Archive of Our Own

A World so white, as Snow

The day the world was clad in white, Jayce’s eyes saw nothing but black.

The snowfall began slowly, a soft hush of white drifting past the high windows of Piltover. For a fleeting moment, Jayce found the sight almost beautiful—like a promise that the ceaseless city could finally rest. But soon, his stomach twisted, and the blood in his veins turned cold. The hush around him was no longer peace; it was the creeping edge of a memory he had long fought to bury.

He was in their cramped apartment—a place that should have felt safe, full of half-finished blueprints and the murmured hum of experimental contraptions. Viktor was at his usual spot by the worktable, a sheaf of notes spread out before him. The only sound was the occasional clatter when he shifted his cane, or the gentle crackle from the small fire in the hearth. Yet Jayce couldn’t shake the feeling that the silence was roaring in his ears, a resonance of ice and fear.

He stood by the window, one hand on the sill. Beyond the glass, the flakes multiplied, swirling into a whispered storm. Jayce’s chest tightened with every drifting patch of white. He saw it in flashes: Viktor entombed in snow, the crystals clinging to his eyelashes, forming glistening shards in the golden-brown strands of his hair. He could picture Viktor’s skin turning pale and gray, his labored breaths congealing into frost upon his lips. All because Jayce had failed him—failed to save the one person he couldn’t bear to lose.

His heart hammered against his ribs. A thousand desperate thoughts whirled in his mind. Maybe if he jumped—if he flung himself off the highest tower in Piltover—he wouldn’t have to endure that future, that horror. It was a traitorous idea, yet it sparked again and again, as if urging him to escape the torment of these images. Like a flint catching fire, like the spark it burned, gnawed at him, consuming each and every coherent thought. He felt the windowsill bite into his palm. Just a few steps, and he could make it to the rail outside… He could reach for Viktor, pull him in, crush him against his own body until every fiber of his being dissolved into heat and encapsulated the ice-cold flesh. He shut his eyes, swallowing a ragged breath, forcing himself to turn away from the endless stream of destruction.

He tried to focus on the warmth of the small hearth. Surely the heat of the flames could keep out the chill. Fire had always been so close to him after all, a cape draped on his naked chest or back when he would often work for new crafts at the small smithery by the end of the city. Always there, bursting along with his fears and doubts; yet another pull only Viktor could quell. Jayce pressed a hand on his eyebrows. He was imagining things, that was all—stupid fantasies born of old nightmares. Viktor was here, was safe. But the wretched memory of his mother dying shifted again-- now too strong. The sense of doom whispered: He is not safe, not safe, not safe.

Movement drew his eyes back to Viktor. He looked so unassuming from behind, hunched over his sketches as though the world beyond the window didn’t exist. The gentle hunch in Viktor’s shoulders, the cane leaning precariously against the table, the thinness of his frame… In winter, Viktor’s body always ached more, each step a battle. If he ever got caught in a sudden freeze, he might not survive.

Jayce’s breath hiccupped. A slow ache spread through his chest. I can’t let that happen, he thought, panic tightening his lungs. Gods, I can’t let it happen…

The first wave of terror struck silently. His vision narrowed, and his mouth went dry. His mind replayed a million failures, spinning faster than he could parse, coalescing into a single belief: he would lose Viktor. He watched as Viktor reached for a vial on the cluttered desk, limping a little as he adjusted his weight. Jayce’s knees threatened to give out. Why had he never fully realized how fragile Viktor’s body was? If the temperature dropped—if the snow turned to ice—Viktor wouldn’t stand a chance. Jayce would find him frozen stiff, eyelashes crusted with hoarfrost, hands purple and unmoving. A small, miserable figure slipping away while Jayce did nothing.

“Jayce?” Viktor’s voice cut through the mounting dread. Jayce hadn’t realized sharp eyes were now on him instead of on scribblings and papers which seemed to fly away at the sight of utter panic. It was enough to make Jayce’s heart leap into his throat, choking him. He tried to speak, but all that emerged was a rasp.

Viktor set his pen aside. “Are you—?”

Jayce twisted away, as if staring at Viktor was fueling this madness by simply being there. His legs carried him toward the couch on reflex, but each step was wobbly, as though he wasn’t sure he could trust the floor to hold him. His thoughts ricocheted: Jump… run… no, stay. He needs you. But you’ll fail him. The snow outside continued to fall, intensifying, mocking him with its quiet, relentless hush.

His back hit the side of the couch, and he braced himself, gripping the worn fabric until his knuckles turned white. Breath shallow, lungs seizing, Jayce bit his tongue, unflinching to the taste of blood. He wanted to scream. At the edge of his vision, he saw Viktor reach for his cane, a flash of metal in firelight, but he couldn’t bring himself to warn Viktor to hurry or stay away. Confusion locked his body, and his mouth felt numb, blood pulling at the curves.

“Jayce,” Viktor repeated, more urgently. “What’s going on?”

Jayce slid down the side of the couch to the floor, too dizzy to remain upright. Cold sweat pearled across his forehead. He was suffocating, drowning in the silent swirl of ghosts from a disfigured past which was threatening to become an unbearable future. He tried to force oxygen into his lungs but ended up gulping convulsively, each breath more painful than the last. The panic had arrived in full, and it had no mercy left for him.

He heard the scrape of Viktor’s cane behind him, a halting step, then another. He didn’t have to look to know how Viktor’s leg would be trembling under his weight, yet he was pushing forward anyway. The thought cut Jayce to the core: Even in pain, Viktor was rushing to help him. The force of that kindness added to the twisted guilt compressing Jayce’s chest.

