[She's quite possibly the biggest animal Octavian has ever seen—Mars is not exactly known for its megafauna, or anything like that. He makes a surprised, sputtery kind of noise when she bumps into his hand that isn't quite a laugh. Honestly he probably made this same noise about the cats that other time, so congratulations to Rio, classified now as "large hairless cat" in his mental bestiary.]
No, this is fine, [he says, glancing over at the conversation. Strange as this tableau is, with the flickering suggestions of disaster and the impossibility of it all, Octavian regards it like a precious thing suspended in amber—even the prick in the corner, who can just stay over there. Viktor needn't participate and frankly, Octavian needn't participate either; he could stand here and just watch for hours, if he had the time.
Ah. But Viktor is not as enamored with staring at this, he realizes after a long beat. That makes sense.]
[ the noise makes viktor chuckle under his breath, his lips quirking into a fond smile — it's not a laugh, no, but it's still very cute.
cute in a different way is how octavian looks at his family; by now, viktor feels is somewhat adept in reading his friend's moods, and the way he watches the arrangement of family in front of him is like he is painting the scene in his memory, a solemn kind of nostalgia, not unlike rio's presence with viktor.
and though with someone else — no, with most others, he has never had much success in lying to himself — he might agree instantly, take the chance to be elsewhere than where he obviously does not belong... but he shakes his head, just a little. ] No, I — [ he has to turn his head, then, cough into his fist as even in this dream his body seeks to betray him; it doesn't last long, luckily, and he tries again. ]
No, not yet. I would like to see it, you are correct... but tell me of them, first?
[ he wants to know, he realises then; he isn't saying it as a courtesy, as much as he's disinclined towards that in general, but rather because he looks at octavian's family and is confronted by his lack of knowledge about them, and he would like to know. ]
[Octavian can't help the way his gaze slides back towards his family even as he waits for Viktor to decide; they're just right there, he wants to see, to witness— even the back of Hiram standing in the corner, although, hm, less so. But oh, that's a surprise; to actively want to go out and see the city, but to stay and hear about his family first? It's not something he honestly expects, both because so few people would and because Viktor is not, you know, a particularly social creature much like Octavian himself...
So it's nice to hear, actually. It makes him smile, happy to indulge in his happy little family fantasy and touched, more than he expected, by the interest. He reaches over to pinch Viktor's sleeve as he shuffles a bit further into the room, if not actually into the conversation happening. It isn't entirely clear what the other two are talking about, either; the whole thing is meant to be appreciated in comfortable silence, the sound of pleasant conversation and the clinking and tapping of the hammer in the other room.]
This is my brother, Sterling, [he says, gesturing with his other hand. Sterling glances toward them again with a quick smile, then goes back to,] And my nephew, Emory. Do you hear the stone being worked? Sterling's wife Maria was an artist.
[He's seen some of her work, even, out on display. But never in a contemporary sense, and that thought makes him pause, because he is so, so pleased to show this to Viktor, and pivoting into, hm, harsh reality might put a damper on it? And yet. Viktor has asked. Viktor is interested, and where Octavian might just ignore anyone else walking into this scene, he thinks he would like to share.]
They can never be like this. At home. Sterling and his wife died when Emory was too young to remember. So here they can have a night at home, as a family.
[ he lets out a sputtering sound of surprise at being half-pulled further into the room with octavian — but his eyes are light with curiosity, still, and he echoes octavian's smile right back at him for a moment there, before his focus shifts. quietly, he takes in the comfortable chatter, the gentle clinks that are not the sounds of hammer on an anvil but rather against something smaller — sculpting? hm, interesting.
he watches octavian's brother (twin? they look similar enough for that) and his nephew in silence, and yet he's observing them as sharply as he might if they were the blueprints for a particularly advanced machine. he might never see them again, and they matter to octavian — which means they matter to him.
but there is a sadness here — was, octavian says, and then speaks more of them, and all of a sudden viktor understands why he is looking at the scene in front of him like he is; because it can never be real. because it isn't a memory, but it should have been, and every single person in it has lost something.
slowly, he tugs his hand from where octavian is still holding onto his sleeve, and rests it on his arm. ] I'm glad they have this.
[ i'm glad you have this, it almost sounds like, but it can be both — it doesn't really fix anything, this scene hidden in a dream, but at least he can see it happen. at least his family can be here, smiling at each other, in this moment. ]
[Was, he says, and of course Viktor is right; this is a scene that never will happen, these versions of his family are only the versions he carries with him in his heart, there will never be a quiet moment at home for this father and son, mother in the next room, Octavian maybe there and maybe not. It's all he can do to haunt this tableau, and he can't even keep the lurking shape of Hiram out of the corner, or the smoke from occasionally seeping through the cracks in the illusion of Sterling sitting there, young and alive.
Octavian hums. He reaches with his other hand for Viktor's without looking away from the scene, covering Viktor's hand with a vague finger wiggling motion, somehow appreciative.
Then he does stand there in silence for another overly long beat, but Viktor should be used to those by now. Eventually,]
Thank you. I thought it would be nice.
[Not that he had much of a say in it, but he hasn't forced himself to wake up again yet, so there's that. Can his family live in this fishbowl forever, even if it isn't real, even if—
Well, anyway.]
