THREE HUNDRED AND TEN WEEKS BEFORE
Viktor stood with his extended hand still holding Jayce’s bracelet, holding his breath. This was a first: the first time Viktor saw someone whose grand ideas rivaled his own. Apprehension filled him but his curiosity was greater. Who was Jayce Talis? How did he come to be so convinced of the existence of the Arcane? Why was Heimerdinger so adamant that his research was dangerous? He needed answers and the only way to get them was this man.
When Jayce grabbed the bracelet, his fingers lingered on his palm for a moment and they locked eyes. Viktor felt something at the pit of his stomach and cursed his luck. Of fucking course, he thought. One look at Jayce’s face and he knew this was his worst idea to date.
It was the moment Jayce’s calculations were laid out and Viktor saw the extent of their discovery. Jayce’s research changed everything. He would risk his position in the Academy, he would risk exile for this Hextech dream of his. Our Hextech dream, Jayce said.
It was the moment they broke into Professor Heimerdinger’s lab, when Jayce stood his ground in front of Councilor Medarda and got them a night to prove themselves.
It was the moment Jayce cranked the power and the crystal exploded in blue light and static, both of them hovering above the room with identic, excited smiles.
One day, he was looking at a smart man with an interesting dream, the next day he was looking at a man he would’ve followed to the ends of the Earth.
And so, their friendship grew from sleepless nights trying to figure out Hextech to sleepless nights talking about anything and everything under the sun. It crept in slowly like the morning sun the first day of spring, like the notes of a lullaby he remembered from his childhood.
It was Jayce and Viktor laying down on the couch stealing bites of each other’s meals, puzzling over the mechanics of the Hexgates, it was Jayce’s hand brushing Viktor’s hair away as he leaned over his notes, it was Viktor catching Jayce staring, a small smile playing on his lips.
It was a thousand breaths held, a thousand looks exchanged, a thousand barely-there touches, that their kiss years later felt like the most natural thing in the world. The only possible way ahead: as inevitable as death.
And when Jayce does follow him to his bedroom —and their limbs tangle in the sheets, and their starved lips crash, and Jayce moans Viktor’s name as he arches his back— they fall head first into it, as natural as breathing.
ONE HUNDRED AND FORTY-NINE WEEKS BEFORE
Jayce’s name only became bigger as the years passed. The inauguration of the Hexgates was only the beginning.
There were meetings to attend, people to rub elbows with, councilors to charm and Viktor simply didn’t have the energy to do it. He didn’t mind letting Jayce be the face of Piltover’s progress if it meant Jayce still came back to him every night. He didn’t mind the nights stolen by the late Council meetings or the whispered rumors about Jayce and other girls, sometimes even about the two of them.
What mattered was this: Jayce got home after a party one night, took off his clothes and laid next to Viktor, huddling closer for warmth, his nose buried at the nape of his neck. He didn’t leave the bed the rest of the weekend.
What mattered was this: Viktor could catch Jayce’s eyes no matter how far apart in a room they were and a long conversation would be had without a single word spoken.
What mattered was this: at the end of a dinner both of them had to attend, Viktor leaned on him, only half-faking his tiredness and Jayce immediately put on his bright smile and excused them both. There was always a matter to attend at the labs, he said. People understood and apologized for taking so much of his time. People loved him even if —maybe specially because— they didn’t know the half of it.
THIRTEEN WEEKS BEFORE
Councilor Medarda was smart and beautiful, Jayce always knew that, so it was not a surprise for him to find himself looking at her. He took pleasure in looking a Viktor every day, why would this be any different?
It was different because Mel was intimidating, a force to be reckoned with, and crossing her could move the Earth of its axis.
It was different because Mel was not Viktor, she didn’t have a spot in his bed, she didn’t wake him up with a soft kiss on his temple, she didn’t hold Jayce when he was crumbling under the weight of his own expectations.
It was different because while Jayce looked, Mel was looking back and whatever she saw was enough to wake her curiosity.
A questioning eyebrow became a summons to her office became a casual touch on his arm became invitations to attend events with merchants and councilors. Jayce always had a place to be as the 200th Progress Day anniversary approached: Mel Medarda was more often than not also present. If he caught her staring with a pensive look on her face every once in a while, that didn’t mean anything, right?