“Snow,” Jayce managed in a strangled whisper. “It’s… the snow… I can’t—”

His heart jackhammered. For a split second, he was sure he would vomit—or pass out, maybe both. A thick haze dulled his vision, but he soon felt Viktor’s presence at his side, warm and insistent. Viktor’s cane thumped to the floor, and Jayce heard the faint clatter as Viktor all but discarded it. Slowly, he knelt by Jayce’s side, elegant fingers roaming his neck, searching for his pulse and his breaths, losing count of the former and paling at the scarcity of the latter.

“Shh, easy,” Viktor murmured, voice steady. “Don’t try to speak. Just breathe.” By now, after so many years working together, and quite a few of them spent living almost joined at the hip, Viktor was aware and familiar with those old demons which could never be slain. How Jayce and his mother had been trapped in the snow stormed, and saved by some magic miracle none could explain. He had seen Jayce at the claws of panic before, but this…

A flood of tears threatened, not from sadness but from raw, unfiltered terror. Jayce’s mind conjured the image again: Viktor lying in a snowbank, hair frozen with silver-white crystals, arms stiffened in a final, desperate attempt to hold onto life. Jayce gave a strangled sob, hands scrabbling at the air, at his own chest, searching for anything solid. He felt strands of Viktor’s hair slip through his fingers, and he curled them in, clinging like a drowning man to driftwood.

He heard Viktor’s pained grunt. The movement must have tugged hard on Viktor’s head and neck, but Viktor didn’t protest. Instead, he let Jayce grab his hair, his shoulders—whatever it took. The urge to keep Viktor close overwhelmed Jayce, and he pulled, half crawling on his knees as Viktor sank to the floor next to him, abandoning all caution.

“Viktor—Viktor—” Jayce’s words became a ragged plea. He tried to crawl forward, forcing his trembling arms to obey. But his vision was shot through with dark spots, and the couch behind him felt like it was tilting. His mind replayed fatal scenes in relentless detail: Viktor’s skin turning pale as porcelain, unresponsive eyes, breath shallow before it finally stilled. Dead, dead, he’s dying out there in the cold…

“No, I’m here,” Viktor breathed fiercely, voice drenched in concern. He reached out, sliding an arm around Jayce’s shoulders. Somehow, that single embrace was dooming as it was liberating. Gods he wanted to grab his cane and wave at it, clear the snow with a magic none had seen before, if only to liberate Jayce from the shrouds of deathly quit.

Jayce flinched, but slowly felt Viktor wrangling with the old blanket they often huddled under in colder nights. It caught on the corner of the couch, but Viktor yanked it free and draped it over trembling shoulders, as if trying to shield him from the cold in his own mind. Yet, in Jayce’s delirium, even the blanket seemed like an echo of snow—cold white, a shroud too heavy to be worn. He whimpered, pushing it off in a panic. Viktor responded by pulling the blanket behind Jayce’s back instead, leaving his front pressed to Viktor’s own body. That warmth—Gods, that warmth—was the only real thing in the room.

“Breathe,” Viktor repeated, voice taut. “Just—follow me, lásko. In… out…”

The only answer from Jayce was another strangled sob. He was trying, truly trying, but he couldn’t stop seeing Viktor’s frozen corpse— “I… I’m trying—Can’t—"

A desperation clawed its way up Jayce’s throat. If Viktor died, Jayce would have no reason to stay. The window, the fall from a high tower—any of it would be better than living in a world without Viktor. The panic twisted in him, morphing into a savage self-loathing. You are worthless. You can’t even handle a bit of snow. How will you protect him when he will get outside? He will slip, crack his skull and splinter his brains—

Jayce dry heaved, shuddering so hard that Viktor was now trembling along with him. “I know you are trying, lásko. Just breathe me, Jayce. In. Hold it. Out.”

In a moment of delirium, Jayce buried his face in Viktor’s neck, pressing his lips against skin that was blessedly warm. He kissed and gasped at once, tasting sweat and fear, trying to convince himself of a reality his mind wanted to crush. Viktor didn’t waver; he held Jayce to his chest, murmuring words that Jayce barely understood but felt like a gentle lullaby.

“Já jsem tady, slyšíš mě?” Viktor said softly. “I am here, do you hear me?” He offered after a bit, remembering the dialects of Zaun were not commonly known.

His voice trembled, but there was an undercurrent of steadfast resolve. He was half-kneeling, half-collapsing, ankles twisted beneath him, his leg protesting. Jayce was big, and his arms clenched in mindless panic around Viktor’s shoulders, around his hair. Even so, Viktor cradled Jayce’s head, peppering shaky kisses along Jayce’s temple, his cheeks, the corner of his lips—anything to ground him in the moment. Jayce’s fingernails dug into Viktor’s scalp, yet he gave no sign of pain except for a faint exhalation.

“Don’t do this,” Viktor whispered, tears threatening to spill from his own eyes. “Don’t leave me, not in your head. Not where I cannot follow, Jayce. Keep breathing.” There was raw desperation in that plea and Jayce would much later realize that what Victor had just said, meant he would have followed him anywhere else, outside in the bitter cold, or down the window. “Breathe.” Viktor urged again.

Jayce wanted to respond, but all that came out was a keening moan. His lungs were on fire, and the more he tried to force air in, the more it felt like the snow had invaded his chest. Darkness gathered at the corners of his vision, shot through with images of Viktor’s hair frozen white, slick with ice.  Jump. Let go. You can’t save him anyway.

Something hot splashed Jayce’s cheek. It took him a moment to realize they were Viktor’s tears. That realization jolted him, slicing through the worst of the hallucinations. Viktor wasn’t a frozen corpse—he was real, alive, and crying for him.

