Chapter Text
Jayce inhaled deeply, staring at the faded door of the lab he shared with Viktor.
For the past twenty minutes, he’d been rooted in place, unable to knock, unable to move, unable to do anything but stand there. Paralyzed. The familiar confidence that usually carried him through every situation felt miles away, leaving him stranded in his own uncertainty.
The bag he was carrying felt like a lead weight ; it was stuffed with delicate pastries and a bottle of champagne meant for a New Year’s celebration that now seemed more like a burden than a cause for joy.
Like pretty much every moment of the past two weeks, he felt like the dumbest person alive.
Christmas was supposed to be simple. A time for joy, for moments filled with laughter and family, for reconnecting with the people he loved. It was supposed to be a break, a reprieve from work, and the usual overload.
Instead, he’d spent the entire vacation in a fog of semi-stress and guilt.
The phone call replayed in his head constantly. Viktor’s voice had sounded calm on the surface, polite even. But Jayce knew him well enough to hear the quiet disappointment beneath it, piercing through the conversation like a niddle.
And yet, as much as the memory tore at him, it hadn’t been enough to make him call.
Every day since, he’d told himself, " Just a quick call. Just to check in. Just to hear his voice and make sure he’s okay. "
But every day, fear had stopped him.Fear of Viktor not answering. Fear of what he’d hear in Viktor’s tone if he answered.Fear of... everything.
The worst part, though, wasn’t the guilt. It was how unbearable the distance had been. He’d naively thought that putting space between them, taking a step back from whatever strange feelings had been bubbling inside him, would make things easier.
But it had done the opposite.
Every time he sat down for a meal with his family, he found himself wondering if Viktor was eating anything other than the cafeteria slop. Every time someone handed him a gift, he thought about whether Viktor had received anything from anyone. And when his old friends from childhood invited him out for drinks, all he could think about was how much fun it would have been if Viktor were there, with his dry humor, and sharp wit.
The realization left Jayce spinning, trapped in a fog of overwhelming confusion and frustration. He didn’t know what to do with it, didn’t know how to process what it meant or how to untangle the knots twisting inside him.
So much so that, in a moment of desperation, he gave in.
Maddie was the recently divorced neighbor from his family home, someone he’d known since he was a teenager. She had always flirted with him, making playful comments about how tall he was, how strong he looked, how he’d grown into such a “ handsome young man. ”
Back then, her remarks had left him feeling uneasy, uncomfortable. She was undeniably pretty and kind, but she was also decades older than him, and her loneliness was almost palpable. It was obvious that the absence of her husband had left her feeling neglected, and perhaps she saw in Jayce a small chance for comfort, a fleeting escape from her solitude.
He’d never acted on it before. Not once.
But now, as he stood older, more confused, and far more desperate, he shamefully snuck out of his parents’ home one night to meet her. Not because he suddenly felt more attracted to her. Not because he wanted her. But because he wanted to prove something to himself—that he could still do this. That he was still the same man he’d always been. That the growing, maddening pull toward Viktor could somehow be erased, silenced, fixed.
The whole thing felt wrong from the start. Maddie greeted him with a warm smile, her voice soft and teasing in a way that made him want to crawl out of his skin. She deserved more than whatever this was— whatever he was . But Jayce pushed the guilt aside, forcing himself to go through with it, to cling to the idea that this was what he needed to set things right in his head.
It didn’t work.
When he finally left Maddie’s bed, the hollowness in his chest was unbearable, a weight he couldn’t shake no matter how hard he tried. The warmth of her touch, the softness of her voice—it should have meant something, should have brought him the clarity he was so desperate for. But instead, it only made everything worse. The realization only sharpened the truth he’d been trying so hard to deny :
He hadn’t stopped thinking about Viktor.
Not for a single moment...
And now, here he was.
He’d barely slept the night before, torn between stress and a quiet, bubbling excitement at the thought of seeing Viktor again.
He told himself it was just about making things right—that the weight of his guilt for not calling, for letting the holidays pass in silence, would vanish as soon as they saw each other.
Yet he stood there, the lab door looming in front of him, cold and unmoving. His grip on the pastries tightened as he stared at the handle, willing himself to open it, to push past the shame that rooted him to the spot.
What was he even going to say?
Jayce took a deep breath, his stomach tight with nerves. He had to stop overthinking this. It wasn’t a big deal. Nothing had really happened—he’d canceled a last-minute dinner, that was all. No harm done, right? All he needed to do was walk in, act normal, be himself. Viktor wouldn’t even care.
Right?
Right.
He was ready. He was calm. He wasn’t going to embarrass himself. He was not. He pushed the door open, plastering on a cheerful grin that felt like a shield against the unknown.
“Hey, Viktor! Happy New Year!” he called, his voice ringing out louder and brighter than he’d intended, too forced, too eager.
The sight of Viktor hit him like a jolt. He was standing at the whiteboard, chalk in hand, scribbling a formula with the same laser-sharp focus that always lit up his features. But something felt off.
Jayce’s smile faltered as he took him in.
The first thing he noticed was how Viktor seemed thinner than usual, his frame even more slight, his lab coat hanging loose on his shoulders. The second was the dark shadows under his eyes, heavier and more pronounced, his skin pale like he hadn’t seen the sun in days. And the third—unexpected and strangely jarring—was his hair. It was shorter, tidier than usual, as though he’d put real effort into it.
