Chapter Text
The boy is shivering, near dead in Viktor’s arms.
Viktor had almost missed him in the ferocity of the snowstorm. A huddled figure, so impossibly small, curled around a motionless body that was half-buried in the snow. The boy’s mother—Viktor realized in horror. Her pale skin almost as white as the ice that surrounded her, eyes frozen open in a permanent expression of terror. The boy’s small hands had clutched at her sleeve for so long that his fingers had frozen around it.
“Mama,” the child whimpered, tears cutting clean trails down his frost-dusted cheeks.
Viktor’s heart ached like something terrible.
He’d whisked the child away then, the boy sobbing out and clinging onto him easily. His arms latched around Viktor’s neck with such desperate strength that Viktor nearly toppled over at the sudden weight.
The journey home was predictably difficult, Viktor’s cane constantly catching then slipping on the ice-covered ground. The boy was heavier than Viktor was prepared for, and although the creak in his leg was smarting badly, he persisted. The warmth of the child’s breath against his neck was enough for him to search for strength.
When they finally arrived at the house, Viktor wasted no time. He’d stripped the boy off of his wet clothes and bundled him up as close as he could to the fire, cradling the boy tightly to his chest in the hopes that his body could help warm him. Amidst all this, the child had gone scarily quiet. His cold face pressed flush against the skin of Viktor’s neck, his chest rising and falling in shallow, uneven breaths.
"Stay with me, little one," Viktor murmurs, trying not to let his fear show.
He rocks the child gently now, so gently, rubbing circles against the narrow width of his small back. When the boy’s breathing deepens and the shivers lessen, only then does Viktor allow himself a moment of relief.
“Mama,” the boy whimpers again, so faintly it was almost lost to the storm outside.
Heart gutted, Viktor holds the boy closer in his arms, one hand moving to tenderly cradle the back of the child’s head, like he was still just a babe.
"I’ve got you," Viktor whispers, pressing a kiss against the boy’s furrowed brow. "I've got you now. You’re safe."
The boy doesn’t respond, but he doesn’t need to. He burrows closer, the cold tip of his nose seeking warmth against Viktor’s thundering pulse point. And Viktor, weary and weathered as he was, lets him.
*
Jayce Talis. 10 years old. No remaining family members could be located.
Viktor grips the head of his cane tightly, feeling the beginnings of a migraine start to seep in.
Barely a day after the snowstorm had passed, Viktor had awoken to the sound of insistent knocking at his front door. He’d known what it meant before he even answered it—Piltover’s enforcers always as prompt as they were thorough. It was only a matter of time before they came searching for survivors.
Currently, two enforcers stand rigid by the doorway, while a third joins Viktor in the privacy of his study where they can discuss without interruption. Jayce remains asleep by the fireplace, having dozed off after a hearty breakfast, and for that, Viktor is quietly grateful.
“His mother,” Viktor inquires, wincing. The sight of her lifeless body is one that will stay with him forever. “Is she..?”
“She will be laid to rest with dignity," is all the enforcer says, and it’s as much confirmation as Viktor needs.
Viktor sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose to ease the building ache. His gaze flicks back towards Jayce, whose face is still a touch pale though comfortably slack in the stillness of sleep. Viktor had spent three long days nursing him back to health, coaxing warmth into his frozen limbs, holding him through restless nights filled with muffled cries for his mother. It seems foolish to be attached so deeply, so quickly, but the thought of handing him over now felt like tearing apart something that had only just begun to heal.
“We’ll take him to the nearest orphanage,” the enforcer says, perhaps noticing where his eyes have wandered. “They will gladly receive him.”
“And what sort of care will he get there?” Viktor asks, then cringes at the unintended sharpness of his tone.
The enforcer hesitates, seeming to pick his words carefully, sensing Viktor's unease.
“It’s not a perfect system, but it’s the best option we have. The staff are trained, and he’ll be with other children his age. We assure you, the child will be left in good hands.”
Although Viktor’s doubts weigh heavily, he can’t ignore the truth gnawing at the edges of his mind. He is no parent, had not even the barest idea of how to rear and nurture someone so young. A crippled, solitary man with no experience raising a child. What kind of life could he possibly give Jayce?
“I…I can’t keep him,” Viktor admits, the words a bitter taste in his mouth. He grips his cane harder, knuckles whitening. “I’m not fit to raise a child.”
“And we would not ask that of you,” the enforcer replies easily.
“Let me be the one to tell him,” Viktor interjects suddenly. He glances at Jayce’s sleeping form, a pang of something he doesn’t dare name tightening in his chest. “I think it would distress him to be awoken by strangers.”
The enforcers exchange a look but eventually nod.
“Very well,” one of them says. “We’ll give you a moment.”
Viktor waits until the enforcers retreat to the doorway before making his way towards the hearth. His movements are slow, deliberate, as though dragging his feet could possibly delay the inevitable. Carefully, he kneels by the armchair and places a hand on Jayce’s shoulder to gently shake him awake.
“Jayce,” Viktor murmurs. “Jayce, wake up.”
The boy stirs, his eyelids fluttering open to reveal confusion that quickly morphs into a sleepy smile at the sight of Viktor.
“Mnn, don’t wanna bath,” Jayce complains, voice soft and groggy.
That manages a surprised laugh out of Viktor, though his throat feels so painfully tight the sound comes out more like a wheeze. He forces a smile.
“No, little one. I’m afraid there’s something that I must tell you.”
Jayce sits up then, waking fully now, something in Viktor’s face seeming to snap him into alertness. His golden eyes flicker around the room, widening as they land on the enforcers standing stiffly in the doorway, their presence barely concealed by the narrow frame. When his gaze falls back on Viktor, he looks betrayed.
“These enforcers are here to help you,” Viktor starts, mindful that his voice remains careful and measured. “They…they will take you somewhere safe. To an orphanage in the city.”
Jayce’s brows furrow, his small hands clutching at the edge of the blanket.
“An orphanage?” he repeats, bottom lip starting to tremble. “But I don’t want to go.”
“Well, why not?” Viktor says softly, trying to stay positive though his heart is breaking at the sight of Jayce’s growing distress. “Wouldn’t you want to make friends your own age? Find a home with other children? The people there know how to take care of you properly—”
“You take care of me,” Jayce interrupts, his voice rising. He scrambles forward, grabbing onto Viktor’s collar with desperate hands. “I don’t need other children. I’m happy here.”
“I know you are.” Viktor takes Jayce’s hands from his collar, thumbing over the boy’s knuckles, already frantic to ease him. “But Jayce, there’s so much that I don’t know – things I cannot give you.” And though it pains him to accept it, he can’t help but admit, “The orphanage… they can offer you a much better life than I ever could.”
It’s like a dam breaking.
