Work Text:
The space heater clicked off with a soft snap.
Jayce swore under his breath as he watched the coil die out like a smothered flame, the faint red glow fading to grey. He crouched in front of the heater, cross-legged, elbow pressed against the wall for balance, a screwdriver still clenched in one hand from the rushed repair job. His breath fogged against the metal grate as his other hand worked the dial again, nudging it back and forth.
“Come on,” he coaxed the appliance softly, his voice low. “Please, not now.”
By some miracle, the heater wheezed back to life, rattling like it might give out at any second, but still the barest breath of warmth finally hit his face. A thin glow returned to the coil, barely brighter than a dying ember.
It wasn’t going to be enough, though—not for this cold.
He stayed crouched and watched that dull orange glow, like if he looked away it might go out again, but a flicker overhead broke his focus. The overhead light stuttered once, then again, then a low hum trembled through the ducts above.
Jayce looked up.
The storm had come in fast.
Far above the lab’s vaulted ceiling, Piltover’s sky was the dead, tarnished grey of steel. Sleet pelted in chaotic diagonals, lashing at buildings in silver streaks. The gutters lining roofs were already rimmed with icicles, glinting like rows of teeth. Wind howled through the alleyways outside in low, guttural pitches as the cold seeped in through the seams of the vents, the rags Jayce had shoved into the slits doing little to stop it.
The lights flickered again in faint protest. The little radiator sputtered, kicking into a higher setting with a tired cough. Its effort was valiant, but ultimately outmatched by that strange, bone-deep cold Piltover was known for this time of year.
Jayce felt it in his fingers: a dull, persistent ache, a frigid memory tucked into his joints. He shifted as if to get to his feet, but stayed crouched by the heater a moment longer, warming his hands against its fragile heat, palms rubbing together in an attempt to get friction on his side. The metal groaned again, as if offended by the effort.
He finally pushed himself upright with a sigh and turned toward the table.
“Alright, we’ll try rerunning the modulation sequence from last week. If we’re lucky, the resonance might stabilize with—” He stopped mid-sentence as he laid eyes on his partner, the words dying on his tongue.
Viktor hadn’t moved in several minutes.
He was still seated at the far end of the lab, hunched over the main workbench. His right hand was braced against the edge, the other curled loosely around his cane where it rested beside his stool. His head was bowed slightly, soft brown curls falling forward to obscure most of his face, casting deep shadows over his eyes. At first glance, he looked as if he were reading something, lost in thought, but where his hand gripped the ledge of the counter, his fingers were pale. There was an unnatural stillness in his posture, his shoulders drawn taut.
Then Viktor shifted. It was a small, subtle movement—but Jayce saw the wince.
Jayce frowned. “Vik?” he asked gently.
There was no answer at first, just a small inhale. Then, without looking up from his work, Viktor muttered a reply:
“We should double-check the parameters from Trial Twelve.”
His voice was tight and tired, stretched thin at the edges even though it was barely noon.
Jayce’s frown deepened at that, his brow pinched in concern. He crossed the lab slowly, boots clicking softly against the tile. He stopped just a few feet away, careful not to crowd.
“The cold’s making it worse again,” he murmured quietly. “Isn’t it?”
Viktor didn’t look up.
“I am fine, Jayce.”
The dismissal came curt and practiced. Jayce knew that tone well—the one Viktor used to deflect questions about sleep or food, when they both knew damn well what the answer was.
Jayce crept closer, finally able to see Viktor’s face clearly. His jaw was tight, mouth held flat and too still. A faint line creased between his brows. Viktor’s gaze was fixed forward but unfocused. There was a glassy sheen to his eyes—not tears; rather, the space behind them had gone dark, as if absent in the moment, and he hadn’t realized he was still staring.
Jayce crouched beside him. He kept his voice low. “You’re in pain.”
A beat of silence passed, but Viktor didn’t blink. His hand twitched at the edge of the table, then stilled. The light above them buzzed, caught in another flicker.
Then, flatly: “It’ll pass,” Viktor muttered, more clipped this time. “I’ve worked through worse.”
Jayce didn’t respond to that. Not with words. Instead, he reached up. His hand hovered for a breath, then settled lightly against Viktor’s shoulder, fingers brushing the fabric of his tweed jacket. The chill of it caught him off guard. He adjusted his grip slightly, thumb rubbing once, gently, over the stiff shoulder seam.
Viktor’s mouth twitched like he might say something, but he didn’t. Outside, the wind picked up, rattling the roof like fingernails on a chalkboard. Overhead, the ductwork groaned. The heater in the corner let out another feeble cough and fell back into its low, useless hum. Viktor shifted on the stool to adjust, and he turned his face slightly, tracking Jayce with the corner of his gaze.
“You’re pushing yourself again,” Jayce said quietly, his voice barely above the ambient whir of the vents and the groan of pipes in the ceiling. His breath ghosted in the cold space between them, and though he kept his voice even, it trembled slightly at the edges, just enough to betray the worry curling in his chest.
Viktor gave a quiet exhale through his nose, but his breath hitched a little at the end.
“We can’t afford to fall behind again,” he murmured after a moment, his voice weighed down with something heavier than exhaustion: resignation. “I just needed to—”
“You need rest,” Jayce cut in, the words firmer this time but still gentle. He shook his head and moved his hand to rest at the back of Viktor’s neck, thumb brushing the space just behind his ear. “C’mon. That’s enough for today. I’m calling it. Doctor’s orders.”
That almost pulled a smile. Almost. Viktor huffed softly, a small sound that caught on something deeper.
“You are not a doctor,” he muttered, but the words didn’t have any bite to them.
A breath of laughter from Jayce, and he smiled faintly.
“Engineer’s orders, then. And partner’s.”
Another soft huff of amusement. Viktor’s shoulders shifted under Jayce’s touch—not resistant, but suspended in hesitation. It flickered across his face, how badly he wanted to say no. His hand flexed around the head of his cane, jaw working slightly as if weighing the effort of speaking again. Viktor’s eyes flicked to the ceiling. The sleet had turned heavy, pounding against the metal roof like a million little drums. The storm was settling in for the long haul, and they both knew it.