Jayce opened his mouth to say something, but then Viktor’s silence sank in. He hadn’t turned around. He hadn’t even acknowledged him.
Jayce hesitated, his earlier confidence draining away like water through a sieve.
“Um,” he muttered, awkward now, his voice softer, “I like your hair…” The words tumbled out unbidden, a clumsy attempt to make some kind of connection.
A second passed. Then two. Then three.
“Thanks.”
The word was clipped, flat, emotionless.
He swallowed hard, fumbling for something— anything —to salvage the moment. “Um, I got you this…” he said, holding out the pastry bag, his voice shaky with forced optimism. “You know, just to say Happy New Year.”
Viktor turned, but there was no warmth in his gaze. His eyes moved to the bag of pastries, then to the bottle of champagne Jayce was holding. For a brief moment, something flickered in his expression—was it disdain?—before he schooled it back into indifference.
“Thank you, Dr. Talis,” Viktor said coolly, his fingers tightening around the chalk in his hand. “But this won’t be necessary.”
“Viktor…” he began, unsure how to continue.
But he was already turning back to the board, his attention seemingly absorbed by the half-written formula.
The silence between them thickened, pressing down on Jayce like a weight. It wasn’t just the absence of conversation; it was a wall. Impenetrable. Unyielding. Jayce couldn’t get a read on Viktor, and it was unsettling in a way that made his body churn.
Something was wrong.
"You sure you don’t want to open this bottle?” Jayce tried, holding up the champagne like a peace offering. He forced a smile, aiming for casual, but his voice betrayed him, shaky and uncertain. “It’s a really good one..."
“I’m sure.” Viktor’s response was curt, his tone final. He didn’t even glance at the bottle. "And please, Dr. Talis, stop the habit of bringing me gifts. I am not your pet.”
He recoiled, blinking in shock. “Is...is everything alright? Did Salo give you a hard time again? Because, if that’s the case, we can—”
“Nothing happened,” Viktor interrupted dryly. “Now, please, I am quite busy and don’t have time to chat.”
Jayce hesitated, his heart sinking further. “Oh... okay.” He shifted awkwardly, the bag of pastries feeling heavier in his hand. “Um, well, I’m glad that everything’s fine.” He paused, searching for the right words.“Look, Viktor, if this is about the canceled dinner, then I’m really sorry. I didn’t—”
“There is no need to apologize, Dr. Talis,” Viktor cut in again, his words laced with tension.
Jayce frowned, confused and hurt. “Then why are you...why are you like this? Why aren’t you calling me by my first name like usual? Why are you—”
“Dr. Talis,” Viktor snapped, spinning around to face him, his eyes blazing with frustration, “is this a serious inquiry or a therapy session?”
Jayce froze, staring at him, stunned into silence. The tone, the words—it was so unlike Viktor that it left him momentarily speechless.
Viktor sighed, the sound heavy and sharp, and for a fleeting moment, something like regret flickered across his face. But when he spoke again, his voice was clipped and hard, each word calculated and distant.
“Look,” he said, his gaze locking with Jayce’s, unyielding. “Our... friendship... was a mistaken experiment. I think it would be best for our work if we keep our interactions strictly professional.”
Jayce felt the floor drop out from under him. The word experiment echoed in his ears, cutting deeper than he thought possible
“Viktor, what are you saying?” Jayce whispered, his voice trembling, his throat tight with emotion.
Viktor’s eyes twinkled for a moment, but he broke eye contact almost immediately. He picked up a new piece of chalk, but instead of writing, he just stood there, motionless. Eyes fixed on the formulas, but his mind seemed far away, his thoughts a million miles from the room they shared.
For a fleeting moment, Jayce dared to hope. Maybe Viktor would turn around, maybe he’d say something to undo the sudden wall that had sprung up between them. Maybe there was still a chance to fix whatever this was.
But Viktor didn’t turn. He stayed perfectly still, his shoulders rigid, his grip on the chalk so tight that his knuckles had gone white.
Jayce’s chest tightened painfully. He didn’t understand what was happening. Didn’t understand why everything had suddenly gone so horribly, inexplicably wrong.
This was unbearable.
He couldn’t stand it—couldn’t stand Viktor calling him “Dr. Talis” with that detached, icy tone. Couldn’t stand the rejection in his words, the way he refused to look at him.
“Viktor…” he started again, his voice breaking slightly. “Why are you acting like this? Why are you shutting me out?”
He didn’t respond. His silence was deafening, his stillness cutting deeper than any words ever could. Was one canceled dinner really enough to make Viktor act like this? To make him unreadable and cold? It didn’t make sense. None of this made sense.
“This isn’t fair,” Jayce said again, his voice rising with frustration. “I don’t— I don’t deserve this. I’ve been kind to you. Thoughtful. I care about you, Viktor, and I—” His words faltered, catching painfully in his throat.
Viktor moved his head slightly, just enough for Jayce to catch the profile of his face.
“Did I ever ask for any of this?” Viktor said softly.
He swallowed hard, his chest tightening painfully.
“No, I suppose not,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “But—”
“Then don’t act like I’m the one who broke something,” Viktor interrupted.
“For fuck’s sake, why are you like this?!” Jayce snapped, his voice sharp and cracking with emotions. “Talk to me! Tell me what I did wrong! Why do you refuse to share yourself with me? What is wrong with you?!”
