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Waking up to Viktor was easily the best part of Jayce’s day.
He could credit how the sun brought out the gold in his partner’s eyes, or the bedding freshly warmed with his scent. The pleasant realization that they’d both cuddled closer in the night wasn’t bad, either.
Honestly, it was the relief that made it special. The reassurance that Viktor had slept uninterrupted, maybe even peacefully, and woken up.
If you’d asked the Man of Progress just a couple of years ago, he’d have thought it impossible. But many rounds of treatment, one lung transplant, and a spinal surgery later, Viktor was a new man. A healthy man. As of seven months ago, his body was toxin-free and his back brace unnecessary. For the first time since his academy days, his trusty cane was the only support he needed.
However, none of that changed the fact that Jayce had spent years watching his partner’s health deteriorate. He’d washed blood out of countless shirts, towels, and handkerchiefs. He’d sat in countless stale rooms waiting alone, speaking with doctors, and staring at the seemingly lifeless body of the man he loved. He’d held Viktor’s head as he gagged up nothing but stomach acid, clutched his trembling, bone-thin form to his chest until the pain ebbed.
So it was only natural that since this morning, when Jayce had woken up to an empty bed and sneezes echoing from the kitchen, he’d been worried.
Viktor was found making tea, something herbal and fragrant. When Jayce had leaned in for a good-morning kiss, he was dodged. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Viktor warned, voice congested. “It seems I’ve come down with something.”
Pouting, Jayce had carded through Viktor’s hair, the latter melting into the touch. “What’s going on?”
His partner opened his mouth to answer, only to turn around and bury a sneeze into his elbow. He straightened groggily. “Nothing serious. Headache, sore throat, and this,” he gestured to his nose, “which is rather irritating.”
Jayce frowned, using his lips to feel for a fever. A bit warm, but nothing alarming. He wrapped his arms around Viktor, hoping to offer some comfort. “I’m sorry, honey.” Then, nervously, “Maybe stay home?”
Slowly, Viktor relaxes into him. “…I suppose one day off wouldn’t hurt.” His self-care tendencies had been much better since entering remission, but after so many arguments with his partner about overworking himself, the quick surrender still surprised Jayce.
“Do you want me to stay with you?”
Viktor smiled wearily. “It’s just a cold, Jayce.” He pulled away to look the taller man in the eye. “I think my chances of survival are fairly high.”
As per usual, Viktor had been right. So Jayce trusted him. He gelled his hair and put on his epaulets, his partner sipping his tea and admiring from bed. He went to the lab and then a council meeting. He fought for progress or whatever.
He just couldn’t focus knowing that Viktor was sick, alone in the house with no one to help him. All Jayce could do was glance at his pocket watch every minute or two, wishing he could fast-forward to the end of the day.
Mel was done with this by lunchtime.
Setting her fork down loudly to startle him, she waved a hand in front of his face. “Hello, I’d like my favorite colleague back, please!” When it took him another fifteen seconds to put his watch away, she huffed. “Viktor’s fine, darling. He’s a very capable man.” Then, with a smirk, “You left unsupervised and ill, on the other hand…”
“Shut up!” Jayce sighed. “He hasn’t been sick since his recovery, and I just—” He fidgeted anxiously with his cufflinks. “I’m just worried about him.”
His friend cocked her head. “Then go to him!”
He balked. “Viktor’ll be upset I’m missing work for his sake.”
“Fine, then don’t go home,” Mel threw her hands up. “But please, I’m begging you, don’t stay here. I can’t stand your moping anymore.”
Although a bit wounded, Jayce could respect that. “Any new matinees you’d recommend?”
“Sweet of you to ask.” She shook her head. “I meant something that would calm you down . Stroll through the gardens, forge another decorative hammer.” Before he could protest that my hammers are perfectly functional, thank you , a lightbulb seemed to go off in Mel’s mind. “If you’re so stuck on your husband’s wellbeing, get something to cheer him up!”
Jayce had his own lightbulb moment less than a minute later. “I know just the place.”
The day had been going fairly slow for Jericho.
Ever since the topside council had started prioritizing the Undercity more, half his customers were Piltie tourists wanting to immerse themselves in fissure cuisine. Unbelievable.
As for the fissure folk themselves, they had access to more fresh produce than they used to. Jericho never thought he’d find himself competing with salads, but here he was, playing solitaire to kill time between loyal customers.
