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The soft clinking of glass and the muffled sound of cabinet doors echoed faintly from the kitchen. Viktor, momentarily left alone, wandered through Jayce’s living room at a slow, thoughtful pace. It was warmly lit, the golden hue of the late evening spilling in from the windows and mingling with the gentle dim glow of wall sconces. The room smelled faintly of sandalwood and aged books—an unintentional signature of Jayce’s home.
His gaze was drawn, as always, to the photographs. A neat gallery stretched across the wall above the fireplace, framing the velvet couch in deep crimson. There were snapshots of Jayce at every age—laughing as a teenager with a mess of dark curls, beaming in front of an academy banner, posing with Caitlyn at some formal event.
A few candid shots included both of them: a selfie with wind-tousled hair, another of them covered in soot after what must have been a workshop accident. Jayce’s mother appeared in several, her smile a soft echo of her son’s.
Viktor lingered in front of one particular photo—a younger Jayce, maybe twelve, holding a clumsily made wooden model of a gear mechanism. His expression was so proud, so him, even then.
Viktor’s mouth tugged into a smile.
Cute.
It wasn’t his first time here. But somehow, each visit revealed something new—another frame on the wall, another souvenir placed carefully on a shelf. Jayce had a quiet reverence for memory, Viktor realized. He didn’t just keep the past. He curated it.
The sounds from the kitchen shifted—a pop, a heavy thud, and the distinct slosh of liquid. A moment later, Jayce returned, cradling a heavy, dark-glass bottle in one hand and two small, crystal-clear glasses in the other. He placed them on the low table in front of the couch with a little flourish, like presenting a ritual offering.
Jayce looked over at Viktor, who hadn’t moved. “I need more pictures,” he said out of nowhere, a half-smile tugging at his lips as he dropped onto one end of the couch with a soft thump.
Viktor glanced at him, then at the bottle. “You already have so many,” he said, still smiling. “Maybe you should consider an album instead?”
Jayce let out a low chuckle, reaching forward to uncork the bottle. “You really think I don’t already have an album?” He patted the couch beside him—a subtle gesture, more invitation than command.
Viktor snorted softly, but obliged. He made his way around the table, setting his cane carefully against the wall before settling at the opposite end of the couch. “You’re right,” he murmured as he sank into the soft cushions. “You probably have a categorized system.”
Jayce took the dark bottle into his hands, the glass thick and slightly frosted from storage. With a satisfying pop, he pulled the cork free and poured the first round—or more accurately, a tiny round—into the two small crystal cups. The liquid shimmered with a dark golden hue, almost syrupy in texture, clinging to the sides of the glass like it had opinions about being consumed.
“You know me so well,” Jayce said with a grin as he handed one of the cups to Viktor. His fingers brushed Viktor’s hand casually and then he settled back with his own glass.
Viktor stared at the cup. The portion was...laughably small. He tilted the glass slightly and blinked. “Did you pour, or did the bottle sneeze?” he asked dryly.
Jayce laughed, the sound easy. “Just wait. I have my reasons.” He sat up a little straighter, practically bouncing from excitement. “Okay, okay—so this stuff is called Hyaelor Flame. It’s from a tiny distillery outside of my childhood city in the North of Piltover, and my mom used to save it for big moments—like, really big. Scholarship news. My first internship. The bottle only comes out to mark something that matters.”
He held up his cup like a sacred relic. “And today, we made history. The Council approved the soft launch of the Hextech-powered energy grids in the main district. We’re not dreaming anymore, V. We are actually helping people!” Jayce’s eyes sparkled with that warm, too-sincere energy Viktor had seen a hundred times before—but tonight, it hit a little differently.
“To Hextech,” Jayce declared.
Viktor’s expression softened, and he clinked his glass gently against Jayce’s. “To Hextech,” he echoed.
He raised the cup to his nose first, curious. The scent hit like a freight train wrapped in citrus and fire—sharp, a little bit fruity, and so strong it nearly punched the back of his skull just from smelling it. His eyes watered slightly.
Still, he was used to strong drinks.
Zaun didn’t have much luxury, but it did have plenty of experimental spirits that could strip paint off metal. And Viktor’s alcohol tolerance was formidable. A gift and a curse. Gift: he rarely got hangovers or got drunk. Curse: he could empty an entire bar tab and still feel like he just had a glass of wine.
He threw Jayce a side glance. This had better be good. “It smells like it was designed to melt gears,” Viktor said.
“Correct,” Jayce replied cheerfully, noting Viktor’s cautious expression with way too much delight. “Now try it.” He took a sip of his own without hesitation, barely a flinch—just a small exhale through his nose and a contented hum, like a man slipping into a memory. The way his eyes stayed locked on Viktor made it clear: this wasn’t just about the drink. Jayce wanted to see his reaction—savor it, even. His lips curled into a smug little smile as he waited.
Viktor arched a brow at the theatrics, but brought the cup to his lips. He took a careful sip with measured curiosity.
And then.
Fire.
Oh, he thought, his throat instantly going to war with his dignity, this is a mistake.
It hit like a forged sunbeam dipped in raw power—searing hot, like it was actively trying to cauterize his soul. His eyes went wide for half a second. He made a noise. Not a full cough, not quite a gasp—more like a polite sound of internal combustion.
Jayce leaned in, grinning like a lab assistant who definitely didn’t warn you the vial was going to explode.
But then—oh.
Oh.
The aftertaste bloomed unexpectedly across Viktor’s tongue. Sweet, almost floral. A bit syrupy, but not cloying—there were some honey tones and something herbal beneath it. Like warm thyme, or a sun-baked meadow at dusk. It was surprisingly perfectly balanced. Alchemical-level precision. The kind of drink you thought would kill you, and then suddenly made you want to drink the whole bottle and write poetry about it.
Viktor blinked slowly, lips parted like he might make a comment but had forgotten every word.
“Well?” Jayce asked, clearly holding back laughter. “Still think the bottle sneezed?”
Viktor licked his lips, stared at the cup like it had offended him by being that good, and murmured, “This tastes like danger.”
Jayce snorted.
“No, really,” Viktor said. “This is the kind of drink that makes people do something wildly regrettable five minutes later.”
Jayce raised his glass with a wink. “Totally, yeah. That’s the tradition: one good deed, one questionable life choice.” He took another sip, this time with a bit more flair, stretching his legs out and relaxing back into the couch.
Viktor stared at him, then at his own drink like it had secrets. “I hate how much I like it,” he mumbled, and downed the rest of the shot.
Jayce’s eyes widened the second Viktor downed the entire shot in one clean, heroic swallow. “Okay, wow—no,” he said, alarm bells gently going off in his voice. “I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to drink that fast. I’m not kidding.” Jayce himself took another careful sip—slow, like the liquor might explode if it felt disrespected. He glanced sideways just in time to see Viktor already reaching for the bottle.
And not just a refill. He poured himself twice as much this time, like a man with plans. Viktor lounged back into the couch, cradling the glass in one hand like it was the universe’s most casual challenge. “Are you forgetting where I’m from, Jayce?” he said with a faint smirk. “We literally invented the strongest alcohol in all of Runeterra. One sip puts you on the floor. Two sips, and you're meeting your ancestors.”
Jayce raised a skeptical eyebrow, smiling despite himself. “Yeah, I know your alcohol tolerance, V, but I’m not even exaggerating right now. This stuff isn’t beverage-tier. It’s war crime adjacent.”
Viktor took another slow sip, eyes twinkling just enough to be dangerous. “I believe you.”
He absolutely did not believe him.
An hour passed in a blur of conversation—fluid and familiar. They talked about their current projects, debated prototype algorithms, reviewed their shared schedule for the next three months. The room felt warmer now, not just from the firelight but from the quiet buzz of vintage liquor.