Silence.
The room felt heavy, suffocating, the tension thick enough to choke.
“Answer me! Please!” Jayce begged, his voice trembling, desperation seeping into every syllable. “Do you have to be drunk to open up?”
Something in Viktor broke.
He snapped his hand open, letting the chalk drop to the floor with a soft clatter. He moved to face Jayce fully, his eyes blazing with an anger so fierce it took Jayce a step back.
“Oooh...You want me to open up?” Viktor spat, his voice low and venomous, his words laced with a cold rage Jayce hadn’t thought him capable of. “You want me to tell you what I think?”
Jayce kept silent, his throat heavy as Viktor stepped toward him,his expression a mask of barely contained fury.
“Fine! You want the truth? You’re annoying! You’re a self-centered bourgeois who thinks the world revolves around you! You talk endlessly about ‘ progress ’ and ‘ helping people ,’ but you have no idea—none—how the world actually works outside your little bubble.”
“That’s not true, I—" Jayce stammered, but Viktor cut him off before he could finish.
“Isn’t it? Do you even know what I earn? No, of course, you don’t. It’s probably a third of your salary, at best. And do you know how little assistant nurses make? How little Ms. Sullivan—the woman who cleans this very lab—makes?” His tone grew harsher with each word. “No, you don’t. Because you don’t care.”
Jayce opened his mouth, but nothing came out. The heaviness of Viktor’s words bore down on him.
“You show up every day,” Viktor continued, his voice trembling with frustration, “flaunting your wealth with your flashy car, your tailored suits, your goddamn pastries and champagne—rubbing luxuries I can’t afford right under my nose.”
Jayce felt like the ground was crumbling beneath him. He wanted to defend himself, to explain, but his words got tangled in his throat.
“I never meant to mock you,” Jayce finally managed, his voice soft, pleading. “I just… I just wanted to share—”
“You never mean anything!” Viktor snapped, his voice sharp enough to make Jayce flinch. “But you don’t think either! You brag about how much you care about equality, about fairness, but all you’ve done is go out of your way to remind me—every single day—just how much we’re not equal.”
The words hit Jayce harder than he could have imagined. His heart sank, guilt and shame spinning inside of him.He wanted to protest, to explain that he never saw things that way, that he only wanted to make Viktor happy, to brighten his day. But how could he argue against Viktor’s pain when it was written so plainly across his face?
The silence stretched on, suffocating and unrelenting.Jayce clenched his fists at his sides, his nails digging into his palms as he fought to hold back tears that threatened to spill. His breath painfully uneven.
“I don’t understand,” he muttered finally, his voice cracking. “I really don’t.”
Viktor sighed, the sound heavy, his shoulders slumped slightly as he closed his eyes. When he opened his eyes again, his gaze met Jayce’s, the sharpness of his earlier anger now softened, dulled by a deep, aching sadness.
“Of course you don’t,” Viktor said quietly. The bitterness was gone, replaced by something quieter, something infinitely harder to bear.
Jayce swallowed hard, his mouth dry. That look in Viktor’s eyes—it hurt more than the anger ever had.
It burned. God, it burned.
What was he supposed to say? What was he supposed to do?
_
Jayce fidgeted with the cuff of his freshly ironed shirt, feeling wildly out of place as he stood before the bulky woman guarding the door. Her sharp eyes bore into him, as if dissecting him on the spot, making his palms clammy. Taking a deep breath, he mustered his courage and asked in a low, hesitant voice, “H-Hum... excuse me? Is this... is this the communist meeting?”
The woman’s eyebrows shot up, her expression shifting from surprise to something akin to exasperation. For a moment, she just stared at him, as though he’d said something utterly ridiculous. Jayce’s stomach twisted. Was this the wrong place? Oh, God, this was a terrible idea…
Before he could retreat, she grabbed him by the collar, tugging him forward with surprising strength. “Are you mad, buddy?” she hissed. “You can’t just say that out loud! Do you want to get us all caught?”
“I’m sorry!” Jayce blurted, his face burning red. “I-I’m new here!”
She rolled her eyes, a bemused smirk tugging at the corners of her lips. “Yeah, I figured that much. You don’t exactly have ‘the look.’” She gestured at his expensive, neatly pressed suit, the derision in her tone making him shrink a little.
Jayce flushed harder, adjusting his tie nervously. “I—”
She waved him off, still chuckling to herself. “Relax, pretty boy! Come on in. The meeting’s already started.”
Her boots tapped against the hardwood floor as she pushed open the heavy door, motioning for him to follow. He hesitated for a split second, the absurdity of what he was doing crashing down on him. But then he steeled himself and stepped inside.
“Next time, be more careful,” she added as she let the door creak shut behind him.
The room she led him into was cramped, filled with far too many people packed together in the dimly lit space. The air buzzed with quiet but intense energy—conversations overlapping in hushed tones, papers rustling, the occasional cough breaking the tension. Jayce instinctively ducked his head, trying to blend in, though he couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that he stuck out like a sore thumb.
His heart pounded in his chest. What the hell was he doing here?
The answer was painfully clear, even if it made him feel stupid. After his argument with Viktor, Jayce had thought— hoped , really—that giving him space would help. That maybe Viktor’s anger would fade with time, and things would go back to normal. But it had been a week, and the coldness between them had only grown worse.
