[ if there was any way to go, jayce would want to leave the world with viktor. not at the same time, like they had— that was about the same as losing each other to different paths and succumbing to that horrible loneliness. this had been . . . something of a rebirth, if they could get past gritty, unhealthy haunt they've weaved. maybe there's no cure for unwell they were in the head, but jayce was done worrying about what others thought, and he'd made up his mind about viktor a long time ago. it was together or nothing.
the side of jayce's head pushes into viktor's neck, a dirty hand fastening to the defined slant of his cheeks to soothe his tears. he had callouses, cuts, bruises, the remains of his bodily oil spill under his nails and yet he still manages a gentle, accessible touch. he was there to listen. he's glad to be. it makes this hole in him manageable, or at least jayce would like to think so when emotion blanketed reality.
cupping the man's face from the side finishes in him rubbing the veined corners of his eyes dry, although that might just leave it grimy and smudged. thought that counts— but viktor's display makes him freeze up. the dip of his temple gains warm, earnest lips. his eye is rewarded, his nose— damn it, even his nose is revered. his nostrils were an ugly, splattering stain of crimson-pink all the way past his neck where he had bled out. there are other aimless little places and jayce fights the urge not to look at him, fingers beginning to squeeze his hugging arms, caressing the press to slant following his beard with his profile. it was so very different. it was everything. ]
Then I didn't fail, after all.
[ he can't take it. he pulls his head back to look at him. he doesn't regret it, but he does stare for too long, touching the mole under his eye and following the veiny trails of purple down the curve of his face— jayce shakes his head at himself and huffs what should, or could, be a laugh somewhere. it triggers a few coughs, and a weird, watery gurgle that he curses the shit out of. ]
I'm a mess, Viktor.
[ he's trying to laugh at the expense. maybe that will be enough copium. ]
no subject
the side of jayce's head pushes into viktor's neck, a dirty hand fastening to the defined slant of his cheeks to soothe his tears. he had callouses, cuts, bruises, the remains of his bodily oil spill under his nails and yet he still manages a gentle, accessible touch. he was there to listen. he's glad to be. it makes this hole in him manageable, or at least jayce would like to think so when emotion blanketed reality.
cupping the man's face from the side finishes in him rubbing the veined corners of his eyes dry, although that might just leave it grimy and smudged. thought that counts— but viktor's display makes him freeze up. the dip of his temple gains warm, earnest lips. his eye is rewarded, his nose— damn it, even his nose is revered. his nostrils were an ugly, splattering stain of crimson-pink all the way past his neck where he had bled out. there are other aimless little places and jayce fights the urge not to look at him, fingers beginning to squeeze his hugging arms, caressing the press to slant following his beard with his profile. it was so very different. it was everything. ]
Then I didn't fail, after all.
[ he can't take it. he pulls his head back to look at him. he doesn't regret it, but he does stare for too long, touching the mole under his eye and following the veiny trails of purple down the curve of his face— jayce shakes his head at himself and huffs what should, or could, be a laugh somewhere. it triggers a few coughs, and a weird, watery gurgle that he curses the shit out of. ]
I'm a mess, Viktor.
[ he's trying to laugh at the expense. maybe that will be enough copium. ]