Chapter Text
“Not a busy day so far,” Viktor’s manager told him as she shuffled around her pockets for any notes remaining from her shift. “We’re almost out of french vanilla, so use it sparingly.”
“Yes, I understand,” he replied.
“People can’t tell between French vanilla and regular vanilla if you just lie to them. Some placebo effect, or maybe ‘French’ doesn’t change the taste at all,” She chuckled to herself. When Viktor barely reacted to her soft quip, she handed over a ring of different-sized keys. “Remember to keep them on you your whole shift,” she said. “I’m still not sure how you managed to shove them in-between drawers on your last shift. But don’t let it happen again, I don’t have the hours in my schedule to look for them.”
“Yes, I understand.”
“And cups—we’re having to make due with disposables right now, Jerry wasn’t in to wash dishes this morning. Something about a squabble between him and the missus.”
“Yes, I understand.”
“Do you?” Viktor turned his gaze to his manager Magnine again, who despite being shorter than him had a particularly demeaning look in her eye. “What did I say?”
Viktor brushed away her concern with the twitch of his hand. “I’ll wash the cups when I can,” he dismissed, “It’s just, it’s raining.”
Rain had been pouring buckets down the sides of the shop’s thick windows, the blue staining reminding him of artificially blue decorative fountains on the Academy grounds. Not that he was supposed to know those existed.
“Uh huh,” Magnine groaned. “You just noticing?”
He looked away from the windows again. There was always something captivating about the rain, how it hit the rooftop like pebbles exploding from the roadside. It prodded his brain quite nicely. “No, apologies.”
Magnine averted her disappointed gaze and flicked the keys in Viktor’s hand. “Remember what I said, please. I’m not fishing around for those again.”
“Yes, of course.”
He watched as she bobbed step by step back into the stairway, toward the manager’s office and private room. “I don’t have time for any more of this, just do your job and you’ll be fine. Keep the customers loud, if you could. I have a client coming in in fifteen minutes.”
“Understood.”
She squinted at him. “After that, I’m out of here.” She turned on her heel and slowly disappeared down the stairs. The last thing he heard from her was, “And I don’t pay you to stare at the rain your whole shift!”
“Ah… yep!” he responded just as the door at the bottom of the stairs slammed shut. But when she was out of sight, his eyes instinctively returned to their focus. It was three in the afternoon and any customers in the room were hardly there to ogle at him, so he supposed he was safe. He stared and stared out the shop door’s window, watching the rain crash somewhat gently onto the glass like a violent kiss. You could say he was tired, perhaps—his vision blurred along the edges as his pupils stilled comfortably. Work was the last thing on his mind. It probably should have been more prevalent, but who was there to reprimand his thoughts?
That was the part of this coffee job that he liked. On afternoon shifts he was almost always alone with his thoughts, merely interrupted now and then for intruding customers wanting a drink before they went about the rest of their day. He supposed he could manage them if it meant getting paid. Housing near the bridge to Piltover’s Topside was expensive as it was, but Viktor couldn’t afford walking every day any farther than he had to, with Piltover Academy already as far away as possible from the bridge. Transportation from the undercity topside wasn’t exactly accommodating. Or even remotely convenient.
Viktor imagined it’d be easier if he were actually a student at the academy. Less distance to walk, a relief to his bad leg and his weary cane. He imagined the dorms with wide windows and adequate rain. But convenience came at far too vast an expense from what he could reasonably pay. The “possibility” itself was laughable. Viktor could only be thankful that the academy disregarded security practices during the school day. Maybe it was more fun anyhow, why pay for an education when you could steal one?
Yes, Viktor was certainly from the undercity.
His trail of thought was scratched away as the door opened and a sputtering customer squeaked into the dry shop. Viktor furrowed his brow for the split moment his eyes parted with that stained window, and he shifted his focus to the new attendant, a man perhaps a few years younger than him with olive skin and short, dark hair mopped heavily onto his forehead. His strong features were a mix of frustration and concern as he patted a thick, messy journal under his arm to make sure it had stayed dry. He paid Viktor no mind as she shook off like a dog at the shop entrance and sat down at a nearby table beside the largest window.
