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The cabin rattled as the old Subaru jolted down the unkempt road. A repetitive creak issued from somewhere deep in the dashboard—the one that only surfaced when the car hit uneven ground. Jayce had torn the thing apart more than once trying to track it down.
The noise was swallowed by the rest of the chaos anyway: the clatter of the roof rack, the dull thunk of a bag shifting in the trunk, the dry rattle of gear. A messy, metallic cacophony that could only be ignored, or overridden by something louder.
To that point—
"Hey," Jayce spoke up. He glanced sideways at Viktor, who had been quietly staring out the window for a while.
Viktor turned, brow raised.
"Up for some tunes?"
Viktor quirked a small smile, twisted in place and reached back, fingers hooking the faded black CD bag from the pocket behind Jayce’s seat. The zipper rasped as he opened it, and the pages of plastic sleeves crackled with the stiffness of age.
"What are you in the mood for?" he asked, flipping through well-worn discs. "Chili Peppers?"
Jayce kept his eyes on the road. "Your pick."
There was a pause.
"You’re the driver," Viktor reminded, as if this wasn’t a routine established in years of commuting together. "Driver picks the music."
"I know," Jayce said. "You pick this time."
"Jayce..."
"Viktor."
After a long beat, Viktor finally relented with a sigh and selected a disc, slid it into the player. The CD whirred and clicked, the stereo giving its usual wheeze of protest before it gave in.
A soft flood of layered harmonies, warm as morning light through cabin windows. Guitars that sounded like they’d been carved from driftwood and strung with fog. Voices feathered in birdsong and reverential hollows, singing of joy in sorrow and existential reflection.
The Fleet Foxes. Viktor's go-to when he was feeling particularly pensive. It wasn’t Jayce’s genre, but he didn’t usually mind. Right now, though, the upbeat melancholy made something twist deep in his chest, a slow-bloom ache behind the ribs. His knuckles whitened where they gripped the wheel.
But like he had for weeks now, he gritted his teeth and pushed it down beneath the surface.
The rolling grasslands they’d been driving through for the past two hours had given way to the dark swell of dense forest, the trees growing taller, older, closer. Lichen-covered trunks flanked the narrowing road. Ferns and brambles curled over the gravel shoulders.
They rounded a bend, and for a breath, the trees parted. Sunlight poured through the windshield in a soft, golden wash. Jayce glanced over.
Viktor was already gazing ahead, bathed in that glow. His hair caught the light like a halo, his eyes like molten honey. His lips turned up in a soft, content smile as he quietly hummed along to his music.
And though he kept his focus on the winding road—rutted, climbing, carved into the stone—Jayce found himself glancing again. And again.
A pale hand slipped into the half-empty bag of M&Ms wedged in the center console—a small road trip ritual, even though it always ended with someone queasy. Jayce held out his palm, and Viktor dropped a handful into it before tossing the rest into his own mouth, chewing absentmindedly.
Then Viktor reached forward and dragged the folded paper map off the dash. It crackled dryly in his hands as he pulled it into his lap, smoothing the creases flat. He traced a line with one fingertip, eyes flicking from the page to the trees blurring past the window.
"The trail right off our site leads up to the cliffside," he said, his voice cheerful. "I bet we could see for miles up there."
But Jayce could only frown. "I thought we agreed. No hiking."
"It’s not that far. Barely a hike—"
The words snapped off as a dry, wracking cough caught him mid-breath. His shoulders hunched with the effort, his hand coming up automatically to brace against the glovebox.
Jayce’s stomach clenched. Every cough was a lightning bolt through his nerves.
When Viktor’s breathing evened out again, Jayce gave him a pointed look. Viktor returned a dismissive little huff and folded the map.
"Fine," Viktor relented, voice a little rough. "Next time, then."
"Next time."
The road had gone quiet miles ago. According to the GPS, they were nearing the campground, though there hadn’t been a sign in some time. The last vehicle they’d passed was a pickup heading the other direction, long gone now in the rearview.
The site was remote—something Viktor had insisted on. Jayce had tried, more than once, to steer him toward something closer to home. A busier site. One with rangers nearby. People. Civilization.
But Viktor had been set on this one for reasons he wouldn’t explain beyond "I need to breathe."
"Isn’t the air just as fresh in the woods here?" Jayce had asked.
"It’s really not."
And that had been that.
Now, as they passed the scattered edge campsites near the entrance, Jayce noted how spaced apart they were—each tucked behind tree cover or perched along offshoot paths. According to the reservation map, they were the only ones booked at the top of the ridge. Midweek, early season. No one else around for miles.
Not long ago, the thought of seclusion would’ve thrilled Jayce—just the two of them, off-grid, no distractions. A quiet stretch of forest, and Viktor all to himself.
But right now, it just sent anxiety thrumming through his veins.
They passed a small weather-worn cabin set back from the road. Out by the drive, someone had stacked a neat pile of firewood under a hand-painted sign, priced per bundle.
"We should stop," Viktor said, nodding toward it. "Pick up some firewood."
Jayce gave him a look. "We brought the grill."
"It’s not for cooking. You know pyromania is half the camping experience."
Jayce huffed a laugh but didn’t slow down as another stack of wood passed by.
"You shouldn’t be around smoke right now."
"I’ll sit upwind."
"Next time, Viktor."
He didn’t need to look to know Viktor was sulking—he could hear it in the pointed sigh, the creak of the seat as he folded his arms and slouched deeper into it.
Jayce did feel bad. He knew how much this trip meant to him.