“You know, she’s using you to get on people’s good side,” Viktor mentioned one night, as if talking about the weather.
“Mel is on the people’s good side already.”
“Mel?” Viktor raised an eyebrow as he looked up from his notes. He was wearing one of Jayce’s old t-shirts, a little too big on his narrow frame, and his disheveled hair made him look so beautiful it took his breath away.
Jayce waved his hand in the air, unbuttoning the cuff of his shirt in front of the mirror. “It’s not like we met her yesterday.”
“I was just wondering—“
Jayce turned around when Viktor didn’t continue, he was frowning at something in his journal, tapping his pen lightly against the pages. “What is it?”
“The Hexcore. I think I know how to make it work.”
“I thought we went over this already, Vik. We should focus on the Atlas Gauntlets and the Hexclaw for now, we have proof they work. The Hexcore is just an idea right now”
Viktor sighed and closed his journal, stood up without his cane and limped to the bed under Jayce’s watchful eye. He felt as if Viktor had aged years without him noticing, the circles under his eyes the darkest they’ve been in a long time. With a grunt, he got into bed, turned off the lamp and rested his head under his right arm, staring at the ceiling.
“I thought I’d make it. I thought this was it, my legacy.”
Stripping of his pants, Jayce got into bed and looked at Viktor, taking in the tired look on his face, his sickly pallor, the brittle hair curling behind his ears. He was so beautiful, Jayce sometimes forgot the toll his years in Zaun still took on him.
“Did something happen?” his hand hovered above Viktor’s arm, looking at his face for permission. Viktor gave a short nod and Jayce let his fingertips lightly trace patterns on his partner’s arm.
“I lived in Zaun my whole childhood, Jayce. Things are just going to get worse.”
“Are you in pain now?” his brow furrowed; Jayce would do anything to spare Viktor any pain.
“Just the normal amount.”
“The normal amount is zero, Viktor.” His heart thumped inside his ribcage; worry shot through every nerve ending.
Not yet, he prayed naively.
“Do you need to go to the hospital?”
“I don’t want to go on stage tomorrow,” he replied instead, finally turning to look at him. His warm eyes were half-closed, his lips were just shy of a smile. He was so beautiful, Jayce would’ve done anything for him. “No one wants to see me anyway. You’re the Man of Progress, love.”
Jayce lightheartedly flicked his arm, glad for the darkness of the room for hiding his blush at Viktor’s teasing words. “Fine.”
“Just don’t forget to show the fortified Hextech crystals when—”
“I know, I know. You don’t have to remind me.” Jayce huddled closer to him, wrapping an arm around his waist. “Can we sleep now? Big day tomorrow.”
He rested his head on Viktor’s chest and smiled when he felt cracked lips brush his temple once, twice, three times. Jayce listened to the steady beat of Viktor’s heart and breathed a sigh of relief.
Not yet, he prayed hopefully.
Jayce would’ve done anything for this man.
When Jayce got on the stage, he faltered.
When Jayce didn’t mention their new inventions, Mel stood up and left the ceremony.
When Jayce went backstage again, Viktor was gone and Jayce’s heart didn’t beat properly again until he saw him later that night.
Viktor didn’t say anything about Progress Day, but he shut his journal with more force than necessary when Jayce entered the room. He was staring out the window, completely motionless, stunning under the moonlight.
“One of the gemstones was stolen,” Jayce said.
“I heard.”
“I suggested they should close all Hextech operations for the time being.”
“The merchants are not going to like it. Several members of the council will disagree as well.” Jace examined Viktor’s profile carefully, scared this might be the last time he would have the chance.
“I will speak to them tomorrow. Mel thinks this is the right thing to do.”
“Well, if Mel thinks.” Jayce heard the slight hint of mockery behind his calm demeanor.
“Come on, Vik.”
“Did she ask you to follow Heimerdinger’s lead? What’s her plan then? She wants the research for herself?” Viktor turned to him with a cold stare. “Is she— She wants the gauntlets to go after the person who stole the gemstone? Is that it?”
“That’s not it! She’s not whatever you’ve made up your mind she’s supposed to be. Mel truly believes in progress and—”
“Oh, sure, she does. So, she’s not trying to get you to play politician? Not taking you out on lunches with Amara to talk about the Academy’s future? Isn’t she taking you out to see Hoskel for dinner?”
