Chapter Text
SEPTEMBER
The white writing on the green chalkboard did nothing to sate Viktor’s nerves as he took his seat.
Senior Engineering Capstone Course:
Day 1,
Partner Assignments
Two dozen rows of seats all looked down toward the chalked handwriting in an appropriately arena-like format, while a short, strawberry-blonde-haired man with a mustache that comprised half of his face fiddled with his laptop and sipped a mug of black coffee. The mug read “No.1 Hardass” in red lettering. Charming. At least Viktor’s sharp eyesight allowed him this much insight into the man who was set to determine his fate for the next nine months.
“Straight to it, then,” came a nodding sigh of a voice to Viktor’s left, and he threw a glance at Dmitri, who was slumping into the swiveling purple seat beside him.
Viktor’s housemate—which… was a title Viktor was still getting used to for the boy who he’d tutored last spring—pulled at the zipper of his gray Patagonia quarter-zip, sporting the sleek logo for his father’s Chicago-based investment firm, Mirage. Viktor couldn’t believe he’d donned a sweater of all things, given the humidity outside. The only indication of Dmitri’s compliance with the weather was the fact that his long black hair was pulled back into a low ponytail.
Dmitri whistled low under his breath, eyebrows raising. “Why waste time on a syllabus when we can just get right to the torture?”
“Three years of insufferable math and physics, all our hard work,” Viktor let a nervous kind of chuckle slip past his lips, shaking his head. “And we get a randomly assigned partner for the last, most important part of our degrees.”
“Criminal,” Dmitri groaned, propping his feet up on the table in front of them and leaning back in his chair. “Just criminal.”
“Just admit it.” Viktor gave him a side-eye. “You’re hoping to get paired with me.”
Dmitri caught Viktor’s glance, but held his balance in his chair, though it took him a moment to respond. “Sounds like you’re projecting.”
Viktor hummed, pulling his blank notepad out and tapping the eraser of his pencil against his lips.
“You know what they say,” he teased—this was often their dynamic, Viktor taunting his friend here and there, and Dmitri playing along. “Manifest it. You know… eh, speak it into existence. All that.”
Dmitri clicked his tongue and smirked, tapping the side of his temple with two fingers. “Way ahead of you, honey.”
Dmitri’s chair came down hard on the carpet, and before he could say anything further, a trilling, flamboyant voice rose from the front of the room.
“Take your seats, yes, take your seats, please!”
Dr. Heimerdinger ushered a few stragglers into the lecture hall, and scurried over to the door that was propped open to the right of the wide chalkboard, kicking up its stopper and letting it swing closed.
“Now then, welcome to your Senior Capstone course,” the squat man crossed to stand behind his desk. “And my congratulations on making it to this, the pinnacle of your undergraduate careers.”
A skeptical kind of silence rose amidst the settling students. This man was known to be notoriously nit-picky. Alumni referred to him as ‘the fence-sitter from hell’ more often than not.
“I applaud each of you for arriving on time. But that’s enough hand-holding on my part—you are here to excel, to discover new horizons, not to get a pat on the back!” Dr. Heimerdinger crossed again toward the lecture hall’s door, heading for the lightswitch, no doubt about to start his presentation and throw them all in the deep end. “You are innovators. Explorers with keen minds. The examples that you all set today, in this class, will determine not only your own futures, but those of the engineers of tomorrow—”
The professor’s fingers were on the lightswitch’s panel, reaching up and just about to flip the switch when the door to the lecture hall burst open, and holding the handle was a tall, sweaty student with his dark hair tousled from… what Viktor could only assume was his sprint to get to class.
Not just any student.
Jayce Talis.
For a heartbeat, everything else dissolved: the murmur of settling students, the soft rustle of paper being pulled from bags and binders, laptops whirring, the persistent hum of Dr. Heimerdinger’s intricate speech… Gone. All of it: quiet.
Viktor’s breath was lodged somewhere behind his sternum as he observed the panting figure, backlit by the harsh light from the fourth-floor hallway. His fit, broad silhouette catching all the gazes in the room. The rise and fall of Jayce’s chest betrayed his exertion as a faint flush stained his cheeks—whether from the run or the sharp weight of so many eyes on him, it was hard to tell.
Dr. Heimerdinger’s bushy eyebrows arched over razor-sharp, expectant eyes. The entire room held its breath, waiting to see if the professor’s infamous temper would make an appearance.
“Mr. Talis. Excellent of you to join us.” But instead, he just adjusted his glasses with deliberate calm, and spoke with a clipped gesture of his hand. “Fashionably late, it would seem.”
The young man raised a hand in apology, still trying to catch his breath, his smile a little too charming for someone who was late to the most important class of the semester—of their entire undergraduate years.
“Right, yes, sorry!” Jayce finally managed. “My bus was late, there was a woman crossing the street, and I—”
“No need,” Dr. Heimerdinger waved a dismissive hand with a reluctant sigh. The professor muttered something under his breath as he motioned Jayce in that sounded like, “can’t make allowances just because you are my advisee.”
“Professor, I really am—” Jayce tried again, apologetic.
Dr. Heimerdinger interrupted him curtly. “Just find a seat, lad.”
Jayce gave a small nod, clasping his hands behind his back as if on instinct, shoulders rising up to his ears sheepishly before he began to move. Viktor watched those hazel eyes sweep across the lecture hall in search of a vacant spot, noticing secondarily that the strings of Jayce’s gray Northwestern University hoodie were tied in a neat bow. Such a small, cute detail… and yet it threatened to derail Viktor’s entire center of focus.
There’s a spot by me, his mind sang unbidden, the vacant chair looming to his right in his peripheral vision. Focus: derailed. What if he sits by me? What if he—
As Jayce made his way up the stairs, he passed directly by Viktor’s row, not sparing more than a quick glance to see that Viktor’s bag was in the vacant seat, his cane resting against it, making it appear as if the space were occupied. Something cold and sharp fell through Viktor’s stomach.
