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Jayce doesn’t understand why he is still alive.

It’s not about the explosion, even though that should have done far more damage than it did. He can understand why he survived: a mixture of youth, fitness, and good old-fashioned luck.

No, the thing that should have killed him – that is killing him, slowly, excruciatingly – is the guilt. It consumes his entire body, filling both lungs, wrapping around his heart, constricting every organ until he feels like he can barely breathe. Every cell in his body is weighed down, his limbs heavy, his eyes desperate to close so that he can sleep and sleep and never wake up.

The worst is the guilt that he survived with barely a scratch, while Viktor is…well, Jayce isn’t sure what Viktor is, if he’s honest. He’s not dead. His vitals are stable. His breathing is steady. His heart beats at a slow yet reasonable 65 beats per minute.

But he’s not conscious, and he’s not Viktor . Maybe he’ll never be Viktor again. His body is suspended in the Hexcore’s webbing like a caterpillar in a cocoon, his body completely shrouded apart from his pale face. Jayce has studied it for hours, stomach churning every time his sleep-deprived brain manages to convince him that Viktor’s expression has twisted into one of pain. He aches to touch him, to brush his fingertips against Viktor’s cheek, to trace the shape of his lips, to press the back of his hand to Viktor’s forehead to feel if he’s still warm. But every time he reaches out, the Hexcore reacts angrily, forming spikes of matter that crackle with static electricity, and Jayce is forced to retreat. To give up. To concede his partner to the custody of the unknown.

Jayce desperately wants to help him, to figure out the mystery, to find something amongst the mess of pages spread out across his desk that could bring him back. He aches to pull Viktor into his arms and peel him out of the Hexcore’s grasp. He’d climb up there and replace Viktor’s body with his own if he had to. Jayce would offer himself up willingly – enthusiastically – if the arcane demanded a sacrifice, as long as that meant that Viktor would be okay.

All of that is on top of the guilt that Viktor was even there in the first place. In another life, Jayce turned down the invitation to join the council, and stayed in the lab where he actually knew what he was doing. Stayed with Viktor, instead of abandoning him for parties and meetings and endless bureaucracy. Stayed where he belonged all along.

It turns out that all Jayce has to show for his political career is a fancy title and a half-dead partner. The peace agreement recognising Zaun’s independence was blown apart along with the rest of the council chamber. Just like Viktor’s body.

And then there’s…everything else. He’s been hiding in the lab for weeks, sequestering himself away from the outside world. He can’t stomach the thought of something happening to Viktor while he’s not there. He accepted a short visit from Mel, and dragged himself out to the park to speak to Cait, her words half-lost amongst his racing thoughts and the saccharine tinkling of wind chimes. But he wasn’t there when she had to bury her mother, not even out of respect for his former patron and fellow councillor. He wasn’t by Mel’s side at any of the speeches or the crisis meetings or the memorials. He hasn’t even spoken to his own mom to reassure her that he’s okay, even though he knows she’ll be worried sick.

The only person he wants to talk to is Viktor, and Viktor isn’t here anymore.

So instead, Jayce has just…existed. Paced back and forth across the lab. Checked Viktor’s vitals. Written meticulous records about bullshit that doesn’t matter, painstakingly noting down the ambient temperature and his observations on the changing pattern of swirls within the webbing just for the sake of keeping his hands busy. Drank: coffee, whiskey, coffee again. Clasped Viktor’s cane in his hands as a substitute for touching him directly.

Each time Jayce falls asleep, it’s fitful and restless, and he is forced to face the torment of reliving the attack over and over and over again. There’s a blast, loud enough to make his ears ring, followed instantly by a wave of force that crashes into his body like a tsunami and bears down on him from every angle. The windows shatter and fragments of broken glass rain down around him. Panic rises inside him when he can’t find Viktor, reaching a fever pitch when he finally sees him, bloodied, dusty, his chest still. There’s the sickening crunch of broken bones when he scoops Viktor out of the rubble, his body floppy in Jayce’s arms. Lactic acid screams in his shins as he sprints through the academy corridors, lungs burning, blood pounding in his ears. He reaches their lab and realises how powerless he is compared to the inexorability of the Hexcore. It’s uncontrollable in Jayce’s hands, claiming Viktor’s lifeless form as its own, and Jayce is left alone with the anti-climax of realising that it’s stopped Viktor from dying without actually bringing him back to life.

Each time Jayce wakes up, it’s with a gasp of breath and a spike of adrenaline that slowly fades to a numb emptiness.

And that’s how he wakes up today, jolting awake to the sound of his name in a familiar accented lilt. Another echo of his nightmares.

Except it’s not a nightmare, this time. Not at first. For a few moments, it’s every dream come true, Viktor alive and real and back in Jayce’s arms where he belongs.

There’s so much that Jayce wants to talk to him about. As soon as Viktor settles back into being awake, he’ll regale him with the tale of how the Hexcore saved his life, and he’ll gush about how monumental it could be if they refined it a bit, and he’ll proudly announce that he’s resigning from the council and is ready to put all of his energy into Hextech. They can celebrate that. It’s something that Jayce should never have agreed to in the first place. Viktor will smile, maybe sigh in relief, make a snippy remark about how Jayce has finally come to his senses.