Sterling would like you. We worked together our whole lives. He did talk more than I do, though.
[ he sees no reason to disturb that silence — in fact, now that he knows why, he is more than content to give octavian as many moments as he needs. his hand doesn't move from where he holds it against octavian's arm, but if he twists his fingers just a little to interlink theirs for a moment, well. ]
Reality is subjective, [ he mutters, an echo to something he said back when he found out about the simulation, ] It may not be real, but you will remember.
[ and it may not be a memory, this, but it will become one; and to be able to see it, even if it is a construct of his mind... it matters.
then, with some curiosity, ] So he was an inventor, like you? Your parents taught you magic. I remember. [ he is, however, ignoring the sterling would like you, mostly because he is not an easy person to get along with, and knows that much; so, really, who knows. though perhaps sterling was one of those who get along with everyone. ]
[It's a comfortable silence, despite his more unpleasant thoughts. Viktor's fingers pressing against his are a relief, grounding; this isn't real, and as much as he wants to stare at it, to savor it, he can't actually stay. Viktor keeps him focused in that way, a fulcrum to keep steady on.
And interesting point, about the memories. He's sure this is as real as it's ever going to get, given the circumstances, so it's a quietly soothing thought.
Eventually,] Yes. They encouraged us to pursue multiple disciplines. We... had fun.
[Hours spent at work on their little projects, or nothing at all. He misses it. Perhaps if he'd spent more time, back then... well. Nothing for it now.]
Thank you, by the way. [For what he said, for indulging this dream-memory, for being interested at all.]
[ it is almost a reverse of the moment in octavian's workshop, where it had been his touch that had been grounding viktor through his halting, painful explanation of the hexcore and its history — here, the scene is somehow more and less painful at once, beautiful and bittersweet, and he doesn't let go of octavian, lest he lose himself in the dream entirely.
as rio scuttles around them, somehow keeping to the edges of the moment, almost like she knows she doesn't belong there where the two men are conversing pleasantly, viktor thinks that he has stopped feeling like he doesn't belong. in the scene of this happy family? no, that is still not his place, but here with octavian is a different matter. ]
If there are memories of you two that you would share... I would like to hear them. Not now, necessarily, but...
[ not now because it isn't the point of this dream; but eventually, perhaps. then, turning to look at him fully, ] You of all people don't need to thank me.
[ and maybe this isn't really the perfect moment for it, but then is there ever a perfect moment for an experiment? especially one like this; as if sensing this, rio rounds him, gives his side a little nudge. and viktor has made a plan: if the experiment fails, he will say this is a custom from his homeland, with full knowledge no zaunite or piltovan knows much of it anyways, and so he can't be called out on it later; but that only if the experiment fails.
he hopes it doesn't.
so with a little half-shrug, he shifts his hand on his cane (yes, cane still, it's not morphed into a crutch yet) and leans closer, to press a kiss on octavian's cheek. as he draws back, ] But you're welcome.
Not now, [he agrees, soft with this pseudo-nostalgia. Not now, they can't stay here, it would feel strange to talk about his memories of Sterling while his image sits a few feet away and enjoys a nightcap,] But someday.
[Someday, because he would like Viktor to know more about his brother. He would like Viktor to know a lot of things about his life, his thoughts and ideas— but someday. They do still have to walk the city, he remembers, and perhaps they should go soon before he really can't pull himself away from his family. He's nearly forgotten about Rio until she skitters around behind Viktor, which is wild, given she is a big pink animal—
He is paying attention to Viktor, though, and kissing his cheek is enough to pull his attention away from the happy family scene. Even the two of them notice, pausing in their talk for a few seconds to look back and forth between Viktor and Octavian, before Sterling chuckles and pats his son's arm as he turns away; he says something not-quite-audible, somewhere in the realm of "Oh, let them be."
Octavian says,] Oh.
[And wouldn't it be funny if Viktor was part of this tableau too, him and his Rio? But no, Viktor is the realest thing in here besides Octavian himself, Viktor who says he'll never be tired of him, who laughs at his not-quite-jokes, who received a rare and magical crystal from his home and decided to do something for him with it. Viktor who understands him on a strange and tragic level, who nevertheless wants to know more.
So, well. Octavian looks down at Viktor's other hand, not on his cane, lifting it to press a kiss of his own against the backs of his fingers. There.]
I am not too old for you, am I?
[Haha. Because that's the strangest thing about him.]
[ someday is good, someday is perfect — because this, now, is for... them apparently disturbing the family night, and viktor glances away, his cheeks dusting a light pink for a moment, before octavian is commandeering his full attention once more.
and the experiment? an immediate success, something that makes viktor feel immensely lighter, buoyed as he smiles at octavian, his eyes warm with affection; but because he is, hm, himself, what he says in return initially is, ]
You look very good for your age.
[ a line dryly delivered — but after a moment's pause, he does continue, ] I do not care that you are a spectre. Why would I care that you have existed longer than I?