But they’d made agreements. Clear ones. Rules Jayce had insisted on—the only reason he’d agreed to this at all. With everything on the line right now, he wasn’t going to let Viktor guilt him into softening his resolve. Not this time.
The campsite was a small, irregular clearing, trampled into shape by years of use. Surrounded on all sides by dense forest, the edges were soft with undergrowth—ferns crowding close to the tree line, moss spilling out over the loam like green tidewater. A massive, time-smoothed boulder jutted from the earth at one edge, half-covered in lichen and ringed by twisted roots.
When Jayce opened the door of his Outback, the cool, damp air hit him like a wave. It clung immediately—to his skin, his shirt, the back of his neck. He stepped out without a word and rounded the car to Viktor’s side.
The man was bent over with his legs dangling out, tightening the last buckle of his brace. Jayce popped the hatch, pulled out Viktor’s cane, then moved to the passenger door. Viktor reached for the cane, but Jayce extended a hand instead.
Viktor sighed—long and theatrical—but the glint in his eyes was playful. He took the offered hand, and Jayce, lips quirking upward, hauled him easily to his feet. Then passed over the cane.
Jayce turned back to the car and began unfastening the cords on the roof rack. He tugged one loose, then glanced up—just in time to catch Viktor drifting a few steps into the clearing.
Viktor had closed his eyes, face tilted slightly up, breathing in slow and full, like he meant to draw the whole forest into his lungs. For a moment, he was absolutely still, and Jayce watched as a deeply contented smile softened his features.
Jayce’s hands stilled on the knots. The sight caught something wound tight in his chest and began to loosen it, just a little.
He let the air settle over him too.
It smelled of wet bark and cold stone, the sharp green tang of crushed leaves, and the sweet decay of last year’s fallen things. The taste of it was clean but heavy, like the depths of a spring—it cooled the back of his throat and lingered faintly metallic on his tongue. In the silence, he could hear water somewhere—a trickle, maybe a stream beyond the trees—and the faint flutter of leaves overhead.
"This place is old," Viktor said quietly, eyes on the mossy boulder. "Can you taste it?"
"What’s it taste like?"
"Like eons of breath," Viktor replied, breathing in again, slower this time. "I wonder how many trillions of generations of microbes recycled these same molecules? Am I breathing what the oldest tree here exhaled? How many long-gone creatures stood on this very ground and tasted this same air?" He smiled faintly. "There are more dead beneath our feet than will ever be alive to breathe again, I think."
Jayce felt something twist behind his ribs as he pulled down the folding wagon from the rack and set it on the damp earth. He busied his hands, unfolding its canvas, but the weight in his chest didn’t ease.
Viktor had always had a beautiful mind, even when it wandered toward the morbid. Jayce used to find it intriguing—that strange tenderness for decay and entropy. The way Viktor could look at bones in the earth and call them elegant instead of grotesque.
But lately... it made him uneasy.
Lately, it sounded less like curiosity and more like romanticizing.
Like next time, he might hold out his hand for death when Jayce was begging him to run.
Eventually, Viktor wandered back and began helping Jayce unload the rest of the gear. Jayce knew better than to insist he do all the work himself, even if the impulse was there. Instead, he handed Viktor only the lighter bags.
Together, they stacked half the load into the wagon—a sturdy, deep green canvas carrier with thick, treaded wheels that thunked gently over roots and stones as Jayce pulled it forward into the campsite. The weight resisted him at first, but once it gained momentum, it rolled easily. Viktor walked beside him, cane in hand, a backpack slung over his shoulder.
When they reached the heart of the clearing, Jayce parked the wagon and handed Viktor the bag with the folding table. Lightweight, aluminum-framed. Easy enough to assemble. Viktor gave him a wistful, knowing look, but didn’t protest.
Jayce grabbed the tent bag—larger and heavier—and unzipped it on the flattened patch of earth they’d chosen. The orange fabric gleamed like firelight in the muted forest shade.
It was a three-person model, bigger than they needed, but spacious enough for Viktor to move comfortably and for Jayce to stretch out. Viktor had lobbied for the muted green version, for aesthetic reasons. But Jayce had insisted on orange—bright, visible, impossible to miss.
He worked methodically, muscle memory guiding him as he fed the collapsible poles through the sleeves of the rainfly, snapped them into place with satisfying clicks. The tent gradually took shape under his hands, orange fabric stretching taut over the frame like skin. He staked the corners down, checked the seams, tugged the zippers once or twice to make sure they moved smoothly.
Behind him, he could hear Viktor humming faintly, a melody that rose and fell with the gentle clink of rods fitting into their joints.
It was comforting, hearing anything but wheezing coming from his lungs.
Once the bones of the campsite were in place, they sank into the foldout chairs set side by side, sipping at Nalgene bottles as they stared out at the mist-cloaked woods. Somewhere in the brush, Viktor pointed out a chipmunk standing statue-still, its tiny shape almost imperceptible against the undergrowth. Jayce squinted, trying to spot it, and only caught a flicker of motion when it finally darted away.
There were no mosquitoes this early in the season, spared by the lingering chill in the air. Both of them were bundled against it in down jackets—Viktor zipped up tight, Jayce with his hanging open after working up a sweat during setup.
By then, the afternoon had settled deep, and Jayce’s stomach made its impatience known with a low, insistent growl. He'd had nothing but M&Ms since early morning, and he was starting to feel nauseous.
"Lunch?" Viktor offered.
"I’ll get the cooler," Jayce said, levering himself to his feet with a soft grunt. His joints popped as he stretched and headed back toward the car.