With his eyes still lingering on that broad, retreating form, he heard Dmitri scoff beside him.
“Guy sure knows how to make an impression,” he muttered, the wry expression on his face as dry as his tone.
Oh, Viktor knew that better than anyone.
He swallowed hard, the sound small but loud in his own ears, his gaze still tracing the edge of Jayce’s movements as he finally sat down two rows back.
“Right,” Viktor finally breathed softly.
Of course, Viktor knew who Jayce Talis was, how could he forget?
Wunderkind. Aloof problem child. Future tech messiah. A charming man of progress, infamous for his winning smile, self-assured wit, and the fact that no matter how fuckable he was… no one could ever seem to get too close to him. Of course, it all depended on who you asked, and Viktor shuddered at the memory of those swirling headlines now. Suffice to say, there was no shortage of opinions on Jayce Talis. The boy’s name came up in departmental honors meetings and at parties alike, despite the fact that he was essentially unattached to anyone at their school. Rumors circulated like currency around campus, but Viktor didn’t just know the broad strokes about Jayce… it wasn’t something he’d ever admit to openly, but…
Even before those glossy questions and buzzing rumors had accumulated…
Viktor was an academic at heart, with an excellent memory. Even three years later, it all came back to him clearly. After all, he hadn’t just heard about Jayce. He had studied him.
They’d first met during their freshman year. It was a seminar on applied Chemistry theory, a bit advanced for most first years. Jayce had taken a seat beside Viktor, his hair wet from a morning shower, smelling of peppermint and something like faded smoke. Jayce’s hands were restless, fingers twirling his pen in-hand as he quietly rewrote half the problem the professor had put on the board. Viktor had inevitably glanced at his own notes, comparing what Jayce was scribbling to his own restructured diagram. They were… rather similar. Though Jayce’s approach appeared tentative. Conservative. Shy, if Viktor was honest.
When Jayce caught him looking, those tired eyes only lingering on Viktor’s briefly, he’d offered a small, closed-lip expression, a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.
“Resonance,” Viktor had offered quietly, careful to avoid the detection of their professor at the time.
“Huh?” Jayce had asked under his breath, not looking at him again.
“The resonance,” Viktor repeated, underlining a section of his own notes. “Will stabilize it.”
Jayce’s eyes had snagged on Viktor’s open notebook, on his chickenscratch cursive.
“Don’t you think?” Viktor had prompted, at Jayce’s lack of a response.
“I think that this assignment,” Jayce had shrugged. At the shift of his body, Viktor had noticed that there were dark circles hiding under the veil of Jayce’s long eyelashes. “Is structurally shortsighted.”
They did not speak again, but Viktor, his curiosity piqued, watched as at the end of that class period Jayce had signed the corner of his notes in a flourish before unceremoniously slamming his notebook shut, leaving their shared table without so much as a backwards glance, seemingly unaware of the slip of worn paper that had fluttered out of his backpack. Viktor plucked it from the ground, a hand raised as if to call Jayce back—but the other boy was already gone. Scrunched brows steepling his forehead, Viktor’s fingers had fallen to trace the faded, pencil-written line of text; the only thing to be found on the discarded scrap, other than a few overlapping rings of coffee stains.
If you don’t let it bend, it will break.
He had considered making a point of giving the weathered parchment back to Jayce, but they never sat together again in that class, or any other. Viktor had shut the paper, and its curious, scrawling handwriting—so unlike Jayce’s purposefully elegant penmanship—inside of his textbook, locked away between two early Chemistry chapters.
He kept on studying Jayce, regardless of the token he’d kept.
Given that brief initial interaction, the first thing Viktor had thought was that this boy was unbearably arrogant.
The second was that, though Viktor only admitted it reluctantly, Jayce was rather brilliant. Plenty of people at their university were smart, but few surprised Viktor with their intellect. Jayce did, that day they’d sat side by side.
The third and perhaps least interesting thought that had come to mind back then was… well. Anyone could guess just by looking at Jayce. It was irrelevant. The other boy obviously wasn’t interested in Viktor in… that way. There was no point in dwelling on it.
He watched from afar as, from one semester to another, the dark circles beneath Jayce’s eyes ebbed, replaced by a flush of hard work and determination. Jayce made his work dance. From large lecture halls packed with young scholars to gossip between classmates, Viktor kept tabs on the boy who connected patterns where others saw mere formulas. Jayce’s projects had a kind of unpolished poetry to them, barely held together by solder and sheer belief, but full of heart, friction, and fire. He moved through his studies with an almost reckless kind of determination—as if he were running out of time. As if something was chasing him.
During their sophomore year-end showcase, Jayce volunteered to present first, seemingly scattered. But even if Jayce himself wasn’t always seemingly present, his work betrayed him. It was that day that Viktor noted that there was a constant, humming spark of hope running through everything Jayce made—his presentation that day on how theoretical equations could be used to train healthcare intuition software proved it. The boy had an earnest, urgent kind of belief that seemed to suggest that things could be better. That they should be better. That he would be the one to make them better.
The last time Viktor had seen Jayce in person, before now, had been one week after that sophomore showcase. The two of them had brushed shoulders in the library on a rainy May evening. The timing of it stands out to Viktor, even now, because it had been just a few weeks before his top surgery. Static buzzing under his skin, Viktor had been on a war path to return his checked-out books and get back to his dorm, so he could pack and get the hell back home. The rubber heel of his cane had been clicking loudly against the linoleum, the din of rain falling in sheets against the library’s roof overhead. His mind was fractured. He’d needed to get gas here in Evanston before starting the four hour drive—a ride that would definitely leave him sore and aching, probably laid up for at least one whole day after—down through Illinois, over through Indiana, then finally back into Michigan, where his grandmother would be waiting up, sitting on the porch of her bed and breakfast. Even in his mind’s eye, Viktor knew that The Czech Inn’s regal lilac bushes were not quite in bloom yet.
A sharp bump against Viktor’s shoulder had jarred him out of his own mind, back into the present, but the offending shoulder that had clipped his own was already retreating, lost between the stacks.