Viktor narrowed his eyes. The man’s big head blocked the hypnotic image of rain. He hadn’t even clocked in yet, but there were no customers antsy for coffee with the storm outside, so he felt he had time to approach this man with all the authority he could muster for a minimum-wage worker.
His cane splashed water droplets on the floor from where the man had traveled. He cleared his throat when he stood at the table. The man was already buried in the open journal—decidedly not destroyed by the rain—and he didn’t seem to hear Viktor, in all his subtlety.
He tried again. “Hello.”
The man, startled out of his already festering thoughts, blinked upward at him. “Uh, hi.”
With a full view of his face, Viktor noted the clean, unscathed features and the obnoxiously bright, golden eyes set beneath thick, dark brows. His topside clothing was impeccable but mis-matched—a maroon jacket over a brown turtleneck, paired with obscenely white khakis—as if this wasn’t the man’s usual wear. He looked like he belonged farther away from the bridge than the cafe could give him. Not Viktor’s usual customer, to be sure. He continued anyway, “You need to buy something to sit here.” He gestured to a sign at the counter with the rule.
The man scanned the sign with quiet annoyance, and for a moment didn’t say anything, as if he were weighing his odds on whether or not to fight Viktor on the policy. After a moment he tiresomely agreed and relaxed his stare. “Oh,” he said, a gruff, baritone voice rattled with soft disuse. “Alright.”
Viktor started back toward the counter, but stopped mid-trek as the man recited his order while still seated at his table. “I’ll have a… French vanilla latte, then.” He reached out his hand with double the amount of money the drink was priced and returned his focus back to the journal.
“For?” Viktor asked.
The man slowly lifted his gaze again. “For?”
“For who?”
“Oh,” he said, not a little annoyed, “Jayce.”
Glowering, Viktor took his money and made his way back to the counter. The rain caressed his ears again and he slowly calmed as he made the customer’s drink, washing a mug in the meantime. With the extra chore, the drink took more time to make, but as Viktor glanced back at the man he seemed to be lost in thought again, unaware time was passing at all.
When he finished, Viktor set the mug on the serving counter and called out, “French vanilla latte for Jayce.”
The man, Jayce, hardly lifted his head at first, wrote something quickly in the margin of his journal, and stood. Viktor offered his change back, but Jayce shook his head, giving a polite smile in return. “Uh, keep it.”
That was the end of their interaction that day, and despite being nettled, Viktor appreciated how full his tip jar looked after their conversation. His gaze returned to the rain as the hours passed. By the time the sky turned from light to dark gray, Viktor had barely moved except to wash the rest of the mugs and replace them on their shelves. Customers funneled out at times when the rain died down to a sprinkle, though Jayce remained until dusk, when he finally registered that Viktor was moving through his closing procedures. He handed Viktor his mug with a tight-lipped smile—never complaining about the lack of the French in his vanilla—and herded himself out the door into the night.
Viktor finished cleaning up and tried to clock out, finding he’d never properly clocked in. He left anyway.
Work continued day after day. Viktor often came in after lectures and assemblies and found himself pondering Heimerdinger’s rule on arcane physics while sweeping the floor or cleaning up spilled espresso. By the time the week had come and gone, Viktor had started sneaking his own bundle of notes into the cafe drawers to work on when properly clocked in. Saturday was no different. Despite not being a registered student, one of the professors had assigned a hefty report on a historical text he wouldn’t have time to do otherwise. As he scribbled notes beside the text he wondered how long it would take for professors to realize they were grading one more assignment than there were students.
He’d been alone in the shop for an hour at least before a familiar customer walked in, same jacket and pants as before, journal hidden securely under his arm. Jayce walked up to the counter this time and greeted Viktor with a smile, glancing at his stained name tag. “Afternoon, Viktor,” he said.