[ and he is not usually someone prone to expressing himself in words like this... but he looks down at octavian's hand still holding his, tries to ignore the fact that they have a conjured audience here. he brushes his thumb against the side of octavian's hand lightly. ] I care that you are you, and all of that [ the ghost thing, the having existed in a room for thirty years, ] is a part of it, no? The choices you've made, [ he says then, echoing their conversation in octavian's workspace — the choices he's made have made him who he is today, here, and viktor wouldn't change that.
he lifts his gaze, finally, fully serious. ]
You're incredible, Octavian. So don't joke about that, please. [ being too old for him, or any of it; none of that will matter to him. ]
[Oh, a blush, and Octavian makes a mental note: very sweet. They are both much subtler men than most, and so he naturally finds himself inclined to notice, to pay keen attention to thinks like a light blush, a shift in expression.
Or, it seems, the one kind of little joke Viktor does not appreciate in his repertoire, which in retrospect does make sense. Octavian drops those quips automatically, about his spectral nature or his death, and he realizes a heartbeat after Viktor's thumb brushes his hand that he needn't do that here; not with him. Viktor doesn't need the asides that most living people do just to be halfway normal around him, the nods to how he sure is dead(!), very funny, everyone laughs—
Which is nice, and actually, so is his light chiding over it; Octavian ducks his head in quiet apology and gives Viktor's fingers a grateful squeeze. He has formed so many habits in such short a time, thrust among all these picky living people— the reminder that Viktor is different is genuinely helpful.
And he's just lovely, isn't he, so firmly insisting on being a space Octavian be beside without undue baggage. He lets go of Viktor's hand to touch his face, tracing a cheekbone and down to his jaw, the side of his neck. Hmm.]
Yes. Of course. Not with you.
[There's an apology baked in there somewhere, for his flippant nonsense. Not with Viktor. Right.
Choices. Well, here is another, in Viktor's eyes, beneath Octavian's fingertips. An easier choice than most to make. In fact,]
We are what we do, yes. Choices we have made. And I am glad to be one of yours.
[ if asked, he wouldn't be able to explain fully why the quips bother him so — he has heard many, now, and each time there has been an itch under his skin, a sense of wrong that octavian should try and make light of his state of being, for... what? so others not be uneasy? no, the wrong is on everyone else — why should octavian be anything different, try and put them at ease, when it is everyone else who should accept him, who should recognise that his state is a terrible thing to be and yet necessary; we do what we must, he'd said when they met, and he still thinks that, now —
but like this, octavian need not be anything else than himself, as he is — a marvel, really, with his singularly beautiful mind, with his quiet not-quite-chuckle, his sense of humour, the way he listens and understands like no one else. why would he ever want him to be anything else? why would he need anything else?
though the touch against his face, fingertips tracing his cheek and jaw, settling to rest somewhere against his neck — yes, that touch is appreciated, and viktor glances down again, almost abashed for a moment, the touch unfamiliar and yet something he feels he wants to get used to. ]
Yes, [ he says, finally, after a pause, ] That is what it is... a choice. I like that. That this is — intentional. Not fate, or a cosmic force, or whatever else people describe it as, but us, choosing.
[Octavian spends only a moment more indulging in his exploring touch; they are in front of his family after all, they mustn't be completely indecent. Though when his hand falls away from Viktor's neck it's only to seek out his hand again to hold, an affectionately loose tangle of fingers, while he simply enjoys being here and looking at him.
He cants his head to one side just slightly, an equally slight furrow in his brow, but the quiet smile— which is increasingly reserved for Viktor, it's starting to feel like— remains. Hmm,]
None of those have ever occurred to me.
[Quite literally, he's never thought about it, but also quite literally, he's never found himself, oh, blindsided by some rush of emotions for someone else quite outside his control. He knows the lines, certainly, Sterling had mooned over a handful of people with all the expected trappings, but, well. Intentional, yes, that's the best term for it; to have the space to consider the shape of a feeling and come to a conclusion.
It's the only way that makes sense to him, all things considered. Sterling would say he's the opposite of a romantic, but surely nothing could be more romantic than actually participating?]
I care for you, [he says, to that end and possibly abruptly, then,] By now this is evident. This I admit. But I wanted to say it directly.
[ there is a reason he says people describe it as — it isn't like that for him either, and furthermore he doesn't like the idea of... falling, as it's so often depicted as, because to fall is to be dragged down, to fail, and he hates things outside of his own control. no, he doesn't want to fall; to take small steps forward instead, eyes open, with his full knowledge —
now that he can do.
something else he can do, and would like to continue doing, is stand here, their hands holding onto each other gently, and watch that small smile play on octavian's lips.
and truthfully, he is taken aback by the words; he would have been entirely content for this thing between them to exist between the lines, in this quiet understanding they have, about this as about so many other things... and yet, perhaps because of that, because of how neither of them is particularly verbose or prone to big declarations, the fact that octavian does say it — it means even more to him, as far as gestures go. ]
I'm glad, [ comes his answer, soft, ] That you do. And that you did.
[ this, perhaps, is where he should say the same — instead, he brushes his thumb once more against octavian's hand in a wordless response. but then, they wouldn't be having this conversation if he hadn't, hm, started it... so perhaps that has spoken it all for him. ]
[There is admittedly a novelty to it, to saying the words— he's never felt this way about anyone before and so never had the opportunity to say the words, and while it's never bothered him, would not have bothered him either to not say it here, well! The experience! The opportunity!