As he neared the Outback, he noticed the sap already glistening on the hood—sticky blotches catching dull light from the canopy. He looked up, frowning at the evergreens towering overhead. There wasn’t a better place to park, not with the campsite nestled this deep into the woods. Still, the paint on the old car wasn’t that bad yet. He made a mental note to wash it down when they got home.
He popped the trunk and reached in, fingers brushing the cooler—
A cough broke out behind him.
Jayce froze.
Gurgling and sharp alarms. Fingerprints on fogged plastic. Cracked Styrofoam and blooming apple juice.
Jayce gritted his teeth. Took a breath.
He closed his eyes hard, grounding himself in the scent of sap and damp earth. Cool air in his lungs. He let it back out.
Returning to himself, he reached in, pulled out the cooler—a hardshell case wrapped in olive-green insulated fabric, its side pockets bulging with snacks and utensils. He slung the strap over his shoulder, shut the creaking trunk, and walked back.
Viktor looked up as he approached, discreetly wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. Jayce set the cooler down with care.
"You have your inhaler?" Jayce asked quietly.
Viktor nodded, patting his jacket pocket. The outline of the device was clear beneath the fabric, though he didn’t pull it out.
Instead, he got to his feet, tucking his cane under him as he stepped to the cooler, unzipped the top, and reached inside. The scent of cold bread and meat wafted up into Jayce's nostrils.
"Turkey or roast beef?" Viktor asked, holding up two foil-wrapped bundles.
Jayce only raised an eyebrow.
Viktor laughed softly and shoved both into Jayce’s hands before retrieving a third sandwich from within.
Jayce grinned despite himself, beginning to unwrap one of the bundles. "You know me too well."
As Viktor turned to head back to his chair, he paused—reached out—and slid his fingers gently up Jayce’s arm. Jayce leaned down as Viktor rose on his toes, their lips meeting in a soft, warm kiss.
When they parted, Viktor fixed him with an affectionate look.
"Of course I do," he said, and turned away.
Both sandwiches were delicious. Viktor might not be a master chef, but when it came to simple, comforting food, he had an unerring instinct.
The turkey was layered with white cheddar, crisp arugula, and sharp Dijon—clean, peppery, and bright. The roast beef was deeper, earthier: horseradish mayo cutting through the richness, balanced by pickled onion and a leaf or two of romaine for crunch. Jayce couldn’t decide which he liked better, and frankly, he didn’t want to.
After eating in companionable silence—broken only by birdsong and the whisper of breeze through the pines—they stood, stretched, and got back to work.
Jayce found a sturdy branch hanging high between two trunks a little farther from camp. He looped the cord twice before throwing it over, then hoisted the scent-blocking food bag up with the pulley. Securing it well above ground, he gave it a firm tug to make sure it was safe from curious animals.
Meanwhile, Viktor busied himself weaving waterproof string lights around the perimeter, threading them through branches and hanging a few battery-powered lanterns. Together, they hoisted a tarp porch over the table and chairs—just in case the morning’s forecasted drizzle arrived.
By the time everything was in place and their bags stowed safely in the tent’s corner, dusk had fallen. Jayce glanced up at the sky—too cloudy for stars, but that didn’t matter. The soft glow from their lights transformed the clearing into something almost magical.
Viktor stood in the center of it all, eyes wide with wonder, like he’d stepped into a fairy circle. The amber light softened his features, casting a peaceful glow over his face. Jayce found himself so caught up watching him that he nearly burned the sausages.
Swearing under his breath, he grabbed the tongs and quickly flipped them over.
Dinner was slightly charred apple sausages, paired with foil-packed chopped potatoes and onions seasoned with smoked paprika, rosemary, and fresh chives. They ate from their collapsible rubber plates using multitool forks. Viktor lifted his kuksa mug of hot tea and gently clinked it against Jayce’s can of O'Doul's.
"Thank you for this, Jayce," Viktor said softly, eyes meeting his. "I really needed to feel alive."
Jayce gave a small, tight smile and squeezed Viktor’s hand, fingers lacing together as they sipped their drinks. They sat quietly, watching moths flutter and dance around the warm glow of their string lights. At the very least, Jayce was glad to see Viktor so content after the misery of these past several weeks.
It wasn’t that Jayce didn’t love this too. Camping had been part of his life for years, a thread woven through childhood trips with his father before his death. He loved how it pulled them away from the noise—work, screens, the endless bustle—and into something raw and grounding: fresh air, the sounds of the forest, simple survival. The small pleasures of setting up camp, playing with the gadgets, reading, sketching, cards, wandering the woods and collecting little treasures.
Even the discomforts—the stiff muscles from uneven ground, the restless nights eased only by melatonin, the damp chill or muggy heat, the bite of bugs—somehow made the comfort of curling up with Viktor feel that much sweeter.
But right now, Jayce couldn’t fully lose himself in it. Because every time his eyes drifted into the dark forest beyond their clearing, he saw distances and numbers instead: how many miles to the nearest hospital, how many signal bars to call for help?
If Viktor collapsed again, could they get him out in time? Could paramedics reach them fast enough out here, deep in the woods, high in the mountains, to shove a tube down his throat before he drowned in his own lungs? Would he last long enough—his body limp, breath faltering—cradled in Jayce’s useless arms? Jayce, who would lay down his life for Viktor without hesitation, who would fight anything that dared threaten him… except the one thing he couldn’t: Viktor’s own body.
Jayce closed his eyes as Viktor coughed softly beside him and willed his hands not to tremble.
