Chapter Text
There are a few moments in Viktor’s life where he knows he is on the precipice of indescribable change. That first class with Sky, that shy smile of hers aimed his way. His gaze meeting Jayce’s in the doorway of the Talis home. The cold touch of the gun as he pressed a curious finger against the metal. The first time Jayce had said he loved him. Her shaking fingers when Mel had shut the door behind her. The slip of a gold band down his knuckles.
This moment is no different than either of those, though perhaps much more nerve-racking than any of those memories dared to be. It feels almost as if the two lines mock him as he stares and stares, rereading the text on the box once more, twice, thrice. His eyes squint a little, tilts his head partially to the side. Perhaps in dimmer lighting, that half-faded second line would fade entirely into oblivion. With how much his hands shake, perhaps there is no second line at all, only a hallucination caused by the tremors, a half-wish for it to be true, and a quick prayer that it’s wrong.
It is not wrong, or at least the second test is as much of a liar as the first. The third test is a barely-there line, but it is there. If he had a fourth and a fifth, he might take those as well, but he had only bought three. In the line to check out, it still felt a bit like a joke, an impossibility, a false hypothesis. He could almost pretend Sky was next to him, giggling behind her palm as the cashier looked over his pathetic haul: a chocolate bar, three pregnancy tests, and two 2 candles. It was his twenty-second birthday next week, after all, and if he were a little more confident — or perhaps if Sky were there to say it for him — he may have shrugged, laughed, Quite the potential birthday gift, don't you agree?
He had truthfully expected the stopping of his cycle to be a health issue. Could already see the concerned look on Jayce’s face, knew that Jayce tracked his menstrual cycle with as much attention as he himself did, and would certainly notice if anything changed. He had gone through a long list of things to be concerned about: withering bones, a weakened heart, Jayce’s overwhelming anguish at it all. He had already drafted an entire speech to give to Jayce, to tell him not to worry, that sometimes the worst of his illnesses come and go, but he is still around nonetheless. We will get through this together, that it would simply be another thing for them to overcome together. Jayce would hold his hand at every doctor’s visit, would be with him every step of the way.
This, however, he has no prepared line to say about it. He’s not even sure how Jayce might react, how he’d feel at all over this.
— — —
The first time they had ever discussed, albeit briefly, the idea of children, Viktor had still — by anyone else’s terms — been a child himself. It was during one of those perfect weekends where the house belonged only to them, where it felt like they were the only two people in the world. They were lounging on Jayce’s couch, Viktor’s feet in his lap, Jayce telling a long-winded story about Sky as a child. How she liked to play tea parties, how Jayce had once tried to get into sewing to make her more princess costumes before giving up entirely, settling for just buying beautiful gowns for her instead. Viktor likes hearing about Sky as a child, and can so easily translate all the pictures of her from around the house into a breathing and moving little girl in his head. As long as they both do not think too much about how she is still Jayce’s daughter, about the unsaid moral failure in the room of Viktor being her same age.
Jayce’s story lulls to an end, his fingers caressing against Viktor’s ankle. There is an odd look in his eyes before he asks, “Do you think you’d ever want kids? One day, I mean.” He does not say anything more, his gaze turning to look at Viktor. Not a, With me? Not a, With someone else, probably, surely, because we both know that we cannot.
At that age, Viktor had no real answer. He thinks it might be nice. He never considered it a real possibility, unsure if he appreciated the concept of growing a child himself, unsure if he’d ever have enough money to adopt a child instead. If he’d even live long enough to consider it. There was a brief thought of Singed, of whatever bond that exists between them, loners together, a heart-aching feeling that he pushed aside. He thinks he would be a good father if he got the opportunity. He would treat the child like an adult, would teach her all about physics and mathematics, and would never let her suffer in the same ways he had. He hopes he’d be patient, understanding, never too pushy or too lenient.
He hopes he’d be the kind of father Jayce is — though he knows he should not say that, knows perhaps it is wrong to even think it. Sky would hate him if she really knew him.
He simply settles on, “I think so. Just one, maybe.”
Jayce’s fingers tap against his ankles. His face softens a little, a small smile forming on his lips. He’s truly so handsome that it astounds Viktor every day that Jayce would choose to ever even entertain his crush on him. “You would be a good parent,” Jayce says, and Viktor’s heart skips a beat.