One moment the room is as still as a bated breath, then in the next, Jayce is sobbing out like he’d been struck.
“Don’t, don’t send me away!” he wails, cheeks flushing an angry red. “I don’t w-wanna go. I want to stay here with you!”
“Jayce…” Viktor begins, stomach lurching in alarm, but the boy’s panicked sobs cut him off.
Jayce clings to him with surprising strength, burying his face in Viktor’s neck as his small form shakes in full-body tremors.
“Please no, please.” Jayce pitches forward, whining like a lamb, breath sob-salty against the heat of Viktor’s skin. “Don’t let them t-take me. I’ll be good, I promise, I’ll do anything. Just – just don’t make me go.”
Viktor’s arms come around Jayce instinctively, a desperate need to comfort seeming to overtake him all at once. He shushes the boy, coos at him softly, places kisses atop the curls on his head. When Viktor tries to pull back to inspect Jayce’s face, Jayce won’t let him go very far, clinging onto his neck with an immovable grip so that he follows the movement rather than detaches, settling himself fully onto Viktor’s lap as they both settle on the floor.
Viktor glances over his shoulder at the enforcers, all of who stand awkwardly at a distance. Their expressions a mixture of sympathy and unease.
“Please,” Jayce whimpers again, sounding so heart-achingly young.
And in that moment, Viktor knows he cannot give this child up.
*
Viktor knows nothing of raising a child, so like in all things, he dives into research.
The house’s modest interior soon becomes overrun with stacks of books of varying subjects. Cookbooks brimming with healthy meal plans lie open next to in-depth guides on child psychology. Parenting manuals cover every topic imaginable—setting routines, managing tantrums, understanding emotional needs. There’s even a particularly detailed chapter on potty training, though Viktor realizes how little it applies to a ten year old. He resolves to file away the info just in case.
Jayce, meanwhile, is never far. It is much too cold out to even think of playing outside, much less to explore out of sheer boredom, so Viktor finds Jayce trailing after him more often than not, following him around the house like a clingy pup to its owner.
If Viktor moved to the kitchen, Jayce appeared at his elbow, quietly observing. If Viktor settled by the fire with a book, Jayce sat cross-legged on the floor nearby, playing absently with the frayed edges of the carpet or simply watching the flames.
The boy rarely spoke of the orphanage, rarely spoke at all really, but Viktor could see a shadow in his behavior. Jayce’s every glance seeming to ask, will you still keep me? It broke Viktor’s heart.
One morning, Viktor found himself particularly engrossed over a chapter from his recent purchase, Awkward, but Necessary: A Crash Course in Birds, Bees, and Beyond. A little advanced given Jayce’s age, but it never hurts to be prepared.
He’s just about to turn the next page when he hears a loud crash come from another room.
Heart pounding, Viktor springs up from his armchair just as the sound of Jayce’s wibbling cries reaches his ears. He dashes from room to room, cursing himself at having let the boy out of his sight, and eventually finds Jayce knelt on the kitchen floor, fingers all cut up and bleeding, as he frantically tries to piece back together the shards of a broken plate.
“Jayce!” Viktor shouts in alarm, forgetting himself. “Drop that at once!”
Jayce’s head quickly snaps in his direction. Then without preamble, the boy’s expression crumples into a frightened, sorrowful thing.
“I’m sorry, m’sorry, I didn’t mean t-to,” he hiccups a sob, breath coming out erratically.
He’s shaking so badly, a kind of terror in him that drives Viktor nearly mad with urgency. Something protective stirring in his body. Without hesitation, he picks Jayce up from the floor and holds him tightly against his chest, cradling him as though he isn’t yet a day over three.
Jayce buries his face into Viktor’s neck instantly, his cries coming in sharp, hiccupping bursts that shake the whole of his body. Warm tears and snot smear against Viktor’s shirt, but Viktor finds that it doesn’t bother him. He doesn’t care about the mess. Jayce is safe in his arms, and that’s all that truly matters.
“Shh, dear one,” Viktor murmurs, rocking him gently. “It’s alright, you’re alright. Don’t cry anymore.”
Jayce clings on tighter, his fingers curling into the fabric of Viktor’s shirt and letting down droplets of blood. Carefully, Viktor carries the boy back to his armchair by the fire, sinking into it with a wince as his leg protests the effort. Still, he doesn’t let go.
Once seated, Viktor settles Jayce on his lap, the boy immediately curling into him as if afraid to let even an inch of space exist between them. Viktor strokes Jayce’s hair softly, his other hand rubbing soothing circles on the boy’s back. When Jayce’s sobs begin to quiet, tapering off into sniffles, Viktor reaches for the small first-aid kit he’d brought with him.
“Let me see your hands,” Viktor instructs gently, shifting Jayce just enough to access them.
Jayce hesitates, his red-rimmed eyes glancing up at Viktor uncertainly before slowly extending his hands. His small fingers are dotted with shallow cuts, some bleeding more than others. Viktor clicks his tongue softly in concern.
“This will sting a little,” Viktor warns before he dabs a clean cloth with antiseptic and presses it to Jayce’s cuts.
The boy flinches, a small whimper escaping his lips, but he doesn’t pull away. Viktor works quickly, not wanting to prolong this anymore than he needs to. He bandages each little finger with care, his touch as gentle as he can manage.
As Viktor finishes wrapping the last bandage, Jayce’s unsure voice cuts through the quiet.
“Are you…are you going to give me away?”
Viktor freezes, his hands stilling mid-motion. His stomach lurches at the question, at the tremor in Jayce’s voice, so small and uncertain. He sets the first-aid kit aside and cups Jayce’s face in his hands, can’t help but place a soft kiss on the swell of the boy’s cheek.
“Jayce,” Viktor says, the tremble in his voice betraying his emotions. “No. Never. You could never do anything that would make me send you away. How could you think that?”
“But… the plate…” Jayce’s voice wavers, his lower lip quivering again.
Viktor closes his eyes, wills himself not let the storm of his emotions seep through. How could have things gone so wrong, so quickly? All his research, his careful preparation—it suddenly feels woefully inadequate now.
He’d faltered before he had even truly begun.
But giving up was not an option. Not here. Not with Jayce looking to him, needing him so desperately.
“There seems to have been a misunderstanding between us,” Viktor begins, keeping his tone calm and steady. “I want you to listen to me very clearly, alright? Are you listening?”
Obediently, Jayce nods his head through tears.
“I am not giving you away,” Viktor says. “Not for breaking a plate, not for anything.”
Jayce looks up at him then, eyes wide and intense, as though searching for untruth in him.
“But…what if I’m really bad?” Jayce asks, voice still unsure.
“Then I shall scold you, maybe spank your bottom,” Viktor adds with a chuckle. “But I would never give you away, dear one. I wouldn’t dream of it.”