He couldn’t stand it anymore. Couldn’t stand being called “Dr. Talis” like he was just some distant colleague. Couldn’t stand Viktor’s sharp, sad, disappointed glances, the way he only spoke to him when it was strictly necessary. Couldn’t stand the painfull distance.
Jayce had tried apologizing, but it wasn’t enough. Not this time. Viktor’s words still echoed in his mind: “You don’t think.” And maybe... maybe Viktor was right. Maybe Jayce didn’t think enough, didn’t try hard enough to understand…
So he’d decided—however foolishly—that he needed to do something. Something drastic. He thought, if he could somehow see the world through Viktor’s eyes, if he could step into his shoes, maybe then he’d understand. Maybe then his apology would mean something.
And that’s how he’d ended up here, in a secret meeting he barely understood, surrounded by strangers who looked nothing like the polished professionals he usually worked with.
Finding this group hadn’t been easy—just whispers here and there, a few vague leads to follow—but now that he was here, he still couldn’t shake the feeling that this was all ridiculous and dangerous.
If someone recognized him at this gathering, he couldn’t even begin to imagine the consequences—being reported, suspended from work, maybe even losing his medical license. Taking such a risk was absurd... but deep down, Jayce had always been reckless.
You don’t pursue the kind of medical research he did, you don’t frequent the kinds of bars he went to, you don’t spiral into an obsession over your colleague without being at least a little unhinged…still his nerves were eating him alive.
Before he could spiral further into self-doubt, a scrawny man climbed onto a makeshift stage assembled from old wine boxes.
“Hello, comrades!” the man called out, his voice carrying through the crowded room. “Welcome to the monthly meeting of the Minnesota Communist League!”
The crowd erupted into cheers and applause. Jayce clapped awkwardly, unsure of the appropriate level of enthusiasm. God…he felt like an outsider crashing a party he wasn’t invited to.
“Today is a very special day!” the man continued, a broad smile on his face. “We’re happy to welcome our comrades, workers of the steel factory of Plainfield, to our meeting!”
Another round of applause filled the room as a group of people, presumably the steelworkers, stood up and waved. Jayce joined in the clapping, trying to seem natural. As his nerves settled ever so slightly, he realized something—this room, though united in purpose, seemed subtly divided.
Everyone here wore casual clothes, but the distinction between the workers and the academics was unmistakable. The workers’ hands were rough, their postures stiff from years of physical labor. The academics carried themselves differently, their gazes sharp and calculating, their bodies less burdened.
For a second, Jayce thought about his father and his ruined spine after years bent over the forge, how his posture mirrored that of the workers he saw. He remembered how his mother used to scold him to "stand up straight" when things finally got better, when they moved to a nicer neighborhood, as if posture alone could erase where they’d come from…
He was pulled out of his thoughts, once again,by the woman who had let him in, now stepping onto the stage. “Hello, comrades,” she said, her voice steady but casual. “I’m Vi. I don’t speak much in public, usually I deal more with security,” she joked, clenching her fist.
The crowd chuckled warmly, but Jayce didn’t get the joke. He sat stiffly, feeling like he’d missed something.
“I’m the head of the union for steelworkers at my factory,” Vi continued, her tone growing more serious. “As most of you know, we’re currently on strike.”
The crowd applauded again, louder this time.
“So,” she said, her lips curling into a wry smile, “usually this is the part where I’d say something about the exploitation of the working class and how we must rise and fight. But don’t ask me to quote Marx or the Communist Manifesto—I haven’t read shit.”
The crowd burst into laughter, and Jayce gave a weak smile, though he still felt lost. He wasn’t even sure to know who Marx was.
“All I know,” Vi continued, her voice hardening, “is that I want a better life for me and my fellow workers. And I’m sick of seeing the fat cat on top of the company getting the profits without lifting a damn finger.”
More cheers. The room seemed to vibrate with energy, but Jayce couldn’t help feeling uneasy.
Vi’s voice grew fiercer. “I won’t lie—the strike is dragging on, and the boss isn’t budging. Any support is welcome. On Monday, we’re planning to block the machines. Sabotage, if necessary.”
Jayce’s stomach dropped. Sabotage?
“We’ll be gathering in front of the factory at 4 PM,” she said, raising her fist. “Anyone who wants to join us, you’re more than welcome.”
The crowd roared with approval, but Jayce’s mind was spinning. Sabotage? Breaking machines? That didn’t sound legal. Didn’t sound right. Was this really what Viktor believed in? Did he support this?
Sure, he had told him about the factory he’d destroyed, but that was different, wasn’t it? Viktor had been a child—exploited, desperate, fighting for survival. That wasn’t the same... was it?
"Alright, now that I’ve done my bit, I’ll let you all dive into whatever Marxist theories you want or whatever. I’ll be over at the buffet grabbing a bite. Thanks for having us!" The crowd laughed and gave one last round of applause.
She stepped down, heading to the small table in the back where coffee and snacks were laid out. Another speaker stood up, smaller, his voice softer.
"Good evening, comrades! As our comrade from the steel factory mentioned, tonight's philosophical theme will revolve around Marx and Engels and whether their ideas..."
Jayce barely heard him. His eyes were glued to the group of steelworkers gathered around the buffet.