Finally, Viktor turned toward him fully, the motion slow and deliberate, and Jayce tilted his head down just slightly to meet his gaze. They were nearly eye-level like this. Viktor’s own eyes were dull, tired, and rimmed with shadows, carrying the pain he couldn’t fully hide.
“We cannot leave,” he murmured quietly. “Not in this weather.”
“No,” Jayce agreed softly, brushing Viktor’s hair back from his face with his free hand. The other was still resting lightly at the back of his neck, his thumb tracing an absent line just below the edge of his jaw. “We’re not. So we get comfortable. Right here.” He offered a small, crooked smile. The heater clicked softly in the background, barely audible over the wind howling through the ductwork overhead. Jayce’s voice gentled even more then, threaded with a kind of plea he didn’t try to disguise. “Let me take care of you, Viktor. Just for today.”
Viktor looked up again, slowly this time, and held his gaze. The silence stretched between them, and for a moment it looked like he might try to push back again, lips parted, brow furrowed.
Then, finally, a sigh fell from his lips—a long, reluctant exhale. He nodded slowly.
“…Alright, Jayce,” he said, the words soft and frayed. “Just for today.”
Jayce lingered for a moment longer, his fingers brushing lightly at the base of Viktor’s jaw, reluctant to let go, but the heater in the corner let out another pitiful cough. He drew back slowly, his fingers skimming Viktor’s shoulder as he rose.
“Stay here,” he said softly, giving Viktor a squeeze before pulling back completely. “I’ll get the blanket. Do you want tea?”
He turned without waiting for an answer, already scanning the room with practiced familiarity. The lab was dim, light catching only in dull glints off scattered metal and glass. It wasn’t tidy—never had been—but there was a method to the chaos. Mugs sat near the back edge of the cluttered work table. The kettle rested on the old hotplate beside them, the handle wrapped with a makeshift cloth pad so they wouldn’t burn their hands, its sides streaked faintly with condensation, still half full from that morning . He flipped the hotplate on before moving on.
The navy blanket was exactly where he’d left it: slung haphazardly over the back of his chair, half-draped and crumpled. He snagged it with one hand, shaking it out once to free the folds. The familiar weight settled into his arms—soft, worn, a little frayed at the hem. It smelled faintly of metal, and his mother’s citrus soap, but mostly of them—a scent that had sunk into the fabric over long hours spent here in the dead of winter, working side by side.
When he turned again, the blanket still in hand, Viktor’s gaze had found him once more. His posture hadn’t changed much, still perched on the stool—sat in that same half-hunched posture, as if caught somewhere between bracing himself and simply enduring—but there was a looseness in it now, subtle, but there. His eyes weren’t as pinched. Just…tired. And watching.
Jayce moved quietly back towards Viktor. He didn’t say anything—just a quiet moment as he reached forward and carefully laid the blanket over Viktor’s shoulders meticulously. His fingertips grazed the back of Viktor’s neck, brushing a stray curl aside as the fabric draped down.
The blanket hung awkwardly at first, slipping toward one side—but Jayce adjusted it automatically, folding it inward around Viktor’s collar like he’d done countless times before. It was muscle memory now. Viktor’s gaze dropped to the blanket folded over his chest. He didn’t speak, but his hands shifted beneath it—loosening his grip on his cane, just slightly, like maybe he could let go of the tension for a few breaths.
Satisfied, Jayce turned back and reached for the kettle. It wasn’t boiling, nowhere near close, but he was impatient. He tipped it carefully into the two plain white mugs waiting on the side. The soft hiss of water hitting dried tea leaves and petals filled the space between them. He didn’t even need to look. His hand knew exactly where the tin was—already open, the lid askew—because he’d used it just that morning. Chamomile and passionflower, something mellow and sweet; easy on Viktor’s stomach, gentle on the nerves. He left the mugs to steep, but not before adding an extra spoonful of sugar to Viktor’s.
“Tea’s almost ready,” he murmured, voice lower now.
“That ‘tea’ is going to taste horrible,” Viktor deadpanned as he watched, finally finding his voice, but there was no heat to his words, only mild amusement. “Those herbs are not going to steep properly.”
Jayce shot him a mock-offended look over his shoulder. “I’ll have you know, I followed the instructions exactly. Boil water, steep leaves, add sugar.”
“You poured it straight from the kettle the moment it thought about simmering,” Viktor pointed out, tugging the blanket a little tighter around his legs and finally letting his cane rest against the edge of the workbench. “You are steeping it in lukewarm suggestion.”
Jayce huffed a laugh and leaned back against the counter, crossing his arms over his chest once he set the spoon down and turned off the hot plate. “Desperate times. Besides, it’s medicinal. You’re lucky I didn’t dump in a cup of milk, add some herbs, and call it a tonic.”
“I wouldn’t put it past you,” Viktor murmured, eyes narrowing as he studied the mug. “The last time you made me a ‘tonic,’ I was coughing up slippery elm for three hours.”
“That was one time. And it helped,” Jayce added defensively, though his smile was tugging at the corner of his mouth now.
Viktor didn’t say a word in reply, instead giving him a long-suffering look, but there was the faintest crinkle at the corner of his eyes. Jayce finally pushed off the counter, chuckling under his breath. He carefully lifted Viktor’s mug and tested the heat with his fingers. Warm enough—barely. He set it back down and nudged it across the workbench towards him.
“Here,” he said quietly, tone shifting with a kind of deliberate care.
Viktor accepted the mug with both hands, slender fingers curling around the ceramic like it was the most delicate thing in the world. He didn’t drink right away. Just let the warmth settle into his palms.
Jayce dragged his own chair over and sat beside him, one knee bent with his foot perched on the rung, the other leg stretched out toward the sputtering heater. His own mug was cradled between his hands as he leaned back in his chair with a quiet sigh.