“Listen,” Viktor said, voice shaking. He didn’t bother to hide the tremor; maybe it was in his leg, maybe it was in his heart. “I’m not freezing. We have a fire, a blanket… I’m right here on the floor with you. Nothing else matters, do you understand?”

Jayce nodded wildly, though he wasn’t sure he did understand. He just needed to hold onto something, and Viktor’s voice was that something—thin as thread, but stronger than any illusions. His heart hammered in his ears, and his hands were still buried in Viktor’s hair, trembling violently. He tried to slow his breathing, but every attempt sent him reeling. He heard Viktor’s gentle hush, felt the stroke of Viktor’s hand on his back, running up and down in a soothing cadence.

Time lost all meaning. The panic stretched on, minute after agonizing minute, well beyond reason. Jayce’s lungs seemed stuck, and every breath he dragged in was shallow and pitiful. He could feel Viktor’s body tiring, the weight of Jayce’s ridiculously enormous hands making Viktor’s shoulders quiver. Still, Viktor held firm. His lips found Jayce’s face again, pressing small, repeated kisses along his jaw, behind his ear—anywhere skin was exposed.

Jayce tried to speak, wanting to apologize, to say something that might lighten this burden, but only a cracked, half-formed sob came out. His vision blurred again, now black in all but its center, where Viktor stubbornly resigned. He was dimly aware of how the two of them must look: sprawled on the floor, the blanket half-trapping them, Viktor’s cane abandoned somewhere out of reach, the fire casting frantic shadows across their entwined bodies. The hush of the snow outside seemed to mock him. You’re so weak, it whispered. So weak you can’t handle a bit of winter.

He tensed, and Viktor, sensing the renewed wave of horror, intensified his whispers. “No, no—stay with me. You can do this,” he said, lips brushing Jayce’s temple. “I am asking you to breathe, Jayce.” They had never fully talked about this need which was burning through Jayce’s core, the desperate yearning to be good for Viktor, to do good because of Viktor, yet if it was what it took to keep him tethered, then so be it.

Tears slipped from the corners of Jayce’s eyes, hot and bitter. He forced his gaze to find Viktor’s, though his vision was still spotted with darkness. Viktor’s features were etched in worry, dark lashes damp. For a moment, Jayce could only stare, memorizing every line of Viktor’s face, because the images in his mind kept trying to twist it into something lifeless and cold. He had to see the real Viktor—warm, breathing, anxious but alive.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Jayce managed a deeper breath. It was shaky, halfway stuttering, but it filled his lungs enough to keep him conscious. His muscles unclenched fractionally, and he sank onto Viktor’s chest, pressing his damp forehead to Viktor’s collarbone. Each new breath felt like a laborious accomplishment, as if he were learning to inhale all over again. Viktor felt it too, because he let out a trembling sigh of relief, his hand sliding up to cradle Jayce’s nape with infinite tenderness.

“There you are,” Viktor murmured, voice clogged with emotion. “Good, Jayce. Slowly now, on my pattern. Keep going.”

Another breath, then another. Jayce’s head pounded, and his body shook with adrenaline and shame. Hot lips kept nibbling at the shell of his ear, guiding him down from the precipice, though Jayce could feel how Viktor’s own body trembled with the effort of holding him in place for so long. Eventually, Jayce collapsed fully onto Viktor, letting his weight rest there. Neither of them cared about comfort anymore; Demons had stolen that far too long ago and Viktor welcomed the burden with joy, kissing those cracked lips, tasting coper as he moved away. Yet, it didn’t matter, as he leaned in again, breathing with Jayce—or perhaps for Jayce—neither seemed too personal, neither seemed impossible or improbable.

A hoarse sob rumbled through Jayce’s chest. “I—” His voice cracked. “I’m sorry,” he choked out, fists tightening in Viktor’s shirt.

Viktor’s only answer at first was a soft stroke to Jayce’s hair, pressing him closer with a careful, unyielding touch. When he finally spoke, his voice was barely above a whisper. “Do not apologize,” he said. “Just keep breathing.” He did, or pitifully tried to, because Viktor asked him.

“Good, Jayce, very good.” The praise rose unbidden and brushed something so deep within Jayce that he keened shamelessly, only to have Viktor intensify the stream of words he was babbling.

They stayed like that, sprawled beside the couch, the blanket trailing beneath them. Jayce tried to speak again, but words failed him. A single thought kept echoing in his mind: You did this to him. He’s on the floor, hurting, because you can’t handle snow. Fresh tears stung his eyes, though he had almost none left to shed.

Minutes passed—maybe hours—and the panic gradually released its claws. The images didn’t vanish, but they grew distant, half-forgotten phantoms lingering at the edges of Jayce’s ravaged mind. His breathing steadied bit by bit, until he could at least fill his lungs without gasping. Each time he exhaled, Viktor seemed to mirror the motion, their bodies synchronizing in a silent ritual.

Eventually, Jayce regained enough control to lift his head from Viktor’s chest. The sight of lines on that sharp beautiful face, of salty rakes on those cheeks and most of all, the sight of Viktor’s leg bent in a way it clearly shouldn’t have been, nearly sent him reeling back. His cane still lay out of reach, and the joints of his leg must be screaming. Yet there he was, still supporting Jayce with unwavering resolve.

“Viktor…” Jayce croaked, shame and relief warring in his gaze. “Gods, I—”

Without waiting, Viktor slid a surprisingly steady hand under Jayce’s chin and leaned in, pressing their lips together. It wasn’t a frantic kiss but rather a slow, deliberate act of reassurance. Jayce shuddered, tears threatening anew, but he clung to Viktor’s warmth, mouth opening in a desperate bid for closeness. The salty taste of their shared fear lingered, but behind it was a quiet hunger for comfort that only the other could provide.