Viktor rocks him slightly through it, too lost in his mild hysteria and sick relief to remember that Jayce is ten and not five. Jayce doesn’t seem to mind though, his small, hiccupping breaths shuddering against Viktor’s chest, tears dampening the front of his shirt. He sniffles, sighs, shifts in Viktor’s lap just to settle right back again.
“What is it, hm?” Viktor sweeps a curl behind Jayce’s ear, clearly noticing his discomfort.
Jayce’s breath hitches, and for a moment, he seems to falter. But then, in a rush, the words spill out.
“I w-wet the bed sometimes,” he confesses, voice coming out airy and a touch wild. “Not every night, but… but sometimes. I try not to, I really do. But I can’t seem to help it.”
For a second, Viktor’s hand pauses its movements through Jayce’s hair, and Jayce looks up at him in fear, noticing this. Awaiting rejection, Viktor realizes.
“Well, another round of laundry never hurt anyone.” Viktor smiles, brushing down the furrow between Jayce’s eyebrows, having none of that. “As long as you’ll help me, of course.”
Jayce blinks up at him then, seemingly surprised by the ease of his response.
“My writing isn't very good,” Jayce continues. “My mama always told me to practice my letters, but I – I never listened. I hated practicing, and I h-hated her for making me. So I never did it.”
Viktor hums softly, his hand resuming its gentle path through Jayce’s curls.
“Who ever said writing had to be beautiful to be good? It’s the substance that matters, not how pretty the letters look on a page.”
Jayce peers up at him curiously. “Really?”
“Of course,” Viktor assures him. “I’ve read the sloppiest notes from the most brilliant of minds. Some of them you can barely read at all. It’s the thought behind the words that counts, Jayce. Not the handwriting.”
Jayce sniffles, his fingers tightening slightly in Viktor’s shirt. With a shaky breath, he whispers, “There’s one more thing.”
Warming, Viktor presses a fleeting kiss on the boy’s temple. “Go on.”
“Sometimes…sometimes I get really mad. I don’t mean to, but it happens. I yell, and – and I say things I don’t mean.” He pauses there, as if regretting his words now. “What if I do that to you?”
Viktor’s chest tightens like a vice.
“Then we’ll talk about it, like we are now,” Viktor promises. “We’ll figure out why you feel that way, and we’ll work through it together. No matter what you say, or how loud you get, I’m not going anywhere.”
“But—”
“No buts,” Viktor interrupts gently, his thumb brushing over Jayce’s cheek. “You’re allowed to feel things, Jayce. Big things, messy things. I’m not afraid of your anger, and you don’t have to be either. We’ll handle it always. Together.”
Jayce is starting to calm, Viktor can see this. The boy seeming to sink against Viktor’s chest in increments, this time more relaxed than his frantic clinging from a while ago. Viktor welcomes the boy’s comforting weight, adjusting Jayce on his lap so that the child’s cheek is pressed right over the steadying beat of his heart.
“You are not here because you are good or bad, Jayce. You are here because I want you to be, because you are important to me.” Viktor pauses to press his face into Jayce’s hair, needing that comfort. “You will stay here for as long as you want to be here, and I swear on my soul nothing will change that.”
Jayce’s bottom lip wobbles, and for a moment, Viktor fears he said the wrong thing. But then the boy throws his arms around Viktor’s neck, clutching him tightly.
“I want to,” Jayce says so softly but desperate all the same. “I want to stay with you forever.”
Viktor’s heart fills with such an intense swell of affection that it feels as though it might overflow, like it’s a corporeal thing spilling out of him. This love.
“Then I suppose we shall be together forever, my darling,” Viktor promises.
Jayce smiles at him then, something so free and bright and unguarded, and for a while, Viktor feels a warmth flow through him that has nothing to do with the fire.
*
Their talk seems to have worked wonders in calming the boy.
As the days go by, Jayce gradually comes out of his shell, his newfound ease subtle but noticeable. He speaks more often now. Not by much, but enough that Viktor finds himself startled by the occasional outburst of questions, as if Jayce is only now rediscovering his own voice.
The boy is still as clingy as ever, that much hasn’t changed. Trailing after Viktor with all the persistence of a loyal pup. He’d find every opportunity to sit in Viktor’s lap, climb right up and settle in contently. A rather tactile child, Viktor notes curiously.
When Viktor would eventually move away to prepare their supper, Jayce would latch on to Viktor’s waist and refuse to let go.
“Do you think I’ll ever grow taller than you?” Jayce asks just as Viktor sets the stew to a steady broil. He squints up at Viktor as if measuring the distance with his eyes.
“Undoubtedly,” Viktor replies without hesitation, tapping the boy lightly on the nose. “Though that may take some time. You’ve got a lot of growing to do yet.”
Jayce scrunches his nose.
“Nuh uh! I’ve been drinking lotsa milk. Ma used to say it’s good for my pu-ber-tee.”
“Puberty, Jayce. And I don’t see how milk alone is a magic elixir for growth,” Viktor corrects, a teasing lilt in his voice. “Proper nutrition matters, yes, but your height depends on more than just dairy.”
Jayce huffs, pulling at Viktor’s shirt when his focus returns to the stove.
“But milk is important! You always tell me to drink it!”
“Yes, because it’s nutritious,” Viktor replies. “And you’re a growing boy so you must take care to eat and drink the things that help your body stay strong. But I’m afraid this will take time, dear one. It will take patience.”
The boy wrinkles his nose again, clearly unconvinced. “Ma said I’d shoot right up if I drank it every day. She said I’d be bigger by my next birthday.”
Viktor can’t help the laugh that comes out of him then.
“Well of course you’d be bigger. You grow bigger every year. With all the protein I’ve been feeding you, I’m afraid the fact is just inevitable.”
“I'm eating pro-teens?”
“Protein, yes. Meats and eggs and the like.”
“And milk?”
“And milk.” Viktor sets the ladle down and turns to the boy, raising a questioning brow. “And why do you want to be taller so badly? You’ll grow when it’s your time. There’s no need to rush.”
Jayce freezes at that, his fingers fidgeting with the hem of Viktor’s shirt where he’s still clinging. His gaze shifts downwards as he refuses to meet Viktor’s probing eyes.
“No reason,” the boy says ominously.
Wearily, Viktor decides to let it go for now.
As soon as the stew settles, Viktor rummages for a serving dish while Jayce obediently sets the table for them, having climbed the counters to reach the plates rather than using the stool like Viktor constantly instructed.
Discipline isn’t his strongest suit, Viktor comes to learn quickly. He only hopes his coddling won’t cause the boy irreparable damage in the near future.