Viktor finally brought his mug to his lips then, and the first sip made his eyes flutter shut. A tiny, involuntary smile crept across his face. “…It’s not bad,” he said softly, as if surprised.
Jayce glanced at him, and a satisfied smirk turned the corners of his mouth up. “No faith.”
Viktor just smiled and took another sip. Jayce did the same. He didn’t say anything, but Jayce didn’t need him to.
They drank in silence for a minute, letting the quiet settle between them like a blanket of its own. The lab was quieter now. The heater let out a soft click, resetting itself as the timer rolled forward, and the constant onslaught of pattering sleet had faded into something less cruel.
Eventually, Viktor paused, staring into the tea as though the surface might whisper something back to him. The faint ripples danced across the visage of his face, blurring the sharp lines of his cheek and jaw, softening the weight in his eyes.
“This reminds me of something,” he said softly after a while. “From when I was young.”
Jayce blinked, caught off guard—but he smiled and glanced sideways at him. “Yeah?”
Viktor gave a tiny nod. “My grandmother used to heat milk in winter. She would mix it with cardamom and cinnamon. Sometimes anise, if she could spare it. Sweetmilk, she called it.”
Jayce didn’t reply yet. He just listened. His mug was warm against his chest, his shoulder brushing lightly against Viktor’s from where they sat close together in their respective seats. He waited in that quiet, in case there was more. There was.
Viktor’s voice dropped lower. “It was barely even warm most days. But it tasted like…” He trailed off for a moment, lips pressed faintly together. “…Comfort,” he finished. “We didn’t have much, but it was like it could help us make it through the night without feeling like the darkness was trying to swallow us whole.”
Jayce’s heart stirred at that. “I didn’t know you lived with your grandmother,” he said quietly. “What was she like?”
“Tired,” Viktor murmured after a pause. “But kind. She used to read to me from whatever books we found in the bins. She made up endings if they were torn. Sometimes I’d pretend the creases in the ruined paper were maps to somewhere else.”
Jayce smiled gently. “That sounds like her priorities were in the right place.”
“She tried,” Viktor answered slowly, before trailing off, his eyes slowly drifting towards the heater in the corner. “Winters were harder after…”
Jayce watched him carefully. “After?”
Viktor’s eyes stayed trained on the sputtering heater, his gaze distant. “After she died, it was just cold. And long. Everything broke down in the winter. Pipes, heat lines, people. You couldn’t count on anything. And when the power failed, it wasn’t just the dark, or the cold, that scared me. It was the silence.”
Jayce’s grip on his mug tightened slightly. He felt the air shift in his chest, like it got harder to breathe.
“I used to wonder,” Viktor continued on, “how people in Piltover could still celebrate in winter. With lights and music. How they could make it look like joy instead of survival.”
They sat like that for a long moment, the mug slowly cooling in Jayce’s hands, the heater humming on, the past lingering gently in the room between them.
“I hated winter too,” Jayce said, quietly. “Still do.”
Viktor turned back toward him slightly, curious. Jayce stared down into the swirl of tea in his mug for a long moment, before his thumb found the inside of his wrist, brushing along the stone embedded in worn leather.
“That storm I told you about—” he said quietly. “I remember the wind. The way it felt like it was trying to cut us open. We couldn’t see. We couldn’t move.” Jayce swallowed. “My mom was shivering so hard I thought she was going to die right there.”
Viktor’s gaze shifted to him fully, more alert now. Jayce blinked hard, looking away.
“We would have. If the mage hadn’t found us. I was too young to understand how or why. I just remember this warmth suddenly surrounding us, like a fire had bloomed in the snow.” Jayce exhaled shakily. “But that feeling—of not being able to protect her, of her being cold and I couldn’t do anything—it’s never really gone away.”
He looked at Viktor then, and something in his voice cracked, just a little.
“That’s why I get so…intense. When you’re hurting. When you’re cold. I just—” He broke off, breathing deep. “I can’t watch someone I love freeze again. I won’t.”
Viktor stared at him for a long moment. His eyes had softened, his own chest rising and falling like something deep in him had shifted.
“Is that why you are always fussing over me on days like this?”
Jayce gave a small, sheepish shrug. “I know it’s ridiculous—”
“It is not, Jayce.” Viktor cut him off, but his words were gentle. He reached out, closing the gap between them as he rested his hand on Jayce's forearm, the pads of his fingers ghosting against the leather strap. “It only shows how much you care…”
Jayce smiled faintly, half amused as he reminisced. “You sound like my mother,” he mused, letting out a short, half-laugh. “I used to grab all the bedding in the house and drag it into the living room, away from the windows. I’d build forts and pull her into them like they were shelters to keep the chill out.” He exhaled, his smile faltering just a little. “I tried to do it for a classmate once, for a sleepover. I was…fifteen?” He laughed again, weaker this time, like it might soften the memory. “He called it childish and weird. Changed his mind and went home. I didn’t know what I’d done wrong.” He glanced toward Viktor, his voice quieter now. “Mom said the same thing you just did.”
Viktor fell quiet at that, hand still resting lightly at Jayce’s wrist. For a long moment, he didn’t move. He sat with fingertips against worn leather, eyes cast low. Then, slowly, almost with reluctance, he drew his hand back.
“That is not childish,” he said at last. “I’m…sorry. That boy made you feel like it was.” His voice wavered slightly, like he wasn’t sure he’d chosen the right words. His mouth pressed thin, as if the next sentence was harder to say. “Children can be cruel,” he added after a breath. “Especially to the parts of us that are good…but that doesn’t make them right.”
It came out awkward, the cadence stiff and stilted in that familiar, endearing way Viktor always sounded when trying to offer comfort out loud. But even still, a small huff escaped Jayce and the corners of his mouth lifted into a small, appreciative smile. He glanced up, just briefly, catching the shape of Viktor’s face in profile, but the other’s expression made him pause.
His gaze lingered for a moment as he watched Viktor bring the mug to his lips again, taking another slow sip. Steam curled in soft spirals around pensive features, dancing over pinched brows and a glassy, far off gaze. Jayce’s own smile slipped into something more bittersweet, and something in his chest started to ache.