When they finally pulled apart, both breathing shallowly from emotion, Jayce let his gaze drift to Viktor’s hair. He half expected to see the frost still clinging there—thin crystals encasing Viktor’s lashes, gleaming shards in the messy strands. But of course, there was nothing but the dark, slightly damp hair from Jayce’s grasping fingers. Viktor was alive; the ice was only in Jayce’s head.

Yet the guilt remained, gnawing at Jayce’s insides. He pressed his face into Viktor’s shoulder, half-sobbing, half-laughing at his own helplessness. “I’m sorry,” he whispered again, ignoring Viktor’s earlier command not to apologize. “You’ve been on the floor, trying to keep me from—” His voice faltered. Trying to keep me from diving out that damn window. He couldn’t bring himself to finish the sentence.

Viktor let out a shaky breath, gently maneuvering Jayce so they sat more comfortably. “I’ll sit on the floor with you as long as you need,” he said, softly but firmly. “Snow or no snow, if this is what it takes.”

Jayce swallowed, free hand twitching toward Viktor’s thigh. His fingertips brushed the worn joint, feeling the tension there, the tremor of tired muscles. “Your leg,” Jayce murmured, voice breaking, “I’m—”

Viktor shook his head sharply, cutting off the apology. “Stop,” he said, though the gentleness remained in his tone. “I deal with it every day. This—” he gestured at Jayce’s trembling body, “—is not your fault.” He exhaled and brushed his lips over the edge of Jayce’s jaw. “I have you.” He uttered softly, and Jayce never asked for the rest of the phrase.

The blanket slipped off them in a heap. Jayce leaned over to pull it back around Viktor’s shoulders, wanting to do something that resembled caring for him. Viktor allowed it, even leaning into the fabric as though letting Jayce reclaim a measure of control. The closeness was heady, both of them dizzy from the emotional storm that had raged.

Still sprawled on the floor, they shifted until Jayce’s back pressed against the couch and Viktor rested between his legs, his torso leaning into Jayce’s chest. The blanket formed a cocoon around them, sealing out the draft. Jayce kept one arm wrapped low around Viktor’s neck, making sure to try and alleviate some of the strain, the other hand clasped around Viktor’s wrist. He needed to feel Viktor’s pulse, the beat that reminded him his lover was alive. Every slow throb reassured him that the snow was only outside.

For a long, tense moment, Jayce was sure the panic would surge again. His mind felt raw, capable of conjuring more terrors if he let his focus slip. But Viktor, reading the tension in those stiffened limbs, shifted just enough to trail small kisses along Jayce’s neck, the place where frantic pulse met sinew. It was a deliberate, intimate gesture—a silent I’m here.

Slowly, Jayce’s body released its grip on terror, each breath less ragged than the last. He let his forehead rest against Viktor’s, taking in the faint scent of machine oil, burnt metal, and something uniquely Viktor. If Jayce closed his eyes, those scents grounded him more effectively than any logic could.

Minutes dragged again, neither speaking, just breathing together, until at last Jayce found the strength to speak. “I saw you,” he whispered, voice thick, “out in the snow. Dead, frozen. I couldn’t stop it—my mind kept—kept—” He choked on another sob, feeling Viktor’s hand tighten over his.

“It’s a twisted memory,” Viktor said, though sorrow weighed in his tone. He knew well the shape of Jayce’s nightmares. “We will visit your mother when the snow melts, alright?”

Jayce pressed his cheek into Viktor’s hair, inhaling shakily. “I didn’t want to—” He cut off, voice trembling. “I just… sometimes I think it’d be easier if—”

He felt Viktor tense, the words alone conjuring the fear that Jayce might once again consider that irreversible escape. A moment of taut silence passed. Then Viktor moved, turning in the circle of Jayce’s arms so he could look him in the eye.

“Never say it,” Viktor breathed, gaze shimmering with fierce intensity. “Never, not anymore, do you understand me?” His voice cracked. “I cannot lose you, I will not. Not to the cold outside, and not to the darkness in your head.”

Jayce shut his eyes, tears spilling anew. I cannot lose you either. He let out a shivering breath, then bent forward to claim Viktor’s lips in a kiss that held a thousand unspoken apologies and confessions. Viktor responded with equal fervor, despite the trembling in his own body, meeting Jayce’s desperation with unwavering affection.

The kiss deepened, a solace both of them craved in that moment. Jayce’s fingertips skimmed beneath the collar of Viktor’s shirt, feeling the thin, graceful lines of his back, the rise of each vertebra. Viktor inhaled sharply. He shifted again, forcing his tender leg to bend so he could press closer. In answer, Jayce cupped the back of Viktor’s head, tangling his fingers in the messy hair he’d yanked at before. He massaged gently, a wordless apology for his earlier desperation. Viktor’s lips parted in a soft sound, half-pleasure, half-relief.

With the blanket draped around them, their bodies became the center of a small, private universe. The snow still fell outside, but the only cold was the lingering sweat on Jayce’s skin, cooling in the firelight. Viktor’s warmth, the press of thigh to thigh, chest to chest, saved him from succumbing to the dread a second time. There was a raw, adult intimacy in this closeness: it was not purely lust, nor purely comfort, but a blend of both.

Jayce’s breaths gradually steadied, though his heart pounded. Between kisses, he whispered against Viktor’s lips, “Thank you. I’m sorry.” He knew the words were inadequate, but they were the only ones he had.