And then Jayce will throw his arms around him again, and thread his fingers into Viktor’s hair, and tell him exactly how much he missed him. Explain how the thought of losing him has been boring a hole through his chest ever since the explosion. How he’s felt lost and empty ever since, untethered from reality itself.

He’ll gently tilt Viktor’s face up towards his own and confess that it’s made him realise how much Viktor means to him. He can’t live without him. They are two halves of one whole. Jayce finally understands that now.

They’ll hold each other and at last Jayce will kiss him the way that he should’ve done years ago.

It doesn’t play out like that, in real life. The version of events that Jayce has imagined multiple times every day since the explosion does not materialise. Viktor goes wildly, painfully off script.

‘I must say goodbye to this place now. To you.’

Viktor’s voice is quiet and emotionless. It’s not meant to be like that. It’s meant to be full of awe at the wonder of what Jayce has achieved with the Hexcore. He’s meant to be overjoyed that Jayce saved his life. He’s meant to be fucking grateful .

Everything Jayce knows to be true is unraveling in his hands. There’s a thick, tense buzz of anticipation in the air, like the calm before a storm, as if the room is about to start crumbling around them.

‘Goodbye? Viktor, you’re my partner.’

‘Our paths diverged long ago. It was…affection that held us together.’

Was ? So there’s no affection anymore? After all that Jayce has done for him?

Of course. That’s Viktor all over, isn’t it. He’s always fucking been like this. Too headstrong, too rigid, unable to see the wood for the trees. So quick to criticise Jayce for making decisions in impossible situations that Viktor has never been put in.

‘You think it’s so easy? To turn your back while your city looks to you for salvation? To cling to principles when your best friend bleeds out in your arms?’

Jayce is almost shouting now, his breathing heavy, and the most infuriating thing is that Viktor doesn’t respond at all, not even negatively. He stands, unmoving, gaze fixed on the floor, not even having the courtesy to look him in the fucking eye.

It’s only then that Jayce realises the implications of what Viktor has been saying.

Viktor wouldn’t have done the same for him.

If their roles had been reversed, Viktor would have left Jayce’s body lying there in the rubble and patted himself on the back for sticking to his morals and not using the Hexcore for unintended purposes – other than augmenting his own leg, of course. It’s easy enough to remember the rules. Everything Viktor does with it is fine, and everything Jayce does with it is wrong. Just like everything else they’ve ever disagreed on. Fucking hypocrite.

All of Jayce’s guilt is turning to anger inside his chest, the way that a cup of water slowly turns pink from a single drop of blood, a contaminant spreading until it’s tainted everything it touched.

Viktor turns to leave, and Jayce’s hands curl into fists at his sides.

‘Where are you going?’

‘Goodbye, Jayce.’

‘No. Fuck. I’m coming with you.’ He moves to follow him, and Viktor stops again, shaking his head.

‘No. I must go alone. Goodbye, Jayce.’

The words are firmer, this time, and Viktor’s grip tightens on his cane as if he’s giving him a warning.

Something ugly inside Jayce’s mind wants to see how far he’ll go. How far he can be pushed.

‘Why? You can’t go. I won’t let you. I just got you back, I can’t be without you, I– I love you, Viktor.’

Jayce realises that he’s crying, then, when he tells Viktor he loves him for the first time and his voice cracks as he chokes on the words. He’s so angry, and so sad, and so ready to forgive him. All Viktor has to do is turn around. Just turn around and say it back, and then everything will be okay.

‘It is not personal, Jayce.’

Jayce wishes he was holding something, so he could throw it at the wall.

‘What the fuck else could it be? I’m your partner. I’m the one who saved your life. Who else is out there for you? Nobody even gives a shit about you other than me.’

It’s a cruel thing to say. But it’s not inaccurate, and maybe a little cruelty is what’s needed to make Viktor see sense. Jayce will take it back in a moment, as long as Viktor fucking turns around . They can apologise to each other and put this all behind them. This doesn’t have to be the end of things. It can be the start.

Viktor pulls open the lab door and walks out without saying a word. He does not look back.

———

The next few hours go by in a blur. Jayce passes in and out of his own body, coming to his senses in a different place each time. One minute, he’s kicking the lab door in a fit of rage. The next, he’s on the floor in the foetal position, crying so hard his entire body hurts. He’s slamming his fist against the chalkboard, hitting the diagram of Viktor he drew so carefully the day after the explosion, aiming for its head. He’s tearing handfuls of pages out of his journal.

He’s under the desk with his head in his hands, once again nothing more than a scared little boy whose mother just collapsed in the snow, and his mind feels like a cracked-open egg with its contents half spilled.

He looks at the Viktor-shaped hole in the empty Hexcore cocoon, replaying their conversation over and over again, shaking his head as if it’ll get rid of the memory. As if it’ll get rid of the events themselves, and Jayce will open his eyes to find Viktor stumbling across the floor like a newborn deer, fresh out of his coma, ready to do things properly this time.