“My wild child, what did I tell you about climbing the counters?” Viktor tries for something stern, though he only sounds terribly amused.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to forget. I just get so in-patient!”
“It’s impatient, my dear. And if I see you climb once more, I ought to spank you like I promised. So don’t let me catch you again.”
Jayce pouts at that, huffing and puffing in a way that makes Viktor succumb so easily, wanting to make amends. Though a sudden lightness seems to come over the boy not a second later.
“When I’m taller, I’ll be able to reach the top shelf without climbing!” Jayce beams, already trembling with excitement.
“And yet, I suspect you might still climb,” Viktor replies dryly.
*
It seems that some proper schooling for Jayce was in order.
The boy is bright, remarkably so, with an insatiable eagerness to learn that reminds Viktor of himself in his boyhood. Questions pour out of Jayce in an endless stream—about the firewood that crackled in the hearth, the gears that turned in Viktor’s kitchenware, the stories Viktor read to him every night during bedtime.
These bedtime stories, in particular, had become a nightly ritual of sorts, with Jayce nestled into Viktor’s side, the blankets drawn up to his chin, eyes wide and alert as Viktor poured over his latest choice of story.
But what should have been a peaceful way to lull the boy to sleep often stretched late into the night. Jayce couldn’t help but interject with his many thoughts, comments, and, of course, more questions. By the time Jayce finally drifted off, the hour had grown far later than Viktor would have liked. As endearing as it was, Viktor knew this unstructured learning—entirely dependent on his own limited knowledge—wasn’t enough for the boy.
Jayce’s boundless curiosity needed proper direction.
With the cold beginning to ease outside, Viktor takes full advantage and bundles Jayce up in layers of warmth before venturing out into the city. It’s mostly to run errands—groceries, kindling, books and sometimes toys—though Viktor also begins surveying some schools in the area.
The search proves more challenging than expected. Viktor, much to his own surprise, finds himself becoming a tad…particular. Overprotective, even.
Every option seemed lacking of something. One school boasted a kind of explorative learning but leaned too heavily into religious doctrine, leaving little room for critical thinking. Another emphasized rote memorization over problem-solving, a method Viktor found stifled the child more than helped them. Yet another prided itself on discipline but seemed far too rigid for Jayce’s curious, energetic nature.
Each visit leaves Viktor more dissatisfied than the last. He would stand outside the buildings, his cane pressing into the thawing snow, muttering to himself about inadequacies only he seemed to notice. Jayce, oblivious to Viktor’s growing frustration, happily holds his hand and marvels at the bustling streets, pointing out every steam-powered carriage and vendor cart they passed.
Finally, after yet another unproductive outing, Viktor decides to address the matter with Jayce directly.
It's always good to involve the child, one of his books said. To empower them into taking steps for their own furthering.
So that evening, as they sit by the fire, Viktor cautiously broaches the subject.
“Jayce,” he begins, places his book down and gestures for the boy to do the same with his toys. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to discuss with you. I’m afraid I spent far too long pouring over this, and I’d truly appreciate your – oh. Oh dear. Come here, dear one. No, no, none of that, come here.”
Fretting, Viktor pulls the sniffling boy into his lap, sweeping down Jayce’s hair and leaning in to kiss his flushing cheeks. He’d worked himself up over nothing, the old fear returning. It seems that Jayce could never truly forget the threat of the orphanage. A rocky start to their relationship that Viktor regrets terribly.
“Oh my darling. That’s not it at all, you’ve misunderstood,” he murmurs comfortingly. “I’ve just been thinking of starting you on some proper schooling. A suitable institution with the right teachers and the best guidance. Hmm? How does that sound?”
Jayce pulls back a little, though his arms remain a tight vice around Viktor’s neck, sniffling and hiccupping as Viktor cleans him up with a handkerchief. His poor boy, always so quick to tears.
“School?” Jayce repeats, sounding less frightened and more curious. Viktor counts this as a little victory.
“Yes,” Viktor says. “A place where you can learn a lot more – science, history, mathematics, whatever you want really. You can go in every morning and perhaps make a few friends your age. I’ll have to find the best one in the city, of course, but if you’d like —”
“Don’t wanna,” Jayce interrupts, cheeks puffing out like a sulking chipmunk. “I don’t wanna go to school.”
Viktor is taken aback by this. He’d expected to be met with Jayce’s gap-toothed smile and excited chattering, not this puppy-like, pouty display. More adorable than he is intimidating, although Viktor would never tell him that.
“What’s the matter? I assumed you would be ecstatic to hear this.”
Jayce juts out his bottom lip a little farther, grouching.
“I don’t want to leave you,” he confesses, and at once, fierce affection blooms in Viktor’s chest like an alive thing.
“You wouldn’t be leaving me, dear one,” Viktor says softly. “You’d come home every day, of course. I don’t very much like the idea of you boarding. This is still and always will be your home.”
Jayce shakes his head stubbornly, his grip around Viktor tightening.
“I don’t want to be away from you,” he whispers harshly, and Viktor can sense the beginnings of another tantrum. “Please don’t make me go. I really really don’t want to.”
“Okay, okay, shh,” Viktor placates. He rubs the boy’s back to calm his unsteady breathing. “I’m sorry. This wasn’t supposed to be a punishment to you. Not at all.”
He can feel Jayce burrow into the crook of his neck, entire body shaking with adrenaline, so Viktor holds him closer.
“Of course you don’t have to go to school. Not right now at least. I would never force you if it wasn’t what you wanted.”
“What if I never want to go?” Jayce asks, wibbling. “I don’t think I’ll ever choose to go to school. Can’t it just be you and me forever like you said?”
Viktor wills for the strength to keep himself from laughing. Really now, this dramatic child. Though he supposes most things must seem like life and death at age ten.
“Well, alright. If you never wish to attend, then I won’t force you. But,” he adds gently, tilting his head slightly to catch Jayce’s teary gaze, “I have my doubts about that. Someday, when you’re older, I’m sure you just might change your mind.”
Jayce shakes his head furiously at that, his hair brushing against Viktor’s collar.
“No, I won’t! I’ll always want to stay here with you.”
Viktor chuckles softly, his hand coming to stroke Jayce’s curls. “Always, hm? Are you sure? I’m afraid you might tire of me one day. Sticking by the side of an old cripple can’t possibly be all that entertaining for a growing boy.”
Jayce pulls back abruptly, his eyes wide and filled with such intensity that it nearly takes Viktor aback.
“I’ll never get tired of you,” he insists, voice rising. “Never, ever! I’ll always want to be with you, Viktor.”
The fervor in Jayce’s voice shakes something loose in Viktor. It’s a strange feeling, this mix of joy and disbelief, as though his chest can’t quite hold it in all at once. A laugh bubbles up, unbidden but warm, and he leans down to rain kisses on Jayce’s face, the boy squirming and giggling under his lips.