“What the fuck are you talking about, Viktor?”
Viktor looked exhausted, and Jayce hated himself for pressing, but he needed to know. There was an angry blush blossoming in his face and Jayce didn’t need to push harder for an answer. “Do you think I don’t hear what people say?”
He raised his eyebrows as something clicked; he almost laughed at the prospect. “You’re jealous of Mel?”
“Wouldn’t you be?” With half of his face lit by the moon, Viktor looked like an old oil painting. Jayce’s heart ached to see his warm golden eyes again, to see if he was serious or this was his typical teasing. However, Viktor’s voice didn’t waver, as terrible as an exile verdict.
“No, because I trust you.” His words dripped bitter honesty.
Viktor turned around then, holding his gaze. “What happened to the announcement? Our project?”
“Professor Heimerdinger—”
“There it is again. You will listen to anyone before you listen to me.”
That was a lie. That was a terrible lie and Viktor couldn’t possibly believe it, could he? Viktor was a smart man, he had to know this was a lie.
“Do you really think that?” His voice cracked towards the end, unable to hide his hurt.
Instead of answering, Viktor asked him to leave under the guise of needing to rest. Jayce would’ve done anything for this man, so he did.
By the next evening, Jayce was appointed Councilor and put in charge of supervising the Hexgates. He was given access to confidential documents and a stamp to go with it. This was not something he wished for himself: he wanted to work on their projects, he wanted to take Hextech to the next level. However, that required the support of the Council and with a missing gemstone, the Hextech labs would never see peace.
That night when he got to their apartment, he had convinced himself it was the right thing to do. Viktor would understand. He was a scientist, a visionary above all. Jayce got no answer as he called for his partner: Viktor and all of his things were long gone.
In the weeks that followed, Jayce found himself trapped in countless council meetings, late nights reading shipping manifestos and his own thoughts about Viktor. He found reasons to go to their lab and linger on theories about the explosions seen in Piltover, about the discrepancies in Hexgate records, anything to get him to talk, but Viktor worked in silence, only occasionally chipping in with a comment or two.
It hurt in the mornings he woke up alone, the empty stretch of bed to his right a stark reminder of what was lost. It hurt every time Viktor avoided his gaze in the corridors of the Academy. It hurt when he tried to sleep at night but all he could do was stare at the ceiling in silence.
Viktor was right: many people didn’t take kindly on Jayce’s new restrictions and weeks without making a profit made the merchants restless. Jayce felt eyes on his back at all times and it was starting to get on his nerves. He didn’t want to panic, but there was nothing like living with a sword hanging over his head. The only relief from prying eyes was Mel’s steady gaze across a room, a glint in her eyes and lips pressed in a thoughtful line.
Sometimes, Jayce imagined what it would feel like to be touched by her. Fleeting thoughts followed by a pang of sorrow when he remembered what he’d lost, whose touch he missed every single day. He still rotated those thoughts of Mel in his mind until they no longer held any distinct shape: never completely forgotten, just wrapped in layers of confusion and denial.
In the brief moments they spoke, Mel agreed with his concerns and eventually decided to take him with her to some functions to regain the merchants’ trust. She smiled when he let his charm smooth over the cracks from his previous missteps, gave him the necessary openings and Jayce swooped in, promising all sort of things he couldn’t care less about.
It was heady, being around Mel’s orbit: she pushed and pulled and weaved the energy in the room, she molded opportunities out of the rubble and Jayce couldn’t stop watching. He was probably not the only one, she was a star and everyone in the room responded to her gravity alone. Jayce stood straighter when he noticed Mel’s eyes were looking at him attentively, a wicked smile on her face.
Smile or not, Jayce was shocked when her lips crashed his, hungry, every touch more desperate than the last. For an idle second, he let himself wonder: when did he stop looking and started longing? Desire coursed through him with ferocity, unfit of a one-night stand, the culmination of a yearning buried deep inside his bones.
He lost himself under the press of her hands, under her sweet mouth, under her beautiful body barely illuminated by the moonlight. He lost his voice between her legs, he lost his mind with her smooth skin around him, he lost his breath under the kisses he left on her jawline.