Jayce was nursing his third cup, methodical and deliberate. Viktor, on the other hand, had just finished his sixth—which, technically, might’ve been more like seven-and-a-half. He’d been pouring freely, with that quiet confidence of someone who believed in his own chemical resilience. To be fair, the drink was insanely good. It melted across his tongue like fire wrapped in honey, warm and deceptively smooth. It didn’t even feel like drinking. It felt like being hugged from the inside.
And then, without warning—the room tipped.
Not metaphorically. Literally.
Viktor blinked. His head was spinning like he was mid-teleportation, and the edges of his vision started to blur like a bad lens alignment. His limbs felt boneless. His mouth was dry. He went to set his glass down on the table—but the table was suddenly both closer and further away than he expected.
The cup wobbled dangerously, sloshing golden liquid onto his fingers.
“Woah there, V.” Jayce was up in an instant, his reflexes sharp from years of being around hazardous materials in their lab. He caught the cup mid-teeter and steadied it on the table with a grace that only someone not drunk could manage. He crouched next to the couch, taking a good look at him—and yeah. The signs were all there. Slowed reactions. Heavy eyelids. A smile that was way too wide for how little had been said.
Yup. Viktor was drunk.
Shit.
“Hey, you good?” Jayce asked, voice soft but laced with amusement.
Viktor didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he reached out and clumsily grabbed a fistful of Jayce’s shirt sleeve, anchoring himself like a lifeline.
Jayce tensed at the touch—not because it hurt, but because, god, Viktor rarely initiated physical contact like this. Not unprompted. Not casually. He didn’t move at first, looking at Viktor slumping a little further into the cushions with a soft noise that was either a sigh or a low laugh.
Jayce gently pried the cup from Viktor’s still-hovering fingers and set it down properly. “Alright, V,” he said, smoothing his tone. “You are not allowed another drop.”
Viktor blinked up at him, pupils blown wide, his expression somewhere between bliss and absolute confusion.
“I’m getting you some water. Stay here. Don’t move, please.” Jayce stood and pointed at him sternly.
Viktor made a vague salute with two fingers and said, far too seriously, “I make no promises,” he announced, as if Jayce had asked him to lead a revolution rather than just stay upright.
Jayce snorted on his way to the kitchen. “Yeah, I figured.”
He grabbed a tall glass and filled it with cold water, then poured one for himself, too. Viktor was clearly off the rails—which meant Jayce had to be the one steering the metaphorical cart. And honestly? He didn’t mind. Watching Viktor get that loopy grin from something as simple as liquor felt…kind of good.
He walked back into the living room—and paused.
Viktor had moved.
No longer tucked neatly into his original corner, he was now sprawled across the center of the couch like he owned the whole thing.
Jayce blinked at the tiny sliver of space left for him. “Seriously?” He crouched in front of Viktor, placing one glass down on the table and offering the other. “Here. Water. Please drink this. This one has the advantage of not ruining your motor functions.”
Viktor groaned in response, slow, gravelly, dramatic. His eyelids fluttered like he was manually trying to restart his system. Eventually, he sat up—barely—and took the glass in both hands like it was the most complicated object he’d ever held. He sipped, his expression unreadable, then lowered the glass with a small sigh, his lashes drooping. Then, without a word, he held it out toward Jayce again, like he was done.
Mission complete.
Jayce couldn’t help it—he smiled.
He looked cute like this.
And then immediately hated himself for thinking it.
Don’t go there. He’s your best friend. You don’t—he’s not—ugh, come on, get a grip Talis.
Jayce huffed a little laugh and shook his head. “Uh-uh. Finish it.”
Viktor made a tiny sound of protest and gently—but firmly—pushed the glass into Jayce’s hands.
“Okay, okay,” Jayce said with a sigh, setting the glass on the table. “I’ll leave it here. But you’re going to thank me tomorrow.” He stood and made his way back to the couch, aiming for his usual spot—or rather, what used to be his spot before Viktor colonized the middle like a very cozy empire. He lowered himself onto what little space was left, and—
Thigh contact.
Jayce froze for a second.
Their legs were touching. Not just brushing. Touching and warm. Viktor’s thigh pressed lazily against his like it belonged there. Jayce stared down at the point of contact like it had personally betrayed him. A soft pink rose across his cheeks—just a little—but he cleared his throat and forced his gaze upward.
He glanced up at Viktor’s face.
And Viktor—god help him—was staring at him. Really staring. Focused, intense, like Jayce’s face had just started emitting magical readings. His brows were slightly furrowed in concentration, but there was a softness there too, like he was puzzling something out that he didn’t want to solve.
Jayce blinked. “What?”
Viktor didn’t answer right away. Instead, he leaned in—slowly, deliberately, like he was moving through water. His gaze never left Jayce’s face. Jayce instinctively leaned back just an inch, heart tripping over itself.
“Did anyone ever tell you,” Viktor began, voice low and entirely too serious for the amount of liquor in his system, “that freckles look really good on you?”
Jayce blinked again. “What—”
Before he could finish, Viktor’s hand came up, wobbly but careful, fingers brushing against Jayce’s cheek with gentleness. He touched just under the cheekbone, where the freckles scattered like sun-kissed constellations. The contact was light, soft, but deeply awkward in its execution. His hand was slightly too cold. His aim a little too slow. But the way he looked at Jayce?
That was dead-on.
Jayce froze. Entirely. He was very aware of every point of contact. His cheek went warm. His ears were burning suddenly. “I—uh. Maybe? I don’t remember,” he managed, voice high and absolutely unconvincing.
Viktor, still dangerously close, traced another faint line with his thumb before dropping his hand into his lap, like he hadn’t just shattered Jayce’s brain. “Well. Now you know.”
He slumped back against the couch, looking weirdly satisfied with himself. Then, after a beat, added with total conviction, “It really elevates your beauty.”
Jayce stared.
Just stared.
His brain, once a finely tuned machine of logic and engineering, had just suffered a critical system failure.
My beauty?
Viktor called me—no wait. Was this a joke? But he said it like he meant it.
A thousand confused thoughts bottlenecked in his mind like a Hexgate traffic jam.
This wasn’t normal. Viktor didn’t compliment people on their physique. Not to him. Not to anyone, as far as Jayce knew. Compliments from Viktor were usually factual and extremely specific. “That equation is perfectly fine.” Or “Your technical drawing on this blueprint is great, Jayce.” Never "Your face is beautiful and here's a finger to prove it."
Jayce swallowed hard. His skin still buzzed where Viktor’s fingers had grazed it. His freckles had never received this much attention in their entire existence. He opened his mouth to say something clever, or deflect, or even breathe—but Viktor beat him to it.
“I also like the way your nose scrunches when you concentrate,” Viktor added thoughtfully, now examining Jayce like he was part of a fascinating new hextech prototype. “It’s, eh, subtle. Most people probably don’t notice. But I do.”
Jayce made a faint, strangled sound.
Viktor continued, unfazed. “It’s very endearing. Gives you the look of someone perpetually trying to solve the world’s problems and trying to remember where they left their keys at the same time.”
Jayce ran a hand down his face. “Viktor, you’re so drunk.”
“Yes,” Viktor agreed easily. “But that doesn’t mean I’m wrong.” Still smiling that loopy, soft smile that made Jayce’s stomach flip over again.
Jayce was equal parts flustered and helplessly endeared. This was Viktor giving him the most chaotic, sincere compliments while looking like a man who’d just remembered what sleep was. And somehow, it was...kind of adorable.
Okay. Extremely adorable.
