valkyrie. @strangefilms - Tumblr Blog

— melody of the moon . viktor x pianist ! reader

synopsis . "not all art forms are as pretty as the media portrays them." in which the sweetness you once shared with viktor throughout your childhood starts to disappear, and with that comes your downfall.

genre . hurt/comfort, fluff every now and then but more towards the end

warnings . lowk mean vik (but not intentionally), self deprecation (reader) , hints towards [self] harmful habits (reader - these are not romanticized), sensory meltdown (pretty vividly described. would not recommend reading if that upsets you), minor ooc viktor, czech viktor (pet names, plz lmk if i incorrectly used any and ill fix it) a few spots are completely unedited. if theres any more i should add lmk

words . 12.4k

note . tbh this was v self indulgent (as most of my works are) considering i play a wide selection of instruments and do many other hobbies lol. it started from a cute "omg imagine vik and a pianist rdr and he listens to them play in the academy" to this, where i wanted to capture and show how art forms like music and painting and writing isnt as pretty or beautiful for the creators as the world makes it seem. behind the pretty things we make there is suffering, in the way that you are collapsing in on yourself and what you enjoy seems more like a job or a chore than a hobby. ive read this fic over like 4 times and have never been satisfied with it but id rather post it now lol. anyways im talking too long here read the fic :)

the undercity was not a forgiving place. it would not cradle you in its arms of manmade steel or kiss you with chemical lips, no, it would pierce any delicate little heart with green-tinted skies – if you let it. this was common knowledge, to little ones and grown ups alike.

you did not let the polluted city deconstruct you. it was seen in the amounts of sheet music you had collected from bars and streets, and the gentle sound of your playing in the night when the streets were finally silent. whether it be on broken wood or untuned keys, you found a way to indulge in such a hobby, until it became all you knew. you were not popular, but there were at least a small number of people (which you could count on your fingers) that knew of your music in the night.

of these people was a boy on the taller side. he was not a stranger to sitting in on your midnight performances, and occasionally, he would slip a compliment about a certain piece you played before disappearing into the night, his accent thick on his tongue. although those were the only words he would ever exchange to you, you were grateful for his presence. he made your young heart flutter in a way that you could not describe in any language, his company and his admiration being something you sought each and every night.

conversations between you and the boy were not shared by mouth, but instead, by notes. some nights you would pound on the dirt-ridden keys until your fingertips burned, and it was those nights where he’d run away and come rushing back with a first-aid kit in his hands, a dorky smile on his face despite his concern. some other nights he would sit against the wooden legs of the piano as opposed to sitting atop a bumpy rock a handful of steps away, and some other other nights you would play so quietly, as if replicating raindrops. he seemed to enjoy it all the same.

there was a special day, however, one you keep close to your heart, that you will eternally treasure, where the quiet boy completely spoke to you. he nearly rushed to your little spot, an ivory-colored envelope in hand, a grin wider than the sun’s rays on his pale cheeks. his words gushed out of chapped lips, eyes lit with such excitement that even you could not express in a melody, and it was not until he pulled out a second letter, sealed with the same piltover symbol, that you too were overwhelmingly excited. and it was that day that he spoke to you, so close, that you could feel his minty breath on your nose, the joy dripping from the corners of his mouth falling onto your skin and lighting you up completely. the clank of his cane echoed against the surrounding stone as he gripped your hands tight, crumpling the paper of the envelopes evidently though not intentionally, before saying with an accent that would engrave itself into your life, “my name is viktor, and we will be successful together.”

☾ ♫ ♩ ♫ ♩ ☽

the golden streets of piltover were not familiar to either of you. it was a stark contrast to the littered concrete pathways of the undercity that were uneven and contaminated with cracks that bore dirt and plants alike. but eventually, you told yourself, these golden streets will become my home.

in truth, you were still unaware as to specifically why you and viktor had been invited to piltover’s beloved academy. you hadn’t taken the time to read over your letters, but you trusted this man enough to believe you were there for good reason.

supposedly, your talents that were once hidden in the streets of the undercity were recognized by the academy, and they saw it fit to give you both an opportunity at growth. that same day, you learned viktor was a great engineer and scientist, and you felt a bit guilty for not witnessing his work when all you knew was him witnessing yours. he did not notice such a thing, and for that, you were grateful.

the citizens of piltover looked at you in either disgust or intrigue (although, not the flattering type of intrigue) as you traversed the gardens and the halls of the academy. you would return such looks, while viktor would merely ignore them, grabbing your hand to pull you over to something he found interesting. you couldn’t blame him, of course. this was new territory, a new setting full of possibilities that you would both have to get accustomed to – which required curiosity.

and of course, you were curious. there was no room or hallway or balcony left unviewed, no seat left unsat, no elevator left unridden. you were determined to make this a place of comfort for you, for this was the place where you would finally excel.

☾ ♫ ♩ ♫ ♩ ☽

a handful of years passed. you watched viktor become heimerdinger’s assistant, and you congratulated him as he progressed with his work. your admiration for him never faltered, although sometimes, you would consider it a hindrance in fear of it becoming an obstacle for both of you.

on your end, you entered competitions and performed at events, and the music room quickly became your home. it was difficult to become familiar with the piano at first – the keys were not in the same awkward tuning as before, and the sound was much louder – but you had learned to play with the unfamiliarities.

growth came swift for both of you. however, in this rapid advancement, you had failed to realize the drift between you and viktor, caused by the dedication you both had for your own separate subjects.

you only came to such a realization when he quietly entered your dorm room one night as you were playing, the light from the hall peeking in through the crack of the door. he dragged himself in, nearly collapsing beside you as you heard the sound of his head hitting the wood of the stool. “continue,” he urged in a raspy, hushed voice, a voice much older than the voice that belonged to the boy of the undercity. it was not only his voice, though. aging was normal, but it scared you sometimes, for you wondered if one day, you would receive news of his doom simply because of his overexertion. in short, you worried for him. the fear of losing him and being left alone was not one you could easily shake off.

at his request, you played, played until the tender blisters on your fingertips stung, until your arms arched, until you could not hear anything but the notes and the soft breathing coming from beside you. the moonlight caressed his hollowed out cheekbones, melded into gentle tufts of hazelnut, and flooded onto his lap. it was as if the youth of the night melted away the blemishes of his face, albeit only temporarily, starting with the heavy bags beneath his eyes and the weight upon his blackened shoulders. you relished in it.

the piece came to an end, viktor’s gaze falling upon the floor. there was a silence, until he leaned his head against your thigh, looking up at you as if you had crafted the world with your bare hands. the action alone made you crumble. “that was wonderful,” he complimented, a small smile tugging at the ends of his lips. he cleared his throat a bit before continuing, cheeks smeared with a smidge of red — he prayed the darkness of the night concealed it. “i apologize for… not being as present. we’ve, ehm, grown apart a bit. something i feared for quite a while.” he spoke in soft tones, as if he was scared that if he spoke too loud he would shatter you and the walls that kept you safe. even so, his accent remained prominent. “truthfully, i have always been admiring you-” he coughed for a moment. “you and your work, from afar. you’ve improved a lot.”