Children can be cruel.
“Thanks, Viktor,” he murmured, voice softer now, but the words of gratitude were thick in his throat, mingling with the keen sense of understanding for what hadn’t been said aloud. He didn’t say more than that, letting the silence fill the space between them again as he simply waited for his partner to pick up the thread of thought, trusting it would come like it always did.
But this time—
“…I’ve never made one,” Viktor said aloud then, almost as an afterthought.
Jayce blinked. He looked up fully, caught off guard. “What?”
“I’ve never made one,” Viktor repeated. His mug rose to his lips again, casual—like he hadn’t just broken the rhythm between them entirely. “A fort,” he clarified a second later. “Blanket or otherwise.”
Jayce’s brows furrowed deeply in confusion and his head cocked to one side. He studied Viktor for a long second, lost to where the conversation had just gone. Viktor had fixated on the pillow fort of all things?
“There were…other priorities.” Viktor’s gaze wandered around the dim, lifeless interior of the lab as he continued. “We didn’t have many blankets to spare. And then I grew up. Too quickly, maybe.” Viktor turned to Jayce fully then, and for the first time since he’d spoken, met his eyes. “I always thought it was a lovely idea, though.” His voice dropped, quiet but sure as he held his gaze. “You could make one now, if you wanted.”
That made Jayce freeze. He stared dumbfounded, jaw slack and lips slightly agape, but Viktor only gave the smallest, tentative shrug.
“It would keep us warmer,” he added lightly, almost offhand—but the look in his eyes hinted at something much more deliberate.
Jayce opened his mouth as if to speak, but nothing came out. Then he closed it again, eyes wide. A strange flutter caught in his chest—something old and soft, buried beneath years of guilt and second-guessing. His fingers tightened a little around the mug in his hands, the last of the ceramic’s warmth pressing into his palms.
“You’d…really let me tear apart and make a mess of the lab like a maniac?” he asked slowly, with a weak huff of disbelief, the question careful and almost self deprecating, like he was cautious about getting his hopes up.
“I’m already drinking your lukewarm tea,” Viktor replied, a faint smile on his lips. “It’s far too late for dignity.”
Jayce hesitated for only a moment, then his expression softened, and the corners of his mouth tugged up. “Okay,” he said at last, voice low and uncertain—but there was a flicker of that old spark catching behind his eyes. “I’ll see what I can do.”
He rose slowly, careful with the half-drunk mug as he set it down on the workbench. Then he turned. His gaze swept over the bare expanse of floor lay stretched out before him. He inhaled deep, rolling his shoulders back. Then he pushed up his sleeves, one after the other.
“…Alright,” he muttered under his breath, cracking his knuckles and blowing out the exhale through pursed lips. “Let’s make this frozen hellhole a little less miserable.”
He started with the anvil. It resided in the center of the room, rooted there and unmoving since the lab itself was built. Jayce circled it slowly, fingertips brushing the cold metal. It was slick with a faint skin of condensation, pitted and nicked from years of work. Eventually, his pondering steps stilled. His hand lingered on its edge for a breath longer, before he finally looked up. His eyes found the main workbench. Then Viktor, perched on his stool—and he smiled.
Perfect—
The stool creaked under Viktor’s weight as Jayce doubled back towards him, his hazel eyes bright. “Can I—borrow that?” He pointed down at the seat, then hurried to add, “Only if you’re good to move.”
Viktor blinked up at him, the question met with that patient, unhurried look he always carried. Then he nodded once, and began the slow, careful work of standing. He gathered the blanket tighter at his shoulders, set his tepid mug aside, and pushed himself upright with the help of his cane.
Jayce grinned, and he was already reaching for the stool even before Viktor was fully clear of it. He held it aloft with one hand, and grabbed the back of his own chair next. The legs screeched against metal as he dragged it across the floor to land halfway between the bench and the anvil. The stool followed, nudged into place until the two mirrored each other.
He glanced around the circle he was forming—workbench to the left, chair ahead, anvil to the right, stool at his feet—then, satisfied, he turned and made for one of the many boxes that littered the lab.
Jayce dropped to his knees and began digging, muttering under his breath when the first box yielded nothing. He huffed out a breath of frustration before moving to the next. Behind him, the steady tap of Viktor’s cane edged closer. In the second box, Jayce froze mid-rummage. “Ah,” he breathed, the sound laced with small victory. He hauled out an old dropcloth and gave it a hard shake. It had been white—once upon a time—but now was a patchwork of grease, paint, and ink stains that no wash had ever managed to erase.
His prize in hand, Jayce made a straight shot for the far end of their workbench where a sagging row of old textbooks, journals, and encyclopedias stolen from the academy library leaned against one another. He didn’t stop to browse. In a single, clumsy sweep, he scooped an armful up in one decisive grab, hugging them to his chest and turning in a half-stumble back toward the anvil.
One book slipped from the stack. It landed face-down on the floor with a muffled thud. Viktor exhaled—a sound more weary than exasperated—as he shifted his weight onto the cane and moved to pick it up.
“You can ask for help, you know,” he chided softly, bracing his cane and lowering himself with care to retrieve the fallen journal. His free hand found the book, fingers curling around the cover, even as his gaze lingered on Jayce—now attempting to wrangle the dropcloth up over the head of the anvil using one hand and half an arm, all while pinning another book to his chest with his chin. “Here, let me—”
“Viktor—” The protest came out more reflex than conviction.
Before Jayce could string it into a proper objection, Viktor had already crossed the space between them, cane tapping lightly against the floor. He took the cloth, pulling it up onto the anvil, then placed the rescued journal on top—and plucked the one from under Jayce’s chin for good measure. Whatever retort Jayce had been preparing dissolved into a sheepish smile.
“Thanks,” he breathed, the words roughened with relief.
A quiet hum was the only reply. Viktor’s palms still splayed on the dropcloth to help anchor it, and he nodded Jayce on.