A new set of swirling thoughts had surfaced as he’d watched Jayce once again walk away from him without looking back.
Was that a cut on his brow?
He still smells like smoke.
Is he really dating an older woman in a doctoral program?
And lastly: I wonder if he’ll notice me… when I finally look more like… me.
But then again, Viktor wasn’t sure he’d ever known what it meant to feel entirely like himself.
Thankfully, those thoughts of Jayce Talis had been forgotten once he was home in Saugatuck for the summer. He’d let his grandmother fuss over his recovery. Their evenings together had been slow on The Czech Inn’s wrap-around porch, the pair of them watching the sun set over the water amicably, warm in each other’s presence. As much as he was able, Viktor had helped out around the business. Mostly he’d manned the front desk, listening to his spry, sixty-eight year old guardian gush over her “fabulously smart grandson” in her faded Czech accent to many a vacationer.
Due to his school schedule, he’d ended up with just about the worst season possible to recover from top surgery, as simply managing how much summer in Michigan made him sweat was a full-time job in and of itself. He’d breathed in the humid, lilac-rich breeze in June, sucked the pits out of dripping-ripe cherries in July, and when August snuck into view, all warm lake water around his ankles and cicada song, he’d seen himself in the mirror, truly, for the first time.
That fall, during the first half of his junior year, he’d studied abroad in the Czech Republic, stepping onto the cobbled streets of Prague for the first time since he was ten years old. When he’d come back to campus for the spring term, he’d walked under the Northwestern University gate feeling more himself than ever. His academic advisor, Dr. Reveck, had tersely referred to it as him “coming out of his shell.” Maybe the wizened old man had a point—Viktor had befriended Dmitri that term, and well… It all seemed like a puzzle that fit together just right, in hindsight.
The sharp click of the light switch snapped him out of his thoughts, and the lecture hall dimmed in an instant.
Here he was, sitting in the lecture that would essentially determine his future. His studies. His career. His prospects. And he was agonizing over his timeline in relation to Jayce Talis.
Viktor adopted Dmitri’s scoff, groaning internally and determinedly facing ahead, focusing forward. A beat later, the projector screen began to lower with a mechanical hum as Dr. Heimerdinger tapped the machine into obedience.
Viktor grit his teeth, took a deep breath, and tried to clear his mind. He had worked his ass off to get a scholarship to this school, making sure his grandma didn’t have to spend a dime of his parents’ life insurance fund. He’d worked even harder to prove himself in this department. He’d be damned if he was going to let something as asinine as a freshman year crush get him off track.
The projector buzzed to life with a brief flash, casting a pale, flickering rectangle across the white screen, just as a file blinked open at the center of the projection:
Capstone Partner Assignments—FINAL
“Now then,” Dr. Heimerdinger began flamboyantly, stepping into the cast of light with theatrical precision, arms folding behind his back. “You will spend your next few months working more closely with your assigned partner than you have with anyone else in your academic careers. You will depend on one another. Challenge each other. And you will disagree, no doubt.” He paused, eyes squinting over the top of his glasses. “But above all, you will collaborate. Choose civility. Choose commitment. For true partnership to flourish, you must, regardless of the hurdles, work together.”
Dmitri nudged Viktor’s foot, thankfully cutting some of the tension building around Viktor’s lungs. He gave his friend an imploring, dismissive gesture, which earned him a huff of short, breathy laughter.
“Your pairings have been meticulously crafted by myself and your academic advisors,” Dr. Heimerdinger went on. “Your ability to collaborate will reflect your readiness for what awaits you in whatever facet of the engineering sphere you choose.” He paused, weighing his next words carefully. “You will learn to lean on one another.”
The professor seemed to recall something, a small sort of smile pulling at his features.
“After all, you will probably be spending a lot of time together.” The man’s mustache gobbled around what Viktor guessed to be a wry smile. “Best get cozy.”
A sharp whistle ran out from the back row—low, sardonic, and far too pleased with itself—followed by a brief, quiet ripple of laughter. Dr. Heimerdinger either didn’t hear it or chose, quite wisely, to ignore it.
The professor finally settled into his seat. “Let’s begin, shall we?”
The projector displayed the first pair, showcasing their student ID photos and a small blurb below stating their academic interests. On the left, a tawny-skinned girl’s bio read “thermomechanics and long walks on the beach—Miami, Florida” while on the right, a red-headed boy’s dimpled smile was displayed in contrast to his “I like math—Chicago, Illinois” simplistic pitch.
Viktor remembered Dr. Heimerdinger’s pre-semester email requesting this information from them over the summer. There had been a character limit, which, it seemed, some of them had seen as a challenge.
“Gibbs and Avery,” Dr. Heimerdinger called, and without even having been asked to do so, the red-headed boy shot up out of his seat in one of the front rows, while the tawny-skinned girl, sitting directly to Dmitri’s left, hid a giggle into the straw of her water bottle. “Yes, Avery, you. Find one another and be seated, if you would.”
The pair did so, chatting low in the dim lighting and seeming to hit it off with a glimmer of camaraderie and good spirits as they found an empty pair of seats in the very front row, far to the left. A stab of anxious longing pierced Viktor between his ribs. He ached for that—whatever it was.
“Next then,” Dr. Heimerdinger chirped jauntily.
“Oh, fuck me,” Dmitri breathed as the slide flipped ahead, and there, second in the line-up, was Viktor’s freshman year photo for all to see.
A closed-lipped, nervous smile. A sheen of sweat on his forehead from the humidity of early September. A pinstriped brown and white button-down that very nearly washed out his pale skin entirely. Viktor blushed as he registered that in the photo he’d left his shirt unbuttoned a touch low on a day when, due to the heat, he’d opted to forgo his binder, his slight cleavage on display for the entire senior capstone class. In contrast, compared to his present look, this three-years-ago version of himself lacked his now signature stacks of earrings and the honey-gold streaks trailing at the back of his neck, not to mention the tattoos that the old camera in the admissions office never would have seen. Viktor looked down at his own hands, his long fingers and knuckles decorated with rune-like stick and poke tattoos, recently touched up by hands steadier than his own, then back up at the old photo.