He was just about to place the final two cards when someone knocked on his stall’s counter. “Um, excuse me?” Sounded like a young man, far too polite to be a local.
Jericho stood and walked to the front. He was met with a headshot he’d seen on countless posters and flags from the most recent “City of Progress” campaign. Stubble that only the insanely wealthy can pull off, gold accent jewelry, and blindingly white teeth. It was a miracle he’d made it this deep into the lanes without getting mugged; in that outfit, he was asking for it.
Crossing his arms, the stall owner eyed Jayce Talis down, silently questioning the councilman’s intent.
Jayce just shot him that famous megawatt smile. “Do you guys do takeout?”
With a greasy takeout bag in tow, Jayce unlocks the door of their penthouse.
The first thing he hears is coughing. Despite being muffled by the walls and presumably Viktor’s arm, it’s still loud, harsh, and painful-sounding. When it ends, he’s left shaken. This was too familiar.
It’s happening again and I wasn’t here.
Jayce sets the bag haphazardly on their entryway table and charges into the living room, scanning until he lands on the sound’s source.
His partner is stretched out reading on the couch, wearing the sweater Ximena had knit for him last Winterfest. He looks cozy, a steaming mug on the coffee table beside him and his favorite blanket draped over his legs. Other than the handkerchief clutched against his lips and the pink tinge around his nose, he seems perfectly fine.
“Welcome home,” Viktor greets, glancing up from the page and clearing his throat. “How were things at the lab? It seems you managed to retain all your limbs.” Noticing Jayce’s distress, he tilts his head to the side. “Is something wrong?”
The care in Viktor’s eyes snaps Jayce out of his catastrophizing. “No. No, I, uh—are you okay?”
“Eh, as much as I can be,” the Zaunite shrugs, sniffling. He raises an eyebrow. “I could ask the same of you.”
The Man of Progress shrinks into himself. “I just…heard you coughing and, I don’t know, I thought maybe you…” He trailed off, embarrassed.
“Jayce,” Viktor tsks, setting his things on the table. He pats the cushion next to him. “Come here.”
Jayce immediately obliges, practically leaping into Viktor’s lap and burying his face in his neck. “Down, boy!” his partner scolds. “Have you no sense of self-preservation? You’re going to get sick.”
“Don’t care,” Jayce mumbles into Viktor’s skin, dropping a kiss there for emphasis. Lean arms embrace him.
“I’m not going anywhere,” his partner whispers into his hair, sending a shiver down his spine. “I know that hasn’t always been a guarantee, and you’ve been so strong for me, but you don’t have to be strong anymore.” When Viktor feels hot tears against his neck, he just tightens his hold. “Everything is okay, my love.”
They breathe in tandem, Jayce clinging to his partner while he collects himself. “I should be the one comforting you right now,” he protests, albeit unconvincingly.
“Hush,” Viktor chides. “Take however long you need. I’m alright.”
As if on cue, his breath hitches, and he hurries to detangle from under Jayce before sneezing twice into sweater-covered hands. A small coughing fit follows, contained by his handkerchief out of habit. After a pause, Viktor turns back, grimacing. “Wonderful timing.” He clocks Jayce eyeing the cloth warily and scoffs, unfolding it. “No blood, see? Just the standard, disgusting bodily fluids.”
Jayce laughs wetly. “Thank you, V.” When Viktor seems to have caught his breath, he continues. “I take it you aren’t feeling much better than this morning?”
Viktor sighs. “I had hoped this would clear up quickly, but now I have this ridiculous cough, so I…” He shakes his head in an attempt to stave off the itch. “I might need to be more–” Another grating sneeze cuts him off. “Patient. Ugh.” He returns to his reclined position. “I can only hope this doesn’t interrupt our lab work tomorrow. You’ll have to forgive me.”
“Huh?” Jayce faltered. “Are you—You aren’t actually planning to work tomorrow?”
Viktor’s expression is one of confusion. “Why wouldn’t I?”
“You just told me you weren’t feeling any better!”
“I was just complaining, I have handled much worse.”
“That doesn’t mean you should!”
“I believe I said one day wouldn’t hurt.”
“Hey, wait, truce!” Jayce declares, taking a deep breath. “Please, Viktor, I don’t wanna fight about this.”