Viktor averted his eyes from his notes with a blank expression. “Jayce.”
The man eagerly looked down at Viktor’s assignment and chuckled quietly to himself, but if he wanted to say anything about it, he didn’t. “French vanilla again, pleace.”
Jayce handed the same amount of money as last time. Viktor prodded as he picked up a clean mug from the shelf, “It’s six washers.”
“Keep the change,” Jayce waved him off and found his seat at the same window. Viktor watched him sit with wary eyes. The money only confirmed his suspicions. He looked down on people like Jayce, who had no need for frugality when it came to expenses. Topsiders all thought their money was endless. Viktor knew multiple people from the undercity who would kill for less than the money he had in his hand. Still, it was his now regardless, and he tossed the change in his tip jar before he started making the drink.
Just as before, when he finished, Jayce walked over, grabbed the mug with a polite ‘thank you’ before they both returned to their work. It wasn’t a busy day at all, Jayce was one of four customers throughout his shift, and the only one who stayed more than two hours. He left an hour before close, much to Viktor’s appreciation.
The next Saturday was no different. Viktor was working on homework again when Jayce arrived, already a notch in his brow. Viktor gave him his latte soon after he stepped through the door and Jayce took it, less cheery as he handed Viktor the same amount. He sat down and stared at his journal, scribbling for hours. Viktor focused on other things when he finished his own assignment—wiping down the register drawers, checking the soundproofing system below the stairs, grinding extra coffee beans, taking inventory of the fridge—and eventually felt the sun dip below the horizon indicating it was time to close. He padded about the shop and cleaned, counted the drawer, and washed mugs before he reached for the light switch, only to realize the man was still in his seat, brow furrowed together in a ‘v’ and nose scrunched with frustration. Viktor noticed his pencil rhythmically tapping the journal when everything else was silent.
Curious and only slightly antsy to leave, Viktor pulled out a broom from the closet and began sweeping the floor, drifting closer to Jayce’s table as slowly as he could until he thought he’d be noticed.
Jayce didn’t notice, instead Viktor drew so close that he managed to see the notes on Jayce’s paper, a half-sheet filled with numbers and question marks and black scratches where theories obviously didn’t work. Viktor recognized some of the equations, but others were unfamiliar. Still, he looked on, pausing just over the table. His face twitched slightly as he noticed something.
“I think you need a bigger number,” Viktor said.
Jayce looked up then, clearly unaware that Viktor had been standing so close. He glanced at the broom and moved to say something, then remembered Viktor had said something first. “Sorry, what?”
“There,” Viktor pointed at an equation centered on the number ‘4’ rune variation. “Why only four?”
“Well,” Jayce began, “four is what’s considered okay, kind of like a safety net I made up.”
“For what?”
Jayce gulped, and part of the confidence fell away from his face. “Uh, stuff.”
“Hmm,” Viktor said, twitching his eyebrow upward. Why would he be so secretive about an assignment? Viktor scanned the equations on the page further, his thoughts deepening. “Well maybe try a higher number. Six should do.”
Jayce moved to speak again, blinking his confusion—why a coffee shop worker would be giving him advice—but thought better of it and instead his eyes drifted to the paper, rewriting the equation with ‘6’ as the constant. Suddenly his writing quickened, and his head lowered as he concentrated. After a few moments, he slowed, and his gaze flung upward, surprised. “How did you know that?”
Viktor shrugged. “It just looked like you were limiting yourself with your ‘safety net.’”
“You recognize the equation?”
He glanced down at it once again, but shook his head. “Not anything I’ve seen before, no.”
“Then,” Jayce squinted and shook his head. “How?”
“Well, I can recognize the form, at least.” Viktor pointed at different components, “this is your variable, this one is what you’ve measured previously, and this.” he pointed to a coefficient, “is your power level. Am I correct? It seems you’re using academy formulaic methods, but this looks to be your own design.”
Jayce flushed, staring at Viktor like he’d grown a third hand. “You’re enrolled in the academy too?”