And he can see in Viktor those shades of himself, quieter, more withdrawn; so too is there a measure of saying it because Viktor should get to hear it. Not saying it back isn't a problem either, for honestly most of the same reasons... and because Viktor has already kissed his cheek, and made his choice, and so ardently defended Octavian's right to exist without, hm, caveats. All of those things paint a pretty clear picture.
And they are holding hands, something Octavian feels almost... giddy over? He isn't sure; he's never been giddy, he doesn't know what it should look like, but he knows this: he likes the way Viktor's hand feels in his, wants after so very long to let someone in. If that's giddy, wonderful; if not, it doesn't matter.]
Good. [He almost says he's glad Viktor is glad, but no, let's not be silly. But almost.] Would you like to see Mars now?
[ perhaps there will come a time when he will find the words to say back to octavian — for now, though, there is this: their hands, entwined, something that feels both strange and strangely right for how easy it is, how comfortable. and viktor feels — well, it wouldn't be wrong to draw a comparison to the weightlessness he's felt but once in his life, both physically and metaphorically riding the high of a breakthrough like no other, unprecedented in history...
and somehow, impossibly so, he feels the same kind of lightness, the same kind of happiness right now, standing here, with the feel of octavian's hand in his, secure in the knowledge that the affection he feels is fully reciprocated.
but, right, mars, ] If you don't mind, yes.
[ mind leaving this house, that is — and yet, he must do so eventually, regardless. perhaps it can be easier, if they do it together.
though there is something to do first; with some hesitance, viktor turns to look at the men sitting in the living room. they did react, earlier, so perhaps, perhaps. he will try, regardless, because this may be a dream but that doesn't make this any less important. so, looking at sterling, he says, quiet but sincere, ]
It was good to meet you. I promise I will do my best to... [ to what? take care of octavian? no, he knows he is abysmal at even taking care of himself, and furthermore, octavian is plenty capable of taking care of himself. so, instead, ] To make him happy.
[ there. that he can promise. and then, turning back to octavian, ] Shall we? [ to the side, ] Rio, come.
[Isn't it fortunate, to make a choice and immediately have it confirmed as the correct one? Not that Octavian has had any doubts about these feelings for Viktor, or reciprocating them openly, but there's still something to be said for actions speaking louder than words.
Because they could just go and have a walk around, and he would be satisfied with how this has gone. He's more than satisfied already, Viktor's hand in his and the rightness of it. He has no doubts, and yet when Viktor turns to face his family, Octavian spends a split second completely unaware of what he intends to do.
They aren't real, after all, the thing he must continously tell himself to keep himself centered— and yet. And yet. Octavian grips Viktor's hand harder, all but stunned into silence as he speaks to Sterling. The words themselves are sweet, Viktor has already made him happy a dozen times over, of course he'll be able to do that again, but—
It was good to meet you, said to a man who isn't really there, who he can never truly meet, to assure him that he will make Octavian happy. Octavian isn't sure anyone has ever given him anything more meaningful than that; he doubts anyone else ever will.
The figure of Sterling does respond again, raising his glass to Viktor and mouthing something else that isn't entirely audible, but his smile is clear enough. Then he looks at Octavian and winks, and Octavian makes a noise like a little wheeze and looks down and away. Good god, hang on, he needs a moment.
......Okay.] Yes. I did tell you he would like you.
[All of that interaction is proof enough for him, frankly, dream or not. He looks around for Rio then, wiggling his free hand at her— let him pat that big pink head as they finally move to leave the house.
It's dusk outside now, heedless of whatever late evening hour it was supposed to be indoors; everything is even redder in the dimming light. Octavian very studiously doesn't turn back to look at the house until they're a few more houses away, just in case.]
I do not know how robust this replication is... but where would you like to go?
[ if it had been octavian, stunning viktor into silence on the floor of his workshop, well, perhaps this is him, returning the favour all without meaning to — he does glance at octavian as his grip on his hand tightens abruptly, and so he sees the way he freezes; and he has a second to hope that it is a good thing rather than him overstepping, before sterling is raising his glass and viktor's attention is on him, wanting to carry this moment in his memory, too.
and oh, alright, so it is a good thing; viktor smiles softly at octavian as they make their move to leave the house and says, ] Confirmation bias.
[ and yet, his tone is warm — yes, he hopes he is right. he hopes that should he ever have met octavian's twin for real, he would have liked him. but that is a dream even inside this one, and he dwells on the thought only for a heartbeat before they leave the house. (rio, once again, butts her head against octavian's hand, and if he's not quick enough to avoid it, will also lick it excitedly like an overgrown dog.
outside, she is quick to start skittering around again, clearly thrilled to be out and moving — viktor smiles at the sight before turning to octavian, their hands still interlinked. ]
I was hoping to find something similar to the Academy, [ he says with a half-shrug, ] To see what disciplines are studied there... but now that I know where we are, perhaps not. You will be able to tell me. [ so, instead, ] Is there anything you would like to show me?
[Confirmation bias, huh, now he's got jokes. Octavian huffs, amused; it is confirmation bias in a way, but that doesn't make it less true. Sterling would have liked Viktor, even more after that particular declaration about Octavian, and Octavian thinks that's worth knowing.
Ah, but he's yanked out of those thoughts by pink lizard tongue, sputtering and tugging his hand back to look at it like he doesn't get why that would happen. Help? Animals? How does one deal with an animal? After a moment he looks over at Rio zipping around, and as he shakes his hand to dry off this Rio spit,] Your opinion is noted.