Freed from the balancing act, Jayce set a few books down at each of the other anchor points, then pulled the cloth taut. One corner was pinned beneath the workbench, another draped over the back of the chair. The last point—awkwardly pinned to the short stool—pulled the fabric into a lopsided but mostly stable structure.
“Stay right there—” he grinned, already scurrying back towards the second box he had searched.
This time, he came up with two folded bundles of dark grey canvas. The scrunched tarps were creased and stiff from storage, having been haphazardly shoved into the bottom who knew how long ago.
He tucked them under one arm, bounding back and forth between stations with an energy that made Viktor’s lips twitch in amusement. First, the tarps were dropped to the floor. Then, the boxes were dragged into position, stacked two high between the chair and workbench. Jayce shook out the first tarp with a snap and anchored it. One corner draped the opposite way over the back of the chair and atop the dropcloth, another on the top box, its open top revealing a jumble of unidentifiable odds and ends now serving as impromptu weights. Then the third and fourth corners were pulled taut and pinned on two sections of the bench. Then, without missing a beat, Jayce mirrored the process on the opposite side. In the end, an awkward but oddly charming fort sprawled across the front half of the lab, but still, Jayce wasn’t finished.
Once the fort’s frame passed his silent inspection, he reached for the pitiful little heater resting in its corner. As he picked it up, however, his eyes fell on the hotplate and kettle from across the room. He paused for a moment, before he switched gears. He set the heater down and nudged it towards the fort with his foot, before he strode across the room, carefully setting the kettle aside and retrieving the hotplate. He dropped to his knees then, grabbing the heater and ducking under the workbench with both items. The cramped space forced him to hunch and shuffle, the tarp swaying faintly overhead as he set the devices down. With the click of switches and a low hum, faint wisps of warmth began to seep into the air. He straightened onto his knees, eyes skimming along the metal lip of the bench above his head to double-check that nothing flammable was within reach.
“The mats under your desk!” he called, quickly turning his head towards the exit. “Can you grab the—” THUNK. The sharp crack of his skull against the metal lip rang out. Jayce sucked a pained hiss through his teeth, a hand flying to his throbbing brow bone. “—Ow! Shit…” he grumbled, his shoulders hunching in on themselves to make himself smaller. His own size hadn’t been a variable last time he did this, a small miscalculation. “I’m fine— he called weakly, his pride more hurt than his head.
“How fortunate,” came the muffled reply from outside the fort. “Courtesy of your skull being so thick, I am sure.”
Jayce’s mouth quirked up into a crooked smirk at the jibe, a huff of amusement escaping him. “Obviously.”
Viktor’s soft chuckle floated across the lab. Then, after the quiet rustle of shifting weight, his cane was tapping in its steady cadence as he made for the smaller desk in the back corner.
He eased down into a crouch with the kind of care his joints demanded, the blanket slipping from his shoulders to puddle on the floor. His hand disappeared into the shadowed hollow beneath the desk, searching until his fingers found the two thin mats they kept there for working under larger machines. The padding was barely more than a formality, but it would keep the cold tiles from leeching away the meager heat they’d managed to trap.
The mats proved unwieldy in one hand, but light enough to drag behind him. He scooped up the discarded blanket with the other, draping it over his shoulder before retracing his steps.
“Here,” he said simply, letting both the blanket and mats fall into a small heap beside the tarp. Tan arms rapidly shot out from beneath, snatching them and dragging them in like a cat claiming its spoils.
“Grab one of the lanterns,” was Jayce’s next muffled instruction. “The one by the door!”
Viktor turned, gaze finding the oil lantern resting on the little bench by the lab’s entrance. A few careful steps later, it too vanished under the canvas shelter.
“Is there anything else you require?” Viktor asked, lips curving faintly as he surveyed the small fortress. This time, it wasn’t Jayce’s arms that emerged, it was his face, eyes glinting with excitement.
“Just you,” he said, grinning. “And give me your coat.”
“My coat?” Viktor’s brow arched, skeptical, as his fingers hesitated on the buttons of his tweed jacket. Still, he shrugged out of it, the heavy fabric whispering against his inner sleeves before it slid from his shoulders. The coat sagged in his grip for a moment before he finally let it drop to the floor with a muted thump. “I thought we were trying to stay warm.”
“Trust me,” Jayce insisted. He snatched up the coat and vanished again into the fort’s shadowed hollow.
For a few moments, Viktor stayed where he was, listening to the muffled sounds of shifting and fabric rustling, but the chill of the lab was already finding its way through the thin buffer of his remaining layers, needling his skin, sending a shiver up the length of his spine. When he could no longer bear it, he let out a slow breath and began lowering himself toward the floor.
His bad knee flared in protest almost instantly the moment it bent too far, and the heavy weave of fabric bit into the back of his leg where it folded. He winced and hissed out a quiet curse, his jaw tightening, but still, he pressed on until his palms met the chill of the tiles, and dragged his body forward into the narrow opening of the fort—and stopped short.
The first thing he noticed was the warmth. It pooled in the small space under the tarps. The workbench’s underside glowed faintly from the hot plate and small heater casting an invisible shield against the icy air outside. The lantern’s flame threw soft light across the navy blanket Jayce had spread over the mats to take the bite out of the hard surface, its flicker painting the shadows in amber.
The second thing was Jayce. He was stripped to the waist, skin bronzed and faintly sheened from the warmth, his shirt bunched in his hands as he rolled the fabric into a compact bundle, tucking corners into themselves until it held its shape. Then he reached for Viktor’s coat in his lap and wrapped it around the bundle, securing the whole thing into a makeshift pillow. Beside him lay a second pillow—this one clearly Jayce’s own—fashioned from his undershirt and coat and bound neatly with his tie.
“Clever,” Viktor muttered under his breath.
Jayce’s head lifted instantly, pride brightening his smile—only to falter into something puzzled as Viktor reached for the buttons of his vest.
“Wait! You don’t—”
“Oh, hush,” Viktor interrupted, the words accompanied by a small roll of his eyes, as if the idea were absurd.
