[ this is a dream jayce tells himself, he repeats it over and over. thin fingers thread through the overrun brush and jayce can only follow with his eyes, of which blink, harshly, but do not flinch. he blinks because maybe he'll stop seeing things that way (he doesn't, and his inner mantra wavers). he feels touch, the hairs being stroked. his shoulders sink and hitch with his frightened breathing— it's his turn to extend touch, half expecting for viktor to disappear from the hesitant reach for his shoulders. they cup viktor's upper arms, the entire circumference of his fingers clasping around from underneath, all of which pull from him the quietest of gasps.
it's not a dream. he's a mess! a mess. that was viktor. that was the viktor he'd lost. he's still— so wonderful. jayce feels he doesn't deserve this. he doesn't deserve him. he looks like the viktor he'd so carelessly abandoned for too long.
jayce makes a sound he's only ever made in the company of his own solitude. it's wet. raw. aching. painful like being stabbed in the chest. clearly teary eyes search viktor all over and he squeezes his hold on him— all until yanking viktor forward to throw his arms around his neck and bury himself there. his shoulders shake uncontrollably, and the sounds that come, albeit muffled, strangle a squeak that drags too long.
no subject
it's not a dream. he's a mess! a mess. that was viktor. that was the viktor he'd lost. he's still— so wonderful. jayce feels he doesn't deserve this. he doesn't deserve him. he looks like the viktor he'd so carelessly abandoned for too long.
jayce makes a sound he's only ever made in the company of his own solitude. it's wet. raw. aching. painful like being stabbed in the chest. clearly teary eyes search viktor all over and he squeezes his hold on him— all until yanking viktor forward to throw his arms around his neck and bury himself there. his shoulders shake uncontrollably, and the sounds that come, albeit muffled, strangle a squeak that drags too long.
has viktor— ever heard him sob? ]