[Jeez... look at her go, though. At least she's having fun. He looks at Viktor again, taking a moment to appreciate how he looks in the fading light, very handsome, 10/10—]
The university is in another district... although, well, [He shrugs; this is a dream? It could be around the corner, who knows.] We could visit the river. Come.
[Come, it's time to take a walk in the direction he remembers the river being in, and whether or not the dream folds space to make the walk shorter is both unclear and unimportant; they make it to said river, a fairly impressively wide thing especially given how dusty and dry the rest of the place is, with a bridge close by and plenty others in sight further down. They're heading onto the bridge.]
[ he's hilarious, what do you mean — but no, it can be confirmation bias and true all the same, and that is what viktor holds onto.
and then he's not really focusing on that, anymore, because octavian's sputtering is frankly adorable, and viktor, having gone through this same experience when rio appeared in his dream for the first time... viktor laughs, for it is an actual laugh this time, quiet and sounding very close to a chuckle still, but somehow more. so no, he is in fact no help with this, but at least octavian gets to watch this once-in-a-decade event?
he disentangles their hands for a moment, digging into his pocket and pulling out a handkerchief, which he only has because he, again, had to use it to dry his face perhaps five dreams ago. he holds it out for octavian with a shrug and a little shake of his hand, as if to say, here, and also sorry about her. ]
The river? [ right, he only said there are no large bodies of water; nothing about small bodies of water. and the dream continues to be kind to him — his cane remains in his hand, in the way he has not been able to walk for years, now; his leg is still in its customary brace, though, blending past and present neatly.
he makes a little noise of appreciation as they make it to the river; it is a beautiful sight, especially in the dusk, the reds dark and vibrant around the water. ]
There are no rivers like this in Piltover... nor Zaun. It is beautiful.
[Well, the laugh is a treat, all things considered. The wet hand is less of a treat, but he accepts the handkerchief without any more sputtering to properly wipe it off. He'll be handing that right back to Viktor in a moment, so thanks, and also, carry this wet thing. Rio is Viktor's cool pet, sooo—
Anyway, then he's going right back in for Viktor's hand, so they can hold hands while they look at this nice river. It's pretty straight, being a man-made thing, although it curves off in the distance. There's also a mechanism of sorts at the ends of this particular bridge they're standing on, as it becomes more evident upon a closer look that this is a drawbridge, actually. Octavian drums his fingers on the guardrail and then gives the whole length of it a more sweeping gesture.]
I helped to design this. In university. It was a project in our cohort. This is a mining town with plenty of boats coming through, you see.
[So the boats need space, etc etc, he took Viktor here to show off his college thesis project, more or less. Please gaze upon the fancy drawbridge and admire him more.]
[ the way the handkerchief is instantly handed back to him makes viktor smile — he doesn't mind that it's wet and gross, growing up in the undercity means he's used to a lot of unpleasantness, and a used handkerchief in his pocket? nothing, really.
and he has already been eyeing the mechanism to the bridge with some interest (and ignoring the way the bridge itself sort of reminds him of the one between piltover and zaun; bridges are a normal thing, not a symbol for a city divided, at least not here), but when octavian explains his involvement in the designing process, viktor's eyes light up and he tugs on their hands to actually go an examine the structure in more detail. ]
It is a remarkable design, [ he says, and again, it is both a compliment and a sincere remark; he doesn't do flattery. ] The way the counterweight is hidden is very clever.
[ unlike most drawbridges, it doesn't actually look like one, unless one looks closer — yes, clever indeed. he straightens up from his half-crouch (well, straightens up as much as his spine allows; more, here in this dream, than normally) and looks at octavian — to admire him, yes, his turn to watch the setting sun illuminate him in its light.
time to try something he's not done in years; he sets the cane to rest against the rail of the bridge, and, yes, his balance holds. which means he can keep their hands entwined, and lift his other hand to tuck a lock of hair behind octavian's ear, gently. admiring, indeed. ]
[If it isn't just perfect response after perfect response from Viktor today, immediately beelining for the bridge mechanism to study it. Octavian is delighted to go along with him and watch him examine it, proud of his work and buoyed by Viktor's actual knowledge when looking at it; he knows what he's doing, examining the structure of it up close, and so his compliments are much better than an "oh, that's interesting" from someone else.
Biased, yes; doubly so, because it's both the expertise and the affection that settle warmly over Octavian in the cool evening air. He hasn't smiled this much in years, and of course he isn't beaming or anything so grandly expressive, but its staying power alone is remarkable.
(Involuntarily he wonders if this bridge is still there, if it hasn't been torn down and replaced in thirty years, or would it have lasted because his name is on it? Hmm-)
Here and now, though—]
Thank you. They used it for the other bridges eventually.
[Important to know. Also important: Viktor up close, the pleasant spark of his gentle touch, the sunset and the bridge. This is the part where people kiss, isn't it? Must be. Even if it isn't, it doesn't matter if that's what he wants,]
Viktor. One more thing.
[Leaning in to kiss him, specifically, short and sweet.]
