Purpose (‘pər pəs) (noun): a subject under discussion or an action in course of execution
It’s been two years, and Jayce still doesn’t quite understand Viktor.
He’s never really been a people person. They’re a lot more complex and unpredictable than tools and machines, and while he likes them well enough, he prefers to spend his time in the forge or workshop with very few exceptions.
Viktor is an exception, probably because he is almost always in the workshop with Jayce. Two years into working together, and Jayce can count on one hand the days that Viktor has missed in the workshop. Meanwhile, he’s never come to visit Jayce at the forge.
He doesn’t know why. Jayce doesn’t know a lot of things about Viktor, actually. He hasn’t spoken about his time at the Academy - which is something the two of them can surely find common ground in - or his family, which Jayce guesses they can’t. All Jayce knows is that Viktor is from the Undercity, he’s the smartest person he knows, and he’s full of contradictions.
Example 1: “don’t ask for permission,” and yet, the first words out of Viktor’s mouth in the nearly four hours they’ve spent holed up in the Academy library searching through prior literature are:
“Can I ask you a question?”
Jayce doesn’t call him out on it. His head swims from squinting at faded tables and figures, and the clock rings out an hour far too late for them to have not eaten since lunch. If he teases Viktor about this contradiction, they’d banter and promptly lose track of the original question in the process.
Source: too many confused blackboard scribbles to count.
So, he just nods and peels his eyes away from the writings of one Dr. Kovac, who should consider a career as a sleep therapist with how boring his studies on thermal conductivity are.
Viktor sets down his volume (Applied Physics, Vol. 3, Issue 6) and stretches out his legs. His face twitches briefly into a grimace, a blink-and-you-miss-it sort of flinch.
Jayce notices. You don’t work with someone for years and not notice that type of thing, he reasons.
“I will need some help in the next few weeks,” Viktor says. He stares at his hands, where he passes a small screwdriver back and forth between them.
He has to hold something when he talks. Usually, that need is satisfied by his cane, but when he’s sitting down, he trades that for another object. Jayce noticed this months ago, and he doesn’t mind. He has to have something in his mouth while he reads.
In that instant, he becomes shockingly aware of how stale his chewing gum has turned while they’ve been here. A quick scan provides exactly zero (0) trash cans nearby.
When Viktor doesn’t elaborate and Jayce realizes it’s his turn to carry the conversation, he asks, “What kind of help?”
“Cooking, cleaning, laundry.” Viktor counts them on his fingers, starting with his thumb.
Jayce does it that way, too. So does Mel Medarda, and Caitlyn half (50%) of the time.
“So, you want me to be your housekeeper?”
He stretches his arms above his head - whoever designed the library chairs did so with zero (0) regard for the human body - and snorts when Viktor teases, “Smart-ass.”
“Hey, that’s what it sounds like,” Jayce defends.
Viktor looks up at him for the first time, suddenly far more serious. “I am getting surgery-”
“-and as much as I would like, I will not be able to do everything myself,” he finishes as if Jayce had never spoken.
“Shit, Viktor,” Jayce says, setting his own volume (Advances in Engineering, 5th edition) down on the nearest, highly overcrowded end table. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Of course it’s relevant!”
Viktor raises an eyebrow. Jayce won’t admit it, but he’s jealous he can do that. He practiced in the mirror for months as a kid, but he can still only raise both of them, or none at all.
“How so? If I had told you any earlier, you would have fretted and worried, and that would have taken your time, energy, and focus away from Hextech.”
“We have plenty of time, energy, and focus for Hextech,” Jayce counters.
“True, but Councillor Medarda’s money is not infinite, no matter how well you get along with her.”
Jayce sighs. “You get along with her alright.”
“I do. She is a good investor, and I respect her very much for making something of herself in Piltover,” Viktor admits. “But you are more her friend than I am.”
Jayce runs a hand through his hair. Fuck, he’s tired, and scientific literature isn’t exactly riveting. The data is interesting - at least, the relevant stuff is - but too many scientists write with all the energy of drying paint.
“Aren’t you worried?” he asks, changing the subject. “You said you didn’t tell me because I’d be worried. But you don’t seem freaked out at all.”
Viktor stares at him. “Of course I am worried. They are taking apart my spine to straighten it out with rods and screws.”
“This is why I did not tell you.”
“Viktor, that’s a major surgery-”
“And you didn’t think to tell me?”
“Of course I was going to tell you.”
Jayce pinches his nose. A headache is imminent, he knows, between the lack of food and Viktor’s obstinacy. “When it became relevant?”