He’s going insane.

No, he’s not going insane. That’s unfair. He’s just grieving. This is an entirely normal response to losing his partner twice in such a short space of time. To being left behind. Discarded . Like an empty wrapper, a piece of rubbish. As if he’s outlived his usefulness.

The second time feels worse, somehow. Because this was Viktor’s choice. He can be forgiven for the first time – he had no control over the attack on the council – but not for walking away from everything they had, everything they’d built together, everything Jayce had given him. In one fell swoop, Viktor had killed their partnership, their careers, Jayce himself – and for what? There’s nothing for him outside of this lab. He has no contacts, no resources. And yet he deemed fending for himself preferable to staying with Jayce? It doesn’t make any sense.

Jayce won’t stand for it. He won’t sit back and let himself be treated with such disrespect, not from his partner of all people. And he won’t let Viktor act in a way that’s so detrimental to his own best interests, either. What kind of a friend would Jayce be if he just let him get on with ruining his own life?

It’s best for both of them if Jayce decides to be the better man. He’s going to find Viktor and he’s going to bring him back. He’ll leave at first light.

In tonight’s nightmare, Viktor is not buried in rubble in a bloodied academy uniform. Instead, the light glints off the golden pattern on his metallic skin as he lies in the arms of a sea of faceless people. They caress his skin, hands covering every inch of him, and he responds beautifully: face flushing, head thrown back, breathy sighs falling from parted lips. Every one of Jayce’s attempts to reach him is met with rejection. Viktor turns away, evades Jayce’s touch, refuses to look at him, and there is nothing Jayce can do except watch helplessly as his partner lets the faceless carry him away into the dark.

———

Jayce searches for him for days. He combs through the entirety of Piltover, checking everywhere he knows that Viktor frequents and then everywhere he doubts Viktor has ever been, scouring every cafe and library and hotel in the city before moving on to clubs and parlours and brothels.

When he gets desperate, he even uses his councillor privileges for one or two entirely unauthorised purposes. It’s easy to justify it in his head. Piltover has been attacked, and one of its top scientists is missing in action. It makes perfect sense that Jayce is pulling out all the stops. If that involves demanding admission records from hospitals and distributing Viktor’s picture to every enforcer at the border, then so be it.

It’s futile. Too little, too late. Viktor has already left Piltover without a trace. So Jayce moves on to the next place, crossing the Bridge of Progress with his hood pulled over his head, armed with a list of every place he can think of that Viktor ever mentioned from his childhood. The house he grew up in. A cave by a stream, where he used to play with toy boats he’d built himself. Food stalls selling his favourite sweets.

There’s no sign of him anywhere.

Jayce would be on the verge of giving up by now, if he was feeling like his usual self. It’s been weeks. He’s neglecting every other part of his life. He’s never been away from the lab for more than a couple of days, and now the assistants probably think he’s vanished off the face of the planet. Like Viktor apparently has.

But he’s not wavering. If anything, he’s more determined than ever. His patience may have worn thin, but his anger has grown more than enough to compensate, swirling in his chest like a roaring vortex that’s pulling every bit of goodness that was left inside him into a black abyss. He’s eating and sleeping even less than he was during Viktor’s coma. He doesn’t need food or rest. He can run on rage alone.

The infuriating thing is that he shouldn’t have to do any of this. Viktor had no good reason to leave, and every obligation to stay. He should’ve appreciated the fact that Jayce is all he has. Where’s his fucking gratitude for the lengths Jayce went to and the pain he endured to keep him alive against all the odds? Nobody else would have done it. Just like how nobody else is looking for him now. Jayce doubts that anybody has even noticed Viktor’s absence. It’s not like anybody missed him after the explosion.

Hell, if Jayce had been killed in there as well, there wouldn’t even have been anybody to bury Viktor’s body. Jayce’s mom would’ve ended up taking care of both of them. Another thing that Viktor should be thanking him for. So much of Viktor’s life is built on a foundation that Jayce laid, and what has Jayce got to show for it? Fuck all, except aching feet and an annoying cough from traipsing around the undercity all fucking day for weeks on end.

It’s wrong. Viktor should be falling over himself to thank him. He should’ve woken up and seen Jayce – his ever faithful, unyielding Jayce – and fucking crawled to him in reverence, promising he’ll make this up to him for the rest of their lives, pleading for some way to pay him back.

Maybe Jayce should’ve seen this coming. Nobody is in their right mind when they’ve just come back from the dead. It’s unfortunate that Jayce wasn’t really thinking straight either. If he’d had some foresight, he could’ve barricaded the lab doors and kept Viktor safe from his own whims while he calmed down.

He can’t change the past. But he can do better in the future.

Jayce will find him, and he’ll talk some sense into him. He’s sure that Viktor will see reason. He’s anything but stupid, after all. He’ll understand that he fucked up, and he’ll grovel at Jayce’s feet, and offer to do whatever he has to do to earn Jayce’s forgiveness. Jayce won’t demand anything from him, of course. He won’t have to. Once Viktor is thinking clearly, everything Jayce could ever want from him will be something he’s freely offering to provide.