Jayce barely had time to recover from the onslaught of compliments before Viktor shifted again—a slow, languid movement that somehow felt both casual and incredibly deliberate. He scooted closer across the couch, turning his entire body toward Jayce, and then—
Plop.
Viktor leaned fully into him, his torso pressing warmly against Jayce’s arm, head tilted just slightly like he was trying to find the most comfortable position to melt into.
Jayce’s heart did something stupid. “W-What are you doing?” he blurted, voice cracking like a teenager caught watching something they shouldn’t.
Viktor didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he lifted one hand—unsteady, but precise enough—and slid it gently into Jayce’s hair. His fingers combed through the strands like he was confirming a long-held hypothesis. Then, with alarming serenity, he rested that same hand on Jayce’s shoulder, closed his eyes, and let out a soft, content sigh. “Your hair always looked soft,” he murmured, “and I was right. It is.”
Jayce stopped breathing.
Okay. No. What. The. Actual. Hell.
This wasn’t just tipsy affection, was it? Viktor never initiated touch like this. He liked casual contact, but wasn’t the one doing the contact in the first place. But now he was leaning, nuzzling, and gently petting Jayce’s hair like there was no tomorrow. Jayce glanced down at him, eyes wide. Viktor’s face was right there—resting against his shoulder, relaxed, open, serene in a way Jayce had never seen before.
The proximity.
He could smell Viktor’s breath—warm and spiced with the liquor, honey, and something deeper. He could feel every shift of weight, every tiny movement of Viktor’s fingers brushing the fabric of his sleeve. His whole body was blushing at once. His skin was buzzing.
This was so much.
Too much.
And yet…somehow not enough?
Jayce’s mouth opened to say something. He had no idea what. Probably something between the lines of “Thank you for your compliments” or “Please don’t stop touching me.” Thankfully, no words came out, saving what little pride he had left.
And then Viktor, still nestled against his shoulder like it was made of clouds and good decisions, let out a low, satisfied hum. “You smell nice,” he murmured, voice sleepy and sincere. “Like…Like toasted sugar on a Sunday morning.”
Jayce blinked.
What?
Viktor wasn’t done. Apparently his drunk brain had found the “pour compliments” button and jammed it permanently. “But you smell the nicest,” he continued, voice barely above a whisper, “when you come back from the forge. Soot and heat and something electric.”
Jayce’s soul exited his body instantly.
Was this real life? Was Viktor trying to kill him? Was this some kind of prank? A cruel experiment in emotional endurance?
“You’re just drunk, V,” Jayce managed with a nervous chuckle, stiff as a statue. His hands lay obediently on his lap, absolutely not touching Viktor despite every cell in his body screaming touch him back touch him back pleaaaaase.
Viktor shook his head—or tried to. It was more of a gentle nuzzle-sway against Jayce’s arm. “No…mmh…” he hummed, eyelids fluttering. “I really think so.” He sounded so convinced. So calm. Like complimenting Jayce’s forge-scented skin was the most natural thing in the world.
Jayce stared at the wall.
He’s drunk. He’s drunk. He is just deeply drunk. This doesn’t mean anything Jayce.
And yet…Viktor’s hand was still resting lightly on his shoulder, his fingers curled there like he didn’t want to let go.
Jayce glanced at him again. Viktor’s face had gone entirely soft—eyes closed, lips curved faintly into a sleepy, content smile. He looked like someone who had never experienced stress or pain in his life (which is totally different than his usual self). His body was comfortably slumped against Jayce’s side, radiating warmth and trust, which would’ve been fine if Jayce’s brain wasn’t doing backflips about it.
Trying to regain control of the situation (and maybe his own soul, he didn’t know where it flew), Jayce cleared his throat and leaned forward slightly, reaching for Viktor’s water glass to hand it back. But the moment he moved, Viktor let out a groggy groan—the very specific kind that said “don’t take away my favorite pillow.” He sluggishly lifted his head, blinking in confusion, then took the glass with both hands like Jayce had just passed him a sacred artifact.
He drank the remaining water in one long sip, handed the glass back wordlessly, then flopped back into the couch like he had completed a great heroic task.
Jayce returned the glass to the table and took a long drink from his own, mostly so he didn’t accidentally say anything. The water was ice cold and absolutely not enough to cool the blush threatening to take over his whole face.
Then he leaned back into the couch.
And foolishly believed, for a fleeting second, that maybe Viktor would now settle back into his own space.
He was so wrong.
Viktor turned his head toward him, blinking slowly—his expression somewhere between sleepy affection and calculated sneakiness. Like a cat who had spotted a warm box left unattended in the sun.
Then, with no shame whatsoever, he asked:
“Can I scoop in?”
Jayce blinked. “Wh—What?”
Viktor gestured vaguely. “Your lap. Where else?”
Jayce blinked again. Once. Twice. His entire brain just shut off. His soul probably left Piltover now.
What the fuck.
His thoughts instantly split into two warring factions:
Brain: No. Absolutely not. Terrible idea.
Body: Lap ready. Yes, please. Activate cuddle mode.
Well, not that he had feelings for his best friend or anything like that. (No no no, of course not, don’t be ridiculous.)
It was just—he was always kind of...drawn to him. Like a magnet. A brilliant, beautiful, softly-smiling magnet who sometimes said things that made Jayce's chest feel weird and tight in a way that had absolutely nothing to do with cardiovascular health. And sure, sometimes Jayce had these urges. Nothing weird. Just the completely normal, extremely platonic desire to wrap Viktor up in a massive hug and maybe hold him there for a while.
Y’know, like a blanket. For safety. (In a very friend way. Obviously.)
He sometimes thought about what it’d feel like—just resting his chin on Viktor’s shoulder, breathing him in, feeling the edges of all that tension relax for once. Maybe pulling him into his chest just to prove he could. Just to keep him safe.
Again: Normal. Friend behavior.
But now?
Now Viktor wanted to sit in his lap.
His lap.
That was a whole other level of danger. Lap-sitting was sacred. Lap-sitting was intimacy tier three at minimum. That was where you held someone. Where you touched them. Where you felt every inch of their body folding into yours. That wasn’t friend territory. That was...that was...
That was the kind of thing Jayce would never recover from if he liked it too much.
And he would like it. God, he knew he would.
Because he was already melting from shoulder contact. What the hell would Viktor in his lap do to him?
He didn’t know.
And that, honestly, terrified him more than Viktor’s six-shot tolerance ever could.
But what came out was: “O-okay, sure.”
Oops.
Too fast. Way too fast.
Why did I say that. Why did I say that. He’s going to sit on me. He’s going to sit on me. That’s a lot of Viktor.
Jayce stared straight ahead, frozen in place like someone bracing for impact. Meanwhile, Viktor was already gathering himself—slowly and deliberately—like a sleepy serpent preparing to coil.
This was happening.
This was actually happening. EVERYONE, STAY CALM.
And Jayce was absolutely, categorically, not ready. Not calm at all.
Viktor smiled—slow, dreamy, content—like he had just been granted a divine wish, and then proceeded to scoop himself right into Jayce’s lap. Not gingerly. Not cautiously. But with the full commitment of a man settling into his favorite armchair after a long day. He curled sideways against him, legs folded onto the couch, arms lazily looped around Jayce’s neck.
His head came to rest on Jayce’s chest with a soft exhale—and Jayce swore he could hear him purr. It wasn’t literal, probably. But the sound Viktor made was so content, so deep in his throat, that Jayce’s heart skipped like a broken gear.
Jayce sat frozen in place, every muscle locked in a full-body “ do not move your hands” moment. His back was straight as a ruler. His shoulders? Tense enough to crack stone.
What do I do. What do I DO.
He could feel the warmth of Viktor’s breath through his shirt. The delicate weight of his arms, the very real pressure of a whole human being sitting sideways on his lap. There were bones involved. Hips. Skin. Jayce’s brain could barely form full sentences.