—— ✦🌲✦ ——
Jayce woke to a faint chill whispering across his face and instinctively burrowed deeper into the sleeping bag, tucking his nose into Viktor’s hair. It still carried the scent of his shampoo—milky and faintly sweet, with a subtle trace of spice—but beneath that, it smelled like pine needles and clean earth. It smelled like forest. It smelled alive.
The tent held that soft morning dampness—not wet, exactly, but cool and clinging. It stuck to the nylon sleeping bag, the pillowcase, Jayce’s hair and cheeks. Below the neckline, it was warmer, where their bodies remained tangled together.
Viktor murmured something unintelligible, drowsy with sleep medicine. Jayce smiled and pulled back just enough to look at him. Pale morning light seeped through the orange tent fabric, casting everything in a warm haze. It gentled Viktor’s features and made something in Jayce’s chest ache. Waking up like this was always his favorite part—even if Viktor was inevitably a grouch when stirred. He couldn’t imagine starting a morning any other way. He hated that he’d had to, not so long ago. Had to face the idea of that being his new forever.
"Good morning," Jayce said quietly, brushing a stray lock of hair from Viktor’s face.
"Mmph. Not until coffee," Viktor mumbled, still refusing to open his eyes.
Jayce huffed a soft laugh, kissed his forehead, and began carefully disentangling their limbs. Viktor, utterly limp, offered no assistance. Eventually, Jayce gave up trying to maneuver around him and instead unzipped the sleeping bag from the side, rolling himself free before zipping it closed again to keep the warmth in.
Kneeling, he tugged on his sweatshirt, then opened the tent flap, sticking his legs out. He slid his feet into his shoes—strictly not allowed inside the tent—and hoisted himself up into the cool morning.
It wasn’t misting, but a low, heavy fog had settled over the forest, winding through the trees and underbrush in pale, ghostly ribbons. It clung to the earth and branches, draping the campsite in a somber, otherworldly blanket.
Jayce crouched beside the table and pulled the little backpacking stove from its pouch. He threaded the burner onto the fuel canister with a soft hiss as the valve caught. He flicked the igniter and was rewarded with a sharp, clean bloom of blue flame.
The compact kettle gave a soft metallic click as Jayce set it atop the burner. Within minutes, steam began to thread from its spout, curling into the chilly morning air in delicate spirals. He tore open two packets of instant coffee and emptied the dark powder into their Thermos mugs.
To Viktor’s, he added a generous spoonful of powdered creamer and what could only be described as an ungodly amount of sugar. When he poured in the boiling water, the metal hissed and popped. A rich, bitter aroma rose with the steam, sharp and comforting.
Behind him, the tent rustled. A moment later, Viktor emerged, blinking slowly against the pale light. His hair was wild, sticking up in every direction, and he squinted at the fog-drenched clearing like he wasn’t entirely convinced it was real.
Without a word, he shuffled over and collapsed heavily into Jayce’s lap. Jayce grunted, nearly sloshing the coffee as he scrambled to shift his arms and make room.
"Shit—Vik," Jayce laughed, steadying them both and setting the mug safely down on the table. “I thought you wanted coffee?”
"Mm. I want you," Viktor mumbled, voice thick with sleep as he tucked into the crook of Jayce’s neck, letting out a long sigh.
Jayce snorted, arms wrapping around him. Viktor’s weight, the scent of sleep still warm on his skin—Jayce soaked it in like it might anchor him to the earth. He absently ran his hand along Viktor’s spine, slow and soothing, finding the tense spots he knew would ache from the cot’s thin padding despite their double layer of sleeping bags.
The hem of Viktor’s shirt had ridden up just slightly, exposing a sliver of pale skin above his waistband. Jayce traced his thumb across it, the skin cool and soft. Viktor shivered at the touch, a subtle arch of his spine, and Jayce’s hand slipped under the fabric, his fingers splaying wide as he slowly dragged his palm up along the dip of Viktor’s waist and the curve of his side.
Jayce looked up, and Viktor was already watching him, his eyes still hazy from sleep but warm with affection. He reached up, cupped and gently traced Jayce’s cheekbones, his temples, the shape of his brow—before leaning in and catching his mouth in a kiss.
It started like a sigh between parted lips. But it shifted quickly—deepened—Jayce’s hand tightening at Viktor’s waist, drawing him closer. Viktor’s knee came up beside him on the chair, angling them together as his mouth opened under Jayce’s, slow and hungry. Heat spilled between them, breaths mingling, a rhythm of quiet gasps and low, open-mouthed kisses.
When they finally broke apart, Viktor pulled back just slightly, panting.
"Are you sure I can’t convince you to take me up to the cliff?" he asked breathlessly, a sly smile curling at his shining lips.
The heat flooded out of Jayce in an instant, and he closed his eyes with a weary sigh, letting his head fall against Viktor’s shoulder, gripping him tighter.
"Next time," he murmured. "I promise."
Viktor pouted but relented, twisting just enough to reach for the mug on the table.
After a breakfast of oatmeal and apples, the morning passed in a slow, easy rhythm. Viktor spent hours stretched out on the cot, the tent flap unzipped to let in the soft breeze. He read intermittently, the book sometimes slipping in his hands as he drifted off. Jayce, sitting out under the awning with his sketchbook, was glad to see him calm and resting.
That was one gift this trip had offered: no home office, no lab, no sly disappearing acts where Jayce would find him doing activities he wasn’t supposed to be doing this early in his recovery. At home, Viktor had been miserable and restless, a classic case of stir crazy. Jayce had been forced into the role of warden more than once, dragging him bodily back to bed like a particularly stubborn housecat.