He just needs to keep looking. Viktor cannot hide forever.

———

Annoyingly, when Jayce finds him, it’s almost completely by accident.

There’s a burst water main on a street corner, flooding the road he was meant to be following, and he decides to turn down a side path rather than trying to wade through the rapidly forming puddle. He’s got enough on his plate without having wet feet as well.

He’s already in the shittiest part of town, but the back alleys are even worse than the main streets. The air is thick and unpleasant, the path chipped and rough and covered with stinking piles of litter, and Jayce feels less clean just from having walked along it. He’s scraping the barrel, looking here. It’s a last resort, the kind of area that no self-respecting person would ever willingly go, home only to addicts and the destitute and criminals on the run.

The wretched and the desperate. The people that Viktor always wanted to help the most. Jayce cared for them too, or at least tried his best to, when he had the capacity to do so. That was before he was forced into becoming so single-focused on his mission to bring Viktor home. Now, they’re just another set of obstacles.

The place is like a labyrinth, the alleyways snaking and endless, and Jayce ends up reaching a large clearing filled with dozens of shabby tents. A dead end. He swears under his breath. Maybe he should’ve taken his chances with the water leak. At least that way he wouldn’t feel like he was advertising himself as a prime candidate for being mugged. It’s shocking that it hasn’t happened already, to be honest. It’s painfully obvious that he’s not from round here. He might as well be wearing a neon sign that flashes the words Rich Piltie! for all to see.

He’s about to turn around and start retracing his steps when he sees something out of the corner of his eye. A glint of gold, standing out like a beacon in the sea of grubby patched canvas. Jayce follows it, tracing it to the back of a hand, wrapped around a marble staff, held by a hooded figure in a navy blue shroud. A figure in a shroud. A partner in a blanket. Jayce’s blanket. Jayce’s partner.

A new surge of anger races through him, his fingernails digging into his palms and leaving white half-moon shaped divots in their wake. So this is where Viktor is – in the worst place Jayce has ever stepped foot in, living in squalor, surrounded by the very dregs of society. It’s an understatement to say that it’s a far cry from the comforts of his academy-provided accommodation in Piltover and the companionship of an intellectual equal. How the mighty have fallen.

He steps forward, out of the shadows, and is instantly greeted by a woman in a simple white dress, untainted by the dirt of the undercity. Her eyes are unnaturally bright as she extends her hand towards Jayce.

‘Welcome. Have you come to be healed?’

‘What?’

She smiles patiently, her face serene. ‘Have you come to be healed by the Herald? He has tremendous powers. He can cure your ailments, mend your injuries–’

‘The Herald?’ Jayce snorts. ‘Is that what he’s calling himself?’

The audacity, after all the times he’s poked fun at Jayce’s so-called ego, to reinvent himself as some kind of prophet. It’s so ridiculous that it’s almost funny. Maybe they’ll laugh about it later, when they’re reminiscing about this whole ordeal. Jayce will have a retort primed and ready to go if his own ego is ever brought up again.

The woman’s tone remains steady. Her expression does not falter. ‘Yes. Now, do you require healing? We do not wish for trouble.’

‘I need to see Viktor.’

‘The Herald is busy healing a follower at the moment. You are welcome to wait.’

Poor deluded fools. Jayce pities them. Viktor is many things, but he isn’t a doctor. Until very recently, Jayce had thought he wasn’t a liar, either. But Viktor has been full of surprises lately.

‘Tell him it’s important. Tell him that his partner–‘ Jayce spits the word, coating it in vitriol. ‘–has come to find him. To take him home.’

The light in the woman’s eyes fades, and she stares at Jayce as if she’s looking straight through him. When she speaks again, her voice is low and monotone, the same way that Viktor’s had been when he first woke up.

‘He does not wish to see you.’

‘You didn’t even fucking speak to him–‘

‘Jayce.’ The woman’s mouth opens, and she speaks with Viktor’s voice, her gaze fixed and unblinking. ‘Leave this place. Go back to Piltover. You do not belong here.’

Jayce moves without thinking, his vision going red, and his fists close around handfuls of fabric as he grasps the front of the woman’s dress and pulls her into him until they’re practically nose to nose.

‘Neither do you. Your place is with me. I’m not leaving without you.’

The woman’s body doesn’t move, not even flinching in response to Jayce’s actions. Viktor sounds almost bored.

‘Do not embarrass yourself in front of my followers, Jayce. I am here for the benefit of the sick and the injured. You are neither. I must tell you again to go home.’

And with that, Viktor leaves the body he’d been inhabiting, releasing it from the grasp of– his soul? His spirit? Jayce doesn’t know the particulars of how Viktor is managing these fucked up mind games. All he knows is that the woman comes back to herself with a jolt, and panic flits across her face for a moment before she regains her composure and gently pushes against Jayce’s shoulder to re-establish a gap between them.

Fine. If Viktor only wants to see the sick and the injured, then that is what Jayce will have to become.