Viktor cracks a smile. “Now you are getting it.”
Jayce can’t help but smile in return. “When is your procedure?”
“Tomorrow?” Jayce leans so far forward in his chair, he nearly falls out of it.
“Well, tomorrow afternoon, around 3:00 PM, to be more specific.”
The sunset is just starting to fade to the blues and purples of dusk, but there’s just enough light for Jayce to catch the time on the clocktower centered in the window behind Viktor. They pick this alcove of the library for the view. It’s easier not to completely lose track of time when the bells toll every fifteen (15) minutes and the view remains unobstructed.
That, and because the undergraduate students don’t know about this spot. They’re everywhere. And far too loud.
Jayce takes a look at the clock. Less than twenty-four (24) hours until Viktor gets cut open and rearranged.
Which hospital is he even going to? Should Jayce visit? Is he even allowed? What should he bring?
“What if I had plans?” he asks.
“Like dinner with someone.”
“You dine with Councillor Medarda on Tuesdays and your mother on Fridays. Tomorrow is Thursday.”
“The ballet is out of season, and I do not believe you have tickets to the symphony.”
Viktor bursts out laughing. His laugh is loud and a little abrasive, if Jayce is being honest. It’s harsh and imperfect, but he likes it. In a world where he got judged for wrinkles in his slacks as a student, he likes that Viktor isn’t perfect.
It makes him feel less alone.
“It’s not that outlandish,” Jayce mutters. Nevermind the fact that not once in the two years they’ve been working on Hextech has he taken anything close to a vacation.
“It is my sincere belief,” Viktor struggles to compose himself, “that if the words Jayce Talis and vacation ever inhabit the same sentence, a cataclysmic event will occur.”
Jayce pouts. Viktor laughs harder. A few undergraduate students poke their heads through the stacks, silently reprimanding them for the noise.
It is finals season for them, isn’t it? Oops. Jayce doesn’t miss those days.
“I assumed, seemingly rightly, that you had no commitments beyond Hextech,” Viktor says, finally serious again. “Much like me. So, can you help me?”
Jayce answers before his neurons have a chance to fire off a conscious thought. He thinks that might be instinct, but it’s been ages since he’s taken any sort of biology or psychology class.
“Yeah, I can help,” he follows up.
Viktor smiles. It’s a crooked, quiet smile, but that doesn’t mean it’s small. Nothing about any of Viktor’s expressions is small.
Jayce is grateful for that. It means there’s no guesswork as to how Viktor is feeling, unlike the vast majority of people in Piltover. It’s refreshing.
“Thank you,” Viktor says, and he looks directly into Jayce’s eyes when he says it, dead serious.
He fits perfectly here, if Jayce only considers his eyes. They’re the same shade of gold as the Academy roof.
“Of course,” Jayce says, and he means it with just as much seriousness. “Should we work out details now?”
“We can do it tomorrow,” Viktor says. He grabs his cane and pushes himself to stand. His brace creaks so quietly that Jayce thinks he’s imagining it for a moment.
“Your surgery is tomorrow,” Jayce says slowly. He follows Viktor’s lead and collects his own books. The ones he plans on checking out go into his bag, and he carries the ones he won’t in his arms.
He takes Viktor’s rejected volumes as well, without being asked.
“It is,” Viktor says. “But you’ll be in the lab tomorrow morning, no?”
They begin the walk toward the exit. Viktor’s cane thunks loudly on the wooden floor. The undergraduate students look up at them as they pass.
Jayce notices. He wonders if Viktor does.
“I was planning on it,” Jayce says, dropping their books at the front desk. Angelina, one of the younger librarians, gives him a friendly wave and checks their books out with lightning speed.
“Then I will see you there.” Viktor passes through the heavy wooden door that Jayce holds open for him and out into the cool night.
Jayce follows. “You can’t possibly mean you’re going to be in the lab the morning of your surgery.”
“Of course I will,” Viktor says, affronted. “I will be dreadfully bored otherwise.”
Jayce shakes his head fondly. “Get home safe.”
Viktor rolls his eyes. “You say that like it is dangerous here.”
The bells ring for the half hour. Jayce’s stomach growls.
“9:00 AM sharp,” Viktor says when the silence has stretched on a little too long.
“I’ll bring your coffee,” Jayce replies.
With a nod, Viktor turns to walk home.
Jayce realizes, as he begins to make his own way, that he doesn’t actually know where “home” is for Viktor.
He supposes that’s question one (1) for tomorrow.
titsay
romaincrisis
yousharknotpass