He came undone with a moan on his lips, arching his back into her, his hand gripping her hips tightly.
When she held him for the first time, Jayce felt nothing was impossible. Space realigned around her. She was a star and Jayce fell into her orbit as easy as breathing.
Jayce woke up before dawn with a nagging feeling in the corner of his mind, sweat still cooling on his skin. Mel’s room was much bigger than his and he immediately felt a stranger. He dislodged from her embrace carefully and got dressed in the dark to avoid waking her up.
He walked the cobbled streets to his own apartment —the one he’d seen more in the last month than in the three years before it—, his mind reeling. There wasn’t enough space in his mind for the thoughts that followed the unnamed feelings in his chest.
Jayce found a letter written in official stationery from the Academy taped to his door and he felt dizzy.
Viktor?
Once he read the letter, he all but ran to the hospital.
Not yet, he insisted.
Viktor opened his eyes and relief, overwhelming relief coursed through Jayce. He didn’t get a minute to enjoy it when Viktor’s hoarse voice called his name. He stammered his way into an explanation but it wasn’t necessary.
“How much time do I have?” his resignation made Jayce angry. He wanted Viktor to fight harder, to fight longer. If Viktor left, then what would be of their dream?
“We’ll fix this.” Jayce insisted. If Viktor left, would there be anyone to keep their vision alive? Surely, there would be. They couldn’t expect Jayce to shoulder that weight by himself.
Viktor closed his eyes and seemed to sink deeper into the sheets of his hospital bed, his shallow breathing was warning: their time was running out. If Viktor left, what would become of Jayce?
Not yet, he begged, heart-strings tight inside his ribcage.
Jayce would’ve done anything for this man: he’d believe in God long enough to strike a deal to save him, to swap their places. No questions asked, no hesitation. If it saved Viktor, Jayce would do anything.
SEVEN WEEKS BEFORE
If Mel Medarda was anything, it was careful. Every single one of her actions during the day had been thought of twice before execution, a necessity borne of her exile status. Just a slip was all it took and she could lose all she’d been fighting for years, so Mel was surprised at how often her thoughts strayed to Jayce.
As the face of Piltover’s recent prosperity, Jayce was the most convenient of the Hextech scientists to lure to her side. Viktor was too surly for the public’s taste and he was from the undercity; even if he weren’t sick, he’d be terrible publicity for her. Mel would lie if she said she hadn’t considered it anyway, intrigued by the intensity she saw glimpses of behind Jayce’s eclipsing shadow.
Jayce was convenient but he was dangerous: Mel’s heart would beat a bit faster if she caught Jayce looking at her. She knew his eyes would often follow her around the room and she basked in the appreciative smile he usually had on his face.
Jayce Talis was convenient, sure, but he had the potential to wreak havoc in her plans, so Mel waited. She waited until she was sure his usefulness outweighed the risks, Mel waited until he was placed in the appropriate place for her to reap the fruit she sowed slowly over the years.
Mel didn’t do anything without thinking about it twice, three times, yet when she kissed Jayce the only thought in her mind was: it’s just a taste, nothing more.
Jayce’s lips tasted of expensive wine and honeyed words, whispered sweet nothings that made her skin tingle in anticipation. His strong hands rested on her hips and her careful mind slipped: she sucked bruises along Jayce’s jaw, his tongue slipped into her mouth easily as Mel parted her lips, her nails scratched the nape of his neck. There was a hunger inside her, borne of waiting too long: endurance hunting had its disadvantages after all.
Mel Medarda was nothing if not careful, yet she crashed head first into him. She lost herself between soft sheets and tender touches, unraveled under his weight, exhaling his name like a prayer.
She held him in the afterglow, her fingertips brushing his muscled arm in lazy circles. Jayce mumbled something in his sleep and Mel’s heart skipped a beat.
Just a slip was all it took.
Mel woke up alone on her bed and it stung, a venomous bite, raw in the aftermath. She cursed her traitorous body once —there was no need for more—, got in the shower and took a long time getting ready for the day: lathering her body in lotion and scented oils, wrapping her frame in a crisp white dress, an armor made of Noxian textiles and golden jewelry.
