A belated Viktor Secret Santa gift for @xxnelli -- sorry itâs late, travel and a bout of sickness ate up a lot of time. Posting from my Viktor sideblog to keep things siloâd but my main blog is @literary-potat0.Â
Viktor hated parties. Or at least, he hated Piltover parties. The few heâd been to.Â
It was if they had been designed to torment him. The small talk that wasnât just small talk, spoken in some topside dialect he never learned growing up. The small talk that was just small talk, always peppered with allusions to luxuries and experiences he hadnât even known existed until he started at the Academy. The food that was meant to be seen and not eaten, always served in absurd, teeny-tiny portions so small you could barely feel them in your mouth, made with ridiculous ingredients like gold leaf that didnât taste like anything, washed down with beverages he could only assume were fashionable because they tasted so bitter.
The clothes⌠he actually didnât mind the clothes. Those he understood, his assessment of them inflected with tidbits of knowledge heâd picked up from his motherâs tailoring. The fabric had some weight to it, and someone had put a lot of care into the seams. It wouldnât fall apart the first time someone washed it.
Still he dreaded what he would find when he opened the box Jayce had delivered to his flat. These clothes werenât often made for bodies like his, bodies partially clad in metal that changed the way the fabric fell or created extra friction that wore through too quickly. He grimaced as he lifted the lid, preparing himself for a night of misery in uncomfortable clothing.
His mental preparation proved unnecessary. The clothes fit perfectly â cleverly cut to accommodate his back brace and leg brace without being baggy â and he liked the colors. And the food was good â no, not good, excellent â in portions that didnât leave him starving by the end of the night.
He hadnât ever tried sweetmilk that had alcohol in it before, but it was an inspired idea.
He stumbled a little â not in the flinching, painful way he did when his joints ached or his muscles spasmed, but in a warm, loose way, his movements just a little bit broader than they needed to be.
Jayce reached out a supporting arm.
âSee?â he said. âThat wasnât so bad.â
Viktor rolled his eyes. âHow many strings did you have to pull to get decent food?â he asked.
âMe? I didnât pull anything?â
Viktor shot him a dubious look.
Jayce deflated a little. âI asked Mel to pull them for me.â
âAh. You must have asked very nicely,â he said. âShe usually leaves her golden fingerprints all over these endeavors.â
Viktor realized immediately upon seeing Jayceâs slightly wounded look that heâd phrased that poorly.
âApologies,â he said, âI didnât mean⌠What I meant was, I appreciate that she was willing to put this together like you asked, even if it wasnât how she usually does things. And the fact that you asked.â
Jayce shrugged like it was no big deal. âOf course. Thanks for coming along. Itâs a hell of a lot easier to survive the schmoozing and small talk knowing I complain to you about it when Iâm done.â
Viktor laughed â a movement which caused him to stumble. His laugh turned into a slight cough.
Jayce clapped him on the back firmly, and waited to keep going until the cough subsided. Even when it had, his arm stayed around Viktorâs shoulders⌠though from the way he was wobbling, it might have been for his own benefit as much as Viktorâs.
He surveyed Jayce out of the corner of his eye as they drew close to his apartment. âAre you going to throw up this time?â he asked, teasing lightly.
âNo, Iâm good.â Jayce hiccuped. âMight need to crash on your couch though.â