There was something strange about the way they ate. They moved quickly, stuffing food into their mouths as though they were afraid it might be taken away at any moment.
Then it hit him.
They ate like Viktor.
Jayce swallowed hard, the realization burning. He’d seen Viktor eat this way so many times—quick, almost frantic bites, as though eating was more about survival than enjoyment. He had teased Viktor for it before, joking that he “ate like he’d been starving.”
And now, sitting here, he realized that Viktor had.
Shame washed over Jayce like a heavy, loud wave. He thought about a younger Viktor, thin and hungry, never knowing when his next meal would come. A Viktor who had learned to eat quickly because food wasn’t guaranteed.
All those times Jayce had mocked him, thinking it was just another quirk of Viktor’s personality…Viktor didn’t just lack “taste buds” because he was a serious man who only cared about functionality. No, Viktor had been denied
He didn’t know why it felt like such a revelation. He knew Viktor had grown up in poverty—he’d told him that.So why was it only now that the brutal truth hit him? That a life like that carved its marks deep into your body, leaving scars and habits that never fully healed?
He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. Now wasn’t the time to feel sorry for himself. He’d come this far—he might as well make the most of it. With that thought, he stood up and made his way to the buffet. His hands felt clammy as he approached Vi.
She glanced up as he approached, a bemused smile crossing her face. She leaned casually against the table, her confidence so effortless that it only made Jayce feel more out of place. “What’s up, rookie?” she said, her eyes sweeping over him.
“Uh… hi. You’re Vi, right?” His voice came out too soft, almost drowned out by the noise of the room.
She smirked. “That’s me.”
“Nice to meet you,” he said, extending a hand hesitantly. His suit suddenly felt like a neon sign announcing he didn’t belong here. “I… I have a few questions. Do you have a bit of time?”
Vi took his hand, her grip firm but quick. “Sure, rookie. Fire away.”
Jayce took a shaky breath, trying to muster the courage to ask what had been nagging at him since he sat down. “What you said before, about the strike,” he began hesitantly, his throat tightening. “What do you mean by… sabotage?”
Vi raised an eyebrow, her amused expression fading into something more skeptical. “What do you think it means?” she said flatly.
Jayce swallowed hard.“I mean… breaking the machines? Isn’t that illegal?” he asked, his words tumbling out in a rush. “It just doesn’t seem right. Isn’t there another way?”
“Legal?” Vi scoffed, crossing her arms. “Buddy, we’ve been on strike for months, and the company doesn’t give a single fuck about ‘legal.’ The law is on their side, and they know it.”
“But…” Jayce hesitated. “Breaking the machines? That’s violent. And dangerous. Why not just… talk? Negotiate?”
Vi’s sigh was heavy, laced with exasperation. “Because they don’t listen. ” Her tone cut through him. “We’ve tried talking. We’ve tried negotiating. You know what we got? Lies. Threats. Nothing changes unless we force it to.”
Jayce winced, his stomach sinking further. He didn’t know what he’d expected, but her words were sinking harder than he was prepared for. “I’m sorry,” he said weakly. “I just… wouldn’t it be easier to change jobs? Avoid the risk altogether?”
Vi’s sharp glare only amplified. Her frustration was palpable, and it pressed against him like a wall.
“Not breaking the machines, not striking, just changing jobs... What are you?” she said. “An undercover cop or something?”
Heat rushed to his face. “No! Of course not!” he blurted, his voice rising in protest. “I’m just... I’m just worried, that’s all. If the police get involved, people could get arrested. Isn’t that why we have laws? And police? To prevent things from getting out of hand? You shouldn’t have to break the law to get what you want.” His words stumbled out clumsily, fainter than he intended.
Vi rolled her eyes, clearly unimpressed. “Look,” she said, crossing her arms again, “I’m not here to justify what we do. You’re free to think whatever the fuck you want, but I’m not wasting my time defending our choices, if you’re so worried about all of this, then why the hell are you even here?” she added, her voice laced with sarcasm. “This is a communist meeting, remember?”
Jayce hesitated, his thoughts spiraling as he tried to put his feelings into words. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “I guess I just wanted to learn more.” He cringed inwardly. He sounded pathetic, lost, out of his depth—and he knew it.
“Well, sorry to disappoint, buddy,” Vi said bluntly, “But I’m not your teacher.”
The dismissiveness in her tone made Jayce feel like a child, he floundered for something, to make himself seem less naïve. “I—I’m sorry, I guess... I guess I’m trying to understand. I have a friend, and he... he’s a communist too. I thought maybe if I came here, I’d get it more. He, uh... blew up a factory once. When he was a kid.”
Vi raised an eyebrow, her mouth twitching into a wry, sarcastic grin. “Blew up a factory? Well, shit! My sister would’ve been impressed. Bring him next time—I’m already a fan.”
Jayce flushed at her mocking tone, his shoulders tensing. “It’s not like that,” he said, unsure what kind of reaction he’d been waiting for. “He didn’t do it because he wanted to. He was desperate. He didn’t have a choice .”
Vi’s smirk faded, replaced by a harder, more serious look. “Desperate, huh? What, you think we aren’t desperate, rookie? You think we’re out here planning sabotage for fun?”
Her voice carried a simmering anger… the same Viktor had .
