[ Viktor can't remember when he lifted a hand to hold Jayce's wrist, can't remember if it's muscle memory to mimic the image overwhelming his mind or to hold Jayce close or to try to pull him away. It feels like two Viktors vying for space in his head, the self that he is here and now versus the version of the memory that crumbled beneath a heavy weight of guilt, failure, fear, regret.
He'd hurt Jayce. He'd done something so awful that they were dying, and he wasn't even strong enough to convince Jayce to save himself. Unconditional love at last, and he was too much of a coward to deny himself its comfort in the end.
There aren't enough words. Finally, after what feels like a thousand lifetimes, Jayce's hands drop and Viktor is free to sag to the side, to turn halfway away from Jayce because he's shaking too hard to gather his strength and move. Even still, Jayce—this Jayce, his Jayce, his like the other one never was—leans in and seeks physical touch, and Viktor is once again too weak to deny him a shoulder to lean against. ]
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He'd hurt Jayce. He'd done something so awful that they were dying, and he wasn't even strong enough to convince Jayce to save himself. Unconditional love at last, and he was too much of a coward to deny himself its comfort in the end.
There aren't enough words. Finally, after what feels like a thousand lifetimes, Jayce's hands drop and Viktor is free to sag to the side, to turn halfway away from Jayce because he's shaking too hard to gather his strength and move. Even still, Jayce—this Jayce, his Jayce, his like the other one never was—leans in and seeks physical touch, and Viktor is once again too weak to deny him a shoulder to lean against. ]
What happened to us?