“as have you,” you responded, smiling down at him. you closed the piano, careful not to let the cover slam down. “and, as much as i’d like to continue this conversation, it’s rather la-”

“no.” viktor reached for your hand, and held it as tightly as he did that day in the undercity. his grasp, so warm and yet so rough, tugged at the strings of your heart you so desperately wanted to tie away. “please. let me stay a bit more. i fear i may not have more time tomorrow, or the day after that, or even after that. so please, let us converse here.” you could not help but chuckle as you gave into such a plea.

you made space on the piano stool, urging him to sit beside you. “let us catch up.”

☾ ♫ ♩ ♫ ♩ ☽

soon enough, viktor had fallen asleep beside you while you were rambling on about your own studies. his head lay in his crossed arms against the wood of the piano, eyelids closed as if they hadn’t been closed in days, or perhaps even weeks. you let him rest there, afraid to move him in fear that he would wake up from what seemed like a nice slumber, and you retreated to your bed.

however, you could not sleep. it had reached a point where you stared at viktor’s slouched form in envy, because no matter how late in the night it was, you had not been granted rest. it frightened you, since this only made way for your thoughts, both peaceful and daunting ones, and rushed ideas would brush through your head, statements without a full stop or parenthese to close them off. you could not keep track of them. and of course, most of them were about the man sleeping right in front of you.

soon, the charcoal hues of the night were painted over by soft shades of morning clementine. your eyes ached, burning with a desire to simply sleep. unfortunately, you had to cast such complaints away, as the morning was nearing and there was, in fact, still a person sleeping in your room.

you tried your best to silently tiptoe through the piles and stacks of clothes and books and papers strewn across the floor to reach the kitchen, where you made a simple egg and toast. it did not take a genius to sense that viktor’s eating habits were lacking. you figured you would treat him, just this once.

eventually, he awoke, smiling at you with sleepy eyes and a yawn. he approached the table, trudging along with his cane, his cold hands just barely ghosting over yours as he leaned in to examine the meal. “it looks delicious.” his words came out sleep-worn and low, the lopsided smile on his lips almost reaching his cheeks. he gave you a small thanks before digging into his plate, content written on his face, the reaction making your stomach fuzzy.

you could get used to this. a little sparkle in your chest hoped that maybe, he could too.

but that was the last you saw of him. he left as if he were never in your dorm at all.

☾ ♫ ♩ ♫ ♩ ☽

the scientist was right about not being available for the next handful of days. you heard no word of his status, and when passing through the halls, his co-workers muttered something about him being contained in his room for longer than he should’ve been.

unfortunately, there was no time for you to be fussing over his personal life. as much as you wanted to worry, you had to practice for an upcoming event. supposedly, you were playing at a ball hosted by piltover’s council, a way to form connections between the various nations of valoran. this didn’t exactly excite you – surely, there’d be rumors of your past in the undercity, and you’d have to sit through the entire event and mingle with rich people, and so on. the pay was nice, however, so you took the spot.

as usual, you would play into the afternoon, then continue into the late night, praying to no god in particular that somehow he would hear you through the gold-framed walls of the academy (or, maybe you just craved validation). breaks were rare, which gave you more time to perfect your pieces. strings of moonlit dust slowly fell into the room, seeping through the linen curtains and casting themselves onto the grand piano set in the middle of the music room. you could’ve sworn there were dents in the keys from how much you pressed on them, the same notes repeating on your fingertips like a mantra. dizziness plagued your mind as you stared blankly at the keys you swore you had memorized, the room around you seeming to fall and sway, an effect of your tunnel vision. with perfection came distress, you supposed.

you allowed for your head to fall into your calloused hands as you groaned, the weariness of your work finally hitting you. perhaps, this is how viktor felt when he overworked himself with his experiments. you vaguely recalled him ranting last night about the exhaustion that washed over him whenever he simply sat down to think for once, his description of it rather weird to you before, but far too understandable now.

…

him again.

it was always viktor this, viktor that, swimming around in your pretty little head, even if he wasn’t around. honestly, you felt a fool, a fool who could not set their own thoughts and doubts straight. he haunted you without even knowing it.

you weren’t sure what you were to him. after all, you didn’t know much about him, vice versa. his birthday, his last name, something as trivial as his favorite color — all of them were a blur in the unknown to you. you were simply the pianist he had encountered in the undercity, it was simply a coincidence he heard your melodies in the night, and it was simply a coincidence that you had both been accepted into piltover’s academy, just as simple as that. to obsess and fall for him like this made you feel guilty, almost. the repercussions of love would strike back, said the little voice in your throat. to succumb to infatuation would only hinder you both.

you banged your head on the keys, paying no mind to the possibility that some student was passing outside and heard the noise. please be over soon, you pleaded to no one, for you could not bear the ache in your heart.

☾ ♫ ♩ ♫ ♩ ☽

the ball came and went. you absolutely dreaded the entire event, your fingers still sore from the long night. thankfully, you didn’t have to participate in many conversations with those who were far above you in terms of status – you would have embarrassed yourself, truly.

afterwards, you had fallen back into your routine of morning classes and afternoon practices, occasionally stopping by the school’s library and café late in the night before bed. then came the loop of massaging your hands every couple minutes and closing the piano lid in raw frustration only to open it again soon after, staring at sheet music until the notes blurred together and the rhythms were no longer countable.

it was a routine of destruction, but it resulted in beauty regardless.

however, today, someone else occupied the practice room that you often sat in. in your spot sat a boy, perhaps a little younger than you, thumping away at the keys you learned to love.

you were not envious of his skill or his youth or his passion, but instead, envious of his simplicity. sure, simplicity could be found in you and viktor, but now that you were by yourself, there was nothing but raw and disgusting self-desolation. there was a palpable difference between you both, for he lacked furrowed brows or burning red fingertips, and you lacked his pure calmness, the ethreality in which he sat with and conveyed in his tunes. he was smiling, even, the soft upturn of peach lips barely noticeable behind his cheeks, evidently proud of his work. of course, you were not going to say it was bad or sounded terrible or was void of emotion, because that was all it wasn’t, and that was what you longed for. the underwater reservoir of your heart rumbled, the pretty concrete pillars that you built for years upon years from the ground up finally cracking just a bit.

it was not until he ended the piece that he noticed you standing in the doorway, jaw hung just a bit loose in sugar coated awe. he struck up a conversation to greet you and the interaction passed by, your words barely engraved in your memory. he left with a simple goodbye, leaving the piano you once recognized as yours up for grabs.

simple, simple, simple. his easiness had you lost, and yet, you wanted so badly to replicate it, to wear that same soft smile and pass through practice as if it were quick work, not a chore or a wall or an enemy. you did not know his name, couldn’t even remember his face, but you wanted to be him so bad, so then people would look at you the way you looked at him.