His partner fiddles with the blanket’s fraying edges, hard-earned from many trips to and from the hospital. The immediate response Viktor’s brain provides is I cannot afford to waste any more time.
He must be more tired and loose-lipped than he realizes because Jayce answers, “You said it yourself, you’re not going anywhere. Not anymore.” Viktor stills, smoothing the blanket out. He feels a nudge against his shoulder. “Waste some time, V. We have lots left.”
Smirking, Viktor meets his gaze. “Jayce Talis, when did you become so eloquent?”
Jayce grins, relishing his full name on the Zaunite’s tongue. “I’ve been told my words can be very persuasive.”
Viktor rolls his eyes. He falls silent for a while and Jayce doesn’t push, trusting him to speak when he’s ready.
Finally, he tries for a light tone when he concedes, “It appears we both have a lot of adjusting left to do when it comes to my health.” He leans into Jayce’s side. “I apologize for worrying you, and for being so stubborn.” Placing a hand on the other man’s knee, he confesses, “You are not the only one who’s afraid, is what I mean.”
Jayce starts to say something, but Viktor cuts him off with a raised hand. “ Hold on— ” He grabs his handkerchief again, sneezing forcefully into it. With a thick sniffle and a groan, he massages the bridge of his nose, triggering a few more residual sneezes.
Jayce sits up, rubbing his back. “ Viktor .”
“Jayce.” Viktor’s voice is quiet, worn thin. All at once, his discomfort washes over him—the pressure in his sinuses, the ache in his leg, the throbbing pain in his temples. He drags a hand down his face and rests it on his throat, eyes sliding shut. “I really don’t feel well.”
“Aw, honey,” Jayce soothes, slipping back into the role of caretaker with ease. Attempting to tamp down his concern, he tests the waters. “What can I do?”
At the question, Viktor whimpers softly, an almost imperceptible noise designed to avoid attention. Only Jayce would understand that he’s signaling overwhelm, asking for options. He trails his fingers up to Viktor’s scalp, scratching lightly. “I can get you some food and medicine, or you can sleep now and we’ll deal with everything else later.”
The tension bleeds out of his partner. “Food.” Any effort Viktor has previously been putting into his calm, unbothered facade has vanished.
Suddenly, Jayce remembers the takeout bag sitting in their entryway. “V, I’ll be right back, okay?”
Viktor’s hum of acknowledgment is enough, and Jayce sets out on his mission. The bag’s left a pool of grease on the table by the time he brings it to the kitchen. He pours the stew into a fresh bowl and mixes a small batch of sweetmilk, trying his best to ignore the stench of the fish. No matter how hard he tries to be open-minded with Undercity culture, he’s still not convinced this dish won’t make his partner sicker.
But his suffering is worth it when he brings the food into their living room and Viktor instantly perks up. “Is that—?” His surprise makes him cough roughly before sniffing the air again, a look of awe spreading across his features. “Jericho’s?”
“Sure is!” Jayce proudly presents the slop on their official breakfast-in-bed tray, positioning its legs on the cushions around Viktor. “Only the best for you,” he winks.
“You went to the Lanes…to get the stew I grew up with?” His partner seems unusually close to tears. “Why?”
“I just wanted to make you smile.” Jayce shrugs. Viktor frowns incredulously. “And I was so stressed about you at work that Mel told me to leave, so I had time to kill.”
The Zaunite chuckles. “That sounds more accurate.” He turns to his bowl, lifting the first spoonful into his mouth. Something akin to a sob crawls out of him and he goes back in for more.
Jayce stares in disbelief. “Are you seriously crying over this motor oil?” His comment is met with a swat to the arm. “Ow!”
“Be nice to me and Jericho!” Viktor scolds. He wipes his cheeks with his sleeve. “I do hate how frustratingly emotional I become when ill.”
The taller man coos and kisses him on the cheek. “I’m sorry, V, I know you don’t feel good.” He holds up his hands in mock surrender. “I’ll be nice, promise.”
Viktor nods, satisfied. “If you wanted to be extra nice, you could grab me some decongestant and a heating pad.”
Jayce snaps to attention. “Gods, I completely forgot!” He bolts down the hallway and into their bathroom. Their medicine cabinet has been kept well-stocked since moving in together, but they hadn’t needed most of it in months. Praying nothing’s expired, he grabs what he needs and deposits the containers on the coffee table before putting the kettle on.