God, he looked so young.
Beneath his photo, his blurb read: Viktor Ambroz. Beep boop—Saugatuck, Michigan.
Cringing, he sunk a bit lower in his chair. He’d written that on a morning after a kegger, an Eggo waffle hanging out of his mouth, and a bottle of Pedialyte on his nightstand. Not exactly his clearest-headed moment—and definitely not his most eloquent joke, given the lack of context.
Still tense from his own self-mortification, his gaze swept to the right, taking in brown skin that was flush with warmth and wearing a triumphant smile. The image showed a first-day-of-college Jayce Talis.
Viktor’s senior capstone project partner.
It felt like all of his blood had drained out of his brain and arms, making his entire upper body sway with numbness in his chair. Vision going pin-point, Viktor read Jayce’s bio with a pounding heart.
Jayce Talis, I like big ideas and country music—Houston, Texas.
This was… so fucked.
Viktor’s mouth felt dry as if he’d swallowed straight up sawdust. He stared at the screen as though it had betrayed him, then slowly risked a glance over his shoulder, hopefully subtle and definitely unnerved as his eyes settled on his new partner’s dimly lit silhouette. Slightly adjusting to the darkness away from the blaring projector screen, he found that Jayce was already searching the crowd, eyes narrowed in a confused expression.
Viktor was frozen in his seat, distantly hearing Dr. Heimerdinger say, “Ah, Talis and Ambroz—yes, one of the first pairs we set aside.” Then he commented errantly, already flipping ahead and thankfully whisking Viktor’s old photo away. “I wouldn't be surprised if you two put something magical together, my boys! Find one another, please, and we’re moving along—”
In the darkness, their gazes finally met, Viktor’s pulse jerking comically.
Seeming to register Viktor’s face, the other boy’s features smoothed out, and something, not quite recognition, slowly lit in those hazel eyes. It almost felt like a lighthouse, illuminating some string of gold between them, tugging at his chest. Was this… really the same boy who could hardly meet his eyes in that Chemistry class? The one who’d brushed past him, all aloof and harried in the library? Viktor wanted to look around and ask is he… looking at me?
Jayce appeared entirely unbothered by the fact that everyone in the room had just seen the world’s most awkward freshman-year photo of Viktor displayed next to that winning smile. The boy lifted a hand in a friendly wave, the sentiment casual and worn-in, making Viktor think of curling into an old, sun-warmed leather chair. Before Viktor could calm his rabbiting heart, Jayce stood from his seat.
Not missing a beat and seemingly oblivious to Viktor’s internal crises, Jayce slung his backpack over one shoulder and began descending the steps.
Toward him.
Viktor turned forward again in his seat. Stiff. Jaw tight.
Dmitri leaned in slightly, one hand landing on the back of Viktor’s neck, thumb brushing just beneath his hairline. Viktor was far too distracted to consider the intimacy of the gesture beyond the limited comfort that it provided him.
“I feel you,” his roommate murmured, taking in Viktor’s wound-tight disposition. “It’s a shame, we’d have made a hell of a team.”
Viktor didn’t trust himself to speak. He just gave a tight, noncommittal smile and nodded once.
“Hey.”
Both Viktor and Dmitri turned toward the hushed, breathless voice to their right. Jayce was at eye level, even while standing a few steps below them, and while his smile hadn’t dimmed, his gaze seemed to snag on Dmitri’s retreating hand. There was a beat of a pause, the sound of Dr. Heimerdinger forging ahead filling the empty airspace, just long enough to register the shift in atmosphere.
Jayce nodded toward the empty seat beside Viktor. “Mind if I sit?”
Viktor blinked. God, this was off to a smooth start. Clearing his throat, he methodically reached over to lift his bag and shift his cane out of the way. “Not at all.”
Jayce jumped the steps up to their row easily and sat, backpack landing at his feet, arms loose at his sides. Viktor knew he was staring out of the corner of his eye, but he was emboldened by the darkness and… this was the closest they had been to one another in three years.
What must it have been like to have grown up in a body like that? Golden and strong. Broad yet gentle. Viktor’s gaze caught on the shadow of stubble growing over the boy’s jaw—different from the smooth-shaven cheeks that he remembered. Maybe… Jayce had changed, too.
Settling in, Jayce turned toward him, tilting his head slightly as he extended a hand across the armrest.
“Jayce,” he said in a soft whisper, like it hadn’t just been plastered across the screen. “Nice to meet you.”
Viktor looked at the hand for a beat, broad and warm-toned, with long, calloused fingers. A craftsman’s hand. An inventor’s hand. The same worn-in leather as Viktor’s own hands, scarred from tinkering and experimenting. Because they were equals. Partners, now. A sense of righteousness flared in his stomach, burning away the urge to brush this offense aside. He refused to shrink just because there’d been some fleeting, unrequited fantasy in his head years ago. Trying to mimic a confidence he didn’t feel, he took Jayce’s hand in his own.
“Viktor,” he replied softly into the dim light, watching Jayce’s expression, his own name catching slightly in his throat. “And we have met before.”
“Oh. I thought you were from Michigan?” Jayce’s smile twinged, confused at Viktor’s accent. One of his eyebrows pinched inwards. “And, wait, we have?”
To Viktor’s left, Dmitri tapped his pencil against the desk loudly.
“Well, yes, just not… originally,” Viktor explained simply, swallowing as Dr. Heimerdinger moved along, calling out the next pair as the projector clicked forward. “And yes. We have.”
Viktor made to withdraw his hand from where their palms were clasped together. Jayce didn’t.
“No way,” Jayce didn’t break their eye contact, intent on Viktor’s gaze, his index finger brushing against the thin skin of Viktor’s inner wrist. The professor’s trilling voice made it hard to converse, so Jayce leaned in a bit further, voice innocent and almost… affronted. “I think I would remember that.”