so you sat. you felt the warmth on the chair that was once his pass onto you, the feeling uncomfortable while you tried to adjust.

you were hesitant. the desire to conjure up the beauty in which the boy had encapsulated right in front of you was so violent and unrestrained it burned you, burned your lungs and your dry lips as you struggled to cast away the envy and the longing to be him, to have that grace and overwhelming simplicity. jealousy was not an uncommon experience in art. but that did not mean it didn’t hurt you any less.

the sheet music sat in front of you, a new piece you had recently been assigned to learn. it wasn’t like you couldn’t read it, no, you could — you could piece together the rhythms and the chords and every sound almost perfectly in your head, but you could not convey it with your hands. perhaps it was the fear that you would not be as great as him. you were more experienced, you knew that, but you were flawed. marred hands and tear-stained cheeks were no stranger to you. you never wanted to rid yourself of them so bad.

you breathed deeply once, as if to blow away the unquellable sea of thoughts raging in your head, and you played. it sounded just as you had heard it in your mind, albeit a little awkward at the beginning, but it was going smoothly.

until it wasn’t.

the elegance that the piece should’ve been morphed into tornadoes of notes, your hands pressing harshly against the keys in not anger, but misery. you were reminded of the boy and his disgustingly excellent simplicity, his easygoing smile and perfect posture, the way he held himself up as if he were a god. you knew, you knew that you were not bad, that you weren’t exactly worse, but he brought a beauty to the art form that you have not once experienced. it was crushing you from the inside.

you slammed down an awkward chord midway through the piece to take a moment to breathe. you inhaled and exhaled as if you had been granted the privilege to do so, your mind blank and your eyes numb as you sat still.

this was bad. it was bad, terrible, revolting. you could stop it, maybe, if you wanted.

but you did not.

☾ ♫ ♩ ♫ ♩ ☽

it was as if the world was against you (it most likely was). viktor had returned from a week of non-stop experimentation, and had snuck his way back into your life all while you were in the midst of falling apart. it began with small talk, which was eased into ten minute passing periods. he would speak of building and formulas that you couldn’t wrap your brain around even if you tried, because you were a musician, not a genius. eventually, it would grow into full blown conversations, where he’d catch you studying in the library or in the gardens and greet you before diving into random topics, like the weather or your own hobbies or sometimes the most absurd concepts, like the sleep schedule of a snail. of course, you cherished these moments, you did, but somehow, someway, you managed to deceive yourself, your heart screaming that they were just tidbits of entertainment for him. there was no real emotion or meaning. just small syllables spoken back and forth to pass time, and you hated it.

you loved him, you really did, but he acted like he never sunk into the depths of his lab for hours on end without break, like he didn’t smile at you under the moonlight, like he didn’t drift away from you the moment you both had a chance at success.

it bugged you. but you did not speak on it, for you clung onto the little hope of restoration left inside of you in fear of being left alone.

you played along. slipped into his lab when you had the time and spoke about meaningless things. you talked about groceries and the funny thing your professor said in class the other day and the ladybug that flew through your window. this continued for days, to weeks, and you were content, because you were not lonely, and you were reminded of his presence often enough. maybe it was selfish. you would be a liar if you told yourself you were only doing this for the comfort of him being there. eventually, it also became a scapegoat, a way to cover up the stress bubbling up like bile in your throat.

viktor seemed to enjoy the company, but you figured it was only for the humor of it, because why else would he return with seemingly no care for his disappearance? it did not matter to you. you were finally piecing back together what once was — at least, to you, you were. if this is what it would take to fill in the viktor-shaped hole in your chest, you would do it. the longing was too strong to ignore.

such extenuated bliss would not last long. throughout the mini conversations and the giggles shared through lunch breaks, the envy that sprouted from your own field of study resurfaced (it was funny to you, almost, because all your time was spent admiring his subject and straying away from yours), at first gradually, then like a breaking dam.

you found yourself sitting in awe at your peers once more. not in the way that a child looks up at their favorite superhero, but instead in pure jealousy. of course, it was normal to be proud of your classmates, but for it to gnaw at your ribcage and tear apart your soul in this way was not. their progress only reminded you of your lack thereof. you were at a stopping point, you believed, where it all fell flat and everything became repetition without reason. because what were you supposed to do when you were reminded of your place in the academy? you hadn’t fought to get this spot, nor had you begged for it. it was granted to you, a luxury that those of your kind weren’t often given. that didn’t mean you’d be babied or treated specially — it just meant you had to prove yourself more.

you would do anything to be the star and not just the muse, because to you, it felt like you were locked in a stasis of watching those around you move forward flawlessly while you grasped at air for any bit of evidence that you were worthy of doing just that. you wanted to tear apart your sheet music, send your piano crashing down a flight of stairs, erase all contact you had with music, since it brought you nothing but anguish.

☾ ♫ ♩ ♫ ♩ ☽

although it looked like the exact opposite, viktor had been taking note of your downfall of sorts, through the rambles and fleeting conversations. he noticed you would not return til deep into the early morning, a great contrast to when you would often greet him with a goodnight in the early evening. the sight of your calloused hands and red-rimmed eyes plagued the man’s science-filled mind. he saw the callouses in your fingertips and the creases in your forehead and the unevenness of the hair in your brows, he noticed, he knew it all. he began doing comparisons of the past and present to get a grasp on just what was going on — because he cared. he just did not know how to express it properly, his body and mind and soul too consumed by work to understand how.

but it seemed as if this caring went unnoticed by you, and instead, only made matters worse.

viktor had finally released the breath he had been holding for centuries and approached you carefully, his voice nearly a breath, a whisper in the wind. it had been a long while since he spoke to you like that. he sat on the side of your bed as you flipped through thick paperback books that wore dust and stains alike (you told him someone else was occupying “your” music room — playing in the tightness of your dorm wasn’t as great, though) and treaded the waters lightly, bringing up the work you’d been putting yourself through and the energy you’d been exerting, all while staring at your back because you did not once make an effort to turn around to face him (you figured this was more small talk). and eventually, it led to him being straightforward, because his patience was thinning the more he tried to drag it on.

“you’ve looked quite tired recently, and it’s concerning me. surely, it wouldn’t hurt to… take a break for a bit? you don’t have to constantly work yourself to the bone,” he spoke, his accent hanging thick in the air and his worry evident.

there was a silence that followed after, the soft background noise of random notes coming to a halt as you breathed once more. the boiling water was, at last, tipping over.