Eventually, Viktor rose, tugging Jayce by the hand into the woods for a walk—not a hike, just an easy wander beyond the clearing, toward the source of the babbling they could hear from camp. The stream trickled quietly between roots and stones, clear as glass and ice-cold to the touch.
Viktor pointed out everything his sharp eyes saw: the bold flutter of a yellow bird, a furry caterpillar trundling across a twig, strange mushrooms in bright orange or ghostly white rising from the loam. Jayce knelt in the stream to pocket a few glittering stones—one like rusted iron, one creamy as bone, one with a shimmer like mica. Viktor found a small feather in impossible blue and a smooth stick that looked like a wizard’s wand.
They laid their treasures along the edge of the table like a wild altar before retreating to the tent for a light lunch and a midday nap. The fog hung thick around them, clinging to skin and hair, dampening the fabric walls of their temporary home. But at a certain point, Jayce had stopped caring. There always came that point in camping: the surrender. The moment you give up on avoidance, discomfort loses its bite. Mud, moisture, stickiness. It stops mattering. You become one with the elements.
They lay together, half-dozing, watching a small beetle crawl delicately up Viktor’s arm. Jayce caught it gently in his palms and released it through the tent flap.
Technically, it was all so very perfect.
And yet, Jayce couldn’t stop counting the seconds. The hours. The crawl toward the day after tomorrow, when they would pack up the car and drive back to civilization. Back to safety.
Because there was a storm in him. A pressure curling and spinning behind his ribs, gnawing at the pit of his stomach, rising like bile into the back of his throat. It surged whenever he let his guard down, when he forgot to pretend he was fine. It begged to be let loose—through a howl, a sob, a sprint into the trees—anything to burn off the fear clawing at his insides.
He swallowed it all down, like always.
The glow of the campsite shimmered like a lantern through the dark trees as Jayce made his way back from emptying the tank.
The forest at night was a different creature—silent but for the soft rustle of leaves and the occasional crack of a twig in the distance. The trees stood tall and close, their trunks like pillars in some ancient cathedral, the underbrush hushed beneath a blanket of fallen needles and damp moss. The air was cold enough to bite, crisp and sharp with the scent of pine and earth. Every breath felt clean, newly born.
Jayce stepped back into the golden circle of their camp’s lights and raised a brow at the sight of Viktor wrestling the cot out of the tent.
"What are you doing?" he asked, strolling over.
Viktor glanced up from his work. "I thought we could lie under the stars for a bit."
Jayce followed his gaze skyward. The canopy overhead had opened up—crystal clear, not a cloud in sight. The stars glittered brilliantly, scattered thick across the black sky, the Milky Way a pale ghost cutting through it all. Far from the haze of city lights, the universe seemed impossibly close.
Viktor loved stargazing. Always had. And despite the chill, Jayce figured they could bundle up well enough for a while. He’d allow it.
"Alright," he said. "Be right there."
He grabbed the trash bag from dinner and hauled it over to the tree where the pulley hung. They’d eaten rehydrated meals—sweet pork and rice. The texture had been grainy and the sauce thin, barely clinging to the sad, dry meat.
"Still better than hospital food," Viktor had offered with a soft chuckle.
Jayce had smiled, but it hadn’t quite reached his eyes.
By the time he returned—bag strung high and camp lights switched off—Viktor had transformed the cot into a nest. Blankets and sleeping bags were heaped and bundled into a soft pile, and he was already in the process of wriggling his way into the cocoon. His brace and cane lay discarded on the table.
Jayce dropped his boots by the side, sat down, and swung his legs over, settling in with him. He pulled the blankets over them both, tucking it in around their shoulders until they were snug and sealed from the night air.
Viktor shifted against him, curling close, head finding its usual spot against Jayce’s shoulder. One arm snuck free from the warmth, fingers lifting to trace the sky as he indicated constellations.
"There’s Cassiopeia," he said, outlining the crooked 'W' with a lazy sweep. "And Cepheus, just beside her."
And it wasn’t that Jayce didn’t care about constellations. He’d always found astronomy fascinating, and he loved how Viktor spoke about the stars like they were old friends. He marveled at the way the man could navigate the sky with nothing but memory and wonder.
But right now, Jayce’s focus wasn’t on the sky. It was on the way Viktor’s moles shifted when he scrunched his nose. On the snaggletooth that poked out when he smiled wide enough.
He wrapped an arm around his waist, pulling him in tighter until there was no more space between them, the sides of their heads gently pressed together. Viktor, his weight shifting the cot with every movement. Viktor, gesturing animatedly at the sky, golden eyes wide and bright, his voice laced with that soft, unfiltered joy.
Viktor, so very alive, and Jayce was in awe of it.
And Viktor must’ve felt the shift in his energy, because his gaze eventually dropped from the sky and found Jayce’s. He turned toward him, settling onto his side. And for a long, quiet moment, they just looked into each other’s eyes.
Then Viktor’s smile turned slow and playful, and he leaned in and kissed him.
It started slow, soft, lazy. Just the press and retreat, of breath mingling. Jayce cupped Viktor’s face, thumb dragging gently over the line of his jaw. Viktor tilted closer, a quiet hum catching in his throat as his fingers slid up Jayce’s chest, curling into the collar of his sweatshirt.
Gradually, the kiss deepened.