He didn’t know where to put his hands. Was there a guide for this? A friendship handbook? A polite diagram titled “When Your Best Friend Sits On You Like a Cat”?
Should he…embrace him? Maybe that was expected. Or safe? Was not touching him worse than touching him? Would not hugging him seem cold? Would Viktor think he didn’t want him there?
Oh no, what if he gets sad?
Jayce panicked at the thought and immediately moved—slowly, carefully—like Viktor was made of glass and TNT. He raised his arms with all the grace of a malfunctioning tool, then gently, so gently, let them settle around Viktor’s back. Barely touching. Barely there. As if the lightest pressure might trigger a friendship-ending spiral.
Viktor didn’t move.
Didn’t even flinch.
If anything, he snuggled closer. One arm tightened ever so slightly around Jayce’s shoulders, and he let out a soft breath—the kind people made when they finally, finally got comfortable.
Jayce just sat there, cheeks lit up like twin forges.
He was going to die.
He was going to die right here, with Viktor fully curled in his lap, hands in his hair, heartbeat doing somersaults, and the worst part? It would be the happiest he’d ever been.
Viktor’s fingers drifted lazily through the back of his hair, brushing against the nape of his neck in gentle, grounding motions. He wasn’t even really petting Jayce. He was just…there. Like he belonged there. “You’re so comfortable,” Viktor mumbled, pressing his cheek more firmly to Jayce’s chest like a cat claiming a warm laundry pile.
Jayce swallowed hard. “That’s...good to know,” he managed, chuckling a little—the kind of laugh you make when you’re trying very hard to act like you're not being emotionally vaporized.
There was a pause. A soft, warm silence, broken only by the sound of Jayce’s thundering heartbeat and Viktor’s next sentence: “I think you should get yourself checked. Your heart’s going like, eh, a hundred miles an hour.”
Yep. There it is. Death, confirmed. Flatline pending.
Jayce’s voice cracked as he tried to recover. “My heart’s fine, don’t worry about it, V.” He cleared his throat and shifted slightly, trying to change the subject. “How about you get a little sleep, huh?”
Viktor shook his head immediately, rubbing his cheek into Jayce’s chest with alarming ease. “No,” he murmured. “I want to fully experience the moment.”
Jayce nearly blacked out.
For Janna’s sake.
This wasn’t what he expected at all. Viktor—the reserved one, the calm one, the man who treated personal space like a fortress—was apparently an affectionate drunk with zero filter and a master’s degree in cuddling.
Jayce had always imagined Viktor drunk would be sharp-tongued. Maybe a little snappy. Maybe the type to rant about politics or punch someone in the knee just after.
Not this.
Not this soft, warm, devastatingly sweet version that said stuff like “fully experience the moment” while burrowing deeper into his lap like he paid rent there.
And the worst part?
Jayce thought, for half a second, God, I want to see him like this again.
The thought hit him like a brick. His stomach turned instantly.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
Was he actually considering getting his best friend drunk just to get him to cuddle again? What kind of person even thought that?
Oh my god. I’m a bad person. I’m literally the worst person alive. He’s drunk and vulnerable and I’m over here melting like butter in an oven just because he smells nice and made a little noise.
Guilt hit him like a second wave.
He took a breath, gently placing his hands on Viktor’s shoulders. “A-Actually, V…I don’t think you should be in my arms right now.”
Viktor stirred and looked up, and Jayce instantly regretted every moral decision he had ever made. Viktor’s face was inches from his own—eyes soft, hair a little messy, and that pout.
That goddamn pout.
Jayce had seen a lot of things in his life. Combat. Chemical explosions.
But this?
This was a deadly weapon.
Viktor’s lip jutted just slightly. “What...no...” he murmured, blinking up at him with pure betrayal. “More time, please.”
Jayce’s heart did a perfect flip in his chest. Perhaps even twice.
He could feel Viktor’s breath against his chin, warm and sweet and smelling faintly of honey and bad decisions. Every nerve in his body buzzed like a live wire. “I–um,” Jayce stammered, his voice cracking like glass. “A-Are you sure that’s what you want?”
Viktor didn’t answer. He just nodded slowly, then pressed his forehead against Jayce’s collarbone—soft, trusting, entirely at peace.
And that’s when the guilt really sank its teeth in.
Jayce’s breath caught in his throat as he sat there, frozen, feeling the full weight of Viktor’s warmth against his body. His arms hovered again, unsure, useless.
This isn’t right. He’s drunk. He doesn’t know what he’s doing.
And worse, Jayce did.
That’s what made it so unbearable—he knew exactly what was happening inside him right now. Every flutter of his heart, every burning point of contact, every breathless, selfish little thought. It wasn’t just that Viktor was being affectionate. It was that Jayce wanted it. Wanted more of it. And it made his skin crawl with shame.
He trusts you. He’s not thinking clearly, and he trusts you. And you’re sitting here, shaking because you like the way his hand feels in your hair? What the hell is wrong with you?
Jayce stared straight ahead, jaw clenched. He could feel Viktor's breath, could feel him relaxing against him like it was the safest place in the world—and suddenly Jayce didn’t feel safe at all.
This isn’t okay. Not like this. You’re supposed to be the one who protects him, not the one who secretly wants to hold him longer than you’re allowed to.
He blinked hard, chest tight with the awful knot of it.
This wasn't just about being flustered anymore. It was about power. Trust. Responsibility. Viktor was vulnerable right now—soft, open, unguarded in a way he never was when sober. And Jayce…Jayce was sitting here with his heart screaming for more.
More closeness. More touches. More everything.
And that made him feel like absolute garbage.
Fuck, he thought, if I don’t get myself together, I’m going to ruin the one person I never wanted to hurt.
His arms remained half-hovering, half-cradling, caught in limbo between comfort and restraint. He wasn’t sure which one made him feel worse. He glanced down at Viktor again—at the soft lines of his face, the dark lashes brushing against his cheek, the calm little smile tugging at his lips. He looked happy.
Peaceful.
And Jayce, in contrast, felt like he was absolutely coming apart at the seams.
His heart was pounding so fast it felt like it was trying to escape his chest and file a complaint. He was probably moments away from cardiac arrest. A complete system failure. Total emotional meltdown.
But…maybe that was fine?
Because Viktor looked safe? Comfortable. His body was warm and still in Jayce’s lap, like it belonged there, like this was something he did—just lean into people like a sleepy cat and run his fingers through their hair.
Jayce didn’t move. Couldn’t. Every nerve was firing in different directions, but he didn’t want to startle him. Still, he needed something. Anything. A sign. A word. A confirmation that this wasn’t just the liquor talking. That this moment was real, not accidental intoxicated affection that would be awkwardly laughed off in the morning. Or something Viktor would regret all his life.
He swallowed hard.
“V…are you sure you want to be in my arms?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper. “You’re drunk and—and—”
Viktor groaned softly, like Jayce’s voice had disturbed the rotation of the planets. He didn’t move an inch. Still curled against him, still caressing the back of Jayce’s neck with slow, absentminded fingers—fingers that were definitely not helping Jayce think straight. Then, with the gravitas of someone silencing a royal decree, Viktor murmured: “Shhh. Please. Let me have this.”
Jayce blinked.
That was…not an answer.
Still. Viktor hadn’t moved. He was still nestled there like Jayce was his personal cloud, and god, maybe that meant it was okay? Maybe this wasn’t crossing a line. Maybe it was okay because Viktor chose to stay there. Still. Calm. Touching him. Maybe the drunk part was just loosening what Viktor already wanted but would never say out loud.