“I’ve been working at that factory since I was fifteen. Never got a promotion. Never got recognition. I’ve got a family to feed, like most of us here. You think I want to risk everything?”
Jayce opened his mouth but found himself at a loss for words. He thought of Viktor. Thought of how young he must have been when he took that drastic step. He thought about the hunger, the exhaustion, the hopelessness that must have driven him. No, Viktor probably hadn’t wanted to blow up that factory. But if he hadn’t done it... Jayce’s chest tightened at the thought. Viktor might still be trapped there, tightening screws and starving—if he was even alive.
“No,” Jayce said finally, his voice barely above a whisper. “I guess I wouldn’t tell him not to do it.” The realization hit him like a brick.
He had always made an exception for Viktor, because he knew him. Because Viktor wasn’t just some random worker in an abstract struggle—he was Viktor. But the people here... they were living through their own desperation, weren’t they? They weren’t so different.
Vi watched him for a moment, her expression softer, before shaking her head. “Exactly,” she said simply.
Jayce swallowed hard, his throat dry. “I... I guess I never thought about it like that,” he admitted. “My dad worked in a forge when I was a kid. I knew things weren’t great for him, but he started his own business pretty quickly, and things turned out fine. I thought... I thought it was the same for everyone else.”
Vi let out a bitter chuckle. “Well, good for your dad, rookie. But it doesn’t work out like that for most of us. The American Dream doesn’t come knocking on everyone’s door.”
He blinked, her words sinking in. He had grown up hearing that hard work and perseverance were the keys to success, that anyone could make it if they tried. Heck, he thought he was living proof of that—a kid from a family of hardworking laborers-turned-small-business owners who made it to college on a scholarship and the patronage of the Kirammans, his father’s former employers.
But now that he thought about it ? How many doctors came from families like him? Like Viktor’s? Like Vi’s? Had his success been built on luck as much as effort? And how many people never got that lucky break?
Jayce’s thoughts went swirling again—like so many times these days. Heavy with the memory of Viktor’s words—the ones he had spoken late one night, drunk and vulnerable in the dim confines of Jayce’s car. “All I can think about is how much people like me will only ever know the inside of a shitty factory, a prison, or a coffin.”
He looked around the room again. These people didn’t feel so much like strangers anymore—not really. They were Viktor, or at least reflections of him. The same exhaustion in their eyes, the same quiet fury simmering under their skin. They weren’t here because they wanted to be; they were here because they had to be.
“Thank you for your time,” Jayce said softly. He looked at Vi, hoping she wouldn’t notice how his hands trembled at his sides. “I... I think I have a lot to th-”
The loud crash of the door echoed through the room, sending a jolt of terror straight through Jayce’s guts. His head snapped toward the source of the noise, and his heart sank as he saw a dozen armed police officers storming in. Guns drawn, batons at the ready, their boots thundered against the floor like a war drum.
“Fuck... cops!” Vi hissed, her jaw tightening as her fists clenched instinctively.
The room exploded into chaos. People bolted in every direction, splitting like startled birds. Chairs clattered to the floor, and the sharp, desperate sounds of shoes scuffing against the wood filled the air. Vi’s voice cut through the noise, sharp and commanding. “Scatter!” she yelled, already climbing out of a nearby window with practiced ease.
Jayce stood frozen, his stomach dropping. His mind raced, trying to process the scene unfolding before him. This can’t be happening. This can’t be happening.
“Don’t run!” he called out, his voice trembling with panic as he stumbled forward, trying to make sense of the chaos. “If we just explain—if we stay calm—they’ll listen!” But no one stopped. No one even glanced his way. They were leaping through windows, scrambling through the emergency exit, disappearing into the night as if they’d done this a hundred times before.
His chest was tight with fear as the police fanned out around the room. Nerves clawed at his insides like a living thing, but he forced himself to take a shaky breath. Okay. Don’t panic. Just stay calm. Stay calm. He straightened his back, trying to project confidence even as his knees threatened to buckle beneath him.
Jayce stepped forward, raising his hands in a gesture of surrender, his heart hammering against his ribs. "Good evening, offi—"
The words died in his throat as the baton came down hard, slamming into his shoulder with a sickening crack. Pain shot through him like fire,his knees buckled, sending him sprawling to the ground. The world blurred for a moment, his thoughts scattering as the sharp sting of the blow left him gasping for air.
“Wait! Stop—I’m not—” Jayce tried to protest, his voice trembling, barely audible over the chaos. But before he could finish, the baton came down again—this time on his back. The searing pain shot through him like lightning, making him cry out involuntarily.
“Shut up, you fucking communist!” the officer barked. Another blow landed on Jayce's ribs, and he gasped for air, the wind knocked out of him.
“I’m not—” Jayce choked out, his words cut short by another strike. The sharp crack of the baton against his body drowned out everything else, his mind reeling with disbelief and pain. He raised his arms instinctively to shield himself, but it didn’t stop the blows. They kept coming, relentless and cruel.
“Fucking traitor,” the officer sneered, his words dripping with contempt.
“I’m not a—” Jayce tried again, but the words dissolved into a sob as the officer’s boot connected with his shoulder, sending him sprawling flat against the cold, hard floor. His cheek pressed into the floor, and all he could feel was the burning ache radiating through his entire body.
“Did I say you could talk?” the officer spat, his voice laced with disgust.