Viktor pulled back just enough to look at him, the ruddy glow of the fire dancing across his features. “You keep apologizing,” he said, voice thick with sympathy and frustration. “As if you chose this. As if your mind gave you an option.”

Jayce bowed his head, shame swirling anew. “But you’re… you’re half-collapsed on the floor, your leg must be killing you, you’ve been here for—”

“As long as it takes,” Viktor cut in, brushing a tender kiss to Jayce’s forehead. “I made that choice, Jayce. Let it be enough.”

And somehow, those words struck him deeply. Let it be enough. Jayce exhaled, releasing some of the tension in his chest, if not all. He slid one palm up Viktor’s spine, pressing gently, as if trying to absorb the reality of Viktor’s closeness. “I love you,” he whispered, voice hoarse.

Viktor shut his eyes, tears glistening. “I love you too,” he said, his breath hitching over the words. He caressed Jayce’s cheek, then nuzzled close, laying soft kisses along his jaw.

They stayed like that for what felt like an eternity—fused at the mouth, exchanging every tear and ragged breath, hands roaming each other’s bodies to remind themselves that they were alive. That neither of them was lost to the snow, nor the destructive impulses that sometimes lurked in Jayce’s mind.

At last, Jayce’s arms trembled with the effort of keeping them upright. Viktor, noticing, shifted sideways so he could reach for his cane. It lay just out of reach, so he used the edge of his foot to nudge it closer across the floor. Wincing, he levered himself up an inch, but Jayce caught him around the waist. “Don’t strain yourself,” he said automatically, mindlessly protective, despite having been the one in crisis moments ago.

Viktor shot him a faint, wry smile, sweat beading on his brow. “I’ll be fine,” he muttered. The cane scraped across the floor again, and at last, he managed to hook it with his hand. A hiss of discomfort escaped him as he moved his leg. But before Jayce could ask if he was all right, Viktor steadied himself, then used his free hand to stroke Jayce’s face. “You see?” he whispered. “I can still function. Even on the floor.”

They breathed each other’s air, letting the storm in Jayce’s mind recede until only an echo remained. Outside, the snowfall persisted, the window rattling faintly in a gust of wind. Yet here, on the floor by the couch, they fashioned a barrier of limbs, breath, and whispered endearments. At last, Jayce nestled his head under Viktor’s chin, letting their hearts thud in tandem. He could almost believe they were one person for a moment, safe from the tragedies both real and imagined.

Viktor sighed softly, pressing a kiss to Jayce’s hair. “We deserve each other,” he murmured, as though reading thoughts too well hidden for everyone else but him, “or maybe no one does. Yet, here we are.” His breath caught for a second, as though the admission cost him something. “Even if you have nightmares every day, even if you can’t look at snow without thinking of the worst possible outcome. I’ll still be here.”

Jayce felt his throat tighten painfully. Gently, he turned Viktor’s face to meet his eyes. Their gazes locked in a moment of exhausted, fervent communion. Jayce let his lips find Viktor’s again, slower this time, an intimacy born of reverence. Their tongues met in a languid dance, less about stoking passion and more about affirming life in the face of darkness. Darkness as the world turned white.

Silence wrapped around them like a fragile truce. The fire had burned low, leaving only a faint glow that lent the room an otherworldly haze. Outside, the wind moaned, shifting the drifts of snow against the windowpane. Jayce’s heart fluttered at the sound, but this time he didn’t recoil in terror. Viktor’s presence remained an anchor, grounding him. Slowly, Jayce disentangled his fingers from Viktor’s hair, sliding his hands to rest on Viktor’s shoulders instead, massaging gently. “Are you all right?” he asked softly, guilt flickering in his expression.

Viktor’s mouth curved into a tired smile. “I’m better than you, I think,” he teased weakly, then sobered at the genuine worry in Jayce’s eyes. “My leg hurts,” he admitted, dropping his gaze. “But we can manage that. All right?”

Nodding, Jayce cradled Viktor’s face, brushing stray tears from his cheeks. “We can manage,” he echoed.

For a moment, they just sat there, tangled in one another, neither able nor willing to move. The blanket gathered around their legs in a twisted bundle. Jayce’s heart still beat too quickly, but it was a living pulse, not the frantic gallop of panic.

Eventually, though, practicality tugged at them. Jayce glanced at the hearth. “We should… see if we can coax the fire back,” he murmured. “I don’t want you to get cold.”

Viktor arched a brow, weariness etched in every angle of his face. Yet the protest died on his lips, as those eyes stared at him beseechingly as if he were a Godly being able to save and doom him simultaneously with one word of denial. “Alright.” He chimed instead, “Let us move to the couch then.”

Jayce felt shame burn his cheeks, but Viktor’s teasing smile gently soothed it. “I’ll help,” he amended, trying to gather what remained of his dignity.

They moved slowly, carefully. Jayce pressed a supportive hand to Viktor’s elbow as he maneuvered with his cane, while Viktor made sure Jayce didn’t sway or lapse into another wave of panic. A thousand small movements demanded their attention—clearing scattered notes, shaking the blanket out, prodding the last embers of the fire back to life with fresh tinder. Whenever Jayce’s breath caught at the sound of the wind, Viktor would stroke his hand or murmur something, grounding him once more.

At last, they collapsed onto the couch, the newly stoked fire crackling more confidently now. Jayce all but dragged Viktor into his arms, letting the blanket drape across both their laps.

Jayce did not know how, or when, he fell asleep.