[ it should be strange, the ease with which his focus shifts from the bridge to octavian himself, the way the construction and the mechanism and all that is secondary to the way octavian draws his eye, the way he looks, hair red-tinged in the dusk-light, pale and handsome and beautiful, like he's stepped out from a perfect painting.
and he is smiling, too, more than he has had cause to in years; and more than that, there is a warm glow in his amber eyes as he looks at octavian like he's something incredible.
to the part about the counterweight mechanism, ] Well, of course. They would have been idiots not to.
[ when octavian's design is clearly superior to the common one... anyway. his hand still lingers near octavian's cheek, he hasn't moved it away since brushing the strands of hair behind his ear, and perhaps someone else would describe the kiss that follows a natural course of action, a gravitational pull — but they both know better. it is yet another choice, first from octavian to lean in, then from viktor to tilt his head slightly to kiss him back, just as soft and light, a press of lips more than anything else, but enough — more than enough.
when they part, viktor smooths his fingers over octavian's cheek in a mirror to earlier, in the house, before he lets his hand drop and reaches back for his cane.
and he says, contemplative and yet tender, ] I don't believe I've ever had anyone make me as happy as you do.
[ and perhaps someone else might wonder about this, the way his happiness is so quiet a thing, a gentle glow in the way he looks at octavian and nothing more... but it is there, and it is real. their surroundings may not be, but this — this, them, it is real. ]
[It is nearly a perfect moment, Octavian thinks. It would be better to truly be here on Mars, to have earnestly just come from meeting his family for the first time— but that is impossible and so immaterial, and nearly perfect is not a disappointment. Octavian will frame it in his memory: the quips about his design, the way Viktor looks doubly illuminated by the crimson of sunset and the reflection of it off the water. The press of his lips, warm, and cooler fingers sliding over his cheek.
Yes. He will remember this. He's sure he will kiss Viktor in a hundred other memorable places another hundred times over, but they will never be here again.
For just one more beat he holds still, watching Viktor and committing every bit of him, and the river, and the bridge to memory. Making another person happy like this— well, perhaps Root was right about academic groupies he'd never noticed, but intentionally, on purpose this is his first time for that, too.]
No? I will endeavor to make up the difference. [He turns to lean back against the guardrail and into Viktor's space at once, shoulder-to-shoulder. Hey.] You are a marvel, after all.
[And what does a marvel deserve except the world and more— Octavian looks at him fondly a few seconds more, then leans his head on Viktor's shoulder, so that they're now looking in different directions at the city. Hm.]
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expiationlogs2025-01-13 12:39 pm
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No, this is fine, [he says, glancing over at the conversation. Strange as this tableau is, with the flickering suggestions of disaster and the impossibility of it all, Octavian regards it like a precious thing suspended in amber—even the prick in the corner, who can just stay over there. Viktor needn't participate and frankly, Octavian needn't participate either; he could stand here and just watch for hours, if he had the time.
Ah. But Viktor is not as enamored with staring at this, he realizes after a long beat. That makes sense.]
Unless you would like to see the town instead.
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cute in a different way is how octavian looks at his family; by now, viktor feels is somewhat adept in reading his friend's moods, and the way he watches the arrangement of family in front of him is like he is painting the scene in his memory, a solemn kind of nostalgia, not unlike rio's presence with viktor.
and though with someone else — no, with most others, he has never had much success in lying to himself — he might agree instantly, take the chance to be elsewhere than where he obviously does not belong... but he shakes his head, just a little. ] No, I — [ he has to turn his head, then, cough into his fist as even in this dream his body seeks to betray him; it doesn't last long, luckily, and he tries again. ]
No, not yet. I would like to see it, you are correct... but tell me of them, first?
[ he wants to know, he realises then; he isn't saying it as a courtesy, as much as he's disinclined towards that in general, but rather because he looks at octavian's family and is confronted by his lack of knowledge about them, and he would like to know. ]
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So it's nice to hear, actually. It makes him smile, happy to indulge in his happy little family fantasy and touched, more than he expected, by the interest. He reaches over to pinch Viktor's sleeve as he shuffles a bit further into the room, if not actually into the conversation happening. It isn't entirely clear what the other two are talking about, either; the whole thing is meant to be appreciated in comfortable silence, the sound of pleasant conversation and the clinking and tapping of the hammer in the other room.]
This is my brother, Sterling, [he says, gesturing with his other hand. Sterling glances toward them again with a quick smile, then goes back to,] And my nephew, Emory. Do you hear the stone being worked? Sterling's wife Maria was an artist.
[He's seen some of her work, even, out on display. But never in a contemporary sense, and that thought makes him pause, because he is so, so pleased to show this to Viktor, and pivoting into, hm, harsh reality might put a damper on it? And yet. Viktor has asked. Viktor is interested, and where Octavian might just ignore anyone else walking into this scene, he thinks he would like to share.]
They can never be like this. At home. Sterling and his wife died when Emory was too young to remember. So here they can have a night at home, as a family.
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he watches octavian's brother (twin? they look similar enough for that) and his nephew in silence, and yet he's observing them as sharply as he might if they were the blueprints for a particularly advanced machine. he might never see them again, and they matter to octavian — which means they matter to him.
but there is a sadness here — was, octavian says, and then speaks more of them, and all of a sudden viktor understands why he is looking at the scene in front of him like he is; because it can never be real. because it isn't a memory, but it should have been, and every single person in it has lost something.
slowly, he tugs his hand from where octavian is still holding onto his sleeve, and rests it on his arm. ] I'm glad they have this.