Their lips met with slow hunger, open-mouthed and tasting, breath warm and humid between them. Jayce’s hand slid beneath Viktor’s shirt again, fingers dragging along the dip of his waist, the line of his ribs.
Viktor’s breath hitched, his hips angling closer, bodies molding more tightly together beneath the blanket. Then, with a slow, deliberate motion, Viktor reached down and slipped his hand beneath the waistband of Jayce’s pants.
Jayce tensed, eyes flicking up to meet Viktor’s. His lids were heavy, a faint flush rising in his cheeks.
"Are you sure?" Jayce prompted, voice low. "It’s freezing out here."
Viktor’s lips curved, barely.
"Then keep me warm," he murmured, and took Jayce in his hand.
Jayce groaned, his eyes fluttering shut as Viktor gripped him tight and began with languid strokes. Jayce’s own grip tightened on Viktor’s waist, and he grit his teeth against the waves of pleasure wracking his body. The cold air nipped at their skin, but the heat between them was building. Jayce’s breaths came in ragged gasps as he reveled in the sensation, his body pressing urgently against Viktor’s.
After a while, he gently pushed Viktor’s hand away. Bracing himself, he rolled on top, hovering over him with the blanket draped over like a tent. Jayce’s hands moved quickly to undo Viktor’s pants, pulling them down along with his boxers. Viktor shivered slightly as the cool air hit his skin, but Jayce was quick to cover him, settling between his legs and pressing his body down into the cot, reaching down between them.
He traced a slow path down Viktor’s belly, down, down. Viktor’s breath hitched when his fingers found him, already dripping. Jayce’s touch was gentle but insistent, exploring every inch of Viktor’s sensitive flesh. He circled Viktor’s cock with his fingertips, rubbing and pressing with just the right amount of pressure, making Viktor’s breaths come in short, sharp gasps.
Viktor's hands clenched the blanket tightly, his body trembling, and not from the cold. Jayce wanted to put his mouth on him so badly, taste the slick coating his fingers, but he wouldn’t be able to keep Viktor warm from down there.
Instead, he leaned down and caught Viktor's lips in a passionate kiss. His tongue mimicked the rhythm of his fingers below as he pushed two inside. Viktor whimpered into his mouth as Jayce's fingers sunk deeper, stroking his cock with his thumb.
And as he crooked his fingers just right, hitting that spot he knew like the back of his hand, Viktor broke out of the kiss and arched his back with a cry.
"Jayce!"
"I know," Jayce mouthed into his skin, trailing kisses down his jaw and neck, sucking gently as he pumped his fingers in and out of the man writhing beneath him. He could feel Viktor’s moans reverberating in his throat as he clutched at Jayce’s shirt desperately.
"Jayce," Viktor managed, panting. "Please."
With a final kiss to Viktor's skin, Jayce relented, slipping his fingers out and reaching down to free himself from his pants, using Viktor's slick to coat his length. They both looked down beneath the blanket, breaths ragged, as Jayce nudged Viktor's legs further apart and positioned himself. He slid along Viktor's folds briefly, their cocks meeting, before aligning and slowly beginning to sink in.
Viktor threw his head back and let out a broken groan as Jayce pressed deeper, inch by inch. Jayce, never tired of the sight, watched himself disappear into Viktor's body. He gripped Viktor's thigh tightly, his fingers digging in as he sank all the way in, their bodies flush, pelvis to pelvis. He paused, giving Viktor a moment to adjust, eyes roaming his face for signs of discomfort.
Finding none, Jayce leaned in, captured Viktor’s mouth in a deep, open-mouthed kiss, and began to move with a slow, deliberate pace. He drew out almost completely before pushing back in, swallowing Viktor’s moans. He felt every sound, every vibration of Viktor’s pleasure resonating through his own body, from his mouth to his chest.
Viktor's knees pressed tightly into Jayce's sides, trembling. His hands scrambled for purchase on Jayce’s shirt, but Jayce reached back and laced their fingers together, pressing Viktor's hands back down into the cot, pinning them there as he thrust deeply and relentlessly.
The sounds of their moans and ragged breaths, the slick slide of skin on skin, and the rustling of the sleeping bag filled Jayce’s ears, a symphony of their shared pleasure. He released Viktor’s mouth to press their foreheads together, their panting breaths mingling, and Viktor was free to let loose a stream of pleas, praises in his native tongue, and Jayce’s name on repeat, his moans turning to cries as his body tensed more with each thrust.
Jayce drew back just enough to look at the man beneath him. Those amber eyes, wide and fixed on the sky above, reflecting the stars. He marveled at the way they seemed to spill out beyond the edges of his irises, connecting to the constellations across his body, where he’d mapped out each and every one of his moles, and he could imagine them twinkling.
And as he reached down to press on Viktor’s cock, and felt him clench around him impossibly tight, an open-mouthed gasp escaping his lips as he hit his peak, and felt the heat in his own core burst, he thought he saw a shooting star flash across Viktor’s eye at the same moment he spilled deep inside.
He stayed there, panting, for a moment, their bodies still connected, before eventually easing down, his cheek pressed to Viktor’s chest. They breathed together in the afterglow, the cool night air a relief to their heated skin.
And as he felt the rise and fall of Viktor’s chest, he was lulled by the visceral proof that Viktor was alive and breathing.
—— ✦🌲✦ ——
Jayce woke to cold air on his face and an eerie stillness.
He blinked, slow and heavy, trying to shake off the fuzz of sleep—only to realize, gradually, that something was wrong.
He froze.
The sleeping bag was empty.