The conversation was not brought up again in the following years, never in a true and serious manner. The concept existed only in the form of whispered words in bed, breathy kisses against Viktor’s neck, Let me fuck a baby into you. It half-existed in the fact that they never took much effort in stopping it from happening to begin with, just pulling out, just tracking his cycles, any condoms they owned now long expired, birth control something Viktor had little interest in. But there was never a moment where they both sat down, laid out all their feelings, where Viktor could be honest, say, Maybe. Yes, maybe I would like this with you.
Except until now. Now, even if he would rather not, even if he feels nauseous just thinking about it, there is a true need to have that conversation, to be brutally honest with one another.
Childishly, Viktor considers hiding the test. Digging his hands through the trash, setting it in the middle, piling more garbage on top. Somewhere no one would ever look, somewhere where no one will see it. Perhaps amongst the rotting food, the ink on the dimly lit screen might shift, might belie a different reality. Maybe he should get another test, two, three more, just in case.
But Jayce will learn anyway. And his heart would shatter if he knew Viktor kept the truth from him for even one minute, one second, that Viktor would ever have to live a single moment of his own life alone.
Or at least without Jayce by his side.
— — —
Viktor spends the rest of his day in a daze. He has no schoolwork to distract himself with, winter break already halfway in motion, his final semester creeping up on him in only a few weeks. He tries to tidy up the house, finds it already too clean to find anywhere to begin. Sorts through Jayce’s bookshelf in his office, rearranges every book from A-Z, even though Jayce will hate it, and will tell him it looks much better organized by size. When the clock hits four, he knows Jayce will be home soon enough. He tries to make a simple dinner to surprise Jayce with, an easy pasta dish. He practices his confession throughout the preparations, but the words all blur together, becoming a mess inside his own head. I took a test. Don’t panic! I took a couple tests. I’m pregnant. Or maybe pregnant. You’re going to be a dad. Or a dad, again. If you want. I’m —
At moments like these, he really wishes Singed was someone he could talk to about things like this, or anything at all, really. How did his late wife tell him about Orianna? How accurate are store-bought tests anyway? Surely the once-was doctor might have some insight into the best way to deliver the news. But he can already hear the sigh that would come from the man instead, the brief lull in the conversation, a short, Viktor, what have you gotten yourself into now? Their relationship is good now, friends moreso than parent-child, but he supposes it may always have been that way. But emotional things, advice, and help, that is something Singed has never learned to be good at.
Maybe, deep down, he wishes he could call Sky. He knows she would have answers, that she’d know just the right thing to say. Though he supposes this would just be another thing on the long list of reasons why she does not really talk to him anymore.
— — —
Jayce is late to dinner. It is a rarity that Jayce is ever really late without an explanation. By the time the door swings open, the pasta on the table is cold, the candle he lit already waning from exhaustion. When their eyes meet, Jayce gives him a smile, but he can tell it is forced, painted-on. Still, he leans over and presses a kiss to Viktor’s forehead first, then to his lips. “Hi, baby. Sorry for being late.”
“It’s fine,” Viktor says before he can really think if it is fine or not. Jayce takes off his scarf, his boots, his coat in a slow manner. His eyes barely glance over the food set out for him, barely looks at Viktor a second time before he is making his way towards the bathroom. “Jayce, wait. I made us dinner.” He tries not to sound petulant as he says it, not to sound needy. “I thought we could eat together.”
And despite the gentle way Viktor speaks, Jayce sighs like he does when he is frustrated. “Vik, I had a really rough day. Is it fine if I just rinse off and go to bed?”
The test in his pocket feels as heavy as a tombstone now. There is even a hint of irritation in Jayce's eyes as he looks at him now, and he thinks that even if he were to say no, were to press the issue, I want to talk to you, please, look what I cooked, it’s really important to me, that Jayce might just turn around and walk off regardless. So Viktor instead takes the easy route. Nods a little, forces on his own smile. “Sure. Of course. I love you.”
And for the first time that night, Jayce looks genuinely happy. “I love you too, baby. Thank you.”
Viktor waits until Jayce is down the hallway, until the bathroom door shuts and locks, until he can hear the shower turn on and the water hit the tile floor before he puts the test in the trash, burying it under layers of room-cold pasta.
He’ll tell him another day, perhaps after a few more tests. It was a ridiculous notion anyway, to rely on only three. He feels like a faulty scientist, a silly man, and a stupid, naive child. As he cleans up the dishes, he forces himself not to cry, to swallow down every sob that threatens to spill from his lips.
Down the hallway, Jayce does not hold himself back in the same way. Cries and cries until the tears are no different than the water bathing him, until his vision is blurry and his head aches. Cries out of frustration, out of shame, out of guilt.