“take a break? oh my god, viktor, look at yourself!” you quipped back, gesturing towards his frame with your hands. “i don’t think i’m delusionsal but i could’ve sworn you were trapping yourself in that stupid lab for days. and you want me to take a break? bullshit.”

the reaction was unexpected, for both you and him. you appreciated his concern, it made you feel whole, like you were not a ghost in the wind, but you couldn't help but scoff at the audacity.

had he truly waited this long? a bitterness welled up in your guts as you thought it over. there was no way he did not just now notice. you bit your lip, the maybes and what if’s passing by viciously. maybe he didn’t care enough. maybe he didn’t know how to say it. maybe he was just too scared.

you wanted to be genuinely angry at him, to throw the lamp on your table at him in pure and utter irritation and disappointment, to scream at his stupidity. but you could not. not when his eyes, despite being shaken with shock, held a grip around your heart.

viktor was desperate to calm you down, swallowing down the sourness in his mouth before spilling out, “well- i know, but i just don’t want it to happen to you too-”

“you cant be serious! it’s always been progress with you, always- always moving forward and getting better and accomplishments and all that shit. you don’t understand how bad i want this, how bad i need to work! i need to prove i deserve this spot, because everyone and everything right now seems to be telling me that i don't and i know i do, but- i just- i have no proof for it.” your breaths were speeding up at this point, your chest heaving with the need for air. not only that, but the air was becoming louder. you could feel the breaths of the wind on your skin and it was so cold, like a stab. you felt too mad. this reaction was not necessary at all. but you needed to continue, to empty out the contents of your piled up stress and weariness, even if none of it made sense. “you wouldn’t get it, vik, because you’re always doing so fucking good that you never have to stop and doubt yourself for even a moment. you conceal yourself in your little workroom and do all that shit and move on as if it was nothing, as if you didn’t lose hours upon hours upon hours of sleep and you didn’t lose at least a bit of your sanity.” viktor could only bite the inside of his cheek as he watched you and your walls break down before him, unleashing an ocean of melancholy and despair that had been contained for too long. “maybe you should consider that i want that! i don’t want what everyone has, i want to be them! i can’t just sit down and breathe for a moment like you can, i need to put in my heart and body and soul into this no matter how much it hurts because i need to show that i am not a lost cause and that- that i’m worthy of something.”

everything seemed to be slowing down and speeding up all at once. your face was numb, as if it were being pulled apart and stretched to inconceivable lengths. you could hear the twitch of your fingers as you yelled, your throat dry and sharp all at once. a tremble erupted for what felt like eternity through your leg, a subconscious attempt to distract yourself from the doom crawling on your spine. everything was happening all at once. the walls were crumbling, your blood was audibly pulsing and you could feel your veins move and pump in your arms, your teeth were scraping against each other, and the flesh of your cheeks was fucking rotting.

it was like you were watching yourself collapse. it was stupid.

“i cannot stop.” you could not process the dying down of your voice, or viktor coming up to you to root you back to earth, or the lightheadedness that pounded and chipped away at your head. your words came out muffled and tiny and broken. “if i do, i am nothing.”

there was a shared silence. you felt like you had sobered up in a second, but there was an echoing buzz in every limb, every corner of flesh, and it scared you. had you said too much?

viktor stood in front of you, his expression apprehensive as he approached you. he almost looked terrified, his hand hovering above yours for a moment before dropping down to his sides — it made you want to cry.

“let’s go for a walk. in the garden, at the back.”

☾ ♫ ♩ ♫ ♩ ☽

“...and the crystal just sort of… exploded. i mean, it wasn’t bad, but it was definitely shocking. it was a tiny burst — could only hurt, say, an insect.” you hummed as you listened to viktor’s rambles, his words just barely reaching your ears. “but, i guess that just means i have more to explore. in order to make progress, you must explore even the darkest corners sometimes.”

“wow. i didn’t know you were one for inspirational quotes, viktor,” you giggled, a teasing lilt to your voice. he returned the laughter, smiling as he jested, “it’s my new side hobby. science gets rather boring sometimes.” viktor had managed to immerse you so well into his mindless babbles that you didn’t notice the small dents in your thigh, formed by the rhythmic drumming of your fingertips, the same ones worn by time and practice. you also failed to see your other hand fidgeting with the hem of viktor’s sleeve — but that was only because he did nothing to stop you.

“you’d be pretty good at that. well- you’re good at almost anything.” the last part was almost muttered. you were going too fast again, letting your unfinished thoughts spill out from the cracks between your teeth haphazardly. “it’s amazing, really. you always seem to be capable of rewriting the world — it makes me a bit jealous.” a bit was an understatement. “so many possibilities at your fingertips. the only possibilities for me are… winning more competitions and performing at the same balls and the like,” you chuckled, albeit a little awkwardly.

your footsteps matched each other, the clack of soles against the concrete humming in the air as you walked loops around the flower-filled bushes. wisps of wind danced around, kissing your once burning skin oh so tenderly.

it was peaceful.

oh.

you ran the thought back in your head. it was peaceful. it was quiet and soft and there were no loud noises banging around in your skull. instead, there was only the voice of an overthinker and the soft sigh that elicited from viktor’s throat. “i think the opposite. in fact, i think you have a handful of opportunities lined up for you that you are more than worthy for. and it’s more than that, you are excellent outside of your music. so do not say otherwise.” you bit your lip at the response.

“well, yes, but look at you,” you spoke with a smile, one that could not be distinguishable as genuine or forced. “you’re so ahead of me, ahead of everyone. ...sometimes i tell myself to hate you for it — of course, i don’t, but fuck, vik,” you breathed in heavily before looking at him. “it’s a miracle no one has torn you apart just for an ounce of your skill. because honestly, i might be the first one to.” the joke slipped out so easily, but the man wasn’t really having any of it.

“first off, please do not come after me like that. i do not want to have to prepare myself for such an attack.” the comment was half a joke, and half serious. “second… i did not know you felt that way. i’m sorry,” he spoke quietly. an apology was the first thing on his mind, and the last thing on yours. he did not care whether or not you asked why, but the answer would be simple either way. he was sorry for not reaching out sooner, for not trying to help at the start, for not being there when you needed him most. the list ran through his hand repeatedly, as if it were bound to haunt him forever.

at this point, you both had stopped at a stone bench placed underneath a tree, strings of sunlight hitting both of your faces, however, neither of you took the initiative to sit down. instead, viktor looked at your arms and hands as if to ask permission to touch you. you caved in.

viktor’s embrace was awkward and rough, but warm. he held you with one arm, his other stiff at your side for him to lean against. the touch was not covered in flowers and butterflies and it did not make you feel like you were in the clouds, but it made you feel at home. like you were safe, despite the way the fabric of his shirt clung a bit to the rashes left by the stressed scratching and rubbing of your skin, and despite the way his arm squeezed yours, so tight, like if he were to hold you a little looser you would slip. “your insecurities do not define you and they should not obstruct you. you, as a whole, are wonderful. it would not harm you to take even a moment to rest — not only do you deserve it, but it pains me to see you stress yourself with something that should be a talent you love and flourish,” he murmured into you, his words spoken from the bottom of his heart. “you are perfect as you. there is no reason to compare yourself to me, or anyone else. after all, look at me. you are the epitome of elegance and i… well, i cannot say much.” he chuckled softly.

you’d be lying if you said you did not want this to last forever. but forever was never really a good thing for you.

he let go of you, awkwardly placing his hands at his sides, switching his gaze from your stained cheeks to the flowers, back and forth. you sighed heavily as you fell into the seat behind your knees, leaning back against the polished stone and ignoring the way it uncomfortably poked and prodded at your back. “thank you, viktor.” his face lit up at the way you spoke his name, the little lovestruck gears in his stomach turning around. fortunately, you did not notice. instead, you exhaled deeply, staring up at the gaps between the branches and leaves above you.

