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Summary
And there was Viktor himself. He sat at the window, back to them, still as a statue. His hair was still long, to his shoulders, and he wore a red prison uniform that hung loosely on his small frame. The sun caught the light streaks in his hair and two butterflies danced outside the window.
“Viktor,” Jayce breathed out, relief settling in him at last.
Viktor turned. Jayce saw his own desperation reflected on Viktor’s face. They were moving towards each other, magnets pulled together with no other choice.
He was warm and slight in Jayce’s arms. His hair smelt clean and faintly of citrus. He could feel Viktor’s heartbeat against his own. He shut his eyes and pulled him closer, willing them to merge. Viktor buried his face in his shoulder. He was trembling.
Or the Arcane spits Viktor and Jayce back out after ten years have passed. No one knows what to do with them, themselves included. Between the tensions in the Undercity, remains of Viktor's cult, and too much politics, they try to find a way to live again.