The last thing he remembers is the warmth of of the closeness of their spectral forms. The pressure of their foreheads, the force of their hands together around the gem. A burn of heat and energy he thinks he'd felt down to his very soul from the strength of it all. An explosion of light and color, the sound of his name on Viktor's lips. Then ā€” nothing. An empty dark oblivion. Death maybe, or something like it.
And thenā€”
There's a sharp crack within the workshop, a burst of bright light and jagged, rippling spikes and arcs. It lasts for only a few seconds, something inside the burst flicking sharply into existence. A heavy thump is the last sound the strange anomaly produces, and as the light vanishes, there's only something laying quiet and unmoving in a mess of dirty white fabric and dark clothing, dulled golden edges decorating them. A closer look makes it clear that that something is a man - sprawled on his side with his back to where Viktor is. Given the silence and stillness, the broad chest not even moving to indicate he's even breathing, it's hard to tell if he's conscious or even alive.
The stillness lasts for a long, tense moment. And whether or not Viktor approaches, it doesn't take long for him to finally stir.
Jayce draws in a sharp gasp as his consciousness crashes back down on him, forcing the air back into his lungs and motion back into his limbs. He gulps in a few, ragged breathes as he shifts, hands moving in an attempt to push himself up before shaking arms give out under his weight. There's a soft grunt on the small impact, and he settles instead for forcing himself to roll onto his back, blinking hazy hazel eyes up at the ceiling as shapes and colors smooth out across his vision. There's a flicker of recognition of the space around him, a chalkboard in the edge of his vision that triggers memories. Memories of a time long since past - of the day he and Viktor had met, the fate his partner had saved him from. The bond they'd forged that day.
It's enough that all he can manage as he lays there, body exhausted, the edges of his mind still dull in the trickling recovery of it all, is a ragged, "ā€”Viktor?" As if he thinks - hopes - his partner is there, too.
Viktor's halfway thinking about dragging himself out of the workshop and forcing himself to get back to work, when--
There's a crack, and the very air seems to tear itself into bizarre, organic patterns, pale golds and rust reds and powder blue flickering in rapid succession, almost too fast to catalog. And then, the sound of something hitting the floor-- and then there is a man, curled up on himself, his back to Viktor.
This is so absolutely preposterous that Viktor almost wants to laugh. Surely he must be seeing things. His grief has driven him mad, or perhaps the lack of sleep lately, or even the experimental medicine. Something is causing him to hallucinate a man appearing out of thin air, but when he rubs his eyes and pinches his cheek, the hallucination doesn't vanish. The man stays where he is on the floor, breaths loud in the startled silence, and rolls over onto his back with a clear struggle. He's unfamiliar, broad and bearded, and Viktor grabs his crutch to force himself to his feet. Well, if he's not hallucinating, he supposes he may as well approach and try to figure out this bizarre turn of events.
He gets within two feet of the man when two things happen like simultaneous slaps to the face. The man speaks with Jayce's voice, calling out his name. And he gets close enough that his scent finally reaches Viktor, sunlight and sandalwood and paper and the ash that always clung to him from the forge--
His crutch clatters to the floor, discarded, and his knees hit the floor hard enough that he'll regret it sorely later, but he doesn't care. He has to get close enough to put a hand on Jayce's chest to feel for a heartbeat, because it is Jayce, ragged and worn and hollowed out, but Jayce nonetheless.
"What--" Viktor's voice cracks. His expression is somewhere between shock and horror, eyes wide. "Impossible."
His senses are still struggling to catch up to the moment, but he's vaguely aware of movement. The sound of footsteps, the click of a crutch. A crutch. It's that sound that seems to kick his mind and senses back into full gear, and Jayce feels like his heart seizes in his chest at the smell that reaches his nostils.
His body is tired, sore, feels as if he's been ripped apart and put back together again. But that doesn't stop him from hastily pushing himself up, ignoring the scream of his muscles that protest. It's just in time for him to see Viktor - younger, softer around the edges, alive - hitting the ground. He's up and on one knee, hands shaking as he reaches out, placing them on Viktor's shoulders to keep him upright. In his reach. As if he's scared this is all some dream or a hallucination that'll be snatched away from him at any more.
"Viktor," he breathes out, voice shaking, as he stares into those golden eyes. The same color they'd been before he'd become another version of himself. His hand lifts from Viktor's shoulder, gently cupping the back of his head as he leans forward. Resting his forehead against Viktor's.
"You're here." He'd expected that would be it - that they'd destroy everything and themselves in the process. That that moment would be their last one together. Except now he's here and here he is.
"I'm here?" Viktor sputters, baffled and beyond shock, because that's just about the only response he can come up with. "My presence isn't the shocking variable, here!"
Has it really been a year since Jayce died? Because as he's gathered close and brought to rest his forehead against Jayce's, it feels like both an eternity and no time at all since he last saw him. Suddenly, that memory of their last day together -- nothing out of the ordinary, just a typical day in the lab, a casual kiss exchanged as Jayce had left for the night -- seems extraordinarily vivid. It's his scent. It's exactly the same, and yet--
He's not the same.