Deep down, Viktor knows Jayce’s world will expand someday, as it should. There’s already a worrying ache in his chest at just the thought alone. But for now, Viktor allows himself to revel in the boy’s unwavering attachment, this child that has already grown so incredibly dear to him.
Someone he’d no doubt be lost without.
*
With Jayce in need of schooling and yet so reluctant to leave Viktor’s side, it seems homeschooling is their only option.
It’s only temporary, Viktor supposes. A brief arrangement until Jayce eventually grows out of his clinging. It may seem like a burden for now, but Viktor’s already sure of how much he’ll miss it when it fades. What was it they always said? You might feel tired now, but one day, you’ll miss the sound of their little feet running to you and their constant need to be close. Enjoy it while it lasts.
Look at him, getting all sappy like a proper parent.
It’s a welcome change.
Still, Jayce’s enthusiasm proves to be more than he'd expected.
Viktor sets up lessons at the small writing desk in the corner of the study, and the boy dives into them with the eagerness of someone who’s been starved of this kind of structure. His handwriting wobbles at first, his sums sometimes end in jumbled numbers, but the boy doesn’t sulk or throw tantrums when corrected. He’s smart. Viktor sees that with an increasing clarity.
“I don’t get it,” Jayce says as he reads through one of Viktor’s more entry-level history books. “If this Dr. Arnell guy’s invention was so good, then why did people hate him for it?”
“Ah,” Viktor murmurs. He leans forward to inspect the page Jayce is stuck on. “That is because Dr. Arnell forgot something very important.”
Jayce looks up at him then, wide-eyed and waiting, his fingers still pressed to the illustration of a gleaming machine that looked both awe-inspiring and ominous.
“Forgot what?”
Viktor exhales, tapping his cane lightly against the floor as he considers his response.
“Motivation,” he says at last. “Dr. Arnell’s invention had great potential—it could have revolutionized agriculture, helped feed thousands. But instead, he sold it to the highest bidder, who turned it into a tool of war.”
Jayce’s eyes narrow in confusion. “But why would he do that? If he could help people, why didn’t he?”
“Why indeed,” Viktor hums. “Power, wealth, recognition—these things are tempting, Jayce. They cloud judgment, even for the brightest minds.”
Jayce leans back in his chair, frowning. “That’s…stupid. What’s the point of being smart if you just use it to hurt people?”
“Well, I’m afraid not everyone is as smart as you, dear one.”
He says it with a touch of humor, but Jayce is quiet for a moment, contemplative, his fingers absently tracing the lines of the drawing on the page.
“I don’t want to be like that,” he says finally, his voice softer now. “I want to help people. Like you do.”
Viktor can’t help the fierce smile at the indignation in the boy’s voice, still so pure and unsuspecting. It’s refreshing compared to all the arrogance and pretentiousness he’d been surrounded by in all corners of the Academy. Fondly, he reaches out to adjust Jayce’s posture, gently nudging him to sit up straighter.
“Exactly. Intelligence alone is not enough.” Viktor agrees. “What matters is how you use it. Science, knowledge, invention—they are tools, Jayce. Tools to serve people, to solve their problems, to make life better. That must always be the goal.”
Jayce meets his gaze on and nods, like it’s a promise.
There’s a sharpness in Jayce, a mind so capable of learning, untapped and waiting for the right kind of guidance. Viktor’s chest fills with pride.
“Alright,” Viktor says, clapping his hands together. He taps the desk lightly with his cane. “Enough for now. Let’s see if you can explain to me what you’ve just read.”
Jayce perks up, always eager to impress.
“Really? Like a quiz?”
“Precisely,” Viktor says sternly, trying to play the steely professor. “We’ll see if you’ve been paying attention.”
As Jayce dutifully pours into the chapter, Viktor can’t help the fond smile from breaking past his lips.
Ever since the whole debacle at the Academy, Viktor had felt his passion for learning tarnished, something that once brought him such joy now unsalvageable. His research, stolen and paraded as someone else’s, had led to his unjust expulsion. The plagiarist’s lies painting Viktor as the thief instead. The wound left by that betrayal had seemed beyond saving.
But here is Jayce, with his bright eyes and unrelenting curiosity. Everyday, the boy reminds Viktor of why he fell in love with science and invention in the first place.
Somehow, Viktor knows Jayce is meant for greater things. There’s a strange sense of awe in witnessing a future unfurl before your eyes, in knowing you’re helping shape it.
For the first time in a long while, Viktor finds himself excited to be a part of something greater. Nurturing the mind of a boy who might one day surpass them all.
*
The harsh winter slowly thaws out into spring, and by the time summer rolls around, Jayce’s eleventh birthday is fast approaching.
Much to the boy’s delight, Jayce has been growing steadily the past few months. He’d have Viktor check the notches by his bedroom doorframe every morning. This is only after having a glass of milk, of course. He has yet to outgrow the notion that milk is some magical elixir for height, and his constant growth isn’t doing much to dissuade the idea.
“Look, Viktor!” Jayce exclaims that morning, his fingers brushing the latest pencil mark with pride. “I’m so much taller than last month, see?”
“Well.” Viktor leans down to inspect the doorframe closely. “If by so much taller, you mean by the width of a hair, then yes. Quite the growth spurt.”
Jayce pouts, puffing out his cheeks in exaggerated indignation. Viktor only laughs at him as he wipes away the white moustache of milk residue that had formed on Jayce’s upper lip.
The doorbell rings, startling them both badly. Vikor ruffles Jayce’s hair before making his way to the front door, patting himself down in the hopes of appearing at least passably presentable.
“Ah, Sky,” Viktor greets in surprise.
The woman immediately straightens at the sound of his voice, that nervous air about her ever present despite their many meetings. She holds a small satchel under her arm and a distinct, brown envelope in her hands. Now, Viktor is the one to stiffen.
“I didn’t think it was that time of the year yet,” he says as he eyes the envelope.
Sky’s visits to Viktor’s home were far from casual social calls. As an old friend from the Academy, she had taken it upon herself to right a wrong that had plagued Viktor for years—the theft of his research and the unjust fallout that followed. Viktor had been against her involvement at first, unwilling to risk her standing with the higher-ups. Though by sheer determination, Sky had managed to secure a payout from the Academy that she delivered every few months, a form of restitution for Viktor’s plagiarized work. In all honesty, Viktor rather disliked the constant reminder.
“Yes, well.” She shoots him a timid smile.
Viktor sighs, but acquiesces.
“I hope I’m not intruding,” she begins, to which Viktor starts waving his hand exasperatedly.
“Bah, enough with the formalities. You know I’m sick of it,” he says. “Please, come inside. I have breakfast ready if you’d like to join us.”