What he knew was that, when he awoke, the fire was nearly out. A shallow glow of embers flickered in the hearth, hardly enough to stave off the chill seeping in through the window’s cracks. Outside, the storm raged on, snow piling in silent drifts across Piltover’s rooftops. Within the cramped apartment, cold cut sharper than any blade Jayce had wielded, and the hush was so deep he imagined his heartbeat might echo off the walls. Next to him, Viktor was curled to sleep.

He turned, now half facing the window. The glass was edged with frost, and he heard the wind moan past it, creeping in through any tiny gap it could find. Jayce’s eyes locked onto the swirl of white—each flake a mocking specter of all he feared: losing Viktor, being helpless, not worthy to stand at his side. The memory of nearly throwing himself from a high tower returned, unbidden. If he listened too closely, it would coax him again. The thought slithered beneath his skin: You can always jump. You failed Viktor once; you’ll fail him again.

Behind him, Viktor stirred awake, summoned by the never formed scream which had not dared escape Jayce’s lips. “Jayce,” Viktor tried, shaking him more forcefully. “Look at me.”

 Jayce didn’t turn, not at first. His own chest heaved in quiet, hissing breaths, each inhalation painfully shallow. He had the faintest sense that Viktor was calling his name, voice ragged, but the roar in Jayce’s ears drowned out all else.

It was only when those skillful arms wrapped around his neck, as though able to choke the treacherous breaths out of him, that Jayce finely shifted on the couch to face his partner.

“Come here,” Viktor said. There was no plea in his tone—only a gentle command. His voice trembled slightly with exhaustion, but behind that was unwavering resolve. “Let me see you. Let me hold you.”

Jayce shook his head, tears threatening to spill down his cheeks. “I’ll hurt you,” he rasped, trying to pull away and wrestle his way out of their couch. “Look at me, I can’t even breathe. I—” A violent shiver tore through him, turning his voice jagged. In his mind, he still saw Viktor’s delicate frame buried in the snow, hair stiff with ice crystals, eyelashes rimed in frost. I’m failing him; I’ll always fail him. The dread suffused his veins until he felt cold from the inside out.

Viktor inhaled softly, pressing a hand against his thigh as if to steady himself. His knuckles went white. “Jayce,” he said in a lower tone, but now the command was cutting steel. “I’m not dead. Look at me. I’m—” A wince stole his breath, but he fought it back. “I’m alive. But if you keep looking at that damn window, if you keep thinking you can just… vanish, then you’re going to lose yourself. And I can’t let that happen.”

Something snapped in Jayce’s chest. His breath came faster, borderline hyperventilation, but in the next heartbeat, he forced himself to move. Crawling awkwardly on numb knees, he closed the distance to Viktor, abandoning any attempt of moving away. There, at least, was something real: the faint warmth emanating from Viktor’s body, the half-tremble in Viktor’s leg. Jayce’s large hands wrapped around Viktor’s calf, his hip, trying to support him. The couch screeched beneath them. Viktor flinched, letting out a shaky exhale, but he didn’t pull away.

“S-sorry,” Jayce mumbled, wanting to be anywhere but here, yet desperate not to break contact. “I—I don’t want to hurt you.”

Viktor reached down, cupping Jayce’s chin with a gentle but insistent touch. “You won’t,” he said, though the tightness around his eyes spoke to his own pain.

“Stop looking at the window,” Viktor whispered. When Jayce began to glance over his shoulder anyway, Viktor’s grip tightened, forcing Jayce’s focus back. “Stop. I need you to stay.”

For a moment, Jayce’s eyes brimmed with fresh tears. How could Viktor still want him, hold him, after seeing so much of his brokenness? Jayce’s heart slammed in his chest, raw with fear and longing. Then Viktor leaned in, pressing their foreheads together, breath warm against Jayce’s mouth.

“Feel me,” Viktor murmured. “Here. Breathing. Alive. You can touch me.”

Jayce let out a ragged breath, shutting his eyes as Viktor’s lips brushed his. The gentleness undid him—knowing how Viktor must be suffering, yet he poured all his strength into Jayce. Gods, he shouldn’t have to do this. Yet Jayce couldn’t deny the fierce, desperate relief that surged through him. He allowed himself to kiss back, trembling so badly that he feared he might crush Viktor if he lost control.

The contact was not graceful: their noses bumped, Viktor’s leg twisted at an awkward angle, and Jayce nearly toppled. But the heat of Viktor’s mouth flooded Jayce with a sudden wave of need. He pressed his hands to Viktor’s sides, tangling in the fabric of his shirt. Viktor let out a pained gasp—whether from his leg or the force of Jayce’s hold, Jayce wasn’t sure. You’re stronger than he is.

Yet, when he tried to ease up, Viktor’s hands came around his neck in a fierce grip, pulling him forward. “No,” Viktor managed between kisses, voice trembling. “I need… I need to make you feel alive. Do you understand?”

Jayce struggled to comprehend the urgency in Viktor’s tone. He pulled back just enough to see the fire in those eyes—something unyielding and determined, as though Viktor might wrestle Jayce’s nightmares into submission if he could. Much like he did Jayce himself.

“But—your leg—” Jayce stammered.

“Let me worry about that,” Viktor breathed. His free hand shot out to brace against the couch, steadying them both. “If you keep slipping away, it won’t matter if my bones ache.” He dared to add, selfishly yet oh, so needily.

With trembling urgency, Jayce captured that sinful mouth in another kiss, letting it convey everything words failed to express. Viktor opened to him, meeting Jayce’s desperation with a near-equal intensity. Don’t leave me.