“we’d go days without meaningful conversation — it scared me,” you muttered mindlessly, both to him and yourself, voice raspy with remnants of tears. “it felt as if i lost everything. but it never felt like you lost anything. like it was only you and your work against the world. so i suppose… everything, the jealousy and the emptiness just sort of clashed together. i never blamed you, though. the pursuit of excellence takes time, as you’d say.” you could not bring yourself to look at him completely just yet.

“i felt meaningless, vik. i know you didn’t mean to, but when you came back and disappeared and came back over and over again, and then now i find that you do care… it all threw me off.” there was much more to say, but you held your tongue in fear of your voice becoming wobbly again.

you caught a glimpse of golden eyes in your peripheral, his pupils full blown at your declaration. his lips cracked open, ready to spill with another apology or line of comfort, but instead came silence. the words would not organize in his head. he wanted to tell you everything he noticed, the change he witnessed in you both physically and mentally, he wanted to ramble on about how he saw the burning pink in the corners and saline coating your eyes and the cracks in your lips and the rips in your hands. no coherent strings of thoughts roamed his mind, but he tried — for you.

“můj miláčku,” he began in his mother tongue, then returned to your mutual language. “there has not been a second where i have not worried for you. i have always cared, and i have always noticed. i apologize for making it ever seem like i didn’t. i witnessed you go through hell and back once. i will not let it happen again.”

you wanted to sob.

“i’m well aware my… work obsession can appear distant. i can assure you i don’t intend to make it look like that.” he held your fingers delicately, before whispering, “you are the sun and the moon and every celestial body in between, i would never intentionally look away or cast you off.” here he was walking in unexplored land. this talk was unfamiliar to both of you, and quite forward. but it was a good leap. “should you ever feel… unworthy, insecure, anything of the sort, please do not hesitate to come to me. i would be more than happy to listen.”

you placed your head on viktor’s shoulder, muttering into his clothes a quiet “thank you.”

☾ ♫ ♩ ♫ ♩ ☽

any chance of a break had been robbed from your hands. a few days after, a noxian-sealed envelope lay at your doormat, the letter being an invitation to an event in which you would play alongside other pianists. it was supposed to be a non-competitive gathering, a show of skills to hopefully get sponsored by some rich person from who knows where — but of course, one could only hope and pray for such a thing when you paired together several musicians from different nations, who all wanted fame and glory just as much as everyone else.

it excited you, at first. not only was it a free trip to noxus (this was rare, considering all of your performances were held in piltover), but it was a chance at proving yourself. proving that you were capable of everything your peers were, despite your upbringings from the infamous undercity. however, foolish guilt bit away at your bones for being so accepting of the offer when you should’ve been taking a break from the music scene, as viktor wished. at the time, unfortunately, you pushed away such apprehension. you were desperate to prove yourself just as deserving as the others, and this was your chance.

this confidence was only torn apart, crumbled, and crushed into pieces by the hands of your “competitors,” who had done nothing but perform. they did no wrong. but you loathed them all the same, for they unintentionally deconstructed your poppy-filled lungs and lit your cheeks aflame as you played beside them. the end results only deepened this false hatred — you watched as many other performers were offered opportunities and donations through the night, your little corner staying barely touched by the feet of the rich who came to watch and give. the few others who shared your discomfort soothed you only a bit.

your return to piltover was embarrassing, to say the least. you had come back empty handed, no award or recognition or honor to show off.

upon your shameful trudge back to the academy, viktor greeted you warmly, congratulating you despite your lack of accomplishment. he noticed you made no effort to get out of your performance outfit, the cloth hugging every inch of your skin so perfectly that he wanted to hold you then and there. but he did not. no, he had to restrain himself, because you came first in his mind. “you did great, either way. i could care less if you did better or worse than the others,” were his exact words. his words were beyond genuine, and instead of dwelling on the subject more, he offered to make you dinner so you could rest for the night. to him you were eternally grateful. an anchor that you had not requested, but one that came to you regardless. it made you giddy inside, little rays of sunshine peeking through the spaces in your ribs with every drop of attention and care he gave you.

the change was startling, at first. before you would’ve cursed yourself and the heavens for ever fawning over the man, but now, you reveled in the comfort, drank every bit of it you were gifted. you were a fool beyond words, your ability to fall to his feet so easily making you just a bit nervous.

viktor made a nice plate for you, urging you to dig in and relax for once. he played a record to “set the mood,” the sultry voice of the singer bouncing around the room and into your ears, and he congratulated you on your efforts once more. a smile, tiny but not unnoticeable, tugged at his lips, his face warm as he drank in the way you did your hair and the fancy shoes you put on just for this performance. he did not care if you were ashamed of your performance or not. you looked the part. with a mere glance, if he were one of those rich fools, he would’ve offered every bit of money he had to you. truly sublime, he noted to himself.

afterwards, he walked you back to your room, rambling about a new coffee flavor he’d recently found interesting, before sending you off with a goodnight. it was in these little acts that you remembered your roots with him. the little boy on the polluted streets who cared enough to sit through your tunes every night was now treating you to a meal. you smiled fondly at the thought, the once steady rhythm of your heart speeding up just a little bit. you could get used to this. maybe he could too.

but in the euphoria of the night, you failed to prepare for the morning and its blows.

☾ ♫ ♩ ♫ ♩ ☽

the sun was just barely creeping over the horizon as heimerdinger called you into his room to discuss his plans for your future at the academy specifically. you were weary with sleep, but tried your best to listen to every word he had to say.

“now, i have reconsidered this decision many times. there have been moments where i have thought about letting it slide, but those thoughts were… proven useless, as i was shown time and time again that i must treat all my students equally — that stretches onto, well, punishments.” you played around with your fingers, a way to calm yourself down just a little bit before the brick fell onto your head. the yordle continued on with his speech of sorts. “your participation has been lacking, to sum it up. we’ve talked about this before,” he breathed heavily, as if preparing himself to drop the bomb. you most likely have talked about this risk before, it just never sat in your head, for you were too deep in your desperate practices and fits of bitterness to ever comprehend it. the consequences were hitting now, you supposed. “there’s been a steep decrease in participation and performance — at least, that’s what’s on the report that was sent in.” the little man folded his hands beneath his chin, his elbows digging into the table before him. “...and, your event the other day only… strengthens my point, i suppose.”

you did not respond. if you did, the saline pricking at your eyes would’ve spilled over.

