[ jayce bawls incomprehensible noises, no more words— only taking in viktor's physical and verbal replies, clinging to him throughout his crying spells, and swearing, to himself— he'll do anything and everything for him. he'll make this meeting count, accidental or otherwise. he is no herald of the arcane, he wouldn't know. but this couldn't be just some oddball coincidence.
eventually, jayce's tears go torrid. what is left behind is a stinging silence, the occasional hiccup of his breath or shoulders as he finds gradual, quiet composure. the jerks are more spaced, the snorts as well. he's rubbing his raw face clean, next, following the gentle carding through his crazy front bangs. jayce shuffles, unfurls viktor's boney arms around him only to give himself enough space to turn around once he feels that there's not much else do scrub off his back. curiously enough, he doesn't throw his arms off, or let them go carelessly.
he holds on. gentle. by the palms. settling into his squatted seat and keeping his knees bent so that there's still room for the both of them. once he's front facing, he . . . supposes he could let viktor's hands slip to wherever they wish to go now. he still had his gruesome fracture to clean, and he's a little more worried about that one than his back. it's like he could still feel the decay in them. jayce's eyes are bloodshot, the corners of them wrinkled with stress, but he breathes now, mostly steady, with that sunny-lime gaze on viktor's to inspect the features mirrored at him.
he asks, throaty and bare after his throat cracks and his lips pop: ]
no subject
eventually, jayce's tears go torrid. what is left behind is a stinging silence, the occasional hiccup of his breath or shoulders as he finds gradual, quiet composure. the jerks are more spaced, the snorts as well. he's rubbing his raw face clean, next, following the gentle carding through his crazy front bangs. jayce shuffles, unfurls viktor's boney arms around him only to give himself enough space to turn around once he feels that there's not much else do scrub off his back. curiously enough, he doesn't throw his arms off, or let them go carelessly.
he holds on. gentle. by the palms. settling into his squatted seat and keeping his knees bent so that there's still room for the both of them. once he's front facing, he . . . supposes he could let viktor's hands slip to wherever they wish to go now. he still had his gruesome fracture to clean, and he's a little more worried about that one than his back. it's like he could still feel the decay in them. jayce's eyes are bloodshot, the corners of them wrinkled with stress, but he breathes now, mostly steady, with that sunny-lime gaze on viktor's to inspect the features mirrored at him.
he asks, throaty and bare after his throat cracks and his lips pop: ]
. . . Can I wash you, too?