Still, a part of Jayce’s brain was waving a tiny flag labeled: GET A VERBAL YES. DO NOT PASS GO.
Because yes, Viktor was in his lap. Yes, Viktor was cuddling him like it was the only thing keeping him tethered to the world. But also, Jayce was most of the time a rule follower. A guideline guy. An overthinker with a bad habit of wanting things way too much and then panicking about it. And right now, Jayce just wanted to hear a clear, unambiguous, no-room-for-doubt “ Yes, I want to be here. ”
But instead of words, he felt something else.
Viktor, without lifting his head or saying a thing, gently reached down, found Jayce’s hands—still hovering awkwardly—and placed them around his waist himself. Deliberately and slowly. Like it was the most obvious adjustment to do.
Jayce’s heart leapt straight into his throat.
Okay. Okay okay okay. That was…that was something. That was basically consent, right? A non-verbal, tactile "yes, hold me like this." Right?
He hadn’t pulled away. He’d done the placing. That wasn’t Jayce taking advantage. It couldn’t be. He wasn’t wrong to want this if Viktor literally guided him there.
Right?
Jayce let out a shaky breath and finally allowed himself to fully wrap his arms around him. He squeezed gently, then a little tighter—a full, real embrace. Chest to chest. Arms secure. He cradled Viktor like he was something precious, which, honestly, he was.
And when he looked down, he realized his face was now fully in Viktor’s hair.
Like, mouth-and-nose-buried levels of closeness.
Jayce froze.
One sniff. Just one. That’s not weird. That’s…that’s a totally normal friend thing. Friends sniff their friends all the time, right?
He paused.
Then—
Inhaled.
And oh no.
It was instant.
Viktor’s scent hit his brain like divine punishment.
Citrus and lavender. With just the faintest hint of bitter coffee—sharp, grounding, so him. And beneath all that: warmth. Comfort. Some uniquely Viktor thing Jayce had no words for and would absolutely never recover from.
His entire body stuttered. His heart squeezed so tight he might’ve blacked out for half a second. Butterflies didn’t just flutter—they exploded out of their chrysalises and staged a full festival in his chest.
Totally normal emotional response. Absolutely fine. Everything’s great.
You’re just deeply affected by your best friend’s shampoo. Happens all the time. Nothing to see here. Completely platonic.
Jayce’s fingers curled a little tighter against Viktor’s back, holding him closer without even thinking—because apparently his body had filed for independence and no longer needed his brain’s approval to act on instinct.
This is fine. I’m fine. Totally fine Jayce.
Then Viktor hummed softly at the squeeze and smiled against his chest. “Could you scratch my back?” he mumbled, voice thick with sleep and sin.
Jayce blinked.
He looked down at Viktor’s very real, very close face, and—without thinking—lifted one hand and started scratching gently between his shoulder blades.
Like a good boy. Like a fool. Like a man being baited into future emotional destruction.
And Viktor moaned.
Not loudly, but low and into Jayce’s shirt, and it echoed in Jayce’s chest like someone rang a bell inside his ribs.
Jayce froze for half a second.
Oh god. Oh no. This is not a friend thing. This is an intimacy zone. We have entered forbidden territory.
He wasn’t a prude, okay? He’d shared beds with friends. Hugged teammates. Sat thigh-to-thigh with Viktor a hundred times at Council meetings.
But scratching someone’s back?
That was a lover thing. A romantic partner thing. Not a “we build prototypes together in a lab and occasionally trauma dump at midnight” thing.
Well…Viktor was his partner.
But not like that. Not romantically. Not emotionally codependent.
Right?
Jayce kept scratching for a moment longer—long enough to feel Viktor go utterly limp against him in satisfaction—before slowly easing off once he was sure his companion was sufficiently content.
That’s when Viktor looked up again, his face still obscenely close. There was no personal space left. Not even a whisper of air between them. His gaze wandered, a little hazy, a little unguarded, and then—
Jayce saw it.
The quiet flick of Viktor’s eyes down to his mouth.
Oh.
Oh no.
Jayce panicked and immediately looked away, trying to reroute Viktor’s brain like a failing system. “D-Do you want more water?” he blurted, already shifting like he was about to get up. “I’ll get you more—”
Viktor shook his head. Slow, steady and way too calm.
He was still looking at him.
Jayce cleared his throat, trying to establish dominance with logic. “V-Viktor…whatever you’re thinking right now, do not.”
Viktor’s lips curved into a smile, his eyes half-lidded and head slightly tilted in that beautifully-dangerous-drowsy way. “Viktor, yes,” he said.
Jayce let out a weak, nervous laugh. “Viktor, no. Really. Don’t do something you’ll regret in the morning.”
Viktor’s only response was a laugh—a loose, very drunk laugh, like his spine had forgotten what stiffness was. He swayed a little in Jayce’s lap and then, without warning, leaned in and pressed a kiss right to the corner of Jayce’s mouth.
Jayce’s entire nervous system short-circuited.
His soul not only left Piltover now, but left Runeterra. Gone.
He wanted to hide. Cry. Puke. Ascend. Explode. All at once. His arms twitched with pure instinct, and he gently pushed Viktor back—not harshly, but enough to break the contact. “Viktor,” he said, heart stammering like a broken metronome, “I’m serious. No one kisses their best friend casually.”
Viktor laughed again—delighted, drunk, and mischievous—and leaned right back in, strong and very determined, hooking his arms around Jayce’s neck like a man on a mission. “That's a lie,” he said, lips inches from Jayce’s. “You’ve never kissed your best friend before?”
Jayce tried. He really did.
He braced his hands against Viktor’s shoulders and attempted to keep him at arm’s length. But Viktor was weirdly strong for someone who could barely sit up ten minutes ago. He was wiggling closer, effectively steamrolling Jayce’s resolve with sleepy affection and the sheer force of his persistence. “I–Viktor—I don’t—That’s not—I don’t do that!” Jayce sputtered, halfway into cardiac arrest. “You’re drunk! That’s the only reason you want to kiss me right now!”
Viktor didn’t even blink. He simply let out a small, amused hum and dropped a kiss on Jayce’s cheek. Then another, closer to his mouth.
Jayce was burning from the inside out.
Then Viktor, arms locked tight around Jayce’s neck, murmured smugly, “We’re alone. No one will know you kissed your best friend.”
Another kiss. Closer. Softer. Like Viktor was teasing the line on purpose. “I might be drunk,” he added, brushing his nose against Jayce’s jaw, “but I’m not dumb.”
Jayce’s face was fully red now. He was practically glowing. Radioactive.
Fuck. Why are drunk people so strong? This is unfair.
And the worst part?
Half of him—the half that wasn’t screaming morality, boundaries, respect—didn’t even want to fight back.
And that scared him more than anything.
But…what if it was okay?
What if this was just something that happened between two incredibly close friends celebrating a massive personal victory? Like a " we changed the world, time for a weird emotional cuddle-and-a-kiss " kind of moment? Maybe Viktor was right. Maybe this was normal. Maybe Jayce had just never reached this level of bro-ship with anyone else before.
He tried to rationalize it.
Sure, I’ve never made out with a teammate before, but maybe I just never had the right teammate. Viktor’s not like other people. Viktor’s...Viktor. Maybe this is what deep emotional partnership looks like.
But then the spiral turned dark again.
What if Viktor regrets this tomorrow?
What if he wakes up and looks at Jayce with horror? What if he thinks Jayce took advantage of him while he was drunk and touchy and vulnerable?
Jayce’s stomach twisted violently.
He could never live with that. He loved Viktor too much (in a friend way, obviously) to ever do something that might hurt him. The thought of Viktor looking at him like a stranger, or worse, someone he couldn’t trust…
No. He’d rather die. On the spot. Immediately.
