[ viktor— flinches back and jayce's fingers stiffly curl into his palms. through a few rapid blinks, he considers, quickly and to himself: okay. alright. that's valid. he gives him space, no pushing for contact. especially not when he'd moments sooner had carved his own heart out, served it to viktor and said here. it's yours. i'm ready to go if you are and i wouldn't have it any other way.
that, with him assuming that was the end. jayce doesn't know how he's managed to look viktor in the eye, yet. must be the adrenaline. ]
I . . . I don't know, we must've . . . [ teleported, he starts with a hush, but his brain doesn't seem to be keeping up with the barrage of information, neither is it properly assimilating. too much going on. too much he's shifting to without greater awareness, a dent in rationale caused by a rush that only doesn't boil into panic because he still feels disconnect through the priority of endurance. barely.
jayce takes another look around to collect any possible evidence of jarring landmarks, anything he could recognize from books or memory. in the end, either there were none or he's still failing to digest and make sense of what he's seeing. it's just an orchard, with the sky spreading colors like oil paints.
and he's still . . . like this. not that it concerns him yet. he's just glad viktor looks exactly like the day he'd lost him. ]
cw: suicidal ideas and such is jayvik
that, with him assuming that was the end. jayce doesn't know how he's managed to look viktor in the eye, yet. must be the adrenaline. ]
I . . . I don't know, we must've . . . [ teleported, he starts with a hush, but his brain doesn't seem to be keeping up with the barrage of information, neither is it properly assimilating. too much going on. too much he's shifting to without greater awareness, a dent in rationale caused by a rush that only doesn't boil into panic because he still feels disconnect through the priority of endurance. barely.
jayce takes another look around to collect any possible evidence of jarring landmarks, anything he could recognize from books or memory. in the end, either there were none or he's still failing to digest and make sense of what he's seeing. it's just an orchard, with the sky spreading colors like oil paints.
and he's still . . . like this. not that it concerns him yet. he's just glad viktor looks exactly like the day he'd lost him. ]
—Can you stand?