He turns on his heel and storms back down the alleyway behind him, heart pounding in his chest. He doesn’t stop until he’s back at the shitty hostel that he’s been staying at, his shoes leaving a trail of damp footprints from the burst pipe to the front door.

———

When Jayce returns to the clearing the next day, he’s prepared.

The woman in the white dress is minding the entrance again, standing dutifully at her post like some kind of loyal guard dog.

‘He still does not wish to see you.’

‘You said he’s a healer. He heals the injured, right?’

‘That is correct.’

‘Great.’

He curls his fingers around the switchblade inside his pocket and pulls it free. There’s a momentary flash of fear behind the woman’s stoic eyes as the blade springs free from the handle.

Jayce raises it up and brings it to rest against his own neck. The steel is cold against his skin, his pulse hammering against the edge of the blade, his hands trembling dangerously. There’s a buzzing noise in his ears.

‘I require healing, please.’ His own voice sounds like it’s coming from far away, as if his consciousness and his body are in two separate places. As if he’s looking down at himself in a dream.

He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes, preparing to drag the knife across his throat. He braces himself for the pain, the rush of air from his lungs, the warm wet flow of blood that will seep down into his shirt. He hopes that Viktor is watching. Maybe he can hear Jayce’s thoughts as well. Maybe he’ll finally understand what he’s done to him.

Look what you made me do. Why did you have to make it this difficult? What’s wrong with you?

Jayce sets his jaw, tightens his grip on the knife’s handle, then–

‘Jayce.’ Viktor’s voice is loud and strained. It’s the most emotion Jayce has heard from him since he came out of the coma, and he can’t help the sick, satisfied grin that spreads across his face in response. Good. I hope I fucking scared you. ‘Stop this. Bring him to me.’

When Jayce opens his eyes again, the woman in front of him motions for him to follow her, her face set in the same peaceful expression it always seems to wear. There’s something uncanny about it that makes Jayce’s skin crawl. Nothing about this place is as it should be. The sooner he gets out of here with Viktor, the better.

He follows her through the maze of tents. Eventually, she leads him to the very back of the clearing and into a small area with a tent of its own, a workbench, piles of materials. It’s separated from the rest of the camp by a wide curtain. The Herald enjoys his privacy, apparently. When the woman holds the curtain open for Jayce to pass through, she is careful to keep facing away, never letting herself see what lies beyond it. Jayce wonders if she knows that Viktor’s ‘quarters’ are just as rudimentary as everybody else’s, or whether she imagines him living in opulence and luxury.

Maybe she doesn’t have an opinion either way. Jayce is beginning to suspect that she doesn’t do a lot of thinking for herself. He doesn’t know what Viktor has done to these people, but he doesn’t like it.

As soon as Jayce crosses the threshold, the curtain closes again, and Viktor slowly steps out of his tent. He’s fashioned Jayce’s blanket into a garment, a cross between a robe and a cloak. It hangs loosely over his body, rippling in the gentle breeze. Jayce wants to tear it off him and drag him back to Piltover without it. Let everybody to see what he’s fucking done. He wrapped Viktor in that robe out of love for his partner, not as a farewell gift for Viktor to take with him when he decided he was bored of having Jayce in his life.

Viktor looks at him with dull eyes, his face blank. He has the audacity to seem fucking inconvenienced , wearing the infuriating expression he so often uses when he thinks that Jayce is being dramatic for no good reason, as if he didn’t just derail Jayce’s entire life for the sake of lying down in the dust and harvesting affection from these fucking nobodies.

He makes a show of lowering his hood to reveal his whole face, and Jayce has to resist the urge to roll his eyes. So many fucking theatrics, as if Viktor thinks the whole world exists just revolves around him. The Herald. No wonder it was so easy to toss Jayce aside, if he’s nothing more than a stage prop for the great epic play that is Viktor’s life.

‘Why are you here, Jayce?’

‘Why are you here, Viktor? Who are these people? What are you doing to them?’ He leaves his final question unspoken. What do they give you that I can’t?

‘It is as I said. Our paths have diverged.’

‘You’re my p–‘

‘No, Jayce.’ The only outward sign of Viktor’s agitation is his hand tightening on his cane, knuckles silvery-pale beneath the purple hue of his skin. ‘I’m not your anything. I am not yours. I never was.’

‘You don’t get to make that fucking decision. You’re alive because of me. I brought you back to be with me. I did it to get my partner back. If I’d known you were going to throw it all back in my face, I–‘

Something seems to snap inside of Viktor, then, and he lunges into Jayce’s space, faster than Jayce ever saw him move before the attack on the council chamber. His eyes are dark, almost dangerous.

‘What? What would you have done, Jayce?’ He’s close enough that Jayce can feel Viktor’s breath against his lips as he spits the words. ‘Left me for dead? Like you were supposed to? Like I wish you had?’

A tiny muscle twitches at the corner of Jayce’s eye. His mouth is dry.

‘Fuck you.’

‘No, fuck you, Jayce–’

Jayce cuts him off with a hand around his throat, squeezing more than he should but nowhere near as much as he’d like to.

‘You should be fucking grateful.’

Black shapes swirl in Viktor’s irises like vapour on the wind.