Her first meeting wouldn’t be for another two hours and her canvas awaited. Mel prepared her pigments carefully, with the dexterity of someone who’d done so a thousand times before and would do it a thousand times again. The palette knife felt cold in her hand, but its familiar weight grounded her to the present.
She couldn’t remember her previous slip, Mel was so cautious all the time that anything less than thoughtful action was a sort of blasphemy. Her breakfast sat heavy in her stomach, the tension a cruel reminder of her mistake the night before.
Pigments came alive under her hand, her mind drifting all the way to Noxus, her mother’s voice an echo of what it once was. She hated being right: Jayce Talis was convenient, but he was the worst inconvenience she’d encountered so far. He’d clawed his way in without her permission and made a home between her ribs. It was sickening.
“I didn't know you were an artist.” Jayce voice startled her out of her thoughts, but her hand stayed firm as she spread the red paint with a little more violence than the stroke required.
“Hm. There's quite a lot about me you don't know.”
There was an uncomfortable silence as Jayce shifted behind her. Pride stopped her from saying anything, she’d rather stand the strained quiet than slip again.
“Listen, I'm sorry for disappearing last night.”
Mel lightly mixed some paint and spread it in a fluid movement over her scene. “Duty calls.”
The air felt thick around them, enough to choke, but Mel refused to slip again.
“Viktor's dying.” Her arm paused mid-stroke at Jayce’s somber voice. She put her palette aside and turned to him as he sat on the floor. “I think it has something to do with gasses in the fissures where he grew up. Exactly the sort of thing we wanted to fix with Hextech.”
She sat next to him and watched him carefully: this Jayce Talis was unknown, pure emotion barely held together at the seams. Mel was fascinated by the passion of his words.
“Improving lives. Solving real issues, not just trade disputes.” Jayce’s fingers traced his bracelet, the one Mel considered a permanent fixture in his wrist, and her curiosity peaked. “Viktor saved my life once. Now, he needs me and there's nothing I can do. I hate feeling so useless.”
It clicked then, the depth of his words, the emotion he wanted to push down. It tugged at her chest uncomfortably with the certainty that whatever Jayce and Viktor had, it was beyond a simple lab partnership.
“I didn't realize you were so close.” Testing, testing. Her words tasted wrong in her mouth, her thoughts sour in her mind. This was not any test; this was an opening, an offer to share the load.
“I can’t do this without him,” Jayce laid his head down on Mel’s lap with an exhale.
That was enough confirmation for her. “Why did you come to me with this?”
“I just—,” he shook his head and started again, his fingers brushing her hand. “Nothing feels impossible when I'm with you.”
In light of his honesty, she shared some of her own story: she told him of the exile, of her family’s expectations, of failing everyone who mattered to her. She ran her fingertips through his short hair as Jayce told him of Viktor in return: he told her of sleepless nights trying to see through the Hextech fog, he told her of faked public goodbyes before sneaking back inside their shared room, he told her of promises whispered in the dark, he told her of their feverish shared dreams growing by the Hextech light.
Mel, surprised by her own affection towards Jayce, tried to imagine herself in his shoes but it was impossible. She would simply not give up on their final moments, even if it meant destroying everything she’d worked for. Mel couldn’t possibly understand the extent of his pain, her own heartache seemed small in comparison.
“You should be with him, Jayce. We can't change what fate has in store for us, but we don't have to face it alone"
A small shiver ran through her when Jayce kissed the inside of her wrist.
“I don’t want to do this without you either,” he confessed, lips warm against her skin.
Her treacherous heart beat faster and Mel was sure Jayce could feel her pulse race. Jayce didn’t wait for an answer but she promised him to think about it anyway.
Just a slip was all it took for her to slip again.
TWO WEEKS BEFORE
They fell into a routine that was nothing short of a struggle: Jayce’s time was split between solving the political crisis and solving Viktor’s illness and most of their time alone was restricted to the closed doors of Mel’s chambers, Viktor’s apartment, Jayce’s bed.
The attack on the bridge was the last straw for Mel: she could take many things but a beating was not one of them. Something had to be done about the undercity and she suggested a solution during a rare afternoon where the three of them were alone in the lab.
Viktor was tinkering with an explosive device that proved the undercity was not only willing to attack, but ready to do so.