Viktor leads her through the doorway, silently cursing himself for forgetting to tidy up last night, Jayce’s toys and books still strewn about across the floor. He nudges away the worst of the mess with his cane then leads her to the dining table where Jayce is already seated.
The boy narrows his eyes when they fall on Sky.
“Jayce,” Viktor says gently, pulling the chair out for Sky to sit and then taking a seat himself. “This is Sky, an old friend from the Academy. She’ll be joining us for breakfast if you don’t mind.”
Sky makes a strange half-bow in her chair.
“Hello, Jayce. It’s nice to meet you. Viktor’s told me a lot about you.”
Strangely, Jayce’s only response to that is a slight scowl. He leans a slight bit closer to Viktor, one hand moving to clutch Viktor’s sleeve almost instinctively. The tension rolls off of him in way that it isn’t supposed to.
It’s worrying.
“Come now, Jayce.” Viktor strokes Jayce’s forearm, soothing. “What’s the matter, hm? We don’t treat guests this way.”
To his disappointment, Jayce only mutters something incomprehensible under his breath and loosens his hold just enough to pick up his spoon. Sky notices his obvious hostility, shifting uncomfortably under Jayce’s unwavering stare. And Viktor, ever the lousy disciplinarian, only manages to give Sky a tight smile. He files away Jayce’s odd behavior around strangers for later.
Jayce keeps his eyes trained on Sky the entire time as she sets her satchel down and begins pulling out the contents of her bag: papers, envelopes, and a leather-bound ledger. The sight of the Academy’s emblem on the cover makes Viktor’s stomach twist with a unique kind of dread.
“Must we go about this so soon?” Viktor hedges, tries not to let his discomfort show. “The day has only started and I’d hate to spoil it before it’s even begun.”
Sky eyes him with amusement.
“Spoil it? You’re so sure I’ve got nothing good to say?”
Viktor shrugs. “Not like anything has changed since the start of our, ah…arrangement.”
“About that, actually.” Sky clears her throat, a strange glint coming over her eyes. “I have some news regarding your case. I’ve been working with a few of the board members at the Academy, and well, I think – I think I finally have some good news.”
“Good news?” Viktor echoes emptily, taking a long sip of his tea.
Sky nods excitedly. “Yes. They’ve reviewed some of the documentation I gathered. Some of the newer members of the board seem more inclined to consider your side of the story.”
“New members?” Viktor appraises. “Oh my, don’t tell me Salo’s finally kicked the bucket? He always did look a tad pale every time I saw him.”
“Wha – no, Viktor. That’s besides the point.” She’s looking at him as if he’s lost his mind, as if she expected nothing less than him jumping for joy. “Don’t you see? There’s a chance, Viktor. A real chance that if you present it yourself, they might formally reinstate your work and clear your name.”
Viktor can admit that the news is no more than pleasing, that it isn’t every bit what he’d been dreaming of since the day the Academy turned him out and forever ruined his name for any other institution.
But he’s grown jaded by the years of their rejection. His mind churning with memories of their betrayal, the shame that had followed him like a shadow. To revisit that now, even for vindication, feels like reopening a wound that had only just begun to scar.
Jayce’s small hand squeezes Viktor’s sleeve tighter, pulling Viktor out of his own thoughts. Jayce’s spoon clinks against the ceramic bowl, sharp and jarring in the growing silence, and an uncharacteristic anger seems to be rising within him. Worried, Viktor takes Jayce’s hand in his own.
Ah, yes. There’s this of course. Jayce. Where Viktor was once so consumed by his need for revenge and validation, there’s simply no room for that any longer. Not right now. Not with Jayce. And quite frankly, Viktor has begun to find it increasingly difficult to think of anything else but the boy—a change he’d never in a million years could have predicted.
“Sky,” Viktor begins, keeping his voice measured but strained, “I appreciate everything you’ve done. Truly. But I…I don’t think I can go through that again.”
Sky leans forward slightly, her tone softening.
“I understand how much it took from you, Viktor. But this is your chance to reclaim everything they stole. Don’t you want that closure? Don’t you think you deserve it? After everything?”
“I did,” Viktor admits. “For years, I wanted nothing more. But now, I just – I don’t see the point.”
“The point?” Sky gawks at him in disbelief. “Viktor, this is your life’s work. Why don’t you want to fight for it?”
“I have fought for it. You know that better than anyone,” Viktor counters, trying and failing to keep his composure. “But what did they do? They laughed at my face for it. They made their judgment long before they ever saw the truth.”
“And I’m saying that it’s changed now,” Sky says. “The board is – it’s different. This time, they might actually reconsider.”
Viktor snorts derisively through his nose.
“Oh, come off it, Viktor,” Sky scoffs. “Don’t you want to take this chance?”
Chance? Viktor is tired of taking chances. Of foolishly holding on hope only to be spurned away at the end. Made a mockery out of. Leaving things to chance.
He places a hand over his face, hopes his expression isn’t as vulnerable and torn open as he feels.
“They wouldn’t listen to me then,” Viktor grits out hoarsely. “Why should I believe that they’ll listen to me now?”
“They wouldn’t have asked me to revisit this if they weren’t willing to hear you out,” Sky insists.
The woman’s unceasing optimism is beginning to get under his skin.
“And let’s say I do defend my case, that I subject myself to their scrutiny once more.” Viktor says. He’s aware that he’s being cold, too cold in front of Jayce, but keeping appearances is the furthest thing on his mind at the moment. “And then what? I’d be repeating the whole song and dance just to be rejected again in the end. I know how this goes, how it always goes.”
“But you don’t know.” Sky meets his gaze with the same intensity. “You don’t know everything, Viktor.”
“I know enough.” Viktor says icily. “And I think…I think I’ve had enough.”
Sky looks at him sadly. “Viktor…”
Angered by this, Viktor slams his free hand against the table, anything to wipe that pitying look off of Sky’s face. He’s tired of being at the mercy of other people. Being made a victim. Like he was a pitiful creature in need of saving.
“This conversation is over,” he snaps with finality. “I know you only wanted to help, but for both of our sakes, let’s not speak of this again.”
Yet, surprising even Viktor, Sky raises her voice.
“No! I won’t let you give this up, Viktor! Not right now. Not when we’ve finally gotten so close.”
“I said enough.”
“The new board members – they’ve shown interest in righting past wrongs. They might surprise you.”
Unbidden, acrid bitterness seeps into Victor’s tone.
“Surprise me? Sky, these are the same people who destroyed my reputation and turned me into a pariah!”
The sharpness in his voice makes Jayce flinch beside him. Coming back to himself, Viktor turns to the boy immediately, hoping to apologize for his outburst, for scaring him, but when his gaze falls on Jayce, he nearly reels back in shock.
