[ steady steady steady. he's looking for viktor because he doesn't think he could look anywhere else without wandering more, learning more. he needs his pillars, he needs his ground. he needs him, right now, and creaks out words like tightened wood groans when forced to bend. ]
O— Okay.
[ that's a start. holding his hands. gripping them like they'd blow away if he'd let them slip. viktor's hands were so much bigger, now. it's almost comforting that he's being engulfed by his size difference, but jayce does not want to think of the implications that brought. more memories. these hurt his very soul, and he jayce is so, so glad that automated chill of words aren't what's speaking at him. ]
You— you changed, I remember— I'm not mad, I— I didn't want, to die, just—
[ they were one in the same, weren't they? jayce can't be mad. he once did this to viktor. he knows he'd do it again. he doesn't care if that amount of interdependancy is unhealthy or wrong, it's them.
but it is an overwhelming amount of information coming in too fast for jayce to assimilate step by step. he is piecing things together, pulling memories like they'd been tied to threads. every tug earned him another following string of events, and another— oh, so this was what it was like. with some differences in circumstance, of course, but one thing would still haunt him: he didn't come back the same. he feels like there's something inherently wrong with him. there is a surge, an energy under his skin. a burning in his veins and an icy coldness in his flesh and bone. he could still feel, but his pain feels dulled. not because there is none, because he could still feel this embrace, these hands, the only real warmth he has because their wildly contrasting temperatures were on different spectrums entirely— and viktor was an external factor. jayce warms up only because of him.
there is, additionally, the state of his appearance that is not easing him. a breeze weaves through them and jayce could feel it brushing a flow inside him. he gasps, quiet and shocked and choking back the need to cry. he was so bloody. it's really open. oh, dear gods, he's got his chest open and he can't feel it, thank god he can't feel it but holy shit he should feel it. he's squeezing viktor's hands harder and harder, trying to look elsewhere but he feels absolutely sick. all in his head, of course. his digestive system doesn't work in a traditional sense anymore. his stomach doesn't flip when its shut down and unresponsive. he won't vomit. that feels wrong, too. ]
Scared, please— talk to me.
[ jayce has always been open about what he feels, or at least he tries very much to be when he recognizes them. he's trying to do that now. ]
no subject
O— Okay.
[ that's a start. holding his hands. gripping them like they'd blow away if he'd let them slip. viktor's hands were so much bigger, now. it's almost comforting that he's being engulfed by his size difference, but jayce does not want to think of the implications that brought. more memories. these hurt his very soul, and he jayce is so, so glad that automated chill of words aren't what's speaking at him. ]
You— you changed, I remember— I'm not mad, I— I didn't want, to die, just—
[ they were one in the same, weren't they? jayce can't be mad. he once did this to viktor. he knows he'd do it again. he doesn't care if that amount of interdependancy is unhealthy or wrong, it's them.
but it is an overwhelming amount of information coming in too fast for jayce to assimilate step by step. he is piecing things together, pulling memories like they'd been tied to threads. every tug earned him another following string of events, and another— oh, so this was what it was like. with some differences in circumstance, of course, but one thing would still haunt him: he didn't come back the same. he feels like there's something inherently wrong with him. there is a surge, an energy under his skin. a burning in his veins and an icy coldness in his flesh and bone. he could still feel, but his pain feels dulled. not because there is none, because he could still feel this embrace, these hands, the only real warmth he has because their wildly contrasting temperatures were on different spectrums entirely— and viktor was an external factor. jayce warms up only because of him.
there is, additionally, the state of his appearance that is not easing him. a breeze weaves through them and jayce could feel it brushing a flow inside him. he gasps, quiet and shocked and choking back the need to cry. he was so bloody. it's really open. oh, dear gods, he's got his chest open and he can't feel it, thank god he can't feel it but holy shit he should feel it. he's squeezing viktor's hands harder and harder, trying to look elsewhere but he feels absolutely sick. all in his head, of course. his digestive system doesn't work in a traditional sense anymore. his stomach doesn't flip when its shut down and unresponsive. he won't vomit. that feels wrong, too. ]
Scared, please— talk to me.
[ jayce has always been open about what he feels, or at least he tries very much to be when he recognizes them. he's trying to do that now. ]