“You want us to build weapons?” Jayce’s surprised manner did not deter her. Mel would convince them of preparing their countermeasures, no matter the cost.
“Absolutely not! That is not why we invented Hextech,” contempt dripped from Viktor’s words and for a second, Mel saw herself like she’d once seen her own mother.
She left the decision up to Jayce and winced when she heard Viktor’s distressed there is always a choice.
Was there?
Mel wasn’t sure anymore.
THREE DAYS BEFORE
Ambessa Medarda was a metal alloy. Not in the literal sense his leg was now laced with metal, shimmer and whatever the Hexcore had done to his tissues, but in a more useful way that didn’t hinder her stride. She was tempered in the fiery pits of Noxus, hardened by war and loss. Viktor thought her terrifying.
He’d thought that of Mel at some point before, but the longer he looked at her, the longer he listened to her, the more he realized he was wrong. Mel was a Medarda in name only: the cold, unwavering steel carried in their genes either expressed differently or skipped Mel altogether.
Viktor watched Mel pace the room and hoped Jayce made his way to the studio soon, unsure of how he could ease her worries. She’d been a knot of tension in their room since her mother’s arrival, coiled so tight that not even Jayce could be oblivious about it.
Mel seethed and fussed over her raw pigments, moving brushes around without painting, until she no longer had words to describe her mother. Ambessa’s latest attempt to seduce Jayce amused Viktor, but Mel was honestly upset and he couldn’t stand it any longer.
She looked at him silently when he patted the couch next to him. “I’m working.”
“You are not. Come here.”
Mel left her posturing and dropped next to Viktor, leaning her body against his, warm and steady on his left side. She rested her head on Viktor’s shoulder and he let himself pretend this was something more —he was unsure what more implied with Mel, but he yearned for it anyway.
“I just want her to leave.”
“She will. How long do you think Noxus can go without their General-in-Chief?”
“I’m exhausted,” her voice was so tiny, he would’ve missed it they weren’t huddled together.
His hand itched to hold hers, to reassure her things would be okay, that they’d figure it out, but he was nothing more than Jayce’s shadow to her. Mel needed Jayce, not Viktor. The reminder tasted bitter on his tongue.
“Do you think things would’ve been different if we’d done something before?” she whispered against his shoulder.
“There’s no use in dwelling on that, Mel.”
Mel laced her fingers through his, holding his hand tightly. Viktor liked the contrast of her deep brown skin against his pale skin; there was a flicker of an image in his mind, something else inside his chest. He refused to name the feeling in the hopes it would go away on its own.
“I want this to be over with.”
“Me too.”
“Maybe we’ll take a week off and go to the mountains to get fresh air,” Mel suggested with the air of someone who believed it to be impossible.
“Maybe.”
Without any warning, Mel raised Viktor’s hand and kissed his knuckles one by one. Viktor’s heart jumped inside his chest.
“You two are so good to me.”
Instead of answering, Viktor took their joint hands from Mel’s lips and pressed his mouth against her knuckles, keeping his eyes on her face. He refused to name the feeling clawing at his chest, yet it would not go away.
TEN HOURS BEFORE
Viktor woke up tangled between the sheets, unconvinced he was not dreaming. The light filtering through the windows gave everything a hazy glow and his brain was slow to catch up with the scene.
His body was pressed on both sides, warmed by their body heat, still sticky with sweat. Viktor’s mind gave him a flash of supple limbs and moans in the dark, sweat running down his back and the sound of skin against skin. There were loving hands pressed against his chest, loving kisses down his transmuted extremities, loving whispers against his hair.
In the morning, there were lazy, lingering kisses and the promise of more once the council voted to end the hostilities. There was teasing and laughing and lounging for a moment too long, and Viktor refused to name the feeling, afraid it would vanish the moment it was acknowledged.
Once they face the Council, Jayce takes charge and fights for peace —for the Nation of Zaun— with a ferocity that sparks pride in his heart. The councilors, furious at the proposal, leap from their seats in indignation.
Mel calls for a vote and the room holds its collective breath.
One by one, every councilor votes to support Jayce's motion.
Jayce, Mel and Viktor share a look, a fleeting smile when they reach the peace agreement. A solemn silence falls on the room and then, blinding brightness.