[ i'm glad you have this, it almost sounds like, but it can be both — it doesn't really fix anything, this scene hidden in a dream, but at least he can see it happen. at least his family can be here, smiling at each other, in this moment. ]
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Octavian hums. He reaches with his other hand for Viktor's without looking away from the scene, covering Viktor's hand with a vague finger wiggling motion, somehow appreciative.
Then he does stand there in silence for another overly long beat, but Viktor should be used to those by now. Eventually,]
Thank you. I thought it would be nice.
[Not that he had much of a say in it, but he hasn't forced himself to wake up again yet, so there's that. Can his family live in this fishbowl forever, even if it isn't real, even if—
Well, anyway.]
Sterling would like you. We worked together our whole lives. He did talk more than I do, though.
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Reality is subjective, [ he mutters, an echo to something he said back when he found out about the simulation, ] It may not be real, but you will remember.
[ and it may not be a memory, this, but it will become one; and to be able to see it, even if it is a construct of his mind... it matters.
then, with some curiosity, ] So he was an inventor, like you? Your parents taught you magic. I remember. [ he is, however, ignoring the sterling would like you, mostly because he is not an easy person to get along with, and knows that much; so, really, who knows. though perhaps sterling was one of those who get along with everyone. ]
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And interesting point, about the memories. He's sure this is as real as it's ever going to get, given the circumstances, so it's a quietly soothing thought.
Eventually,] Yes. They encouraged us to pursue multiple disciplines. We... had fun.
[Hours spent at work on their little projects, or nothing at all. He misses it. Perhaps if he'd spent more time, back then... well. Nothing for it now.]
Thank you, by the way. [For what he said, for indulging this dream-memory, for being interested at all.]
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as rio scuttles around them, somehow keeping to the edges of the moment, almost like she knows she doesn't belong there where the two men are conversing pleasantly, viktor thinks that he has stopped feeling like he doesn't belong. in the scene of this happy family? no, that is still not his place, but here with octavian is a different matter. ]
If there are memories of you two that you would share... I would like to hear them. Not now, necessarily, but...
[ not now because it isn't the point of this dream; but eventually, perhaps. then, turning to look at him fully, ] You of all people don't need to thank me.
[ and maybe this isn't really the perfect moment for it, but then is there ever a perfect moment for an experiment? especially one like this; as if sensing this, rio rounds him, gives his side a little nudge. and viktor has made a plan: if the experiment fails, he will say this is a custom from his homeland, with full knowledge no zaunite or piltovan knows much of it anyways, and so he can't be called out on it later; but that only if the experiment fails.
he hopes it doesn't.
so with a little half-shrug, he shifts his hand on his cane (yes, cane still, it's not morphed into a crutch yet) and leans closer, to press a kiss on octavian's cheek. as he draws back, ] But you're welcome.
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[Someday, because he would like Viktor to know more about his brother. He would like Viktor to know a lot of things about his life, his thoughts and ideas— but someday. They do still have to walk the city, he remembers, and perhaps they should go soon before he really can't pull himself away from his family. He's nearly forgotten about Rio until she skitters around behind Viktor, which is wild, given she is a big pink animal—
He is paying attention to Viktor, though, and kissing his cheek is enough to pull his attention away from the happy family scene. Even the two of them notice, pausing in their talk for a few seconds to look back and forth between Viktor and Octavian, before Sterling chuckles and pats his son's arm as he turns away; he says something not-quite-audible, somewhere in the realm of "Oh, let them be."
Octavian says,] Oh.
[And wouldn't it be funny if Viktor was part of this tableau too, him and his Rio? But no, Viktor is the realest thing in here besides Octavian himself, Viktor who says he'll never be tired of him, who laughs at his not-quite-jokes, who received a rare and magical crystal from his home and decided to do something for him with it. Viktor who understands him on a strange and tragic level, who nevertheless wants to know more.
So, well. Octavian looks down at Viktor's other hand, not on his cane, lifting it to press a kiss of his own against the backs of his fingers. There.]
I am not too old for you, am I?
[Haha. Because that's the strangest thing about him.]
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and the experiment? an immediate success, something that makes viktor feel immensely lighter, buoyed as he smiles at octavian, his eyes warm with affection; but because he is, hm, himself, what he says in return initially is, ]
You look very good for your age.
[ a line dryly delivered — but after a moment's pause, he does continue, ] I do not care that you are a spectre. Why would I care that you have existed longer than I?
[ and he is not usually someone prone to expressing himself in words like this... but he looks down at octavian's hand still holding his, tries to ignore the fact that they have a conjured audience here. he brushes his thumb against the side of octavian's hand lightly. ] I care that you are you, and all of that [ the ghost thing, the having existed in a room for thirty years, ] is a part of it, no? The choices you've made, [ he says then, echoing their conversation in octavian's workspace — the choices he's made have made him who he is today, here, and viktor wouldn't change that.
he lifts his gaze, finally, fully serious. ]
You're incredible, Octavian. So don't joke about that, please. [ being too old for him, or any of it; none of that will matter to him. ]
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Or, it seems, the one kind of little joke Viktor does not appreciate in his repertoire, which in retrospect does make sense. Octavian drops those quips automatically, about his spectral nature or his death, and he realizes a heartbeat after Viktor's thumb brushes his hand that he needn't do that here; not with him. Viktor doesn't need the asides that most living people do just to be halfway normal around him, the nods to how he sure is dead(!), very funny, everyone laughs—
Which is nice, and actually, so is his light chiding over it; Octavian ducks his head in quiet apology and gives Viktor's fingers a grateful squeeze. He has formed so many habits in such short a time, thrust among all these picky living people— the reminder that Viktor is different is genuinely helpful.
