[ hearing viktor talk so lively both took jayce to heaven and twisted a knife to his gut. it was— amazing, to be reminded of what was still there. that viktor was still there. that what they had as a partnership was still there, despite the bumps and cracks. what hurt the most was the budding, dreaded realization that the chances of returning to those mirthful times were impossible. slim like threads of hair.
and he wanted to go back so badly. turn back time even further. do things a bit more differently than he had.
but they'd always be doomed. even then, he'd rather they be doomed together.
jayce's head lifts at the sound of viktor's hacking, his eyes obscured by the draping of his hair all over his vision. he opens his mouth to speak. even with all this water, his throat sounded parched. ]
You showed me how to live.
[ it is more than thankful. it is earnest, sentimental. he doesn't mean to tear this attempt at levity to shreds, he is— too sensibilized. too unprocessed. too overburdened.
he hadn't thought to tell anyone about the ravine. in his timeline, he wouldn't end up telling a single soul. the only one who would see was—
him. ]
All I thought down there was to . . . Survive. To get back— [ he has to pause, force one. he feels his last word crest. ] to you.
[ he would have to pay a terrible price for it: destroy the hexcore deep within the chambers of the herald's chest. it could save him, one day — but his time to reunite with viktor afterward would not be immediate. there would be more pain. more chasms. viktor told him so, when he sent him on his way.
he doesn't know what he'd do, now. met with this viktor, mollifying his heart into an easily foldable piece . . . would he have the courage to do it? fresh out of the ravine, he was certain he would. he promised, he would. he doesn't want to. with such gentle hands on his shoulders, avid words, even laughs— even his coughs. he cannot bare to think of harming him. he wants to be with him until they both succumb to the blight of their magic. a fitting end.
after a growing, strained silence from his end, jayce makes a grab for one of viktor's suddy hands, confining them within the grip of his desperate fingers— desperate for more direct touch. more connection, despite the chiefly intimate moment they share in a bath tub, warm water and nude proximity. it was so selfish.
it might've been what jayce always wanted, but it still felt somber and unforgiving. was this a second chance or punishment? he doesn't say a word more as his shoulders begin to shiver. until they jolt in an irratic way some moments after, in choked silence. he doesn't let go. he doesn't want to. there're so many things he doesn't want to do.
his whimpers begin to bubble, stiffled, and what he could do best to soothe himself was rub his thumb into the inside of viktor's palm— just as the wave of his experiences crash into him with ugly realization, like a wild storm. he absolutely crumbles what he hadn't outside.
and he can't hold it in, judging from how much he strangles his throat shut with little success. ]
no subject
and he wanted to go back so badly. turn back time even further. do things a bit more differently than he had.
but they'd always be doomed. even then, he'd rather they be doomed together.
jayce's head lifts at the sound of viktor's hacking, his eyes obscured by the draping of his hair all over his vision. he opens his mouth to speak. even with all this water, his throat sounded parched. ]
You showed me how to live.
[ it is more than thankful. it is earnest, sentimental. he doesn't mean to tear this attempt at levity to shreds, he is— too sensibilized. too unprocessed. too overburdened.
he hadn't thought to tell anyone about the ravine. in his timeline, he wouldn't end up telling a single soul. the only one who would see was—
him. ]
All I thought down there was to . . . Survive. To get back— [ he has to pause, force one. he feels his last word crest. ] to you.
[ he would have to pay a terrible price for it: destroy the hexcore deep within the chambers of the herald's chest. it could save him, one day — but his time to reunite with viktor afterward would not be immediate. there would be more pain. more chasms. viktor told him so, when he sent him on his way.
he doesn't know what he'd do, now. met with this viktor, mollifying his heart into an easily foldable piece . . . would he have the courage to do it? fresh out of the ravine, he was certain he would. he promised, he would. he doesn't want to. with such gentle hands on his shoulders, avid words, even laughs— even his coughs. he cannot bare to think of harming him. he wants to be with him until they both succumb to the blight of their magic. a fitting end.
after a growing, strained silence from his end, jayce makes a grab for one of viktor's suddy hands, confining them within the grip of his desperate fingers— desperate for more direct touch. more connection, despite the chiefly intimate moment they share in a bath tub, warm water and nude proximity. it was so selfish.
it might've been what jayce always wanted, but it still felt somber and unforgiving. was this a second chance or punishment? he doesn't say a word more as his shoulders begin to shiver. until they jolt in an irratic way some moments after, in choked silence. he doesn't let go. he doesn't want to. there're so many things he doesn't want to do.
his whimpers begin to bubble, stiffled, and what he could do best to soothe himself was rub his thumb into the inside of viktor's palm— just as the wave of his experiences crash into him with ugly realization, like a wild storm. he absolutely crumbles what he hadn't outside.
and he can't hold it in, judging from how much he strangles his throat shut with little success. ]