“i have always believed you deserved a chance at success — i feel exactly the same for your friend.” the reference to viktor threw you off-guard. this only rubbed salt in the wound, a disgusting reminder of how truly inferior you were compared to the talented scientist. you wanted the best for him, however, and you’d be damned if you let yourself be a factor towards viktor’s failure. he sighed, looking down at the tabletop as if he were guilty. “however, my disappointment has not wavered much over the course of the past couple of months. it is with a heavy heart that i send you off. not with anger, but with care. i… believe this can also be a moment to step back and breathe. you may need it. i recommend packing your bags before the sun completely rises, to avoid drama and whatnot. you know how the students gossip in the halls,” he chuckled emptily at his lackluster attempt to brighten the mood. “we at the academy will miss you dearly.”

and that was that.

you exited with a nod, your throat dry with silence. that was that. you were done, and any status or any sort of acknowledgment you had tied to the academy was cut. you did not plan on informing viktor or anyone else for that matter. it was too much at the moment.

the fact that your pitiful spiral into an anger and harmful passion so red, so detrimental to yourself (and maybe those around you) was so obvious sent a pang through your chest. this was the fruit that grew from your time spent wallowing in self-pity, from the irritation at yourself for being so stupidly consumed in jealousy of others’ progress that you could not notice your lack thereof. at the same time, however, it felt like no matter how much strenuous effort you poured into the music, you would never move forward.

perhaps the professor was right.

your dorm room sat still, despite the clutter invading nearly every corner — there were countless books stacked along the walls (you were too lazy to invest in a bookshelf, but it was always a passing thought) sticky notes and random papers were tacked up, dust and spiderwebs left unattended for months collected, but you did not care, for you knew once all of your belongings had vanished from this room, someone would come clean it all up.

you began with the smaller things, like binders of sheet music or potted plants you had been gifted over the years. then it grew into things like your clothes and blankets, then you were left with a bed and a piano. it made you giggle, almost, how those two things were the only pieces of furniture you really maintained. your bed sheets were made and the lid of the piano was free of dust and closed. a small photo perched atop the instrument, one of you and viktor on your first day at the academy, stayed in its spot, for you did not have the heart to pack it away just yet.

truth be told, the heaviness you felt in heimerdinger’s office didn’t linger as you cleared your room. it was therapeutic, almost. like you were tearing apart the pieces of your life that reminded you of things you did not want to be reminded of.

on the topic of things you did not want to be reminded of, viktor burst through the door, hair disheveled and cheeks red as if he hobbled without break (which he most likely did).

you watched as his eyes, constructed of mined amber and stardust, widened dramatically at the emptiness of your room. “what is the meaning of this?” he questioned almost accusingly. his gaze pierced through every bit of you, making holes through your skin and muscles and bones and everything in between. “do not move one bit. i need an explanation first.” you could not tell if he was furious or concerned.

“well- i was talking about this with heimerdinger for a while, and i guess he… figured now was the right time.”

the man shook his head roughly, brows furrowed in utter confusion. “that makes no sense. heimerdinger isn’t stupid enough to do something like that? to just… kick you out?” you picked at the skin on your lip as you realized viktor was firm in his belief.

“that’s so easy for you to say, vik.” your voice cracked. you did not want to give such a speech once again, but you could not help it. “you have never experienced the downfall of your sanity so harsh that it consumes you whole, because you are always progressing. i’m proud of you for that. but it is because of that, that you are also blinded. you don’t see yourself crumbling into little tiny pieces that you cannot pick up yourself. you’re just so… easily successful.” a sigh slipped from your lips as you messed with the hem of your shirt. blood was rushing to your cheeks, not in the warm and fluffy way, but in the way that you were so dizzy with brimming annoyance. you loved viktor more than ever, you would tell yourself that time and time again, but you could not help but feel irritated at his failure to understand that not everyone could simply move forward like he did. “heimerdinger is right in his decision. i’ve reached a hole too deep to salvage myself out of. you are… a fool to think otherwise.”

viktor’s face contorted into one of genuine worry. “surely, there must be something we- i can do? i could- i don’t know- ehm, talk to the professor about this? we could convince him, or-”

you grabbed his sleeve before he could turn around even a bit and whispered pleadingly, “don’t. i don’t want to drag you down with this. this is the result of my own mistakes.” it hurt to send him off, because all you wanted right now was his utter support and comfort and for him to hold you again, tight and lovingly and warmly, and for him to rush into heimerdinger’s office and speak whatever came to that pretty little mind of his first. but you could not wish for such things when everything you spoke to him now was true. this was your fall, so you would take the blow alone.

viktor looked at you as if you were mad in the head.

“drag me down? are you crazy? so you’re just going to let them kick you out? just like that?” you cast your head to the side, somewhat embarrassed to confirm his worries. you dragged your gaze up, watching as his face softened just a bit as he realized you were going to let it happen, his scowl fading before he looked back at you. “...alright. i cannot force you.” he slipped out of your grasp, dropping his arm to his side and staring you down, not with malice, but with betrayal. he was the one that promised you success in piltover, and yet here you were denying any chance of it. he did not loathe you for your decision — once again, god forbid he did — but that did not stop the pang in his heart. however, he did not want to hurt you once more. if that is what you truly wanted, he would give it to you in a heartbeat, because he believed you deserved everything you ever wanted. he stepped out of the room, giving you space and giving himself time to think.

☾ ♫ ♩ ♫ ♩ ☽

and think he did.

within a week, you were back. you had absolutely no idea why, but you were standing back in the same dorm, the corners uncomfortably clean, while a few others helped you move your stuff back in.

everything had been placed back where it was before you left. this was not the plan. this was not your idea of self-reflection. your piano beneath the window, books stacked beside the legs, and a rack of bags and hats on your wall next to your door. it was oddly neat, in comparison to the way you had strewn your clothes and mess along the floor with no care to clean any of it up. but now you could see a walkable path, even with all your belongings.

it was disgustingly unfamiliar. you did not like it one bit. you were back, and it was suffocating you.

during your return, there was no word of your scientist friend anywhere — not even his name was muttered. you supposed it was what you deserved, considering you hadn’t kept in touch with him in your absence. an eye for an eye.

your classes picked back up as usual. you didn’t make any promise to yourself to work harder or put more effort in class, because if you did, falling back into that hole you did before would only feel much worse. you did well regardless, catching back up to the class and regaining the love for your talent without fail.

you were doing so good at making this a routine. you could’ve sworn you were making actual progress for once, remaining on a straight path and finding joy in what you saw jealousy in before. of course, until viktor placed himself back into your routine once more, this time, less cautiously.

he’d been standing outside of the door to your class, his foot tapping against the ground impatiently. he wanted to speed up time or anything of the sort, just to get to you faster.

when you finally stepped out, his heart stopped.

you didn't go through any drastic change, obviously but it was like he was charmed by you for the first time, his breath hitching completely.

your eyes widened at the sight of him, his hair noticeably ruffled and a few tufts misplaced, and his suit a bit wrinkled. “viktor?” you muttered, astonished to see him before you as if he weren’t real. your books slipped an inch from the sweat on your palms, the man reaching out a hand beneath them with his free hand with an awkward chuckle.

