[ that wry grin makes his own lips tilt up in response — this kind of a back-and-forth is easy, has always been easy in the way it has never been with anyone else. it had been jayce's brilliant mind that had moved him to action, all those years ago, the ideas that he couldn't bear the thought of never seeing the light of day, never being worked on and brought to reality... but there had been more than that, ever since standing in that very rubble that jayce is speaking of: a kinship, like every soul he'd met until then had been the wrong shape, like a part of him had always been waiting for jayce, for him to fill in that missing piece in the puzzle of his life.
the hand on his back is warm and steady, and viktor lets out a breath, one that flows through his lungs easier than any breath he has taken or let out has in the past weeks. he matches his pace to jayce, asks him little questions on the way — how long jayce has been here, what he has seen, if he has met caitlyn yet; little things that he knows will get his partner to go on longer tangents, will leave him to listen and nod his head occasionally to show he is still listening. normality, in a way this place hasn't made him feel like even once in the past two months, yet.
eventually, though, they make it past the city center, to quieter streets that lead to the small house that viktor calls his. it isn't much; the paint on the door is chipped, and the lock takes two tries to open. ] Come in, [ he says, pushing the door open, stopping then to remove his long winter coat, hang it on a hook along the entranceway.
it is immediately obvious that most of the house is the workshop: what should be a living room has most of the space taken up by a desk and a drawer that seems to be full of tools, papers scattered across the desk (and partly the floor), a large chalkboard hanging on the wall, runes and equations written on it. there's another room, far smaller, just enough to fit a bed; the two other doors at the back lead to a small kitchenette and a bathroom.
there is, however, a small couch pressed against the wall, and viktor walks to it, sits down, leans against his crutch as he looks at jayce with a look that lands squarely somewhere between wary and resigned. ]
Before anything else... tell me what you remember from home. I suspect it is more than I do.
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expiationlogs2024-12-09 08:17 am
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the hand on his back is warm and steady, and viktor lets out a breath, one that flows through his lungs easier than any breath he has taken or let out has in the past weeks. he matches his pace to jayce, asks him little questions on the way — how long jayce has been here, what he has seen, if he has met caitlyn yet; little things that he knows will get his partner to go on longer tangents, will leave him to listen and nod his head occasionally to show he is still listening. normality, in a way this place hasn't made him feel like even once in the past two months, yet.
eventually, though, they make it past the city center, to quieter streets that lead to the small house that viktor calls his. it isn't much; the paint on the door is chipped, and the lock takes two tries to open. ] Come in, [ he says, pushing the door open, stopping then to remove his long winter coat, hang it on a hook along the entranceway.
it is immediately obvious that most of the house is the workshop: what should be a living room has most of the space taken up by a desk and a drawer that seems to be full of tools, papers scattered across the desk (and partly the floor), a large chalkboard hanging on the wall, runes and equations written on it. there's another room, far smaller, just enough to fit a bed; the two other doors at the back lead to a small kitchenette and a bathroom.
there is, however, a small couch pressed against the wall, and viktor walks to it, sits down, leans against his crutch as he looks at jayce with a look that lands squarely somewhere between wary and resigned. ]
Before anything else... tell me what you remember from home. I suspect it is more than I do.