The gentle crackle of the dying fire seemed a thousand miles away. The only heat worth was Viktor’s—fragile, but so real. Jayce gripped Viktor’s waist, guiding them backward until he hit the far end of the couch. With a bit back curse, Viktor tugged Jayce down with him, half collapsing onto the cushions, limbs tangled. Jayce followed, desperately mindful of everything that could go wrong, of the snow---

“Stop thinking so much,” Viktor gasped against Jayce’s neck. He kissed a line down Jayce’s jaw, breathing the words directly into his skin. “I see it in your eyes. Don’t think. Stay here with me.”

Jayce’s heart lurched. He pressed his forehead to Viktor’s shoulder, inhaling shakily. How could Viktor know him this well? He can’t see inside my mind, Jayce told himself. But perhaps love had taught Viktor to read the slightest sign: the flicker of Jayce’s gaze toward the window, the aborted tension in his legs as if ready to spring for that lethal ledge. Shame and longing churned in Jayce’s gut.

“I’m sorry,” he choked out. “I’m trying… I’m—”

Viktor silenced him with a kiss. The cushions shifted beneath them as Viktor maneuvered, guiding Jayce onto his side. Their legs tangled, Jayce’s thigh pressed between Viktor’s good one, the meager warmth of the couch’s blanket bunched around their hips. With once again steady hands, Viktor began to strip away the barriers of Jayce’s clothing. No preamble, just a desperate need to feel Jayce’s skin. Every brush of fingertips was electric. The old nightmares hissed at the edges of Jayce’s consciousness, but he clung to the friction of their bodies, letting it drown out the ghosts.

“You’re shaking,” Viktor whispered, lifting Jayce’s shirt.

“I ca-can’t stop,” Jayce stuttered. Indeed, it felt as though the entire snowfall had nested inside his bones, turning his limbs into trembling columns. I’m too far gone, he thought.

Viktor’s lips found Jayce’s throat, tongue trailing along the tendons. “I’m not letting you die inside,” he said fiercely. “Feel me. Right here. Warm. Alive.”

The contact sparked something in Jayce—a frantic determination not to lose the moment. His hands gripped Viktor’s arms, thumbs ghosting over the curve of biceps that shouldn’t have been strong enough to hold him, but somehow were. He shouldn’t have to do this, Jayce’s shame insisted. But need overwhelmed guilt as Viktor’s closeness drew him in.

Their attempts to shed clothing were clumsy, hindered by Viktor’s pained movements and Jayce’s shaking fingers. Buttons popped, fabric tore. Jayce half-expected Viktor to cry out in agony or frustration, yet his eyes never left him, silent encouragement, or perhaps a command, spurring Jayce onward. The winter wind scraped at the window outside, a reminder of the fresh hell waiting in Jayce’s mind if he turned back to look. Don’t you dare, Viktor’s body seemed to say: stay here.

When Jayce finally pressed his chest to Viktor’s bare skin, a wave of sensation crashed over him: the tang of sweat, the rasp of hair, the trembling hush of Viktor’s breath. Viktor’s leg hooked around Jayce’s calf, and he had to bite down on a groan at the thought of causing any more pain. But Viktor only hissed and tightened his grip, forcing Jayce’s hips closer.

“Don’t pull away,” Viktor managed, teeth clenched. “I need this. You need this. We are alive, Jayce.”

Jayce swallowed his protests, nodding mutely. He let his hand roam the plane of Viktor’s back, feeling each sharp ridge of bone beneath taut muscle. Despite the outward frailty, Viktor exuded a sort of iron will that left Jayce breathless. He is unstoppable, Jayce thought, tears pricking the corners of his eyes.

I am not the one who could break him. He would shatter me and I would allow it, if it meant piecing me back together with his every breath.

Their lips met again, deeper this time, tongues sliding in a frantic dance. Viktor clutched the back of Jayce’s neck, as if afraid that if he let go, Jayce would vanish. The terror in that touch was somehow comforting: Jayce wasn’t the only one afraid. They were both bargaining with darkness, making love on the edge of a yawning chasm.

If it had been gentle, Jayce might have wept from relief. But it wasn’t gentle. It was raw, desperate, a collision of bodies that cried out for something—anything—to break the cycle of panic and despair. Viktor moaned softly as Jayce’s lips found the hollow of his throat, teeth scraping skin. Jayce felt tears on his cheeks, though he didn’t know when he’d started crying. Every rasp of Viktor’s breath told him: I’m alive, I’m alive, I’m alive.

Fumbling, they found a rhythm of friction and press, each movement fueling the heat blossoming between them. Jayce’s tears salted Viktor’s mouth when they kissed again. He could hardly see past the haze of dread and desire, but he heard Viktor’s voice murmur close to his ear, “Yes, Jayce, yes,” urging him on.

They reached the height of it too soon, bodies too keyed-up from fear and adrenaline to last. The storm within Jayce crested, culminating in a trembling wave that threatened to tear him apart. He let out a ragged cry—less pleasure than a cathartic purge of everything that had haunted him. Viktor’s eyes clenched shut, a low moan escaping his lips, and for a moment, it felt as though the apartment’s walls were dissolving into light and darkness, with only the two of them left in the universe.

When it was over, Jayce made a significant attempt to move to the side as much as the couch allowed them, so as not to collapse onto Viktor, heart thudding wildly. Tears still streamed down his face even as his body convulsed with aftershocks. The snow outside felt miles away—or was it just beyond the thin glass? He couldn’t tell. Reality narrowed to Viktor’s trembling body next to him, the desperate grip of his hands on his waist, nails biting into Jayce’s skin as if to hold him to this plane of existence.