‘Grateful. Hah. Grateful for what?’ Viktor’s throat hums against the heel of Jayce’s hand as he forces the words out. ‘For having you take all of the credit for work that was mostly mine? For the opportunity to spend all my waking hours in that fucking lab while you were busy shaking hands and kissing babies? For the privilege of talking you off that ledge when you were about to throw everything away at the first setback?’

Jayce’s hand tightens around Viktor’s neck, his pulse fluttering against Jayce’s fingertips, and he shoves him backwards into the wall. Viktor’s head slams against the bricks, making a sickening sound that turns Jayce’s stomach, but Viktor shows no sign of being hurt. He just smiles. It’s a horrible smile, dark and twisted and disturbing, and Jayce hates him. He hates him more than he ever thought it possible to hate anyone, and the feeling almost makes him vomit, because the nigh-unrecognisable man in front of him is still Viktor , still his partner, still his love.

‘You’d be absolutely nothing without me.’ Jayce hisses. It’s only when he tastes wet salt on his lips that he realises he’s crying, hot angry tears rolling down his cheeks and splashing onto the concrete below them. His heart feels like it’s breaking inside his chest.

They are so far away from the men that they were when they sat side by side in the council chamber and fought for Zaun’s independence. When they achieved the impossible time and time again in their lab. When they floated in the air together on the day they became the inventors of real magic.

Viktor says nothing. Jayce’s grip becomes tighter still.

‘You should be on your fucking knees, thanking me for everything I’ve given you.’

‘Oh, should I?’ Viktor’s voice is strained from the force on his neck, but he still manages to sound mocking, words dripping with feigned surprise. His eyes are half-lidded, his gaze flicking from Jayce’s eyes down to his lips and back up again. ‘Then fucking put me there, Councillor.’

Jayce understands, then. This is for both of them, and the ten years of pent up resentment that they have for each other. He’s going to fuck Viktor for leaving, for dying, for never appreciating him, for letting the Hexcore gain such a hold on him. And Viktor is going to fuck him back, for tracking him down, for saving his life, for joining the council, for breaking his promises to destroy the Hexcore and to keep Hextech away from weaponry, for being Piltovian in the first place.

When it’s all spelled out like that, Viktor’s case is much more convincing than Jayce’s is. The guilt returns with a vengeance, rising like bile in Jayce’s throat, the acidic taste bringing fresh tears to prickle at the backs of his eyes. For a moment he wants to release his hold on Viktor’s neck and pull him into a hug, sob against his shoulder, cling to him and tell him he’s so, so fucking sorry.

And then he swallows it back down and it dissipates altogether, because the next thing out of Viktor’s mouth is a snide ‘or are you still too much of a pathetic fucking coward?’

Fine. If Viktor wants to be put on his knees, then Jayce will fucking oblige.

He uses his hold on Viktor's neck to throw him to the floor, with no consideration for the speed at which his knees smack against the ground or the way the wall scrapes his shoulders on the way. Jayce’s other hand finds Viktor’s jaw, squeezing at the hinge to pry his mouth open so he can pull his cock out of his trousers and feed it between Viktor’s lips.

He’s hard. Fuck knows when he got hard. In hindsight, it’s probably when Viktor closed the gap between them and practically squared up to him. Maybe this has been a long time coming.

Jayce thrusts forward roughly, bottoming out straight away, the head of his cock nestled in the back of Viktor’s throat. He waits for him to tap out or gag or cough around him, anything to signify that Jayce has won, but Viktor stays resolute, taking the full length of his cock without complaint even when his eyes begin to water. It just gives Jayce another thing to be angry about, another reason to punish him, because who the fuck has taught him to take a dick down his throat like this? He knows that Viktor has never been in a relationship, not for the entire time they’ve known each other. Part of him had wondered if Viktor was simply not interested in sex at all. Is this what he was really doing every time he sneaked away from the lab and didn’t tell anybody where he was going? Whoring himself out to whoever would take him? Was he coming back and lecturing Jayce on the errors in his equations with his knees still aching and his throat still raw and the taste of another man’s come still lingering on his tongue?

Jayce rocks his hips a couple of times, only to pull away and grab a fistful of Viktor’s hair in retaliation when he feels the sharp edge of a tooth against his dick. A sick smile twists the corners of Viktor’s mouth, but Jayce is not in the mood for these fucking games. He hauls him back onto his feet, forcing his knee between Viktor’s thighs, kicking his boots against Viktor’s bare ankles to force his legs apart. When he reaches between them, he finds that Viktor is just as warm and wet as he’d imagined him to be.

‘This how fucking wet you get from sucking cock in these disgusting back alleys?’

He resists the urge to call Viktor a slut. For some reason, that feels like a line he can’t cross. He’d like to think it’s because he still has some morality left, but the fact that he’s just interrupted their argument by forcing his cock into Viktor’s mouth would suggest otherwise. No, the real reason is that he doesn’t want to speak it into reality. He’s already struggling to rid his mind of the thought of Viktor on his knees with hollowed cheeks, Viktor bent over with rough hands grasping his hips, Viktor laughing with his parade of lovers about how awful it is that he’s trapped with that stuck-up Piltie councillor all the time. Jayce already wants to find every person who has ever been inside him, tasted him, even fucking looked at him, and beat them until his hands hurt. He wants to hold onto Viktor so tightly that his skin ends up branded with Jayce’s fingerprints, displaying that he is owned, that he belongs to someone.