Viktor thought he might’ve said too much. “Oh. No.” he waved the thought away with a nervous chuckle, leaning on the broomstick as he did so. “Just the Piltover library. Lots of notes.”
“Right,” Jayce nodded along until his eyes met the top of his page again. A thought seemed to grace his mind and he scanned the coffee shop before saying, “Well thanks. I’ll test it later. If you want, I’m stuck on some other spots too. Maybe a new perspective is just what I need.” He seemed to rethink the idea after he remembered the broom in Viktor’s hand. “That is, unless you’re closing. It’s dark out, isn’t it?”
Something about the jittery offer made Viktor smile ever so slightly. “I can sit.”
Jayce returned the favor by relaxing, a grin running up the edges of his own lips. “Alright.”
Viktor sat down across from Jayce and listened to him talk about his faults. It was clear that Jayce was trying to hide some details, like he didn’t want Viktor to understand what exactly he was working on. But regardless, the diagrams Jayce showed him looked all too familiar to certain diagrams seen in history texts on mages and their craft. The smile fell from his face as a look of awe spilled over his pale features. “This isn’t academy-sanctioned, is it?”
Jayce, too lost in thought, froze at what must have come off as an accusation. “Um,” he began, “no.”
“It’s magic,” Viktor managed with a serious stare.
At this, Jayce perked up into a determined posture. “It’s science.”
“You’re trying to control the arcane…” Viktor wasn’t sure how he was supposed to feel, but the words felt right on his tongue. What Jayce was doing was highly unethical. It violated the ethos, the moral code all of Piltover was founded upon. Magic was a force not to be thrown around. The Piltover Academy professors never ceased to remind students of the horrors of mages and their lust for power.
But Jayce looked anything but lusty. Instead his words held all the power he needed. “I’m trying to shape it. I believe that if we can figure out how to do so, we can help people, save lives.”
Apparently Viktor sat too long in his head staring blankly at Jayce, because the man squirmed under this gaze. “Look, I’ve seen it with my own eyes. It saved my life once. You have no idea how beautiful it is. Even if it is something we should fear, I think Piltover is just the place where we can secure it.” His chest beat up and down quickly, the flush returning to his cheeks. He was quieter when he said, “We have to try at least, right?”
Viktor’s thoughts raced. Creating magic out of nothing was frightening. Jayce was looking at him like he was the first person he’d ever told about this, unwillingly as well. A Piltover Academy student, maybe in his fourth or fifth year, Jayce likely knew the risks of his theory. Even so, he looked like he’d bet his life on that journal before him. If it was true, the results would extend far past the value of Viktor’s life, perhaps even Jayce’s.
Viktor folded his hands on the table. “That’s why you come here, isn’t it? No one from the academy runs this close to the undercity.”
Reluctantly, Jayce nodded.
“But that’s not enough. Out in the open, you’d need to hide your work more effectively if you’re going to continue this project.”
Jayce’s eyes lit up as he discerned what Viktor implied. “You won’t tell?”
Viktor tsked. “Are you asking me? Who would I tell?” He tried not to think about the unspoken question on his lips. Who would listen? It’d be the word of a zaunite over the word of a topsider. “I’ve taken greater risks than the one you ponder over. But if you crack it…”
Jayce sighed and rubbed his hands over his face. “I’m not sure I can crack it.”
Viktor blinked. Maybe he was more intrigued than he gave himself credit for. “I will help.”
“You will?”
If they failed Viktor could kiss any future discoveries goodbye. But at that moment, what future did he really have planned? What could be more important than this?
“If you’ll allow,” he said, “it’s your project.”
Jayce’s smile was almost giddy. He reached a hand over and rested it on Viktor’s on the table. “It can be ours. Together.”
Jayce was an interesting man. He was odd in the way that Viktor believed him, he wanted to believe every word the man said. “Then no more questions,” Viktor said, throwing any loose plans out the window. “No more approvals, no more ethos. When you’re going to change the world, don’t ask for permission.”