Years of working in close quarters, covered in grease and soot and worse, had burned away any sense of modesty between them. There was nothing here the other hadn’t already seen. One by one, the layers came away: the vest joined the wide-eyed Jayce’s pile, followed by his tie, then his shirt in a loose tumble. His shoes thudded dully against the floor as he kicked them away, and he began working the fastenings on his trousers, easing them down to peel away the brace beneath. Once the contraption came off, it clattered softly as it landed beside his cane, and tugged off the thin undersleeve.
Without it, the faint red marks against the milky skin of his thigh and calf were visible. Viktor’s fingers sank into the muscle there, kneading slowly, trying to coax warmth and blood back into the limb. His jaw tightened with the effort, and the muscles of his brow pinched in quiet concentration as he worked through the stubborn knots.
“Are you okay?”
Jayce’s voice had softened, the warmth still there but the edge of playfulness gone, replaced with a careful note of tentative concern. When Viktor glanced over his shoulder, the so-called pillow project lay forgotten in Jayce’s lap. His large hands were idle on top of it, the half-made bundle drooping between them. His mouth carried a slight downturn, brows drawn just enough to pinch his features.
“I’m fine, Jayce.” Viktor turned away before Jayce’s expression could take root in him, busying himself with the deliberate unrolling of his socks. He peeled them off one by one, tucking them together into a wadded up ball and setting them beside his shoes.
“Do you need help?”
The question hung there. Viktor’s fingers stilled against the little ball of fabric. For a moment, his shoulders stayed locked, his back angled toward Jayce as he considered the offer and weighed the impulse to refuse. The hesitation was thick between them, and Viktor’s gaze became fixed on some unimportant point on the floor.
Then his shoulders rose and fell with a quiet, almost imperceptible sigh.
Just for today, he told himself.
“All right,” he conceded at last, his voice barely breaking above the hum of the small heater. He shifted onto his side, his back toward Jayce. Even with the padding beneath them, the floor pressed into his spine in all the wrong ways, the stiffness already seeping into his muscles. The dull ache was a petty, constant reminder of his body’s limits; it couldn’t even grant him the small grace of enjoying this without complaint. A faint grunt escaped as he settled, frustration tightening his jaw.
Behind him, fabric rustled: the shuffle of Jayce’s weight shifting. A moment later, a broad, warm palm, nearly as wide as his torso, pressed gently to the curve of his spine between the shoulder blades.
“Head up—”
Without a word, Viktor tilted his head up, craning his neck just enough for something soft to slide beneath it. He let himself sink into the makeshift pillow, eyes closing on a breath that eased some of the tightness in his chest. The scent of iron touched his senses first, followed by the faint, familiar warmth of spiced cologne that seemed to follow Jayce everywhere he went. The scent wrapped him in a strange comfort, grounding him in a way he didn’t dare to analyze. His eyes drifted shut and drew in a slow breath as the weight of Jayce’s chest settled against him in the quiet, the steady rhythm of another heartbeat pressed against his back.
“This okay?”
A low hum was all Viktor could manage in reply, the sound barely there as he nodded once and let his eyes stay shut. He felt Jayce’s hands slowly shift lower, then careful, almost hesitant fingers wrapped gently around Viktor’s calf. He traced slow, kneading circles over the stiff muscles, finding each tense knot and working them out with patient care. Eventually, the ache in his leg began to ebb and Viktor’s shoulders sagged, tension leaking away as the makeshift fort grew warmer, the space shrinking to just the two of them. The lantern flickered as Jayce worked, casting their silent shadows against the fabric walls. The heater rolled forward once more, the only sound that broke the muted rhythm of their breathing.
All too soon, Jayce’s hands pulled back. “Roll onto your stomach,” his voice murmured, almost coaxing.
Viktor’s eyes fluttered open halfway. He turned his head enough to look back over his shoulder, brow lifting in muted suspicion. “Why?”
“I can’t reach your other leg if you’re laying on it.” The faint curve of Jayce’s mouth had edged towards a pout. His eyes were earnest, almost boyishly so. “Please…?”
The request caught Viktor off guard. His lips parted in hesitation, only to press closed again on a wordless breath as he met the other’s pleading golden gaze. The lantern crackled faintly, filling the space where neither of them spoke, until at last Viktor let out a heavy sigh and shifted. He rolled onto his stomach with deliberate slowness, pulling Jayce’s coat toward him as he settled. The pillow found its place tucked beneath his chin and chest like he was hugging it.
“Are you happy now?” he muttered, dry humor falling flat on tired lips. He pulled the pillow a little closer all the same, nestling his cheek against its edge. “You are lucky I already promised you today,” he added, eyes falling closed again. “Do not get used to it.”
Viktor’s ears rumbled with a low chuckle, and the tight coil in his shoulders eased just a fraction as Jayce’s soft laughter rippled through the fort. Then those strong hands were back. Jayce’s fingers brushed lightly along Viktor’s arm in silent reassurance, before going back to work pressing and kneading the tense muscles of his left leg. Viktor was surprised by how locked up the sinews were—years of overcompensation leaving invisible marks beneath the skin. A soft grunt escaped him as he winced, Jayce finding a particularly stubborn knot near his ankle.
“Viktor?”
One hand lifted from his leg.
“Did I hurt you?”
Suddenly, warm, gentle fingers were threading through the soft brown curls at the nape of his neck, then tucking a few stray strands behind his ear with care. The gesture stole Viktor’s breath from him. He often twisted his own hair as a quiet anchor, a subconscious habit these days. But having someone else do it? It left his mouth dry, a sand coated tongue pressing against the inside of his cheek.
“No, Jayce…” he muttered in response, trying to keep his voice level as he hid his face in the fabric of the pillow. “You worry too much.”
He fell quiet again, screwing his eyes shut to brace against the raw exposure of the moment. Jayce hesitated just a heartbeat longer, then to Viktor’s sweet relief, he finally returned to the slow work of massaging his leg. He traced from ankle to calf to thigh, fingers coaxing each knot to unwind. The air inside the fort seemed to grow heavier, warmer, as Viktor’s breathing slowly deepened in rhythm with the careful strokes. It was a rare kindness, a luxury even, that he hadn’t allowed himself before. And it felt nice. Very nice.