“you’re back,” he breathed out, grinning from cheek to cheek, a sight you were not familiar with. maybe a little upturn of his lips, a smirk, but not a smile so big that you could see the pure joy spilling between his pearly whites, his gums stained with a new innocence you had not seen since your days in the undercity.

his excitement had you taken aback. “i… yes. i guess i am.” an awkward chuckle slipped its way out from your throat, as you were still confused. “i mean, i’m not really sure why i- wait.” you paused, looking viktor dead in the eye, his smile not wavering. as if he wanted you to figure it out. “you did this?”

“of course i did. why else would you be here right now?” he urged you to follow him down the hallway. hesitantly, you trailed behind him, recognizing the path as a way to the observatory.

you rarely went to said room, considering you had no interest nor business with it whatsoever. however, it looked polished, something you were not expecting. you thought that, maybe, there would be dust here and there and there’d be a few cracks in the floorboards or the walls, considering how old the academy was. perhaps, this was another one of viktor’s plans. you wouldn’t be surprised if it was.

the man ascended the stairway, his dress shoes clinking against the granite steps, motioning for you to follow suit. you were so close that you could feel the fabric of his sleeves on yours and his fingertips, strawberry kissed and blister-burnt, against your hand as he walked. he did not seem to notice, however, as he spoke in warm tones, his other hand fiddling with the fabric of his pants. “ehm… while you were away, i made something in my spare time,” he began, fumbling with the leather.

“spare time? i didn’t know that was in your dictionary, vik,” you giggled, the nickname making his heart flutter more than it should have.

“well- i mean, in the time that i was waiting for professor heimerdinger to accept my… request.” he thought about the way to place the words, rearranging them in his head because he could not help but let your plea for him to stay out of the situation loop around. he stood beneath the center of the glass dome roof while you took your spot beside him. “um, anyways. i figured, while i was waiting, i should make something for you.” he stepped forward before stopping to say, “ah, cover your eyes,” while his smile grew, little creases in his cheeks forming. at his request, you closed your eyes and covered them with your hands, resisting the urge to peek through your fingers.

the clank of metal against metal was the first thing you heard. your excitement increased as he told you to remove your hands, your gaze meeting his then the object he now stood next to.

the last remnants of the sun reflected off the glass of the telescope that viktor set up. it was no regular telescope, though, for it bore designs that you figured he made himself. engravings of planets and galaxies alike were littered over the metal, along with a little sticky note on the side that was written in a different language. “pro mou hvězdu,” it read, the handwriting recognizable as none other than viktor’s. you walked up to it, brushing your fingers against every part carefully in admiration. “you made this?”

“yes. for you, so you could see all that you are worth.” the words made your chest erupt with roses and lilacs that constricted your lungs and every muscle in your body, the walls of your throat tightening as all the yearning you collected over the years drowned you at full force. your lips parted then closed, the river of words rushing through your head refusing to come out. viktor took in your reaction and chuckled, making his way over to you and holding your hands in his, like always. “you deserve it. go on, take a look.”

you did just that, walking up to the relatively large telescope and peering up into the glass. by now, the sun had disappeared into the horizon, the sky a dark canvas lit by constellations. you see the stars, big and small, all floating around and burning bright. viktor pointed out certain objects for you, turning your gaze towards venus, which was noticeably larger than the other pinpricks of light around it. you played around with it a bit, eventually seeing the moon in all its nighttime glory.

“it’s beautiful,” you muttered, your jaw hanging slack as you soaked in the sight of the sky so close, so close that you could hold it all in your hands and caress it and pull it to your chest so tenderly. viktor sat right beside you, admiring the way you held onto the body of the telescope carefully and how you let a tiny smile grow on your lips, his heart trembling with the sudden urge to fall in love with you all over again. but he could not let it out. not yet.

you turned your head towards his, the curve of your lips growing once your eyes met. “thank you, so much.”

“anything for you, světlo hvězd.”

you huffed playfully, “what is with the nicknames that i can’t understand?” viktor laughed at your comment but refused to give a proper answer, claiming that you “didn’t need to know yet.”

“i would say i’m sorry for going against your wishes, but,” he paused, his head tilting up as he looked away. “i would be lying. you deserve all the chances. you may have felt as if you were unworthy of anything, but you deserve everything. i will say that a million times if i need to.”

you laughed, the sound hitting viktor’s ears beautifully. “why are you like this?”

“i am only like this for you. heimerdinger’s decision was completely and utterly stupid. so, i did whatever i could to bring you back.”

you wanted to kiss him then and there.

“enough. i think it’s time our virtuoso get some rest — i’ve kept you up a bit late,” he interrupted your thoughts, nodding his head towards the exit expectant for you to follow.

and with that, you let him walk you back to your dorm, his stare lingering on the instrument against your wall a little too long before he left with a soft goodnight.

☾ ♫ ♩ ♫ ♩ ☽

viktor laid in his bed far from peacefully, his mattress practically digging into his spine and shoulder blades and carving nighttime sorrows into his skin. he could not contain the instant rush of thoughts he was greeted with upon waking up. he was always thinking recently, a little too much for his liking. thinking about work. thinking about class. thinking about you.

you. viktor dragged his hands over his face, groaning into his palm miserably. it was stupid how much of his mind you had taken. this was not the plan. he had promised you success and fortune up in piltover, not his lovesick tragedies and playful little pet names in his mother tongue. did you even know of his feelings? if you did, did you return them at all? was he too bold, bold enough, or not bold at all?

love was stupid, viktor decided. but saying something that strong would mean calling you stupid. he tossed the thought out of his head immediately, throwing himself out of bed and into his bathroom.

truthfully, he felt guilty for it. he figured he did not deserve to worship you, to long for you this much when all he brought you was memories of your own misery. he had wedged himself back into your life, and with that, you had spiraled down into a hole that he could not describe himself. to admit his affection for you would be selfish, he felt. but he was too far deep. he feared that if he stopped here, he would leave you hanging all over again.

for once in a long time, he felt completely stupid.

on the other hand, you were absolutely lovestruck. you did not care for guilt or selfishness or any of those bitter feelings that would ever stop you. but at the same time, you were terrified. terrified of growth, of finally moving forward even though that was what you craved the most.

you waved the nonsense out — or at least, tried to — considering you were throwing yourself back into the hobby you kept at just for him.

personally, you believed that viktor had given you so much and you had given… what? there was no memory of you offering anything to him that amounted to the amount of gifts and time and care he gave you. it was unfair.

this was unfair. all of it, the envy, the pining, the stress. unfortunately, there was no going back. you had flung yourself full force into not only viktor himself but also into your studies. and with this newfound dedication, there was no time to sit down and think.

you breathed heavily after finishing the warm-up assigned by your teacher, his gaze not judging but calculative, as if he were sizing you up. “good,” he spoke firmly, jotting down notes of god knows what on his papers. maybe this was expected, considering your sudden leave and return — it was sure to have left a stain on your cachet. “now, onto your assigned piece. i’d like to go over measure 32, til the coda.” you did as told, your fingers stretching along the keys and pouring out memorized melodies in hopes of satisfaction. this wasn’t unfamiliar to you, rather, it was awkward. you had been in countless classrooms and apartments studying with various instructors, all of which pushed you to do your best. but this time, it was uncomfortable, what with the sharp stare given by your teacher and the tension in the air.

regardless, the session went by smoothly, save for the anxiety racking your bones. a break was needed, you figured. where, you weren’t sure yet.

eventually, you found yourself at the door to viktor’s lab with two cups of tea in your hands. with no hesitation or warning, you waltzed in, placing one of the cups that you ordered on viktor’s desk. this startled him, his head whipping around to see you standing right next to him.