Another blow landed, this time on his leg. Jayce cried out, the sound barely audible as he tried to suppress it, his head spinning with confusion and fear. Why? Why are they doing this? He couldn’t make sense of it.
“I’m not... I’m not resisting,” he mumbled weakly, his words slurred as another officer yanked his arms behind his back. The cold, unforgiving metal of the handcuffs bit into his wrists, the sharp click sending a jolt of dread through him.
“C’mon, take that fucker to the station,” one of the officers barked.
“But I haven’t done anything!” Jayce protested, his voice rising in panic as they hoisted him up. His legs felt like jelly, barely able to support his weight as they dragged him toward the door. His words hung in the air, unanswered, ignored. They didn’t care.
Before he could gather his thoughts, he was thrown unceremoniously into the back of a police car, his head hitting the metal interior with a dull thud. “P-please, I—” he started, only to be silenced by a sharp, stinging slap across his face.
“One more word, you fucker,” the officer spat, his voice low and venomous, “And I’ll rip all your fucking teeth out.”
Jayce froze, his mouth dry, the words caught in his throat. He sat there, cuffed and trembling, his body aching, his mind reeling. This wasn’t supposed to happen. This wasn’t who he was. He wasn’t a criminal. He wasn’t a threat.
The shock had numbed him, leaving him adrift in a haze where time lost all meaning. Jayce couldn’t tell how long the car ride had lasted—minutes, hours, it didn’t matter.
His mind felt disconnected from his body, and when the officers dragged him out, forcing him to stumble forward, he barely registered his own steps. He felt the cold, damp air of the police station hit his skin before they shoved him into a tiny cell. The heavy clang of the door slamming shut echoed in his ears like a judge’s gavel.
Sitting on the hard bench, Jayce’s thoughts spiraled. Why? The word echoed over and over in his head, desperate and unanswered. He didn’t understand. He hadn’t done anything. He wasn’t a criminal. He wasn’t a bad person. He wasn’t even a communist, for God’s sake!
He’d gone to that meeting out of curiosity , not to break the law. How had it ended like this? His mind raced, replaying everything, trying to pinpoint the moment where things had gone wrong, but nothing made sense. Why is this happening? Why to me?
He clenched his fists, but the movement sent a sharp jolt of pain up his arm, making him hiss. That pain seemed to jolt him back into his body, grounding him in the present. His ankle throbbed mercilessly, a hot, pulsing ache that felt like it was swelling by the second. He glanced down and realized with dread that it was starting to bruise. The thought of tomorrow clawed its way into his head. I have classes. I have a schedule. I can’t afford this. I can’t stay here. Panic bubbled up in his chest. I need to get out of here. My leg needs help. I need a doctor, a nurse... someone.
“Hey!” His voice cracked as he called out to the guard stationed nearby. The man didn’t even look at him, his indifference evident
“Please... I need help!” Jayce’s words quivered, pain bleeding into his tone.
This time, the guard turned his head, giving him a brief, disdainful glance before walking away as if Jayce weren’t even worth the energy of a reply.
“C’mon, please... I—” His voice faltered, but he pushed through, his frustration and fear making him bolder.
“Shut the fuck up,” the guard snapped, his voice cold and sharp.
Jayce flinched but forced himself to continue. “My leg... it’s swollen. I need assistance,” he said, trying to keep his tone steady, trying to reason with the man.
“You’ll get help when we want to give it to you,” the guard said dismissively, not even bothering to glance in his direction.
“Please, just an ice pack,” Jayce pleaded, his voice cracking. “Otherwise, it’s going to get worse.”
The guard stopped, turning back with a sneer. “Oh, sure, princess. You want tea with that too?” His mocking tone stung, but Jayce had nothing left to say. He swallowed hard, the lump in his throat burning
He slumped back onto the bench, the weight of helplessness settling over him like a suffocating blanket. The guard’s laughter still rang in his ears, mingling with the throb of his ankle and the ache of his bruises. The rage inside him burned bright, but it had nowhere to go. This wasn’t fair. None of it was fair.
He clenched his fists again, shaking with rage and humiliation.
He was powerless
No. He couldn’t just sit there, stewing in pain and humiliation. He had rights. They couldn’t just treat him like this, like he wasn’t even human, just because he’d gone to a damn communist meeting. The anger kept flickered beneath the surface of his fear, giving him the courage to act. He groaned as he pushed himself to his feet, his ankle throbbing with every movement.
God, he hoped it wasn’t sprained.
He limped to the bars of the cell, leaning against them for support. For a moment, through the haze of pain, he thought bitterly that he kind of walked like Viktor now. The comparison left a sour taste in his mouth.
“Hey!” he called, trying to steady his voice, forcing confidence into it. “I want my phone call!”
The officer at the desk just beyond the bars didn’t even glance his way. The man lit a cigarette, puffing lazily, as if Jayce’s voice didn’t exist. Jayce’s stomach twisted, but he didn’t give up. He fought against the knot of anxiety tightening in, the shame threatening to drown him. He fought against everything he’d ever been taught about dealing with police: be polite, don’t argue, respect their authority.
Screw that. They weren’t respecting him .
“I said, I want my phone call!” he demanded, louder this time. His voice wavered slightly, but the words still carried the weight of his indignation. “I know my rights! You can’t deny me that!”