But then, the hands moved higher, climbing the curve of his hips and the gentle hollows of his lower back, palms pressing along the length of his spine. Viktor’s eyes snapped open, his heart jumping straight into his throat to cause a hitch in his breath. Jayce’s touch was reverent, and painstakingly slow, like every inch was a discovery. It felt foreign, and something in Viktor twisted painfully in instinct. He quickly realized how exposed he was with his bare skin on display, and how vulnerable it made him feel.
People didn’t touch him like this. People weren’t gentle with him like this.
And yet—
It felt good.
Without really knowing why, heat blossomed behind Viktor’s eyes, and wetness pricked at the corners. Panic rose swiftly with the unexpected tide of emotion. His own body’s reaction scared him.
“Jayce—”
But Jayce was already moving upward, fingers kneading the trapezius and shoulder blades, working out every last bit of tension. His face was calm, focused, a small, secret smile curling his lips as he traced the delicate expanse of skin, dotted like constellations beneath his hands. He heard the quiet call, but only glanced up briefly.
“Hmm?”
“Jayce—Stop.”
Viktor’s voice cracked, oddly strained, and suddenly Jayce was yanked back into reality. His hands froze, the air between them charged and fragile, before Jayce jerked back and scrambled away, his heart tight in his chest as he gave the other space. Viktor’s face was scrunched against the makeshift pillow, fingers clutching it like a lifeline. His breaths came unevenly, long lashes glistening with small beads of tears in the lamplight.
“Viktor—” Jayce’s voice broke, thick with horror. His hands twitched forward instinctively, but fearing he might distress the other man further, they paused midair, hovering there uselessly. “Are you alright? What’s wrong?” The questions tumbled out in a frantic rush. He hated how panicked he sounded, but guilt wrapped tight around his throat.
“I…do not understand.” Viktor’s breath hitched and a choked, awkward laugh followed at the absurdity of it, but his throat felt swollen. He shook his head, hastily dragging the ball of his palm over his eyes, trying in vain to wipe the proof away. “I’m not upset—it was…nice— I…” He faltered, cutting himself off. His throat worked around words that wouldn’t come, until he finally forced them out. “I am sorry. You can continue, please—I…I am just not used to being touched like this. You have done nothing wrong.”
The confused, fragmented sentences tumbled from Viktor’s lips, but their intent was clear. Gradually, Jayce’s shoulders sagged as the reassurance settled in, relief creeping in where dread had been.
“Hey,” he whispered, softer now, steadying his tone. “Hey, it’s okay.”
Cautiously, he reached forward once more, and this time his hands found Viktor's face. Viktor flinched at the initial touch, and Jayce’s stomach dropped so fast he almost pulled away. But then, Viktor leaned in, pressing his face into the warmth as he took a deep, trembling breath.
“Please…don’t stop…” he breathed, his voice fragile like cracking glass. His eyes squeezed shut as if to hide how much desperation they held. “I do not want you to.”
Swallowing the lump in his throat, Jayce’s palms cradled his partner’s cheeks, thumbs brushing the dampness he’d missed. “Okay…”
Hesitantly, his touch returned, gentler this time. Jayce traced his spine with reverence, letting the rhythm of Viktor’s breathing guide him. The smaller man curled inward, yielding to the release of his long-kept walls. Hot tears slipped freely down his cheeks, dampening the fabric beneath him, each one unguarded and unashamed. The space around them seemed to shift. Time stretched out strangely, heavy with the muffled pattering of sleet outside and the faint crackle of the heater. Each emotion that flooded his awareness was stronger than the last: vulnerability, confusion, bitter relief, then an aching hunger, a longing he couldn’t properly name. He felt like he was falling endlessly through empty space, untethered, as he realized just how starved he’d been for this kind of contact.
But Jayce was there to catch him.
Just as he always was.
Through it all, Jayce’s hands stayed steady. They slowed as they traveled upward, skimming over Viktor’s shoulders, his neck, until the touch became more to comfort than to relieve tension. But eventually, even that tenderness wasn’t enough. Dissatisfaction tugged at Jayce, and abruptly, he drew back.
Viktor’s eyes cracked open in confusion. His head lifted, red-rimmed amber eyes searching hazel with sudden urgency. “Jayce?”
“Fuck it. Come here—”
Surprise escaped Viktor in a strangled squawk as strong arms wrapped around his frame and dragged him in without a hint of hesitation.
Jayce rolled them both over, crushing the smaller man tight against his chest. The embrace was so fierce it nearly squeezed the air from Viktor’s lungs. There was no room to move, nor any chance of wriggling free—but the thought of pulling away never even entered Viktor’s mind. Instead, the closeness washed over him, overwhelming in its intensity, yes, but comforting too. If anything, he wanted Jayce to hold him even tighter.
He shut his eyes tight and curled up as much as his body allowed, folding himself inward into Jayce’s embrace, and something inside him cracked. His chest hitched, and an unbidden sob bubbled up past his lips. Another followed, then another, until his body shook with them, each tumbling free one after another as the cracks in the dam finally burst open.
Jayce held him through every one. He gathered him closer instinctively, his body curved around Viktor’s, one hand firm against his back, the other cradling the fragile shape of his head as if he could shield him from the world entirely. Their little fort no longer felt like scraps of tarp and cloth. It was a sanctuary, four walls against everything cruel and cold outside.
“You’re safe,” Jayce whispered into Viktor’s hair, his voice raw as he tightened his hold. “I promise. You’re safe, Viktor.”
The reassurance seemed to break something open. Viktor’s sobs hitched sharply, then they began to spill out faster. His shoulders shook as he burrowed into Jayce’s chest, muffling his cries against the solid warmth there. He curled in on himself, as though trying to vanish completely, even as he clutched at Jayce blindly, afraid he might vanish if he let go.
