[ startled by the pull, jayce gasps, yelps through locked teeth and is forced to stare at the disquieting glow of the creature's gaze. for a split moment, fear courses through him, his hands shooting to the claw on his shaggy hair to fruitlessly paw at, grip, at the very least to keep it from squeezing anymore than it already was. his breathing picks up, he anticipates danger, but . . . he's even more stunned into unmoving tension when the masked herald mirrors his earlier attempt. a stiff and inept excuse for it. maybe—
he tries again, out of desperation, out of sheer heartache and perhaps an inkling of useless hope that somewhere in there, viktor really was trying to reciprocate. just as awkwardly, jayce . . . tries, pressing his lips and bumping his teeth to sweltering metal, but it immediately falls flat and plummets his heart into a pit of loneliness as cold as zaun's noxious crevices. so terribly flat, and it's not even because there are no lips there, because god if it was still viktor, careful and kind, sharp tongued, awkward and calculating, jayce would find a way. he'd gladly be the only one doing any kissing if there had been genuine encouragement along his back, his limbs, anywhere that he would imagine late at night and dream of how their first kiss would be. the problem lied in there being no reciprocation. it was too calculating. no heart. he is not being cradled, with sentiment that felt the same. he's literally being grappled by the back of his head like a scruffed pup. he's being conducted to a cause for an effect.
jayce suddenly wishes he were in danger instead of this. he would've preferred to be attacked and physically mauled, laser beamed, eaten— than to have his heart torn to shreds. he is a formula being cracked, a problem being solved. he doesn't . . . mean anything, anymore. not the way jayce wanted to be, anyway. he forcefully turns his head away and wedges an arm between them, feeling— so many things at once that he could only feel listless. did he fail, just now? did . . . he lose everything? was that why he was dying? would this make accepting death easier?
he has no purpose anymore. death might as well come faster. ]
S— [ he sputters, croaks just like the clicking of his brace trying to connect gears into place and secure an angle. jayce's heart is already cracked and falling apart, but he asks, perhaps, to keep whatever remained of his psyche for long enough to just return to his truck and wait for death to come. if there was anything left. ] Say something.
no subject
he tries again, out of desperation, out of sheer heartache and perhaps an inkling of useless hope that somewhere in there, viktor really was trying to reciprocate. just as awkwardly, jayce . . . tries, pressing his lips and bumping his teeth to sweltering metal, but it immediately falls flat and plummets his heart into a pit of loneliness as cold as zaun's noxious crevices. so terribly flat, and it's not even because there are no lips there, because god if it was still viktor, careful and kind, sharp tongued, awkward and calculating, jayce would find a way. he'd gladly be the only one doing any kissing if there had been genuine encouragement along his back, his limbs, anywhere that he would imagine late at night and dream of how their first kiss would be. the problem lied in there being no reciprocation. it was too calculating. no heart. he is not being cradled, with sentiment that felt the same. he's literally being grappled by the back of his head like a scruffed pup. he's being conducted to a cause for an effect.
jayce suddenly wishes he were in danger instead of this. he would've preferred to be attacked and physically mauled, laser beamed, eaten— than to have his heart torn to shreds. he is a formula being cracked, a problem being solved. he doesn't . . . mean anything, anymore. not the way jayce wanted to be, anyway. he forcefully turns his head away and wedges an arm between them, feeling— so many things at once that he could only feel listless. did he fail, just now? did . . . he lose everything? was that why he was dying? would this make accepting death easier?
he has no purpose anymore. death might as well come faster. ]
S— [ he sputters, croaks just like the clicking of his brace trying to connect gears into place and secure an angle. jayce's heart is already cracked and falling apart, but he asks, perhaps, to keep whatever remained of his psyche for long enough to just return to his truck and wait for death to come. if there was anything left. ] Say something.