The officer finally turned his head, rolling his eyes as though Jayce’s request were some absurd luxury. He stood from his desk with exaggerated slowness, his whole demeanor radiating contempt. “Fine, princess,” the officer grumbled, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “For fuck’s sake, so annoying.”
Jayce bit down on the sharp retort forming on his tongue, his hands gripping the cold metal bars tightly. The officer grabbed a dusty, ancient phone from a nearby desk, dragging its tangled cord toward the nearest outlet outside the cell. He plugged it in with a grunt, then shoved the receiver toward Jayce through the bars with palpable irritation.
“You’ve got five minutes,” the officer snapped, turning his back to him and taking another drag of his cigarette, clearly done with him already.
Jayce stared at the phone in his hands, his fingers trembling as he gripped it tightly. He had five minutes. Who the hell was he supposed to call?
Any rational person would have called a lawyer. Jayce knew that. Not that he’d ever thought he’d need one. But instead, he didn’t think at all. His fingers automatically tapped the numbers he knew by heart, ones he’d memorized after countless hours of overthinking whether or not to give him a call.
Of all the times to call Viktor, it had to be this moment—when he was at his lowest, his body aching, his pride shattered. He knew it was absurd. The man was still angry with him. What if Viktor didn’t care? What if he laughed or hung up?
But now, in this moment of overwhelming confusion, Jayce didn’t want anyone else’s voice. He wanted Viktor’s . It felt like the only thing that could keep him grounded, even if he wasn’t sure what kind of reception he’d get.
The phone rang once. Twice. Thrice. And his heart skipped a beat with each passing second. The awful thought creeping in : What if he doesn’t answer? Then, finally—
“Hello, Dr. Belikov speaking. Who is this?”
Jayce’s breath caught, relief flooding his chest. “Viktor! Thank god… I was so worried you wouldn’t pick up or be working late, or…” His words spilled out, a chaotic rush of emotions.
“Jayce?” Viktor’s voice was unreadable, but his familiar accent felt like the most comforting thing in the world. He’d called him by his name again. “Why are you calling so late? Is everything alright?”
The tears he hadn’t realized he was holding back threatened to spill over, but he forced them back. No, no. Don’t do this, he told himself. You’re fine. You’re fine. But the words still tumbled out, broken and jagged. “I’m... I’m in prison.”
There was a pause on the other end of the line, and Jayce could feel the weight of it, like a cloud hanging over him. Please don’t hang up. Please don’t hang up, he thought desperately.
But Viktor didn’t. His voice came back, sharp with disbelief. “In prison? What are you talking about?”
“I... I’m so sorry to bother you with this,” Jayce stammered, his hands trembling. “I didn’t know who else to call, and I—”
“Jayce,” Viktor cut him off, his voice firm. “Calm down. Take a breath and tell me what happened. I’ll listen.”
Jayce inhaled shakily, squeezing his eyes shut. “I was... I was at a meeting. A communist one. I know, I’m stupid, I shouldn’t have been there, but the cops came and... and...” His voice cracked, shame and exhaustion colliding with relief that Viktor hadn’t hung up. “They beat me, and they threw me in a cell, and... fuck, I’m sorry, Viktor. I’m such an idiot…”
He hated this. Hated how weak he sounded. How small and helpless this all made him feel.
“It’s all right,” Viktor’s voice softened, a note of understanding creeping into it. “It’s all right, Jayce. Where are you?”
Jayce blinked, surprised by the calmness in Viktor’s tone. How can he be so calm? he thought. How can he even be talking to me after all this? “Don’t…don’t worry about me, I’ll figure things out. I just wanted to hear your voice...”
“Where.are.you?” Viktor insisted
He sighed…fuck he felt so tired, so pathetic but he didn’t want Viktor to think he was weak. “I’m not sure exactly…”
“Give the phone to the cop. Right now.”
Jayce flinched. “What?”
“Now,” Viktor’s voice brooked no argument.
Numbly, Jayce pressed the phone to his chest and called over to the officer, his voice shaking. “Sir? Can you come here for a second?”
The officer glared at him but made his way over, grabbing the phone without a word. Jayce’s heart was racing, the distress making his stomach churn.
“Yeah?” he grunted.
Jayce watched nervously as the officer’s expression shifted to mild irritation. “We’re at 44th Street, central precinct,” the officer said, handing the phone back with an eye roll. “Your lawyer’s got a weird fucking accent,” he muttered before stalking off.
His hands were trembling as he lifted the receiver back to his ear. “Viktor?”
“Yeah, it’s me.”
Jayce closed his eyes for a moment, feeling the raw ache in his chest. His body hurt, his mind was a mess, and yet Viktor’s voice made it all feel a little more bearable. “Okay,” Viktor said, his tone unyielding. “Listen carefully. I’m getting you out of there. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
Jayce’s breath hitched. “Viktor, you really don’t have to. I don’t see how you could—”
“Quiet,” Viktor interrupted. “Do not explain anything. Do not antagonize anyone. Do not resist. Do not do anything. Understood?”
“Y-yes,” Jayce whispered, something inside him breaking free at the sound of Viktor’s command. It was a moment of clarity in the chaos, something Jayce hadn’t realized he needed until now.
“Good. I’ll be there soon.”
The line went dead. Jayce stared at the phone, his heart still pounding in his chest, trying to process what had just happened.