Waiting for the water to reach its desired temperature, Jayce sits back down. He absentmindedly works the knots out of Viktor’s leg while they talk about nothing and everything. Their current experiments, the probably-rare-and-expensive wine Jayce “borrowed” at Salo’s last luncheon, the apothecary’s assistant who flirts with Viktor every time he picks up his prescriptions. Even punctuated with the Zaunite’s occasional cough or sneeze, it’s perfect, a luxury both of them had longed for during the grueling periods where every conversation seemed to revolve around Hextech or medical procedures.
When the water’s boiled and poured into the cloth-covered pack, placed carefully on Viktor’s knee, the aching man visibly relaxes. “That bad, huh?” Jayce frets.
“Mm, not awful,” his partner exhales through pursed lips. He doesn’t have to finish his thought for Jayce to catch on. Not awful, but nowhere near good .
So he keeps Viktor distracted with stories from the day’s council meeting. The sun slowly sets, casting the room in a golden hue. Jayce eats takeout from the cafe down the street, begrudgingly trying some of Jericho’s when Viktor offers him a piece (and, afterward, shoves down regret that he hadn’t gotten an order for himself).
“I had no idea Jericho offered takeout,” his partner remarks, head resting on his shoulder.
“Oh, he doesn’t,” Jayce explains. “I had to pay extra for the bowl and bag.”
At this, Viktor raises his head. “You what?”
“I paid extra for the takeout.”
The Zaunite squinted. “How much extra?”
The topsider shrugs. “I don’t know, a few extra cogs.”
Viktor blinked at him for a moment before busting out laughing. “What? What’s so funny?” Jayce asks, insulted.
“You paid silver cogs for a paper bag and bowl?” His partner’s amazement is hindered by his protesting lungs, stopping to hack into his fist. Once calm, he looks fondly at Jayce. “Did you even try to haggle?”
“Haggle?” The Man of Progress puts a hand on his chest, appalled. “That would be rude!”
“Sweet, stupid man,” Viktor ruffles his hair. “I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but Jericho hustled you.” He returned to his previous position, kissing Jayce’s collarbone. “It was probably those farcical epaulets. They make you an easy target.”
“Oh, please, you love me in those epaulets.”
“I do,” Viktor admits. “Just as I love you in anything you wear. I love you .”
Jayce finds it funny how his stomach still fills with firelights when his partner speaks those words. “I love you, too.”
They lapse into comfortable silence. The sun has fully set, the lights from street lamps and neighboring buildings leaking through their windows and tinting everything blue. Viktor leans more and more heavily into him. When he nods off so much that his head almost rolls off its perch, Jayce murmurs, “Getting tired, sweetheart?”
His partner nuzzles into his dress shirt collar. “Mm. Bedtime?”
“Mhm,” He agrees, yawning loudly. “Want me to grab your cane?”
In response, Viktor’s arms encircle his neck. “Don’t need it.”
“You can walk again?” Jayce gasps, laying the sarcasm on thick. “It’s a miracle!”
“Very clever,” Viktor matches his energy. ”What, you don’t want to help your poor, crippled husband to bed?”
“Oh, I see how it is.” Hefting the shorter man in a bridal carry, Jayce takes his love to their bedroom. Vividly, he’s reminded of carrying a limp body just like this one into the hospital, calling out for help.
He tries to shake the memory out of his head as he gently sets a half-asleep Viktor onto their bed. “I thought you were done being sick,” he mutters.
“That would be ideal, wouldn’t it?” his partner chuckles.
Jayce sighs, unbuttoning his shirt. “Are you sure you’re okay, V?”
“Hm?” Viktor cracks one eye open before deciding to push himself up further. “I’m sure, Jayce. I know what true illness feels like, and I assure you, it’s not this.” He removes his sweater and throws it into their dirty clothes pile across the room, gesturing to himself. “If this is what being sick means for me now, I’m ecstatic.”
His carefree, deadpan delivery is what kills the last of Jayce’s worries, and he finishes changing into pajamas so he can climb under the covers. Holding his partner close, he traces the scars that run down Viktor’s spine and across his chest. “We’re okay,” he whispers, mostly to himself.
“We are okay,” Viktor surprises him, still awake. “Rest, Jayce. I’ll still be here when you wake up.”
And Jayce believes him.