And there it was, that signature, seemingly genuine charm. Viktor repressed a traitorous shiver, pressed his lips together, and finally withdrew his hand with a shrug. He tucked a longer section of his unruly hair behind his ear, picking up his pen.
Jayce’s eyes flicked up to where Viktor’s fingers had trailed, seeming to snag on the silver and diamond of Viktor’s earrings. He had three lobe piercings on either side, each sporting whimsically dangling heirlooms handed down to him from his grandmother. The multiple helix piercings at the crest of the shells of his ears, well, those were admittedly a bit indulgent. He’d gone through quite the addictive phase when it came to customizing his aesthetic. Fighting to be cleared, and then waiting for top surgery had been an interminable two years. His hardware was an intimate bit of armor, he supposed. Raising his eyebrows, he shot a defensive ‘what?’ expression Jayce’s way.
Jayce pursed his lips and averted his eyes quickly, cheeks tinged with pink. Weird.
I think I would remember that.
Was he embarrassed at Viktor calling him out? And what the hell was Viktor supposed to do with that, exactly? He sat stiffly, suddenly hyper-aware of the half inch between their shoulders and the warmth radiating off the boy beside him.
This is fine, he tried to tell himself. We’re adults. This is just a project. You’ll manage. You weren’t memorable. It doesn’t matter.
But his fingers still tingled from where they’d touched Jayce’s.
In the left corner of his vision, Viktor saw Dmitri watching their exchange with narrowed eyes. His jaw flexed once, a muscle ticking just beneath his cheekbone—likely perturbed at Jayce not remembering Viktor on his behalf. He was always a bit protective in their friendship, even though Viktor hadn’t ever asked him to be. He still didn’t know how to feel about having such a fiercely loyal friend, but then again, he didn’t have much to compare it to, and at the end of the day, it did feel nice to have someone care that deeply about him. Since it’d been irrelevant for some time now, Viktor hadn’t ever fully confided in Dmitri about his crush—former crush, per se. Steeling himself and beginning to scribble on his legal pad, he reminded himself that it was still irrelevant; at his right, Jayce pulled out his own notes, and began to do the same.
“Hamish and Isaacs,” Dr. Heimerdinger called out.
A new slide clicked onto the screen, showing Northwestern University’s reserve quarterback’s portrait, signature smirk and cocked eyebrows on display. Dmitri’s freshman year self had chosen to go full school spirit on his first day of college, wearing a purple and white Wildcats hoodie, which seemed to bring out his younger self’s lingering teenage acne. Viktor had seen this photo once before, when the whole house had dogpiled onto Dmitri, teasing him relentlessly. The inside joke was that nowadays Dmitri had a fifty-step morning routine, which seemed to keep his skin flawlessly dewy and photo-ready. His bio read: Dmitri Hamish, just try to keep up—Chicago, Illinois. Under different circumstances, Viktor would’ve rolled his eyes and reminded his roommate that it was Dmitri who’d had to “keep up” with Viktor in their tutoring sessions last spring.
To his right, Jayce stopped scribbling. In his periphery, Viktor caught the subtle shift in his expression as he glanced at the projection, a quiet breath escaping through his nose before he lowered his gaze back to his notes.
Dmitri’s photo was side by side with that of a girl with a mass of dark curls and a silver nose ring, her expression was a bit intimidating under the shadow of her long lashes and iridescent eye shadow. Her blurb read: Lacie Isaacs, life is a highway—Albuquerque, New Mexico.
Down in the front row, said girl raised a hand and gave a lazy little wave in Dmitri’s direction, making the young man sigh, running a hand through his hair with mock exhaustion. He rose and moved to step right toward the stairs that descended to his assigned partner—but as he passed behind his chair, Dmitri placed his palms on Viktor’s shoulders, rubbing into the muscle there with his thumbs and leaning in to whisper, mere inches from Jayce beside him.
“Good luck,” he said against the shell of Viktor’s right ear, the teasing edge sharpened just enough to make it sting.
With a final look at Jayce—equal parts curious and dismissive—Dmitri slung his bag over his shoulder, making sure to untuck his ponytail from under the strap, and mosied down toward the girl whose photo still glowed on the screen. She was currently engaging Dr. Heimerdinger in a witty spar regarding how her father was a truck driver, etcetera and so forth.
Viktor’s hackles rose. That should be him making an impression on the professor. Not that he had some funny anecdote about his parents to woo the man. Or parents in the first place. He blew out a groan of frustration.
“That sucks,” Jayce murmured beside him. “I’m sorry.”
Viktor’s brows creased, that tone reminding him distinctly of how Jayce had sounded years ago in their Chemistry class. To give himself something to do, Viktor reached down into his bag to pull out a package of gum. As he moved, he twisted his right shoulder in its socket, rolling his neck against the lingering sensation of Dmitri’s touch. “For what?”
Jayce looked his way, watching as he slid the strip of gum between his lips, then pulled his gaze away and back toward the projector which was now moving along to the next pair. “That you didn’t get paired with your boyfriend.”
Viktor choked on his gum. Loudly. So aggressively, in fact, that Dr. Heimerdinger paused in his introduction of the currently displayed pair to ask, “Are you alright, lad?”
“Fine, professor,” Viktor’s voice had gone high and reedy, and he pounded a fist against his chest, the scars under his shallow pecs twinging. “Please, continue.”
“Christ,” Jayce swore under his breath.
Viktor whipped his gaze back over to his partner to glare, ready to finally weaponize his own delusional sense of confusing hurt when it came to this aloof, suddenly sincere boy, only to find that Jayce was… trying not to giggle.
“Guess I pegged y’all wrong.”
“He’s not,” Viktor replied in a sharp whisper, and swallowed jaggedly, plucking his gum out of his mouth and into its wrapper. Lesson learned, no gum around Jayce. “My boyfriend. We’re just friends.”