But…
He also really wanted to kiss him.
Which was...strange. Or maybe it wasn’t. Maybe it was just a side effect of years of working shoulder-to-shoulder, of watching Viktor exist with quiet brilliance, of wanting to scoop him up whenever he looked tired and never let go. That was normal, right?
Probably.
Totally.
Absolutely maybe.
Jayce looked down at him, eyes serious now—serious enough that Viktor blinked a little, clearly noticing the shift. “Alright,” Jayce said, voice soft but steady, “okay. But only if you actually want this. Not because you’re drunk as fuck and confusing me with someone else.”
Viktor gave a dreamy, sleepy smile. “Mmh mmh.”
Jayce arched a brow. “Nope. No ‘mmh mmh.’ I want a full consenting yes. Like, proper, enunciated, yes.”
Viktor pouted. Literally pouted.
Jayce wanted to scream into a pillow. That pout should be illegal.
Then, with a dramatic little sigh, Viktor rolled his eyes and mumbled: “Yes.”
Jayce exhaled hard. Like he'd just disarmed a bomb.
Okay. Okay. That was good. That was fine. Hopefully.
He just prayed Viktor would remember this conversation in the morning, so he wouldn’t have to say “ You gave clear verbal consent ” like a total weirdo in the post-kiss fallout. But before he could finish panicking further, Viktor adjusted himself in Jayce’s lap—settling in like he was home, arms still wrapped loosely around Jayce’s neck. Their eyes met.
Jayce was not going to make the first move. Nuh uh. No way. Not a chance in hell.
But oh, god, he wanted to. He wanted it so bad it made his ribs ache.
Thankfully, he didn’t have to.
Viktor leaned in.
Slowly, carefully—like even drunk, he wanted to be sure.
He pressed a soft, chaste kiss to Jayce’s lips. Just a brush. Just a moment. Testing.
Then he leaned in again—this time deeper, fuller. Their mouths met, moved, melted together like it had always been waiting to happen. Viktor kissed like he thought about things first, even now—like he was pouring all that careful energy into each movement.
His brain packed a suitcase and left his body to fend for itself.
Fuck.
His head swam. His body tensed, then melted like candlewax under bright sunlight. Every thought dissolved except one: Okay. Okay. This is happening. This is happening and it’s amazing and oh Janna.
His arms tightened around Viktor’s back, just a little, anchoring him there, fingers curling into the hem of his shirt. He wanted to cry—not from sadness, but from the absurd joy of it all. Of holding him. Of being held back. Of finally knowing what Viktor’s lips felt like: soft, small, impossibly good.
Jayce had no idea what Viktor had drunk besides that honeyed firestorm liquor, but whatever it was, it tasted like him—sharp, soft, and complicated in ways that shouldn’t have made sense but did. Their mouths moved together like they’d practiced in a dream, and Jayce realized with a jolt that maybe, just maybe, he’d wanted this longer than he was willing to admit.
And fuck, the taste was addictive.
Jayce slid one hand up, cradling the back of Viktor’s neck, his thumb brushing the edge of his jaw. Not to pull him closer—he was already so close—but just to ground himself in the reality of it. He could feel the heat of Viktor’s skin under his fingers, the faint tremble in his breath, the sleepy, open-mouthed weight of someone kissing with zero filter and zero hesitation.
Viktor's tongue grazed his lip again and Jayce didn't even hesitate—just opened to him, surrendered, let their tongues meet and tangle in a rhythm he didn’t know he knew. It was instinct. It was gravity. It was...everything.
This is just a kiss, Jayce thought, this is—god, just a kiss.
Then Viktor let out another soft, accidental moan and Jayce shuddered, his whole body tensing and melting at the same time.
If he does that again, I’m gonna die. I’ll just spontaneously combust and Viktor will have to explain to the Council that I died because he kissed too good.
And then, just when Jayce thought the moment couldn’t get more intense, Viktor broke the kiss. He pulled back, breathless and visibly dazed—lips pink and slightly swollen, eyes half-lidded and glassy with the soft haze of affection and intoxication.
Jayce’s brain had just enough time to begin to recover before Viktor moved again.
And god help him—
He adjusted his body. Shifted.
Without a word, Viktor lifted one leg, then the other, swinging them over to straddle Jayce’s lap—fully, completely, now sitting on him like it was his damn throne. Jayce’s breath hitched so hard it could’ve registered on seismic sensors. His hands instinctively landed on Viktor’s hips like they belonged there, like his body had just accepted this new reality and filed it under “yes, this is mine now”.
And then Viktor leaned in again.
But this time—this time there was no gentle lead-in. No soft testing of boundaries.
This kiss came with teeth.
It was hungry. Hot. Messy.
Like Viktor had waited years and finally lost the patience to be delicate about it.
Their mouths crashed together, all heat and friction. The sound of it—wet, breathy, obscene—filled the quiet room like the spark of fire hitting dry kindling.
Jayce gasped into it, stunned by the sudden shift, by the way Viktor devoured his mouth like he couldn’t get enough, like he needed more, like he didn’t care how wrecked Jayce got as long as he was still breathing by the end of it. Their teeth knocked slightly. Their noses bumped. Viktor moaned—low and desperate—right into Jayce’s mouth, and Jayce felt it in his spine. A vibration. A shudder.
Jayce’s brain tried—it really did—to keep up, to issue a last warning: This is too much, this is dangerous, you are in so much trouble now.
But his body?
His body was singing hymns and setting off fireworks.
Shut up. We are home now. We live here. Take more Talis.
Jayce's hands gripped Viktor’s hips, tighter now, grounding himself. His fingers curled around the sharp bones there, the smooth fabric of his clothes bunching beneath his palms as Viktor rolled his body just slightly forward—not even grinding, just aligning, and god, that was enough.
Viktor’s legs squeezed around his thighs, and Jayce swore he could feel every point of contact between them. It was fire under his skin. It was a pull he didn’t know how to fight anymore.
Jayce kissed back like he was falling. Like nothing else existed. Like he was drowning in Viktor and desperate for more. Tongue, teeth, heat—he gave in, let the kiss deepen, his lips parting to match Viktor’s pace, meeting him open and unrestrained. The taste of him—alcohol, warmth, Viktor—slid over Jayce’s tongue like something he wasn’t supposed to want but couldn’t resist.
This is too much.
This is perfect.
This is going to ruin me.
He pulled back for a second—gasping, blinking, lips tingling and swollen. His breath stuttered in his chest like his lungs had forgotten how to function.
Viktor looked...wrecked. In the best way.
His pupils were blown wide, cheeks flushed deep red, hair a gorgeous mess from where Jayce had unintentionally tugged it. He stared at Jayce like he was seeing the blueprint to the universe and had just decided to keep it.
And Jayce?
Jayce was so far gone, he might as well have legally changed his last name to “Belongs to Viktor.”
“Damn, V…” Jayce panted, trying desperately to gather what remained of his dignity. “Are you always kissing your best friends like this?” He meant it to sound playful, casual, light—a joke to cut the tension. But his voice cracked somewhere around “friends,” and the heat pulsing through his body made it feel like the universe was laughing at him. Because it wasn’t just his lips that were on fire. It was everything. His chest, his fingertips, his thighs—especially his thighs, pressed flush with Viktor’s where the heat was now undeniable.
He could feel it.
They could both feel it. The arousal between them—potent, electric, mutually acknowledged, even if no one was brave enough to say it out loud.
Jayce’s brain screamed, do not cross this next line.
This was the line. This was the clearly labeled “don’t fuck this up” line.
Kissing like that? Sure. Fine. Heated and Intense.
But sex? Oh no. Nuh uh. That was a canyon. A point of no return. A “ you can’t blame this on liquor in the morning ” kind of mistake.
