, but he knew that would only do more harm than good in the end. He knew more than most how condescending it felt to have his frustrations pulled away and handled without any say in the matter, so he let Jayce go about his business, only occasionally offering opinions or words of support when asked. Finally, when Jayce stood before him all decked out in a bespoke suit, cut to best draw the eye and accentuate his impressive physique, Viktor's breath caught in his throat. It always did, to see his partner so immaculately turned-out.
"Well? How do I look?"
"Like I want to throw you down and ravish you without pity, gala be damned." The delivery was playfully deadpan: they both knew that no such thought had crossed Viktor's mind. Jayce was beautiful, yes, but his beauty had no bearing on Viktor's attraction to him — or lack thereof. That had been established early on, and while it had been a struggle for Jayce to reconcile Viktor's asexuality with his romantic feelings, not once had he ever expected Viktor to compromise himself. It was one of the many, many reasons that Viktor adored him as desperately as he did.
"That good, huh? In that case, there's no way tonight can go wrong. I have a ravishment to look forward to."
"Precisely."
Jayce hesitated a few moments more, checking and rechecking his tie and cufflinks, before Viktor threatened to kneecap him with his crutch if he kept Mel waiting. He looked so nervous as he offered a final goodbye and disappeared out the front door, leaving Viktor to the silence of their apartment. He tried to return to his book, but found himself distracted again, this time by the lack of Jayce rather than his presence. It flew like a frisbee across the living room, flung with a bit more force than intended, but thankfully didn't hit anything. Television proved just as useless in its efficacy to keep him entertained, so he just resigned himself to a long night of boredom and waiting for the inevitable check-in text from his partner. Even on nights when they had to be apart, they always checked in.
A text came an hour and a half after Jayce's departure, but it was not the normal "how's it going": this one was panicked and riddled with typos. Viktor didn't have time to even begin typing a reply when a call came fast on its heels. He answered, as promised, without a second's hesitation.
"Jayce?" He was greeted by rapid, shallow breaths and faint whimper. Though concern gripped his heart in a fist of ice, he couldn't claim that he hadn't been expecting this at some point in the evening. "Jayce, it's alright. I'm here. You don't need to speak if you're unable to."
No words came, but there was an acknowledging whimper. Viktor thought as much. Of all the times for him not to be there.
"Is Mel with you? If she is, can you put her on for a moment? I promise she'll give the phone right back, I only need to ask her a question." There was a brief rustling, and the velvet timbre of Mel Medarda filled his ear.
"Good, he was able to get ahold of you. I was going to try if he couldn't manage it. I don't quite understand what happened. We were dancing a relatively uncomplicated waltz, and he missed a step. Only one, but for some reason it seemed to…set him off. He left the floor, and by the time I found him, he was outside hyperventilating. Did something happen earlier?" Viktor was honestly unsure why Jayce was having such a hard time tonight. Typically, for as much as he struggled in the lead-up, he was always able to put on a mask of confidence for the actual event, with no one but Viktor and Mel the wiser.
"I think it may be my fault," he said slowly. "Before he left, I told him to think of me as he danced, and I believe his misstep may have triggered some sense that he had…let me down in some way. I cannot be sure, though, until he is able to confirm it himself." Mel indicated that she understood, and passed the phone back to Jayce. His breathing was slightly less frantic now, but he still didn't speak. Viktor wished he could collect his love in his arms and just hold him until everything was calm again. He hated himself a little for choosing to stay at home.
"Jayce? Are you with me?"
"...Messed up." The words, clearly spoken through a tightly-clenched jaw, were so quiet that they were almost inaudible, but Viktor didn't want to ask him to repeat himself. He knew that speaking even this much had to be a monumental effort.
"It's alright. Are you safe? Have you harmed yourself?" He hated to ask that question, especially if there was a chance that Mel could overhear, but he needed to know how to proceed. Helping Jayce through a meltdown typically took one of two directions, depending on whether or not he was so overtaxed that he turned to pain in order to self-regulate.
"...Some. Sorry."
"No, never apologize." He was careful not to let the worry seep into his voice, keeping it as gentle and soothing as possible, no matter how much it threatened to choke him. "I'm not upset or disappointed. Is there broken skin?"
"No. Hit my head."
"Good. That's good. I think perhaps you should come home to me now. You've made your appearance, that is all they can expect of you." It took some convincing, but Jayce eventually agreed. Mel was quite willing to offer the excuse of a sudden personal emergency on her part (a kindness that took Viktor by surprise, as she wasn't the altruistic type) and brought Jayce home in her own car. Viktor met them outside, thanking Mel profusely and promising her that they would definitely meet for lunch. He ushered Jayce back inside and into the darkness and safety of their bedroom. The curtains were already drawn, and the lamp was on the dimmest setting. With careful, but practiced hands, Viktor freed Jayce from the suit and tossed it aside, not caring if he ruined it. He'd ruin a thousand suits if it meant helping his partner feel safe and comfortable.
Once Jayce was undressed, he turned his attention to himself, divesting himself of his leg and back braces to climb into bed beside him. He was quiet, no longer hyperventilating or whimpering, but it was impossible to tell if it was because the meltdown had passed or he was simply past the point of awareness. It happened sometimes, to both of them, that they became so dysregulated that they simply went away for a while, until something told them it was safe to return. This was Viktor's way, more often than Jayce's, who more commonly turned to stimming and self-harm to bring his nervous system back into check. Still, Viktor knew better than to try and force him back. All he could do was be patient and present. He was nearly drifting off after what had to be almost fifteen minutes of silence, when the barest whisper of his name punctured the dark.
"Vik? You awake?"
"I am."
"How'd I get home?"
"Mel brought you. She said she had an emergency, and I promised her we'd take her to lunch as a thank-you."
Jayce lapsed back into silence, and for a moment, Viktor feared he might have slipped away once more, but was relieved when he turned so that they lay face-to-face.
"Is it alright if…"
"If?"
"I want to touch you. Not sexually!" (Quickly, as if Viktor might misunderstand and reject him.) "Just… I want to feel your skin. Is that okay?"
Instead of a verbal reply, Viktor simply worked his way out of his clothing, nuzzling close to Jayce, who was already mostly undressed, save for his underwear. He hooked a finger into the waistband and paused, a question in the gentle tug on the elastic; Jayce nodded against the top of his head, and he tugged them down as far as he could without having to contort his body. Jayce removed them the rest of the way and wasted no time in entwining his limbs with Viktor's. The contact seemed to immediately calm him, especially when Viktor's fingers found his hair, still stiff with product, and lightly scratched at his scalp in a way he knew his lover found soothing.
Almost like a reply, Jayce drew his own fingertips delicately up the crooked column of Viktor's spine, walking them up as though counting the vertebrae, but then turning them in what felt like a circle or a square. It took several repetitions of this motion for Viktor realize that it was a waltz. He didn't draw attention to it or interrupt, simply closed his eyes and let Jayce continue until, eventually, his hand fell still, arm still curled around Viktor's narrow waist. His breathing evened out, and only then did Viktor chance to look up and see that he was asleep, features smooth and free of strain for the first time all night. Moving so that their foreheads were touching, Viktor soon followed after.
In the end, Jayce hadn't missed a single step.