Jayce’s cheeks were pink again. He raised his palms as if in surrender. “Didn’t mean to assume. So you’re not into guys, that’s… hey, it’s fine—”
What. The fuck. Was happening.
Acting as if on auto-pilot, his mouth blurted. “I am into guys.”
A trio of girls seated in the row in front of them threw glances back at him over their shoulders. Viktor was going to combust spontaneously into flames. Jayce looked at him for a brief second with a spark of curiosity in his eyes, his eyebrows raising just a little, the scar through his right brow catching the low light, mouth tightening at the corners in a way that betrayed how hard he was trying to hold something back.
Meanwhile, Viktor was in hell. Dmitri wasn’t an unimaginable prospect, but Viktor just… didn’t really see him that way. And besides, he valued their friendship too much to try anything even if he wanted to.
Finally, Jayce coughed, clearing his throat, and spoke in a whisper, “Right. Okay,” he said, shaking his head, a smirk creeping across his face. “Noted.”
Viktor blinked. His heart stuttered in his chest before crashing back into rhythm with a force that made him feel slightly dizzy.
Noted as in ‘interesting’? His brain whirred. As in ‘useful for later’? As in… ‘same’?
For all that he’d studied Jayce, Viktor, and the whole school for that matter, couldn’t seem to pin Jayce’s tastes down. For the first time in a great while, he had no clue what to think. God, he was going to short-circuit.
Viktor fumbled a quiet cough, eyes darting back down to his notebook, deciding to get the two of them back on track. “Whatever,” he mumbled, writing a line of numbers on the corner of his top paper, ripping it off and handing it to Jayce.
“Your number?” His partner blinked as he took it, smirk fading.
The overhead, bright lights flickered back to life. Evidently all the pairs were now together—God, that was fast, how much time had passed just while he and Jayce had had that short, mortifying exchange?
“A really specific hex code, actually,” Viktor quipped.
Jayce’s gaze flicked from the paper up to Viktor’s eyes, as if he were studying the color of them. He breathed a quiet laugh, not moving a muscle.
Raising an eyebrow, Viktor looked down at Jayce’s open notes, seeing several sketches of gears and mechanisms in the margins. But more than just machinery, there were also a few well-rendered butterflies and other insects lining the pages.
He’s an artist now? Viktor’s heart stumbled in his chest. That’s new.
“And… yours?” Viktor managed to ask.
Jayce blinked, seeming to remember himself. “Oh, of course.”
Following Viktor’s example, he quickly wrote a series of numbers on the corner of his own top sheet of paper and tore the fragment off with a soft rip.
“Here,” Jayce said, holding it out.
Viktor took it, eyes skimming over the neatly looped digits. Jayce’s signed initials were next to his phone number. Viktor bit back a smile, casting another quick glance at Jayce’s open notebook, confirming that just as he remembered from their first year, every single page was marked with those same initials tucked into each bottom corner. The letters conjoined by Jayce’s tightly knit penmanship, a tiny claim of ownership that looked similar to the symbol for pi. Thoughtful, bold, and unmistakably Jayce.
“Do you sign everything you touch?” Viktor asked, raising a thick eyebrow, voice slightly pitched in mock incredulity.
The other boy let out a light scoff, and tapped his finger repeatedly against his open notes, suddenly very obviously trying to cover the pages with both hands.
“A little,” Viktor tried to tame his smirk. “Egotistical, don’t you think?”
“Just practicing for the future.” Jayce shrugged sheepishly. “Real scientists sign all the pages of their research logs, you know? Plus, if I lose my notebook, anyone will know who to give it back to.”
Viktor huffed, equal parts amused and endeared despite himself. “Because every single person in the greater Chicago area knows what your signature looks like?”
Jayce shrugged once more, ears going pink. “Well, now you do. And besides, you might forget it’s mine. Who knows.”
Viktor glanced back up at the young man in front of him, this time with something slightly softer and unguarded filling the space between his ribs. “I won’t forget.”
Jayce smiled in return—briefly, but genuinely—and for a heartbeat, the awkward, one-sided history and years behind them ebbed, and something warm passed between them before they both blinked and looked away, hurriedly returning their attention to the front of the classroom.
Heimerdinger was now explaining the development outline for the semester project, writing bullet points and rudimentary diagrams on the chalkboard while standing on a step stool. The rest of the class passed in a near-total silence between the newly formed pair of Viktor and Jayce. No more words, just quiet proximity and the faint ambient hum of an academic morning on the first day of the new term.
Viktor felt like he was having a déjà vu of sorts.
So he did what he did best: observe.
As a good scientist, he once again began to analyze the person he would be sharing this project with—cataloging the patterns, the details that might go unnoticed to anyone else. The way Jayce chewed the cap of his pen in quiet concentration—just the corner of it, not the whole thing. The soft scrap of leather he fidgeted with around his wrist, thumb circling the little blue crystal etched into it over and over. How his fingers also kept drifting to the bow of his hoodie’s strings, tugging, twisting the loops around themselves, a small repetitive gesture, almost childlike. He just couldn’t seem to sit still.
Viktor found himself inexplicably fixated on all of it. It was curiosity, perhaps. Or maybe recognition. There was something strangely captivating about the way Jayce Talis stirred this sharp hyper-awareness within him.
When the clock neared the end of the session, Dr. Heimerdinger finally closed his laptop and clasped his hands together with an air of satisfaction.
“Well then,” he said, peering at them over the rim of his glasses, “now that the framework is clarified, I shall leave you the remaining five minutes to confer with your assigned partners. Perhaps a brief brainstorming session will help set the wheels in motion!” He offered the class a cheery smile, which was mostly eclipsed by his ridiculously big mustache, and started shuffling his notes into a tidy stack. “And should any of you have questions, don’t hesitate to come to my office hours and ask.”
A ripple of skepticism fluttered through the space, followed in rapid succession by conversations blooming around the lecture hall: voices rising, chairs scraping, papers rustling… Viktor and Jayce turned to face each other again at the same time.