“what are you doing here? hold on, go get- go get some goggles, a coat, whatever… equipment is available,” he rambled on, clearly still invested in whatever experiment he had going on, his hands moving even while he spoke to you. you only shrugged, heading over to the coffee-stained couch put beneath a window.

“no need. i trust you enough not to blow me up. or melt me. or disintegrate me.”

viktor’s face scrunched up at your comment, shaking his head lightly in disapproval. “seriously? you surely cannot put that much trust in me. i am a scientist, and an engineer. both roles tend to be very destructive.”

“yes, but you are viktor, too. so i think i’m right to put my trust in you.” the ghost of a smile on his lips did not go unnoticed.

you watched his back as he returned his full attention to his work, lithe hands returning to mixing colored liquids with one another before his stopped in his movements, turning his head to you. “ehm, remind me — why are you here again? last time i checked, it’s rather unprofessional for someone to be a highly dangerous lab without… you know, proper equipment and protection.”

“oh, right! i wanted to ask you if you could come with me tomorrow, somewhere special. i promise it’s not a trap or anything like that. but it’s a secret.”

he raised a brow questioningly at the odd request. “i suppose. just don’t kill me. i’m still watching my back, considering your comment about ‘tearing me apart for my skill.’” the joke flew over your head for a moment before it clicked, a loud giggle leaving your lips.

☾ ♫ ♩ ♫ ♩ ☽

you stood at the start of a wide bridge — specifically, the one that connected the undercity and piltover. viktor looked at you skeptically, as if he were unsure of stepping across, despite being from the polluted nation himself. “and we are here… why?”

“just- wait for it and follow me.” regardless of his worries, he did as told, trailing behind you into the depths of the city, the mask on his mouth sitting uncomfortably. as you walked further, he finally recognized the pathway, and the rocks, and the small opening in a more isolated part of the streets. there sat a lone piano, dirt collecting on the already rotten wood. you grinned happily while approaching the stool, adjusting it to fit your height and pressing down on the keys eagerly. the sound that came out wasn’t exactly unexpected, but it caught you both off guard regardless.

viktor took his usual spot on the rocks, settling his cane between his legs and on his shoulder. he would be a liar if he said he was not excited. the rush of nostalgia was soaking him whole, his eyes set on your face as you thought of a piece to play.

the notes came out awkward, at first. it sounded improper, like a mish-mash of random chords combined in hopes of making a valid sound. soon enough, it morphed into something far more beautiful, the discombobulated scales you performed turning into a melody that he instantly remembered as one you would play more often as a child. it was a tune that you would play on days when comfort was needed, when the poison-drenched city was more cruel than usual and particularly unkind to both of you. viktor relished in the grin you bore on your face, the same one that he remembered from your younger years, filled with a euphoric youth that he would cherish forever.

you played, played until your arms got sore and sweat beaded down your forehead and kissed your chin. viktor was sitting next to you by now, his back against the legs of the stool and his head against the top of his cane. “heavenly,” he whispered under his breath as you closed off the piece.

“i’m glad you think so.”

he brought himself up, motioning for you to move aside so he could sit next to you. paper hands made their way to yours, grabbing blemished fingertips with peeling skin with a care so strong it melted you. he always seemed to be holding your hands, although you never noticed the contrast. his were pale, ridden with lavender tints and bones peeking through skin while yours were time-worn and stained with bruises and blisters alike. you watched as he flipped over your hands to face your palms, tracing the lines in your skin gently, an amber-infused gaze locked onto you and you only, as if you were a masterpiece, a creation by the gods themselves sent to him. “...viktor?”

he did not move his attention from your hands, continuing to carefully draw mindless shapes and brush against the galaxy stains left behind by hard work on your flesh. “what do you see in these?” he spoke with intent. if any time was more perfect, it was now. he would pour whatever yearning was bubbling up in his heart of clay onto you now because he could not handle it any longer, not when you had brought him back here, to remind him of how long it’d been since it started filling up his chest to begin with. if any time was more perfect it was now.

“what?” he looked at you for a second, wanting you to answer the question. “well… i see scars. lots of them. they’re not pretty. i would call them battle scars, but… it doesn’t suit me.”

viktor lifted one up, awfully close to his lips, the other resting on his thigh. you could feel his breath so, so close, traces of cinnamon and mint fresh against your skin. “do you want to know what i see?” you merely nodded, too scared of your voice breaking apart if you dare spoke another word.

“i see flaws, but gorgeous ones. ones that are the result of your genuine effort and work and dedication.” his lips pressed against your knuckles, and he muttered, “i could hold these hands for centuries, til my dying breath, for they are the very hands that hold my heart.”

you could not hold the tears that spilled down your face, dropping against your collarbones and soaking your cheeks. he wiped each and every one of them with the pads of his thumbs, his calloused skin rough, but you did not care. cold hands held your face with the love and tenderness of an angel, his lips now ghosting yours, silently asking for permission to kiss away whatever baggage you held and wipe it off with his affection. you accepted.

such lands were untraversed by either of you. but it was as if you slipped right into place, his fingertips finding your jaw and your own finding his waist. to say viktor was happy would be an immense understatement. he was euphoric. the jar of collected ardor he kept stored away in the cabinets of his heart came spilling out all at once, bubbling and sizzling against your skin as he burnt you with his love, a love that he would give you over and over and over again. any selfishness he felt initially for simply wanting to carve pathways for you and place the stars in your hands and pick away the thorns on the prettiest roses so you could hold them was long gone. if you were the sun, then he was icarus.

“i would split the universe for you, moje slunce.” it was at this point that he realized everything he spoke and did was simply instinctual. the tips of his ears lit aflame as he put his forehead against yours, whispering an apology under his breath for his rashness. you did not care, not one bit. “i’m sorry. i do not… i was always asking myself for more time. as a result, i waited for years. on what, i do not know. perhaps it was us looping back here,” he gestured towards the rocks and the distraught piano. “that triggered it. maybe, i realized i was waiting too long.”

you cracked a smile towards him. “yes, you were waiting far too long.”

viktor would wait no longer.

Trending Blogs

Recently Viewed Blogs

valkyrie.