‘Hah. Yes, it is, it always was, Jayce, so many times and none of them were ever yours–’

The line evaporates, and takes all of Jayce’s restraint with it.

‘Filthy fucking slut.’

A strangled moan escapes Viktor’s throat from underneath Jayce’s hand. Maybe Viktor gets off on the degradation, or maybe it’s the two fingers that Jayce shoves inside him with barely any resistance as he hisses the insult through gritted teeth. He finally releases his hold on Viktor’s throat, sick pleasure rising in his abdomen when he hears the gasp of breath that Viktor takes to refill his lungs. It gives Jayce access to bite at Viktor’s pulse point as he curls his fingers inside him, moving at a punishing pace, his free hand sliding up Viktor’s thigh to help him hook his leg around Jayce’s waist.

He looks debauched already, head tipped back against the wall as he grinds his hips against Jayce’s hand, makeshift robe hiked up around his thighs and hanging off one shoulder. The sounds he’s making are downright indecent as well. He cries out every time Jayce sucks a bruising kiss into the skin on his neck – can Viktor still bruise? Jayce certainly intends to find out – and surely everybody on the other side of the curtain can hear them, can hear the wet noise of Jayce’s fingers defiling their Herald, can hear just how much he fucking loves it.

Jayce wonders how many of them have fucked him. Maybe they all already know what it sounds like when Viktor comes, and they’ve felt his cunt tightening around them like Jayce can right now. Did he get this wet for them? Did he let them try to leave marks on his neck, claim him as theirs? Or did he make them submit to him, let him use them for his pleasure and deny them any of their own? Was it intimate, two lovers touching foreheads as they gasp into each other’s mouths? Or was it regimented, efficient, a production line of naked bodies each waiting for their turn?

‘How many of them have you fucked?’

‘My followers?’

‘How many? Or have you lost count?’

The laugh that Viktor lets out is bitter and short, cut off by another moan when Jayce’s thumb brushes against his cock. ‘So preoccupied with who I’ve fucked, for a man who has never fucked me himself.’

Jayce responds by adding a third finger, and Viktor whines into his shoulder at the stretch.

‘Answer the question.’

‘Which answer do you want, Jayce? None of them? All of them? Believe what you like. It changes nothing.’ Viktor speeds up the roll of his hips, practically riding Jayce’s hand. ‘I’m sure plenty of them would be happy to fuck me, if you’re not capable.’

The remark pours salt on an already stinging wound, a reminder of how disposable he considers Jayce to be. So unremarkable, so easy to replace. So forgettable.

Jayce won’t let himself be forgotten. Bruises are already blooming on Viktor’s neck. Good. Jayce hopes his whole throat will blossom into shades of purple by the morning, fingerprints and hickeys and bites blurring together to paint a beautiful collar beneath Viktor’s skin, one created by Jayce’s hands and teeth and tongue. He hopes it never fucking heals.

It’s still not enough. He needs Viktor to feel him with every step, every breath. He needs to carve his presence into Viktor’s bones.

He withdraws his fingers completely, eliciting a high-pitched whine as Viktor clenches around nothing, then lifts him by the waist and spears him on his cock, sinking his entire length inside him in one smooth movement. He doesn’t give Viktor time to adjust, or wait for him to set the pace. Viktor hasn’t fucking earned the right. Jayce is simply going to take what he wants.

He barely has to move his hips, opting instead to move Viktor up and down on his cock as if he weighs nothing, as if he’s no more than a toy. Viktor’s fingers tangle in his hair and pull , tilting Jayce’s head up to force him to look him in the eye, and Jayce retaliates by moving faster, thrusting upwards every time he lowers Viktor onto his cock, moving at a brutal pace.

‘Fuck…fuck, Jayce…please…’

Viktor sounds almost incoherent, his voice plaintive and pleading. For the first time since he stepped foot in here, Viktor is saying Jayce’s name like a prayer rather than a curse, and it feels like a vice around Jayce’s chest. He can’t stand it. He’s too angry for softness from Viktor, especially softness that he’s had to literally fuck out of him. Viktor walked out. He told Jayce to return to Piltover without even meeting him face to face. He doesn’t get to say Jayce’s name like that just because he spread his legs and goaded Jayce into a dirty fuck in the most miserable part of the undercity. He doesn’t get to use the voice that makes Jayce feel all warm and fond inside, that lowers his guard, that makes him want to pull Viktor into his arms and whisper beautiful words into his hair.

Jayce props Viktor against the wall, using it to support some of his weight, and brings one hand up to roughly shove his fingers into Viktor’s mouth, pumping them in time with his thrusts, feeling his throat open up the same way it had for Jayce’s cock. Viktor moans around them like the whore that he is, sucking at the taste of himself, a trail of spit dripping from his chin onto Jayce’s blanket.