“Uh,” Jayce leaned forward slightly, elbows braced on the desk. “Well…” He exhaled before chuckling slightly under his breath, as if he had just remembered something.
Viktor tilted his head, waiting. Maybe he was simply too caught up in his continued study of Jayce, or admittedly, he had some ulterior motives of making the boy sweat a little. All in an entirely innocent, not at all embittered effort to be more memorable this time, of course.
“So, what are you into, then?” Jayce asked, winced, then immediately added, boyishly “—apart from guys, that is.”
Viktor’s eyebrows slowly raised. He blinked once, silent, expression caught between incredulity and a begrudging sort of delight.
“Oh.” Jayce’s sheepish expression faltered. “Uh, was that… a bit out of line?” he mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck. “I was—just trying to break the ice. Stupid joke. Sorry.”
Making him sweat? Check. Reluctant amusement tugged at the edge of Viktor’s mouth, and he shook his head just enough to suggest mild disbelief. “You’re fine.”
Jayce let out a soft breath. “Cool.” He cleared his throat and gestured vaguely between them. “But seriously though, what are you into, as in… what fields interest you the most?”
Viktor hesitated, still amused, but answered. “Well, I’ve been getting a lot into robotics, lately,” he said quietly, “especially, eh—in its applications in assisting people with disabilities,” he gestured toward his right leg, cradled by the curve of an intricate orthopedic brace, “you know…”
“Oh, that’s why the—” Jayce gestured at where the projector screen had been, miming quotation marks while his smile pulled wide, showing the slight gap between his two front teeth. “Beep boop.”
Viktor told himself that he should just own it. Go with it. But the urge to place his forehead in his palm was so strong, and he did so while he nodded, silently admitting his embarrassment.
“Wait, that’s awesome.” Jayce chuckled genuinely, and Viktor opened his cringed-closed eyes to see that the hazel of Jayce’s seemed to spark. “Sophomore year I did a presentation about how some theorems can improve healthcare delivery. It’s crazy what even the smallest innovations can do.”
That spark caught flame in the pit of Viktor’s stomach. “Right? You—” the rest of Jayce’s words caught up to him. An incredulous laugh bubbled out of Viktor. “I know that you did, Jayce. I was there. I also presented at that showcase.”
Jayce startled. “You’re—no. No way…”
Viktor waited, a forgone, disbelieving smile taking over his features. This was edging toward comical.
“You’re not a transfer student?” Jayce’s voice had gone up half an octave.
Oh I’m trans alright. Viktor thought, but laughed again and shook his head. He didn’t want to spend any more time on this.
“You know,” he started. “I read a paper a couple of weeks ago on adaptive prosthetics. About how integrating sensory feedback could make them way more intuitive.” He said the next sentence from first-hand experience. “Life-changing stuff.”
“God, yes!” Jayce nodded, latching onto the grace Viktor was giving him, vividly gesturing with his hands. “Life-changing, I mean, just think about if we could find a way to connect nerves with something like that.”
“Talk about something that AI would actually be useful for,” Viktor considered. “Although it would take some considerable programming, and of course we’d need to be able to fact-check against our own medical knowledge…”
“What’s next, you’re going to tell me you’ve spent time dabbling in pre-med?”
“Well,” Viktor felt a flush creep up his neck. He’d had to find something to occupy his downtime at The Czech Inn’s front desk through the years. “Yes, actually.”
They exchanged a wide-eyed look, bright with that unmistakable spark of recognition between kindred spirits. A quiet click, like two gears slotting into place with one another, and beginning to turn toward a shared goal. For a moment, it felt like they were in their own little bubble, caught up in the shared thrill of purpose and progress. Luxuriating in their quiet, shared excitement to change the world.
And just like that, the bubble popped.
The room shifted around them once again. People were already standing, shouldering backpacks, waving goodbye to their new partners. The professor had finished packing and was now walking toward the door with his briefcase tucked under one arm.
“Alright, class!” he called as he opened the door and began to exit the lecture hall. “Good day. See you all next Monday—and I expect to have received your declared topics by the end of the week.”
Jayce and Viktor blinked, as if resurfacing from underwater, the atmosphere they had just built together dissolving with the swell of movement around them. They glanced around, then again at each other, a flicker of reluctance passing between them as they quietly began to gather their things.
Jayce slid his notebook into his bag and glanced sideways just as he rose from his seat. “So… would you want to meet later today? Narrow down a direction for the project and start putting together an outline?”
Viktor slung his bag over his shoulder, nodding as he reached for his cane. “Sounds good. Although it seems like we’re already onto something.”
Jayce’s expression took on an assured, confident quality. “Library?”
“You can come over to my place, if you want,” Viktor said, adjusting his strap, already stepping toward the aisle. “I live near campus.”
“Oh—well, sure.” Jayce seemed surprised, following after him, slipping his hands into the pockets of his jeans, which hung from his hips like he was a Goddamn Levi’s model. “If it’s not a bother.”
So polite. Was that new, too? Or had Viktor overlooked it in his previous studies?
“Trust me, my roommates won’t mind.” Viktor shook his head, leaning onto his cane as he stepped.
“Roommates, huh?”
“Housemates.” He waved his hand. Semantics. “All twelve of them.”
“Twelve!” Jayce’s eyes widened, aghast, his slight Texas accent bleeding into his voice amidst the surprise. “Lord, d’you live in a commune or something?”
Viktor licked over his bottom lip, shrugging. “Something like that. I’ll text you the address.”
They wove through the remaining bodies, finally reaching the classroom door. Just outside, leaning against the hallway wall was Dmitri—arms crossed, eyes sharp, posture a bit detached. He looked up as they approached, gaze locking onto Viktor, and then briefly shifting to Jayce.
Just as they stepped into the hallway, Jayce spun on his heel, pulling his hands swiftly from the pockets of his jeans. “Cool, so today at… five?”
Viktor gave a measured nod. He could feel Dmitri stepping up to his side. “See you then.”