The warmth was long gone from the space where Viktor should have been, and as the awareness sharpened, Jayce whipped upright, heart hammering. His eyes darted to the edge of the cot.
His cane and brace were gone too.
"Viktor?" he called out, already scrambling to unzip the tent.
Outside, the clearing lay still beneath the ghost-pale sky. The stove and kettle were still tucked away. There was no sound beyond the whisper of wind through trees and the chirp of birdsong.
Jayce yanked on his boots and stepped out into the clearing, scanning the space.
No sign of him.
Maybe—maybe Viktor had just gone to pee.
Jayce told himself that as he started to pace. He circled the camp once, twice. Tried to breathe.
But time stretched. The minutes ticked by.
And Viktor didn’t come back.
That’s when the panic set in.
Jayce tore back into the tent, heart slamming against his ribs, and grabbed his jacket with shaking hands. He snatched his phone from where it was tucked in the side pocket of his bag, unlocking it out of instinct—though he already knew. No signal. No missed calls. No messages. Of course not. They were too far out.
Still, the motion gave him something to do as his mind spiraled.
What if Viktor had collapsed somewhere in the dark? What if he couldn’t get back up—and was out there now, half-conscious, soaked through with dew and going hypothermic?
Jayce shoved his arms through the sleeves and bolted into the woods, shouting Viktor’s name into the still air. His breath clouded in front of him, sharp and fast in the cold. The underbrush clawed at his legs, wet leaves slick underfoot, branches scratching his face and arms as he crashed through the perimeter around the campsite. Every few steps he tripped, stumbled, caught himself. Birds startled from the trees overhead, but there was no other movement. No human sound.
Nothing.
Panic coiled tighter in his chest.
He stumbled back into the campsite, lungs burning, sweat prickling beneath his jacket. His eyes darted around—just in case. Just in case Viktor had come back while he was gone.
But the clearing was still empty.
That’s when he saw it.
The campground map was missing.
Jayce stared at the empty spot on the table for a long second before it all clicked into place.
The trail to the cliff.
Viktor had mentioned it multiple times. Brushed off Jayce’s concerns. Bit his lip and changed the subject every time Jayce insisted he wasn’t strong enough yet for a trek like that yet. But he’d never really agreed. Viktor was stubborn and independent and when he set his mind to something, there was no stopping him.
Jayce didn’t waste another second.
He turned and ran—toward the mouth of the trail Viktor had pointed to the day before. His boots pounded over damp earth and pine needles, breath ragged. He stumbled over roots, caught himself on tree trunks slick with moss. The incline began steepening quickly, switchbacks cutting through the dense forest.
And in his heart-pounding panic, he couldn’t stop the flood.
The images came unfiltered now, relentless and dogged.
Viktor crumpled on the floor like a discarded puppet.
They’d both thought it was just a cold. Maybe the flu. He’d been tired, yes—but Viktor was always tired. The lack of appetite wasn’t new. A little coughing wasn’t unusual.
Jayce barely remembered the 911 call. Just the frantic blur of it. The pale skin. The blue tint to Viktor’s lips and fingertips. The way he wheezed, desperate, as if trying to breathe through a pinhole.
But he thought—he’s at the hospital now. He’ll be okay.
He hadn’t been prepared for the moment the doctors pushed him aside, shouting frantic orders, crowding around the bed. Hadn’t expected the awful, mechanical sound as they shoved a tube down Viktor’s throat, connected him to a machine that breathed for him. That strange, high-pitched hiss between clicks as it forced air in.
Gurgling and sharp alarms. Fingerprints on fogged plastic. Cracked Styrofoam and blooming apple juice.
When the doctors spoke—when they said “acute respiratory failure” and “not out of the woods yet”—he hadn’t expected the full weight of those words to feel like a fist through his chest.
He hadn’t expected to sit there, silent and useless, for days, staring at Viktor’s still form. Not knowing if that pale, blue skin would ever turn pink again.
He couldn’t stop replaying their last conversation. Viktor, flushed and half-lucid, laughing about a fever dream. Something ridiculous about a short furry man with a smaller furry creature. Both of them had mustaches.
And Jayce had smiled, shushed him, told him to go back to sleep. Not realizing it might be the last time he’d ever hear that voice again.
Even after the worst had passed—even after Viktor woke up and the doctors assured a full recovery. After Jayce learned how to manage the nasal cannula, how to measure out meds and monitor his oxygen. Even after they discharged him and Jayce carefully wheeled him through their apartment door—he still couldn’t shake the terror.
Every cough sent Jayce’s nerves screaming. Every wobble. Every long nap. Every moment Viktor wasn’t in sight felt like standing over a fault line.
Because Jayce had already woken up once to find someone he loved ripped out of his life without warning. Leaving a giant hole behind, like someone had blown up half his home and left him standing on the precipice.
He had survived the first time. But he knew he wouldn’t a second. Not if it was Viktor.
The air grew colder with each step, a biting chill licking at the sweat cooling on Jayce’s neck. The trees around him shrank, stunted by altitude and wind, giving way to open sky that bled pale and colorless into the horizon. Loose gravel shifted beneath his boots as he climbed a final steep incline, hauling himself over a broad slab of rock with burning thighs and heaving lungs.
Then, at last, the world opened.
The narrow trail flattened out into a wide ledge—a gaping cliffside that seemed to hang over the edge of the world. The wind howled, tugging at his clothes, whistling in his ears.
And there, standing at the brink, was Viktor.