But the shaking didn’t stop. Jayce drew in a wet breath, only to find the panic creeping in again. The memory of Viktor in a snowy grave flickered behind his eyelids, each eyelash coated in frost. He let out a strangled sob, burying his face in Viktor’s neck. “I—still… I’m—still shaking,” he gasped. “I c-can’t stop.”

Viktor, equally drained, merely tightened his hold. “Then shake,” he whispered fiercely. “I’ll hold you. You hear me? You’re not going anywhere.”

Jayce sobbed into the sweaty skin, savoring the musk and odor of sex, overwhelmed by the sensation of love and hopelessness mingling. He felt Viktor’s seemingly frail body now being steady as iron, arms locked around him in an unrelenting embrace. How could Viktor do this? How could he stand to be so strong when it cost him so much?

“For you. I do it for you and I do not mind. Now, breathe. Deep.”

Jayce abandoned all belief that Viktor could not read his mind, and simply followed the request.

“Good, you are doing so good for me. Come, again. Breathe, Jayce.”

Gradually, the world around them re-formed. The couch’s cushions, damp with sweat and tears, squeaked when Jayce tried to shift. Viktor let out a hiss of pain, his leg protesting the angle. Without a word, Jayce used the last of his strength to maneuver them so Viktor lay more comfortably on his side, head propped on a lumpy pillow. Jayce curled in behind him, pressing his chest to Viktor’s back, letting their shared heat ward off the cold. The heavy blanket still trailed across the floor, but Jayce pulled it up now, over their trembling forms.

Jayce swallowed, pressing his face into Viktor’s shoulder. His limbs still trembled, his lungs still felt constricted, as though someone had lodged ice in his throat. Will it ever stop? he wondered. He swallowed again, feeling the bitter tang of tears still on his lips. But Viktor’s body was warm and living, each exhalation a quiet reminder that the worst illusions were just that—illusions.

They stayed like that, half-spent, half-clothed, the flicker of the dying fire painting them in red-gold shadows. Time stretched. Jayce nearly drifted into a wary doze, lulled by the gentler cadence of Viktor’s breathing and the faint scratch of wind outside.

But eventually, fatigue weighed so heavily on them that the couch no longer sufficed. Viktor tried to shift, wincing at the angles of his body. Jayce roused himself, carefully helping Viktor sit upright. Viktor pressed a hand to his bad leg, jaw tight, but still he found the strength to murmur, “Let’s go to bed.”

Jayce looked at the small bed across the room. It’s warmer here by the hearth, he wanted to say, but a single glance told him Viktor needed to straighten out, to lie in a position that wouldn’t wreak more havoc on his knee and spine. Still, Jayce’s mind shrank from the idea. The couch felt safer somehow—a place anchored by the half-burnt logs, the glow of embers. The window was further away, across the room. I can’t see it from here, he thought, each breath a reminder that the ledge still called him.

“Please,” Viktor pressed. The corners of his mouth twitched in pain. “I—I don’t want to wake in the middle of the night pinned under you again.” There was a wry attempt at humor in his tone, but it fell flat.

Jayce braced his hands on the couch’s back and nodded. “All right,” he managed. He stood unsteadily, but did the least he could for Viktor. He shifted, rooting his feet on the floor and stilled for only a moment.

It was enough.

Any other time, Viktor would have declined the silent plea, but alas, now they were surrounded by an enemy as treacherous as too much pride. Viktor nodded his consent, allowing Jayce to place strong arms under his thighs and shoulders, lifting him up in one single motion, mindful of the sensitive areas under his knee and neck. It was slow, too slow, as though each footfall was made by led and cutting through treacherous snow. Out of the two of them it was Jayce who was feeling heavy, cradling Viktor to him reverently, too afraid he would slip from in between his fingers.

He carried him the few steps to their bed and helped Viktor settle onto the rumpled mattress, pulling the covers down. Then, uncertain, he hovered at the edge, glancing over his shoulder. The window beckoned. Just one leap, one slip, and everything might end. But Viktor…

“Lie with me,” Viktor said, voice weaker now that the adrenaline was ebbing. “Please. I can’t… I don’t want to be alone if you… if you still think---” He let the rest hang in the air.

Jayce swallowed around a lump in his throat. He knows, his mind reiterated. Viktor knew all along. With trembling limbs, Jayce slid onto the bed next to Viktor, guiding the covers over them both. His large frame dwarfed the small bed, leaving little room to maneuver, but that only forced them into close contact. Viktor curled into his side with a sigh, nestling his head just under Jayce’s chin.

And so they stayed, locked together in a harrowing vigil. More than once, Jayce considered crawling to the window, letting the snow swallow him. But every time he shifted, Viktor’s arms tightened like steel, refusing to let go.

“Live,” He uttered between one breath and the next.

I command you to live.
He silently ordered, knitting the unspoken words on cracked, dry lips, moistening them with his own tongue and exhalations.

In the darkness, the wind shrieked, the glass rattled, the snow fell. But inside that battered apartment, a frail man with iron will refused to relent. Maybe tomorrow the sun would return, or maybe the storm would rage for days. But for now, for this night, they were alive together, and that was all the victory Jayce could muster.

So he clung to Viktor in the flickering gloom, tears drying on his cheeks, nightmares hovering just beyond consciousness. He dared not move; he dared not look at the window again. With Viktor’s breath fanning against his ear, he was lulled to sleep by the cadence of that unspoken promise:

As long as the snow keeps falling, we will hold each other here.

Thus, there they lay, entwined. If one was to look at them from afar, there were but one soul split into two, pulsing amidst the quiet; Alive, against the all-consuming stillness of white.

Outside, the snow fell on, unrelenting. But the world was no longer black.