Jayce is shaking in his seat, a kind of fury seeming to wrench its way through his body, and his eyes, raw and raging, are trained right on – right on Sky.
“Get out of my house,” Jayce growls, chin trembling as he spits out the words. “Get out! Get out! Get out! Get out!”
Viktor jumps to his feet, the chair screeching loudly against the floor as he moves to Jayce’s side. His hands hover uncertainly for a moment before landing gently on the boy’s trembling shoulders.
“Jayce,” he breathes out, the panic making his own hands start to shake. “What’s the matter, dear one? Why are you shouting?”
Jayce twists away from Viktor’s hands. His face crumples as his anger spills over into frustrated tears.
“I said get out!” he screams again, blistering and pinched-out, glaring at Sky. “Why are you still here? Why aren’t you listening?”
“Jayce, stop this at once,” Viktor says sharply, though he can barely hear his voice through the frantic beating of his heart. He gets on one knee to meet the boy’s furious gaze. “This is unacceptable. I need you to calm down and tell me what’s wrong.”
But Jayce isn’t listening. He swipes a hand across his face to clear the tears now streaming freely and jabs an accusatory finger toward Sky.
“She’s making you upset! I don’t want her here! I don’t want her t-talking to you!”
Sky looks stricken, frozen in place with her hands half-raised, unsure whether to stay or to flee. Viktor spares her a quick glance before taking Jayce’s tear-streaked face in his hands, redirecting his vision. The intensity in the boy’s gaze nearly frightens him.
“She’s not doing anything wrong, dear one. She’s only trying to help,” Viktor says shakily, trying to keep his voice low and soothing, but the boy shakes his head violently.
“Don’t ignore me!” Jayce cries, his small fists clenching at his sides. “You always luh – listen to me! Why are you letting her – her – say those things to you?”
The wail that follows is high-pitched and heart-wrenching, and Viktor’s resolve quickly crumbles at the sound. He reaches out again, pulling Jayce firmly into his chest to which the boy clings on desperately.
“Hush, Jayce,” he murmurs, presses his lips into the boy’s hair. “I’m here. I’m right here. Please, calm down.”
But Jayce buries his face in Viktor’s chest, his muffled sobs so severe and cataclysmic that it shakes the both of them now.
“Make her go away!” he cries desperately. “Just – just make her go. Please, Viktor!”
Viktor feels a cutting painful shoot right through him, as if Jayce’s hurt is something true, something physical, something that can maim him for real. He gathers Jayce into his arms and holds him there protectively.
“All right, Jayce. All right,” Viktor whispers, desperation clawing through him. “I’ll make her go. I promise.”
He hastily rises to his feet, barely sparing a look behind him, before carrying Jayce away from the table, away from Sky. Almost desperate to calm him. Jayce continues to sob, to cling, wets the underside of Viktor’s jaw with the warmth of his tears. When they finally reach Viktor’s room, he tries to set Jayce down onto the bed but the boy tightens his hold around Viktor’s neck, refusing to be separated.
“Don’t go,” Jayce pleads between hiccupping sobs. “Please don’t – don’t leave me alone.”
“I won’t,” Viktor promises, pulling back just enough to look into Jayce’s puffy, red-rimmed eyes. His hands cup the boy’s face gently. “It’ll only be a moment, Jayce. I’ll sort everything out and come straight back to you.”
A large, worrying part of Viktor wants to stay, to cling back, but he knows that he can’t. He wrenches himself away before he can change his mind, Jayce crying out once they’re apart.
“Darling, I’ll be right back.” He whispers, kisses Jayce’s forehead before rushing out of the room.
The moment he steps into the hallway, Viktor feels like he can barely breathe. He presses a hand to his chest, wills his frantic heartbeat to slow, and practically sprints back to where Sky is waiting.
She’s still there, standing awkwardly by the table, her expression a mix of confusion and distress. When Viktor enters, she seems to move toward him but thinks again of it.
“Viktor, I – what just happened?” Sky asks, her voice trembling.
“I’m sorry,” Viktor says hurriedly, his words tumbling over one another. “Jayce – he’s. He didn’t mean it. He’s just – he gets overwhelmed.”
Sky nods quickly, though her face is pale. “I didn’t mean to upset him. I-if I’d known, I wouldn’t have – ”
“It’s not your fault,” Viktor cuts in, raising a hand to stop her. He glances back toward the hallway, anxiety eating away at him with every passing second. “I’ll explain everything later, but for now…can we postpone this discussion? I’m afraid I can’t leave him alone like this.”
“Of course,” she says frantically, nodding. “Go – I mean, I’ll go. I’ll reach out later.”
“Alright,” Viktor breathes, relief washing over him briefly before it’s replaced by the gnawing urgency to return to Jayce’s side.
He doesn’t wait for Sky to gather her things or say goodbye. Instead, he’s already halfway down the hall before she even steps toward the door.
Viktor reenters the room to find Jayce curled on the bed, his shoulders heaving with uneven breaths, clutching Viktor’s pillow like a lifeline. The sight pulls at something deep and fragile in Viktor’s chest. He shuts the door quietly behind him and quickly moves to Jayce’s side.
“Jayce,” Viktor murmurs softly. His hands tremble as they brush through Jayce’s unruly hair, sweeping away the strands stuck to the boy’s sweaty forehead.
Jayce flinches at first, but then, as if something within him breaks loose, he twists toward Viktor and collapses into his arms.
“I’m sorry,” Jayce sobs. “I didn’t m-mean to yell. I just – I couldn’t stand it. I couldn’t stand seeing her upset you.”
Viktor’s breath catches, his hands wrapping securely around Jayce’s trembling frame.
“Oh, my darling. You didn’t upset me. And I promise you, Sky didn’t either,” he explains, cringes at himself for having let Jayce see him so unrestrained and temperamental. The boy was much too young to understand. “It’s just…a lot of old memories. But none of it is your fault. None of it.”
Jayce shakes his head violently, his tears dampening Viktor’s shirt. “I hate seeing you hurt. I hate it so much, Viktor.”
The vulnerability in Jayce’s voice almost undoes him. Viktor tightens his hold, pressing kisses atop Jayce’s head, lingering there as if the contact alone could mend whatever pain they’re both feeling.
Time becomes meaningless as they stay like that, the storm of emotion ebbing into a fragile quiet. Viktor doesn’t track the minutes, he doesn’t care. He simply lets himself feel the rise and fall of Jayce’s breaths against his chest, the way his heartbeat gradually slows, allows the calm to wash over the both of them.
When Jayce finally stirs, pulling back just enough to meet Viktor’s gaze, his face is flushed and tear-streaked, but calm. There’s a weight to his expression, a gravity Viktor doesn't understand.