Then Jayce lifts Viktor up again, and stops, the head of his cock barely nudging against Viktor’s slick folds. He presses harder against the back of Viktor’s tongue, spreading his fingers to stuff his mouth full, his gaze fixed on Viktor’s face.

And then he waits. Viktor writhes in his arms, hips jerking, and Jayce stands steadfast, staring him down, refusing to move even as Viktor’s eyes water and his nostrils flare. He doesn’t respond to the graze of Viktor’s teeth against his knuckles, or the heel of Viktor’s foot in the small of his back, or the pain in his scalp when Viktor tugs at two handfuls of his hair. He simply waits, just like he waited all those weeks for Viktor to wake up, just like he’s waited an age to find him again here.

He only pulls back when Viktor wraps both hands around Jayce’s neck and squeezes hard enough to make Jayce’s vision blur at the edges, his thumbs bearing down against Jayce’s windpipe. As soon as he’s free to breathe again, Viktor releases his hold on Jayce’s throat, and they gasp for breath in tandem, faces flushed and tear-streaked.

Jayce thrusts up into Viktor’s cunt again before they fully get the chance to catch their breath, lights flaring behind his eyelids.

‘Say that you’re mine.’ he gasps, still breathless. ‘Say it.’

Viktor laughs, and it’s his iconic, beautiful, genuine laugh that only comes out when he finds something truly amusing. It’s a jarring sound to hear in these circumstances, while Jayce’s cock is buried to the hilt inside him and they’re both slightly delirious from cutting off each other’s oxygen. It makes Jayce want to shut him up again.

Viktor places his palm against the warmth of Jayce’s cheek, and a shiver runs down the length of Jayce’s spine.

‘No, Jayce. I’m not yours. You are mine. You’ve proven that today.’

Viktor dips his head and presses their lips together, a long, languid kiss, his tongue moving lazily inside Jayce’s mouth.

It’s their first kiss. It’s nothing like the first kiss that Jayce had imagined over and over again while he waited for Viktor to wake up.

‘I fucking own you, Jayce.’

Yes, you own me. Please own me. Keep me. Don’t make me go back there alone. I can be yours, if you will be mine. I just want my partner back.

Jayce falls apart, coming deep inside Viktor’s cunt with a shout that reverberates off the walls in the alleyway, his arms tightening around Viktor’s waist for fear that he’ll drop him as he shivers through his orgasm. As soon as he’s steady on his feet again, he presses his hand between them, fingertips searching for Viktor’s cock, and within seconds he’s coming too, clenching around Jayce like a vice.

Jayce lowers Viktor to the ground, setting him gently on his feet, then turns and slumps to the floor with his back against the wall. They’re not tangled together in the centre of a big bed, like Jayce had imagined they would be after their first time together. They’re sat in the dirt, quiet, disheveled. They’re only separated by a few feet, but the gap between them feels like a chasm.

The adrenaline coursing through Jayce’s veins suddenly turns to ice water. Every instinct in his body is telling him to curl up into a ball and hide, his brain screaming wrong, wrong, wrong over and over again.

‘I hate you.’ he murmurs. It’s pathetic. Childish. The voice a kid uses when they’re telling their parent they hate them because they don’t want to eat their vegetables.

It’s a lie.

‘No you don’t.’

No, I don’t. Jayce doesn’t even protest. He scrubs at his face with his fist, trying to stem the fresh flow of tears, his knees drawn up to his chest.

‘I can’t go back, V. Not without you.’

He doesn’t raise his head to see whether Viktor is looking at him.

‘I have work to do, here. And you have work to do up there.’

The words are gentle, this time, rather than dismissive. Jayce can’t tell if Viktor cares for him or pities him. It’s probably a bit of both.

‘I don’t care anymore. I just want to be where you are.’ He’d give up all that he has, as long as he got to keep the most important thing. ‘If you won’t come back with me, then let me stay with you. Just…don’t make me be on my own. Please.’

There’s a pause, and Jayce wonders if Viktor intends to make him beg, even after all that’s happened. His eyes fill with a fresh wave of tears, blurring the sight of the ground in front of him.

It startles him slightly when Viktor reaches for his hand. He wasn’t expecting the contact, and it takes him by surprise. But then Viktor entwines their fingers together, squeezing gently, rubbing his thumb against Jayce’s knuckles, and his head feels clearer than it has in weeks. He can breathe again. He can see straight.

‘Okay.’ Viktor shuffles closer and lowers his head to rest it against Jayce’s shoulder. The warm weight of it is comforting. Jayce can smell his hair when he breathes in. ‘Partners, then.’

Jayce squeezes Viktor’s hand in return, his grip a little too tight. He never wants to let go. He never wants to lose him again. The relief that floods through him is indescribable, like nothing he’s ever felt before. The sensation of taking his first breath after Viktor stopped cutting off his air supply couldn’t hold a candle to it.

He needs Viktor more than anything else in the world. He tilts his own head to rest on top of Viktor’s, linking their bodies together as well as their hands.

‘Partners.’