It had to be normal, though, right? Right? Just some casual, mutual arousal between two totally platonic best friends—surely that was documented somewhere. Probably a psychology paper. A full thesis on “Unresolved Sexual Tension in Male Friendship Dynamics.”
Viktor, still panting, hands tangled in the fabric of Jayce’s shirt like he didn’t trust gravity not to pull him away, looked up at him.
And this time—he was serious.
“No,” he said, soft and low. “Never like this.”
Jayce blinked. His throat tightened.
There was no teasing in Viktor’s eyes now. Just…depth. Realization. A flicker of something tender and achingly genuine.
It hit Jayce like a freight train wrapped in a love letter. “Oh,” he said.
Oh no. Oh yes? Oh fuck.
His mouth opened, ready to say something meaningful. Something heartfelt. Something honest and soul-bearing. What came out was: “Well, uh…O-okay.”
Nice. Smooth. Peak panic Talis.
Viktor, as if satisfied by this barely-formed syllable of emotional depth, let out a sleepy breath and laid his head onto Jayce’s chest, eyes fluttering shut. Just like that, the storm was over—at least for Viktor.
Jayce, on the other hand, was absolutely not okay.
He was trying to keep it together, trying to stay grounded, trying to keep both feet firmly planted on Runeterra. His hand moved in slow, absent-minded strokes across Viktor’s back—a soothing motion, a distraction, a lifeline.
It was just a kiss. It didn’t mean anything.
Non-lover people kissed all the time. Probably. Somewhere. He read that in a book once. Or saw it in a play. Definitely not the lab manual.
But then again…what if it did mean something?
His brain, not content to let things be soft and quiet, immediately began spiraling. Because his reaction? The full-body, mind-numbing, blissful oblivion he just experienced? That…felt like a lot. Way too much for a guy who was supposed to be just a friend. A colleague. A research partner.
Okay. Time to assess.
Was he…attracted to men? He didn’t know. He’d never really thought about it. Maybe? There were some guys he found good-looking before—here and there. Totally normal. Casual appreciation.
But Viktor?
Viktor was beautiful. Painfully beautiful.
Pretty eyes. Sharp jaw. Hair that always fell into his face like a tragic romantic lead. Hands that trembled only when exhausted. That quiet confidence.
Oh no.
Wait.
Was he in love with Viktor?
No.
No no no.
…Maybe?
He needed a checklist. Something to work with. A controlled environment. Hypothetical Scenarios:
Could he see himself in a relationship with Viktor?
Probably.
They already did everything together. They got each other. Knew each other’s schedules better than their own. They already bickered like an old married couple. Easy.
Could he see them living together?
Definitely.
They practically did. They were always together in the lab, even late in the night. They ate meals together like it was routine. They had a rhythm.
Could he see himself having sex with Viktor?
—Oh god.
He blushed so hard it might’ve been visible from orbit.
Okay. Uh. Well…yes? Viktor was gorgeous. That part was not up for debate. That lean, elegant body. The long fingers. The voice. The eyes. All of it.
Yeah. He could definitely see it.
Maybe in the lab? Against the table— No no, Viktor would scold him for lab malpractice. Okay, maybe against the wall. Or the floor. Or maybe— “A chair,” Jayce thought suddenly, “for Viktor’s leg. Ergonomic and considerate. Romantic, even.”
Jayce’s mental circuitry sparked, sputtered, and promptly fried itself.
Fuck.
He was in love with him.
He stared blankly at the ceiling, mouth slightly open, hand still absently petting Viktor’s back.
And Viktor? Still on his chest. Like nothing had changed. Like he hadn’t just detonated Jayce’s whole identity with a single kiss and a sleepy “yes.”
Jayce was going to need therapy.
And possibly a new operating system.
Definitely a patch update for his sexuality settings. Something with sliders and toggles and a built-in crisis support assistant.
The silence stretched.
Jayce stared at the ceiling, heart racing like he was mid-cardio, every inch of his body so aware of Viktor’s weight in his lap. The warmth of him. The way his hair tickled Jayce’s chin. Jayce’s hand was still petting his back, because apparently it had decided that was its full-time job now. Cool. Totally normal.
Then, despite every warning light blinking on in his mind, Jayce cleared his throat.
Big mistake. Huge.
“Uhm…so—V…” he started, voice barely audible and already regretting this. “When you said you’ve never kissed a friend like this…”
He swallowed, hard.
Why was his mouth so dry? Why were his armpits sweating? Why was his soul sweating?
“Did you mean…it’s never happened…just randomly…or…more like…” Fuck, commit, Jayce. “…like that was…uh…special?”
A pause. Nothing.
Longer pause. Still nothing.
Then—
Snore.
Viktor, in his arms. Snoring. Like a baby. A smug, soft, drunk baby who had just ruined Jayce’s sexual identity and decided to take a nap on top of the ashes.
Jayce blinked.
He looked down at Viktor.
Viktor’s mouth was slightly open. There was maybe even a little drool.
“…Great,” Jayce muttered to himself, tone flat as a crushed spring. He let his head fall back against the couch with a long, exhausted sigh. This man—this beautiful, maddening man—had just emotionally wrecked him, kissed him like it was the climax of a slow-burn romance, and then had the absolute audacity to fall asleep. Right there. In his lap. Like it was nothing. Like Jayce wasn’t sitting under him experiencing one of the most intense emotional unravelings of his life.
He glanced down.
Viktor looked so peaceful. So unfairly pretty. His face soft in sleep, lips slightly parted, breathing slow and even like he hadn’t just hijacked Jayce’s heart in the span of thirty minutes. Jayce sighed, defeated, and gently resumed running his fingers through Viktor’s hair—slow, careful strokes. Just to soothe him. That was fine, right? You could pet your best friend’s hair after a kiss that may or may not have realigned your entire romantic worldview.
That was allowed.
Probably.
Hopefully.
“Please remember this tomorrow,” Jayce murmured to no one, eyes fixed on the ceiling. “And, uh…please don’t regret it.”
Because he wouldn’t.
Not a second of it. Not the kiss. Not the cuddling. Not even the embarrassing existential meltdown in between. And god help him—he already knew this night was going to haunt him in every soft, aching corner of his memory for the rest of his damn life.
When Viktor woke up, the first thing he registered was pain.
Sharp pain in his whole body, as usual. And also like his brain had been wrapped in sandpaper, rolled down a hill, and then slow-roasted in sunlight. His head throbbed with a deep, pulsing ache, and every sound felt like it was echoing from inside a cathedral.
He groaned.
Everything was blurry. His eyelids felt glued together. The light was criminally bright—too bright, too intense, like it was punishing him for choices he couldn’t even remember making.
He cracked one eye open. Bad idea. Retreated. Tried again with a dramatic squint.
“This is not my bedroom,” was the first coherent thought that managed to crawl through the swamp of his hangover.
White sheets. Warmth. Spacious. A faint smell of something familiar and comfortable.
Oh.
This was Jayce’s bedroom.
And he was very much in Jayce’s bed.
What.
He blinked, tried to sit up—instantly regretted it. His skull pulsed. He groaned again, one hand flying up to cover his eyes from the solar flare pouring through the window.
And then—
Footsteps.
The door creaked open. Someone walked in and sat on the edge of the bed. The mattress dipped under the weight.
It was Jayce.
He was holding a glass of water and a pair of headache pills. “Good morning, V,” he said, voice warm. Too warm. Suspiciously too warm.
Viktor groaned again like a haunted Victorian widow. “Morning…” He reached out with half-working limbs, took the pills and the glass, and downed them without question. The water tasted divine. The pills tasted like hope. He set the glass back into Jayce’s waiting hand. “My head,” Viktor muttered, “feels like I lost a fight with a wall.”