A soft kind of smile overtook Jayce’s face, and he reached out then, resting a palm on Viktor’s shoulder, giving him a reassuring squeeze. “See you later then, partner.”
Partner. Viktor swallowed hard, trying to return the smile with a tentative nod, his lips curving into a faint, hesitant line. Jayce began to pull away, the easy rhythm of his steps carrying him forward. As he passed Dmitri, he caught his gaze and offered him a polite little nod, smile still intact. Dmitri, Viktor noticed with a confused frown, didn’t return it.
Once Jayce rounded the hallway corner, heading for the stairs rather than waiting for the elevator like the rest of them, Viktor stepped a bit closer to his friend. He opened the topic tentatively, sensing one of Dmitri’s protective moods. “Didn’t know that the two of you don’t get along.”
Dmitri shrugged and tapped his fingers against the side of his own neck, flexing his spine this way and that, seemingly stiff. He pulled his black, shiny locks free from its ponytail, running his fingers through them, beginning to french-braid it all by feeling alone.
“We share… common interests,” Viktor went on, filling the silence. “It makes working together more straightforward. Easier.”
Viktor tended to prattle on when Dmitri got into one of his stormy dispositions. What were friends for, if not to pull you out of a funk? Around them, another half dozen senior capstone students milled about, watching as the elevator crept up several floors toward them.
“I am hopeful that our commonalities will, eh,” he gestured vaguely. “Inform our topic selection.”
“Oh, yeah?” Dmitri asked, still not looking at Viktor.
Just as the elevator dinged its arrival, Viktor stepped around Dmitri to fill his line of sight. Well, a good portion of it, as the boy was an athletic 6’6” to Viktor’s 5’11”—come to think of it, Dmitri was just slightly taller than what Viktor roughly guessed Jayce to be at 6'5".
Just details, of course, but again, Viktor spent much of his life observing.
“Dmitri,” he voiced as the first couple of students made their way onto the elevator. His friend met his eyes instantly upon hearing his name on Viktor’s lips. “If there’s something I should know about him, some… reason you’re being…” Viktor gestured vaguely again, this time at his roommate’s general posture and attitude. “I would like to hear it. Now. Please.”
Dmitri’s crystal blue eyes, all saturated-sapphire with the swell of his pupils, flickered over Viktor’s face. He seemed to decide on something, and he mirrored the way Jayce had just put a palm beside Viktor’s neck, thumb brushing Viktor’s clavicle—what was it with these men and his shoulders today?
“Nah,” Dmitri dredged up a smile. “Dinner tonight?”
“Maybe,” Viktor fiddled with his backpack’s straps, stepping into the elevator, Dmitri following behind him.
“Maybe?” Dmitri asked, and in the crush of the bodies in the tight space, his front was pressed flush against Viktor’s side, his breath ghosting through his hair—even with his eyes closed, Viktor would probably recognize his friend by the scent of his Armani cologne alone.
“We’ll see when Jayce and I wrap up,” he clued Dmitri in.
Dmitri’s capstone partner, Lacie, pressed the button for the ground floor.
“Hm,” Dmitri hummed. Not a question. More of a groan. Viktor chose to ignore that detail—his friend had told him it was nothing.
Viktor just nodded. “Got to get started.”
In front of them, Lacie looked back over her shoulder at Viktor’s words, obviously seeking out Dmitri’s gaze but quickly rolling her eyes and facing forward, shaking her head. Something snagged in Viktor’s stomach. Confusion, perhaps. The rest of the elevator was alarmingly quiet, most of them on their phones or putting their AirPods in, but even so Viktor didn’t feel much like talking through his plans presently.
“So,” Dmitri spoke into the quiet, a bit sardonically. “You think he’s ΗΣΧ material?”
“From the looks of him,” Viktor lifted his chin and met Dmitri’s gaze, begging his friend with his eyes to let it go, for now. Viktor was feeling buoyant, floating on the promise of his and Jayce’s chemistry. He didn’t want to come down from it just yet. Pivoting, he angled for a joke. “Why, thinking of letting him rush?”
Dmitri let out a sharp bark of a laugh.
Viktor shifted on his feet, cane finding purchase on the carpet of the elevator. “No doubt he’d probably be better suited to it than I am.”
“You never rushed,” Dmitri stated, a tone of smugness creeping in.
“I didn’t have to,” Viktor sing-songed, feeling his own buoyant kind of assuredness rise to meet his friend’s.
Thoughts of what the fraternities often put their hopeful initiates through in order to 'prove themselves' flitted through his mind. There were the innocuous, silly tasks that those living in the house made the candidates subscribe to, in order to be considered. Such as having to post as if they were a weatherman on their social media platform every morning—for a month straight, or having to carry a grape around with them everywhere they went—God forbid that the grape be lost or broken, because then the initiate would have to upgrade to an even larger fruit. Viktor had heard rumors about the other, less bubble-gum-y rush tasks, the hazings, of course. He swallowed past the the thought of 'fight milk' chugging contests, as one example.
All of this while the older boys laughed and teased the candidates relentlessly. The Freshman and Sophomore football boys tried their hardest to break the mold and be chosen to live in the ΗΣΧ house. Ultimately, it was unheard of. None of the youngest on the football team ever received the honor of living in the frat house itself. Living in the house was a badge of honor, reserved for Seniors, the rare, lucky Junior... and Viktor.
Not that that kept the younger boys from trying, of course. Or from coming to hang around the house like strays. Viktor shook his head, still perplexed at how he ended up in this position, even now.
“And all because I,” Viktor let a small laugh bubble over. “Had a guy on the inside. Even if I do stick out like a sore thumb.”
"Nah, you—" Dmitri’s throat bobbed, then he shrugged, lips curled while he averted his eyes. “You make that house a home.”
As the elevator doors closed firmly and it began to lower, Viktor pressed his lips together and swallowed, reaching out and squeezing Dmitri’s bicep through the material of his sweater. Viktor felt himself settle back into the intensity of their friendship. He parted his lips to try, but was unable to put into words what that comment meant to him.
Home.