Viktor puts his hands on Jayce's shoulders and eases him back, enough so that he can look at him properly. And as he does, his expression crumples, because what the fuck has Jayce gone through? There's a new scar through his lips, haggard lines at the corners of his eyes, his hair is longer than it's ever been, and the beard-- that's new, to say the least. But how can Jayce have gone through anything? He was dead. That typically marks the end of one's life experiences.
"You died," he stresses. "How can you be here? Why do you look so different? How is this at all possible?"
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piscesnebula2024-12-28 01:33 pm
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And thenā€”
There's a sharp crack within the workshop, a burst of bright light and jagged, rippling spikes and arcs. It lasts for only a few seconds, something inside the burst flicking sharply into existence. A heavy thump is the last sound the strange anomaly produces, and as the light vanishes, there's only something laying quiet and unmoving in a mess of dirty white fabric and dark clothing, dulled golden edges decorating them. A closer look makes it clear that that something is a man - sprawled on his side with his back to where Viktor is. Given the silence and stillness, the broad chest not even moving to indicate he's even breathing, it's hard to tell if he's conscious or even alive.
The stillness lasts for a long, tense moment. And whether or not Viktor approaches, it doesn't take long for him to finally stir.
Jayce draws in a sharp gasp as his consciousness crashes back down on him, forcing the air back into his lungs and motion back into his limbs. He gulps in a few, ragged breathes as he shifts, hands moving in an attempt to push himself up before shaking arms give out under his weight. There's a soft grunt on the small impact, and he settles instead for forcing himself to roll onto his back, blinking hazy hazel eyes up at the ceiling as shapes and colors smooth out across his vision. There's a flicker of recognition of the space around him, a chalkboard in the edge of his vision that triggers memories. Memories of a time long since past - of the day he and Viktor had met, the fate his partner had saved him from. The bond they'd forged that day.
It's enough that all he can manage as he lays there, body exhausted, the edges of his mind still dull in the trickling recovery of it all, is a ragged, "ā€”Viktor?" As if he thinks - hopes - his partner is there, too.
no subject
There's a crack, and the very air seems to tear itself into bizarre, organic patterns, pale golds and rust reds and powder blue flickering in rapid succession, almost too fast to catalog. And then, the sound of something hitting the floor-- and then there is a man, curled up on himself, his back to Viktor.
This is so absolutely preposterous that Viktor almost wants to laugh. Surely he must be seeing things. His grief has driven him mad, or perhaps the lack of sleep lately, or even the experimental medicine. Something is causing him to hallucinate a man appearing out of thin air, but when he rubs his eyes and pinches his cheek, the hallucination doesn't vanish. The man stays where he is on the floor, breaths loud in the startled silence, and rolls over onto his back with a clear struggle. He's unfamiliar, broad and bearded, and Viktor grabs his crutch to force himself to his feet. Well, if he's not hallucinating, he supposes he may as well approach and try to figure out this bizarre turn of events.
He gets within two feet of the man when two things happen like simultaneous slaps to the face. The man speaks with Jayce's voice, calling out his name. And he gets close enough that his scent finally reaches Viktor, sunlight and sandalwood and paper and the ash that always clung to him from the forge--
His crutch clatters to the floor, discarded, and his knees hit the floor hard enough that he'll regret it sorely later, but he doesn't care. He has to get close enough to put a hand on Jayce's chest to feel for a heartbeat, because it is Jayce, ragged and worn and hollowed out, but Jayce nonetheless.
"What--" Viktor's voice cracks. His expression is somewhere between shock and horror, eyes wide. "Impossible."
no subject
His body is tired, sore, feels as if he's been ripped apart and put back together again. But that doesn't stop him from hastily pushing himself up, ignoring the scream of his muscles that protest. It's just in time for him to see Viktor - younger, softer around the edges, alive - hitting the ground. He's up and on one knee, hands shaking as he reaches out, placing them on Viktor's shoulders to keep him upright. In his reach. As if he's scared this is all some dream or a hallucination that'll be snatched away from him at any more.
"Viktor," he breathes out, voice shaking, as he stares into those golden eyes. The same color they'd been before he'd become another version of himself. His hand lifts from Viktor's shoulder, gently cupping the back of his head as he leans forward. Resting his forehead against Viktor's.
"You're here." He'd expected that would be it - that they'd destroy everything and themselves in the process. That that moment would be their last one together. Except now he's here and here he is.
no subject
Has it really been a year since Jayce died? Because as he's gathered close and brought to rest his forehead against Jayce's, it feels like both an eternity and no time at all since he last saw him. Suddenly, that memory of their last day together -- nothing out of the ordinary, just a typical day in the lab, a casual kiss exchanged as Jayce had left for the night -- seems extraordinarily vivid. It's his scent. It's exactly the same, and yet--
He's not the same.
Viktor puts his hands on Jayce's shoulders and eases him back, enough so that he can look at him properly. And as he does, his expression crumples, because what the fuck has Jayce gone through? There's a new scar through his lips, haggard lines at the corners of his eyes, his hair is longer than it's ever been, and the beard-- that's new, to say the least. But how can Jayce have gone through anything? He was dead. That typically marks the end of one's life experiences.
"You died," he stresses. "How can you be here? Why do you look so different? How is this at all possible?"