Jayce chuckled, entirely too cheerful for someone who was witnessing Viktor’s slow decay. “Yeah, I bet. You drank way too much last night.”
Viktor squinted up at him. “…Oh.”
Just one syllable. One syllable that did not contain reassurance. Or clarity. Or memory.
Jayce’s smile flickered.
Oh no.
Oh no no no.
Did he…not remember?
Jayce’s heart sank like a rock into his stomach.
What if none of it meant anything? What if Viktor forgot the kiss? The cuddling? The lap-sitting? The tension between us?
He tried to play it cool but failed miserably. “Oh, y-you…erm…” he cleared his throat, suddenly finding his own hands very interesting, “…don’t remember anything?”
There was a flicker of something in Viktor’s expression. A little wrinkle between the brows. A slow shift as the hangover fog parted just enough to let in fragments.
Pieces. Moments. A lap. A hand in his hair. Warmth. Kissing. Jayce.
Oh god, he kissed Jayce.
He kissed Jayce.
His eyes widened. A full-body cringe started in his shoulders and spread outward.
Oh no. Oh fuck. Shit. SHIT.
He closed his eyes again, mostly to block out the new wave of memories and the burning heat crawling up his face. His voice came out slow, cautious. “I think, eh, I might remember now.”
Jayce looked at him.
“And I’m—I'm so sorry,” Viktor added quickly, clutching the blanket like it could protect him from the shame.
Jayce’s heart dropped so fast it might’ve physically hit the floor.
Welp. There it is.
The Regret.
The moment he’d been dreading since Viktor fell asleep on his chest like a perfect, affectionate disaster. Of course he regretted it. Of course Jayce had crossed a line. Of course this was all his fault.
His brain started spiraling like a cursed gear.
I knew it. I should’ve kept the boundaries up. I’m the worst friend. He’s going to file a friendship restraining order.
His stomach turned. He wanted to puke. He viscerally needed to be anywhere else.
Jayce stood up too fast, guilt practically radiating off of him. “N-No,” he blurted, stumbling over his own voice, “I’m the one who’s sorry. I—I took advantage of you.”
Viktor blinked. “What—”
“You were drunk!” Jayce continued, pacing now like the floor could absorb his shame. “I should’ve said no. I should’ve stopped it. I’m your best friend, Viktor, and best friends—best friends do not make out with you when you’re drunk and sitting on their lap like some cute kitten!”
Viktor stared at him, stunned. “…Cute kitten?” he repeated, faintly.
But Jayce wasn’t done. He had entered full guilt monologue mode. “I feel so bad, Viktor. Gosh, I am so sorry.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I was supposed to be the responsible one!”
Viktor sat upright, headache suddenly demoted to secondary emergency. “Jayce. Jayce. Please, can you—can you just listen to me for one second?”
Jayce paused mid-pace, looking like a kicked golden retriever.
“I never get drunk,” Viktor said, calmer now, voice firm. “But when I do, yes, I’m physically affectionate. Yes, I’m ridiculous. But you didn’t take advantage of me. You were so careful. You asked me if I wanted to kiss you. You made me say yes out loud.”
Jayce’s mouth opened. Closed. Opened again.
“And I did want to kiss you,” Viktor added, quieter this time. “Still do.”
“Oh.” Jayce’s brain flatlined.
Viktor scooted over and patted the bed like “come here, you dramatic man.” Jayce obeyed, sitting on the edge of the mattress like someone waiting for sentencing. He rubbed the back of his neck, still flushed. “O-Okay…I mean, if you’re sure.”
Viktor smiled softly. “Yes. I wouldn’t say all that if I didn’t mean it.”
Jayce nodded once, but his fingers were still fidgeting. Still uncertain. Still caught in the part of his brain that whispered “he probably regrets it anyway. He’s just being polite. He’s just trying to salvage your friendship so he doesn’t have to move back to Zaun.”
Because fuck, even with all the reassurance in the world…Jayce still couldn’t shake the fear that this had all been a beautiful accident. A drunken, impulsive collision of emotion that Viktor would eventually laugh off over tea, while Jayce would carry it in his chest like a secret wound wrapped in rose petals. He swallowed, then cleared his throat—awkward and too loud in the quiet room. “A-Are you…regretting it?” he asked, voice cracking somewhere around the middle like a cheap teacup.
Viktor looked at him.
Then chuckled.
“Not at all,” Viktor said, somehow perfectly calm for someone who’d spent the night wrapped around Jayce’s blankets. “I only kiss people I mean to. There is always a reason.”
Jayce turned pink. Visibly. Immediately. “S-So what was the reason for me?”
Viktor actually laughed this time—warm, soft, a little teasing. Jayce swore he could feel his future unraveling in real-time. “There were multiple reasons,” he said, counting them off casually like he was listing ingredients in a cake. “First, we were celebrating an accomplishment.”
“Ah…” Jayce nodded. “Right…”
“Secondly,” Viktor continued, tilting his head slightly, “because I feel safe with you.”
“Oh.” Jayce’s breath caught.
“And third…” Viktor reached out and took Jayce’s hand in his—gently and purposefully. His fingers were warm. “…because you’re very attractive, and I think I like you.”
Jayce's heart may have actually exploded. Vaporized in an instant.
His soul left the planet altogether.
“…What?” Jayce whispered.
Viktor blinked.
Jayce blinked back, still stunned. “W-wait, hold on. L-Like? Like in a friend way? Like, oh I like you, buddy. Pal. Scientific comrade?”
Viktor chuckled again—softer this time. The kind of laugh that melted armor. Blushing slightly, he gently squeezed Jayce’s hand. “No,” he said, voice low. “More like…in a, eh, lover kinda like.”
Jayce made a sound that might’ve been a squeak.
Or a prayer. Maybe both.
And then, before his brain could even weigh in, his mouth jumped the gun: “Me too.”
Viktor blinked again. “You too what?”
Jayce blinked back, suddenly lightheaded. Like all the anxiety from the past twelve hours had been vacuumed out of his body and released into the stratosphere. “I love you too,” he said, voice soft but stupidly earnest. “In a lover kinda love.”
Oh.
Viktor froze. The weight of the words settled between them, heavy but warm. His cheeks flushed, eyes wide as the realization landed. “Really?” he asked, quieter now. “I thought you were only into women?”
Jayce nodded, cheeks pink but smile blooming fast. “Y-Yeah. Well…when you kissed me yesterday, I realized I might also be into men. Or at least, you. Definitely you.”
Staring for a beat longer, Viktor looked like he was doing mental math. Then he squeezed Jayce’s hand, lips curving into a crooked, fond smile. “No wonder you had a full meltdown this morning.”
Jayce laughed, a little breathless, finally starting to believe this was all real. He squeezed Viktor’s hand back. “Hey, you try discovering you’re bi and in love all in one hour.”
Viktor snorted.
“But,” he groaned, rubbing his temple again. “I am never drinking that stuff again. That liquor was a war crime Jayce.”
Jayce smirked. “If you’d listened to me and paced yourself, we wouldn’t have ended up in this mess.”
Viktor raised an eyebrow, still smiling. “Jayce, you barely tried to stop me.”
Jayce held up his hands. “Hey, I was being respectful!”
“You sniffed me.”
Jayce groaned, a hand on his face. “One sniff! One!” He peeked through his fingers. “Okay, maybe two.”
They both broke into laughter, the last of the tension finally bleeding out of the room.
And silently, in the back of his mind, Jayce sent a very heartfelt thank-you to that ridiculously strong, wonderfully sentimental liquor—the one he’d only ever shared during life’s biggest moments.
Well…this definitely counted.
Best milestone ever.