Jayce reaches up, brushing a thumb lightly across Viktor’s cheek, before he leans in and places a tender kiss on the corner of Viktor’s mouth.
“I will never let anything happen to you,” Jayce says, sounding very grave.
And Viktor believes him.
*
For Jayce’s eleventh birthday, Viktor resolves to try his hand at baking.
The boy loves his sweets, would be regularly caught staring at pâtisserie windows when they’d make their short trips to the city. His nose pressed against the glass, golden eyes wide with longing as he pointed at brightly glazed tarts, flaky croissants, and intricately frosted cakes. Viktor would always pull him away gently, muttering about sugar being bad for growing teeth, but he remembered every one of those wistful looks.
It had been a few weeks since Jayce’s…incident with Sky, and for that, Viktor has been strictly home-bound. Every time Viktor would so much as insinuate the need to leave and run errands, that fragile, frightened look would come over Jayce, and Viktor hadn’t had the heart to turn him away, an ache in his chest for having put that expression there.
It’s worrying how shaken Jayce still remains even weeks after. It’s even more worrying how Viktor can’t find the strength in himself to deny him. Jayce has been mindlessly clinging to him like a frightened creature throughout the days, and Viktor, wracked with guilt and a fierce protectiveness, recklessly indulged him.
But this can’t go on any longer. The eventual need to leave the house looms over the both of them like a shadow, and Viktor simply cannot bear to see Jayce so subdued and agitated any longer. He needs a solution.
So that’s where the idea comes in. A surprise. Something to make Jayce feel special, even if Viktor’s culinary skills are…questionable at best.
He wakes well before the sun sets to give himself adequate time to prepare. The recipe book sits open on the counter, its pristine pages mocking him with their overly cheerful simplicity. Easy Vanilla Sponge Cake, the title declares, as if taunting him. Viktor frowns at it, rolling up his sleeves. “How hard can it be?”
As it turns out: very.
The first batch is a disaster. Viktor misreads teaspoons as tablespoons, dumping in too much salt. He stirs the batter with far too much vigor, splattering it across the counter and his shirt. By the time the concoction goes into the oven, it resembles something closer to glue than cake batter. Predictably, the resulting lump is dense, dry, and inedible.
The second attempt isn’t much better. Viktor forgets to grease the pan, and the cake stubbornly refuses to come out in one piece, leaving behind a mangled, crumbling mess.
By the third try, the kitchen is in chaos. Flour coats the countertops and Viktor’s hair. An overturned bowl drips batter onto the floor. The air smells faintly of something burnt, and Viktor’s patience is wearing thin.
Still, he presses on. For Jayce.
By the time the sun begins to rise on Jayce’s birthday, Viktor is staring forlornly at his fourth and final attempt. The cake is passable—not quite the golden fluff depicted in the book, but it holds its shape, and that will have to do. He hastily slathers on frosting, which smears unevenly, dripping down the sides in thick globs. The decorations are an afterthought, uneven swirls and shaky lettering that reads: Happy Birthday, Jayce!
It’s not perfect. It’s barely even decent. But it’s done.
Hearing Jayce begin to stir upstairs, Viktor scrambles to clean up the evidence of his failures.
“Viktor?” Jayce’s voice calls from a distance, groggy yet beginning to go a little frantic. “Where are you? Why didn't you wake me up?”
At the sound of Jayce nearing, Viktor hastily quickens his movements. He shoves the burnt remains of his first few attempts into a cupboard, wipes down the counter with quick, frantic movements, and tries to smooth down his disheveled appearance to no effect.
“What are you doing?” a voice calls from behind him.
Viktor freezes, caught mid-swipe with a flour-dusted towel. He turns slowly, plastering on a sheepish smile as Jayce appears in the doorway, his hair sticking up in all directions, his blanket still wrapped around his shoulders like a cape.
“Good morning, my dear,” Viktor greets, trying to casually step in front of the cake, the embarrassment of it only now beginning to set in. “Did you sleep well?”
Jayce blinks, his gaze wandering over Viktor’s flour-streaked face then to the mess still lingering in the corners of the kitchen. His eyes land somewhere behind Viktor, most likely the cake, and Viktor can see the moment realization dawns.
“Happy Birthday, Jayce,” Viktor says warmly, a tad embarrassedly, though he tries not to let it show.
But Jayce doesn’t respond. He doesn’t laugh, doesn’t smile. He doesn’t say a word.
He steps forward, his movements slow and deliberate, until he’s standing directly in front of the counter. Silently, Viktor watches him with growing apprehension.
Jayce stares at the cake, gazing at it with such intensity that Viktor feels his stomach twist. His palms begin to sweat. He doesn’t like it, Viktor thinks to himself. Of course he doesn’t. It’s a pitiful excuse for a cake. God, what was he thinking?
“You made this?” Jayce finally asks, voice so soft that Viktor barely catches it.
Viktor clears his throat, shifting uncomfortably.
“Ah…yes. I know how much you wanted to try those cakes in the city, and well, I thought maybe I could give it a shot myself.” He laughs self-deprecatingly at that. “It’s not perfect. Far from it, really. But I thought, perhaps the effort might count for something.”
Jayce’s gaze remains on the cake, looking flushed and a little dazed. Viktor worries at his bottom lip.
“But listen, dear one, I understand that it isn’t much. I – I have other gifts prepared, of course. And if you’d like, we can buy a better cake later, a proper one. Actually, let me just take this away—”
“I love you.”
The words come out so suddenly, so quietly, and yet Viktor’s voice promptly dies in his throat. He stares at Jayce, blinking rapidly, unsure if he’s heard correctly.
“What?” Viktor says breathlessly.
Jayce turns to him then, smiling so widely and so beautifully that it makes Viktor’s breath catch, his heart stutter. That he feels as though he's been pierced through his very core. He's dizzy all of a sudden, light-headed on his feet, and all he can do is gape at the boy.
“I knew I was going to die then,” Jayce says dazedly. “In the snow. With nobody else but my mother. And then you came and you took me home.”
Viktor’s chest tightens painfully, his heart swelling with something so warm, so full, so overwhelming that he feels as though he might burst at the seams trying to contain it. Something so all-consuming. Jayce's love.
“I…” Viktor begins, voice trembling like a fragile thing. “Oh, my darling.”
Jayce's expression splinters at the emotion in Viktor's voice, and no sooner does he throw his arms around Viktor's waist and bury his face into Viktor's shirt, breathing him in raggedly.
“I love you too,” Viktor says, whispering it though somehow it's the loudest sound. “More than anything.”
Jayce shudders against Viktor's chest, eyes fluttering close as he worms his way further into Viktor's arms, clinging.
And this time.
This time, Viktor clings back.