Jayce’s chest ached as he held him, the sight alone might've split him in two. Viktor looked so young like this: exhausted and completely undone. How long had he lived without this? Braved the world alone without someone to hold him close and comfort him? Since his grandmother died? Before that? Every possibility cut deeper than the last, until Jayce felt his own eyes sting, the pressure building hot behind them as they began to flood.
No one should ever be that alone.
So, he held Viktor tighter, burying his own face in Viktor’s hair, smoothing a palm up and down his back in unhurried passes. The storm outside raged on as they clung to one another, but for once it felt far away. Inside the cocoon of their refuge, there were only the soft sounds of Viktor’s weeping, and the quiet thrum of Jayce’s heartbeat beneath his ear.
Minutes passed, maybe more. Jayce didn’t know, nor did he care. He only focused on the way Viktor’s shoulders gradually lost their rigidity, his trembling easing with every shuddering inhale as they cried together. Viktor stayed tucked against him, but eventually his broken sobs tapered off into placid sniffles.
Jayce swallowed hard, his eyes wet and his own throat tight and sore despite his silence. His chest hurt with the need to say something, anything, but instead, he shifted just enough to let his fingers drift up into the curls at Viktor’s nape. They moved of their own accord, threading gently through soft chestnut strands, repeating the soothing motions he’d seen Viktor do to himself countless times before.
“You know you can always come to me,” Jayce whispered at last, his voice so soft it barely stirred the still air. Tentatively, reverently even, his palms cradled Viktor’s face once more. The faint warmth of Viktor’s skin pressed against his own, grounding in the fragile quiet. Then he leaned in until their foreheads met. “No matter what.”
Viktor jolted the moment their brows touched. His body went rigid, eyes snapping open in startled shock. Jayce recoiled instinctively when the other stiffened, fear spiking in his chest at the sudden movement—but before he could retreat more than an inch, two slender hands shot up and caught his cheeks firmly in return.
Viktor’s grip wasn’t strong, his fingers trembling, but the desperation behind it made Jayce still at once. Slowly, Viktor drew him back in, pulling Jayce forward with a quiet urgency. Their foreheads met once more, and Viktor held him there, anchoring Jayce in place.
“Don’t,” he commanded, his voice shaking and his accent thick. “Don’t move—”
Jayce’s breath caught at the plea in his voice. The fragility of it—the naked, desperate need—cut straight through him and it made his heart lurch.
“Okay.”
Letting his eyes fall closed, Jayce wrapped his arms around the slight frame of his best friend once more. He felt Viktor’s breath ghosting unevenly across his cheek, but Jayce held him closer, willing himself to be an anchor for as long as his partner needed. His own chest rose and fell in answer, slower, steadier, until their rhythms began to tangle and overlap in a shared cadence.
Gradually, Viktor’s trembling eased. His hands were still pressed tight to Jayce’s cheeks, but his grip had softened. When at last Viktor sagged against him fully, exhaustion dragging at every line of his body, only then did he dare to speak.
“How…how do you know that?” he murmured, his voice tight.
“Know what?” Jayce replied quietly, voice gentle, coaxing.
“In the Undercity…we…” Viktor’s words faltered. He drew a deep breath, trying to steady his shaking voice as he fought to regain his composure. “With the gasses in the fissures…they wore masks. And this—” His forehead pressed closer against Jayce’s, unable to meet his eyes fully. “This was all they could do. It’s foolish, but I’ve never—”
“No,” Jayce interrupted him softly. “It’s not foolish.” With one free hand, he shifted to tilt Viktor's chin up to meet his gaze. “I didn’t know, but I won’t forget. I promise.”
Viktor’s eyes were wide as he processed that, then he sucked in a slow breath, nodding with quiet acceptance. Then, the spell broke. He finally let his hold on Jayce’s face go and curled up to tuck his face in the crook of the other’s neck instead. Exhaustion pressed deep into his bones, but beneath it, a strange but welcome sense of peace. Jayce shifted with him, adjusting the blanket clumsily over them both. It was a poor attempt—the blanket was twisted and pulled taut under their bodies, his legs still poking free. But even still, Viktor found himself warmer.
Warm, and his mind fuzzy.
Viktor’s breathing grew deeper, his body limp with weariness. His eyelids fluttered, growing heavy as the edge of sleep beckoned him closer. Then, through the quiet came the faintest sound: a gentle melody humming into the stillness.
Jayce’s voice was rich and soft, weaving a lullaby without words. Viktor didn’t know the tune, but it carried the weight of home, of safety and simpler times. Before blizzards or bullies, investors and councils, before the crushing weight of the world ever touched them.
Vikor smiled to himself then. He didn’t speak. He only listened to the other’s low tenor, laying still and small in Jayce’s arms, until the sound lulled him the rest of the way under and his eyes fell closed for a final time. His breath evened completely, warm against Jayce’s collarbone, and his weight grew slack with sleep.
In the quiet of the fort, Jayce kept humming long after the other had slipped into slumber, until he found his own voice starting to fail him—breaking up notes, his pace turning sluggish. When he finally fell silent, he pulled Viktor closer, pressing his cheek against unruly curls. His eyes drifted shut, but his mind was already wandering forward—
Tomorrow, the storm would ease. They’d have to shake off the sleep and the warmth, crawl out of their little fort to get dressed in the cold, fold away the tarps, and pick their way through the work left waiting for them. Viktor would grumble at the wasted time, his mind already ticking ahead to unfinished schematics and obligations waiting on the desk. Jayce would laugh, pretending not to dread it just as much. Maybe, if the streets cleared, they’d part ways, each trudging home alone to face the weight of everything that waited beyond the lab doors. The world would find its way back in as it always did. The endless list of things that never truly disappeared.
But for now, none of that mattered.
For this small, fleeting moment, they were just two kids again, wrapped up safe and warm in their own little fortress, shielded from the creeping dread of what tomorrow might bring. No worries, no fears. Simply clinging to each other without a care beyond the steady beat of two hearts and the quiet comfort that was theirs to hold.
Just for today.