He stood steady with his cane braced against the rock, his coat ruffling, hair stirred gently by the wind. He didn’t look surprised when Jayce stumbled through the last of the brush, panting, hunched forward with his hands braced on his knees.
Jayce wheezed, caught his breath, and straightened. The fury hit him all at once—hot and sharp and blinding in its helplessness.
"Viktor."
"Jayce."
His hands curled into fists before dragging up into his hair. "What the fuck," he gasped, "were you thinking?"
Viktor sighed, adjusting his grip on his cane as he turned back to the view. "I was thinking," he said evenly, "that I wanted to stand on this cliff. And you were never going to let me."
"So you just left?" Jayce stalked forward, tremors wracking his limbs. "Without telling me? Do you have any idea what I thought happened? You could have collapsed out here! Slipped—fallen—and I wouldn’t have even known until it was too late!"
Viktor didn’t meet his gaze. "I know."
Jayce stared at him, the words catching in his throat, burning behind his teeth.
"Then why?" he begged. "Why this fucking cliff, Viktor?"
"Because I needed to breathe, Jayce," Viktor said at last, lifting his gaze. His voice was stern, but it cracked. His neutral expression crumpled slightly in the tension around his eyes, the tight pinch of his brow—and the sheer exhaustion in every fiber of his being was laid bare.
Jayce stared at him, chest heaving, mind whirling, with absolutely nothing to say. Just breathing. Just trying to stay upright.
Viktor’s eyes moved over him—the wildness in his hair, the dirt and sweat, the panic still radiating off him in waves. And his expression softened.
He held out his hand.
"Come here," he said gently.
And Jayce, mind buzzing, obeyed. Stepped forward and took his hand, and together they stood at the edge of the cliff.
The world opened around them. Mountains stretched into the distance in soft, hazy blues, ridges layered like waves. The forest spilled out below, a sea of green needles swaying under a low curtain of drifting fog. A wide, silver lake gleamed in the distance. The air was cold and sharp and clean.
For a while, they didn’t speak.
Then Viktor tilted his head slightly. "Do you think," he murmured, "if we scream in the forest and no one is around to hear it…" he glanced sideways at Jayce, who returned his gaze, perplexed, "do we make a sound?"
"What?"
"I’ve never screamed before," Viktor admitted, and Jayce believed him. The man rarely ever even raised his voice. "I thought this might be a good place to try. Middle of nowhere. No one around to hear."
"I’ll hear it."
"Then scream with me, Jayce."
Jayce stared at him for a long, uncertain moment before realizing Viktor wasn’t joking. His expression was open, unflinching, waiting. And after a few futile attempts to think it through, Jayce gave a single, wordless nod.
Together, they turned toward the wide-open sky.
And screamed.
It was a wild, ragged thing—torn straight from the chest. They clutched each other’s hands like anchors and let everything go. The fear, the helplessness, the sorrow they hadn’t spoken aloud. Jayce felt it rip out of him in raw, unfiltered sound, his voice cracking under the weight of it, echoing over the mountains, scattered into the wind.
It emptied him.
And when there was nothing left to give, when his throat was raw and the cold air rushed in, Jayce dropped. The strength went out of his knees and he sank into the earth like something unstrung.
Viktor knelt beside him in silence and held him as the rest bled out in a flood of hot tears.
It was a while before he got enough control over himself to speak again.
"I’m terrified of germs now," he admitted, sniffing, voice raw. "Viruses and infections are an unavoidable part of life. But now that I know something like that can actually take you from me, it feels inevitable."
"Jayce," Viktor said gently, lifting a hand to take his chin, turning his face so their eyes met. That amber gaze—steady and wise—locked onto his. "I could die in a car accident tomorrow. Or you could." He quirked a small, crooked smile. "Or both of us. Best worst case."
Jayce huffed out a soft laugh, wet and bitter.
"If there’s anything I’ve learned from my near-death experience," Viktor said, still watching him carefully, "it’s that we should live like we are dying. But not like this," he added, gesturing vaguely to Jayce, who winced. "Not in preemptive fear."
He reached up and cupped Jayce’s cheek, thumb brushing just beneath his eye.
"We should cherish every moment—not because there might not be a next," he said softly, "but because this one is so very beautiful."
The words echoed in Jayce’s head, slow and warm and heavy in Viktor’s soft cadence and curling accent. And when Viktor coaxed him to lie down in the grass beside him, he went without resistance.
"We’re going to get covered in spiders," Jayce whispered.
"Good thing I like spiders."
"I don’t like spiders."
"Sucks to be you."
Jayce sighed.
Viktor tilted his head toward the sky. "Anyway, I think I’ll outlive you."
"Oh?"
"You’ll die at ninety of a lifelong stress-induced heart attack, and I’ll still be around at 104—a disease-ridden sack of bitter bones running on sheer willpower. All the teenagers at the nursing home will beg god every day to take my last breath." He turned back toward Jayce, eyes twinkling. "It’s always the stubborn ones."
Jayce smiled, pushing himself up on his elbow and reaching out to softly trace Viktor’s fingers.
"Well," he said softly, "I hope so. Because I plan on spending every moment of the rest of my life with you."
"Hm," Viktor feigned thoughtfulness. "That’s going to make pissing awkward."
Jayce laughed, genuinely, his face splitting in a smile as he shook his head and pushed himself upright, arms wrapping loosely around his knees as he gazed out over the misty horizon, the sun rising higher, breaking through the clouds.
In that moment, he knew this wouldn’t be the last time he stood on this cliff beside the man he loved.
When they came back here again, he was going to ask Viktor to marry him.
Next time.