And he's just lovely, isn't he, so firmly insisting on being a space Octavian be beside without undue baggage. He lets go of Viktor's hand to touch his face, tracing a cheekbone and down to his jaw, the side of his neck. Hmm.]
Yes. Of course. Not with you.
[There's an apology baked in there somewhere, for his flippant nonsense. Not with Viktor. Right.
Choices. Well, here is another, in Viktor's eyes, beneath Octavian's fingertips. An easier choice than most to make. In fact,]
We are what we do, yes. Choices we have made. And I am glad to be one of yours.
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but like this, octavian need not be anything else than himself, as he is — a marvel, really, with his singularly beautiful mind, with his quiet not-quite-chuckle, his sense of humour, the way he listens and understands like no one else. why would he ever want him to be anything else? why would he need anything else?
though the touch against his face, fingertips tracing his cheek and jaw, settling to rest somewhere against his neck — yes, that touch is appreciated, and viktor glances down again, almost abashed for a moment, the touch unfamiliar and yet something he feels he wants to get used to. ]
Yes, [ he says, finally, after a pause, ] That is what it is... a choice. I like that. That this is — intentional. Not fate, or a cosmic force, or whatever else people describe it as, but us, choosing.
[ choosing each other, specifically. ]
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He cants his head to one side just slightly, an equally slight furrow in his brow, but the quiet smile— which is increasingly reserved for Viktor, it's starting to feel like— remains. Hmm,]
None of those have ever occurred to me.
[Quite literally, he's never thought about it, but also quite literally, he's never found himself, oh, blindsided by some rush of emotions for someone else quite outside his control. He knows the lines, certainly, Sterling had mooned over a handful of people with all the expected trappings, but, well. Intentional, yes, that's the best term for it; to have the space to consider the shape of a feeling and come to a conclusion.
It's the only way that makes sense to him, all things considered. Sterling would say he's the opposite of a romantic, but surely nothing could be more romantic than actually participating?]
I care for you, [he says, to that end and possibly abruptly, then,] By now this is evident. This I admit. But I wanted to say it directly.
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now that he can do.
something else he can do, and would like to continue doing, is stand here, their hands holding onto each other gently, and watch that small smile play on octavian's lips.
and truthfully, he is taken aback by the words; he would have been entirely content for this thing between them to exist between the lines, in this quiet understanding they have, about this as about so many other things... and yet, perhaps because of that, because of how neither of them is particularly verbose or prone to big declarations, the fact that octavian does say it — it means even more to him, as far as gestures go. ]
I'm glad, [ comes his answer, soft, ] That you do. And that you did.
[ this, perhaps, is where he should say the same — instead, he brushes his thumb once more against octavian's hand in a wordless response. but then, they wouldn't be having this conversation if he hadn't, hm, started it... so perhaps that has spoken it all for him. ]
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And he can see in Viktor those shades of himself, quieter, more withdrawn; so too is there a measure of saying it because Viktor should get to hear it. Not saying it back isn't a problem either, for honestly most of the same reasons... and because Viktor has already kissed his cheek, and made his choice, and so ardently defended Octavian's right to exist without, hm, caveats. All of those things paint a pretty clear picture.
And they are holding hands, something Octavian feels almost... giddy over? He isn't sure; he's never been giddy, he doesn't know what it should look like, but he knows this: he likes the way Viktor's hand feels in his, wants after so very long to let someone in. If that's giddy, wonderful; if not, it doesn't matter.]
Good. [He almost says he's glad Viktor is glad, but no, let's not be silly. But almost.] Would you like to see Mars now?
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and somehow, impossibly so, he feels the same kind of lightness, the same kind of happiness right now, standing here, with the feel of octavian's hand in his, secure in the knowledge that the affection he feels is fully reciprocated.
but, right, mars, ] If you don't mind, yes.
[ mind leaving this house, that is — and yet, he must do so eventually, regardless. perhaps it can be easier, if they do it together.
though there is something to do first; with some hesitance, viktor turns to look at the men sitting in the living room. they did react, earlier, so perhaps, perhaps. he will try, regardless, because this may be a dream but that doesn't make this any less important. so, looking at sterling, he says, quiet but sincere, ]
It was good to meet you. I promise I will do my best to... [ to what? take care of octavian? no, he knows he is abysmal at even taking care of himself, and furthermore, octavian is plenty capable of taking care of himself. so, instead, ] To make him happy.
[ there. that he can promise. and then, turning back to octavian, ] Shall we? [ to the side, ] Rio, come.
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Because they could just go and have a walk around, and he would be satisfied with how this has gone. He's more than satisfied already, Viktor's hand in his and the rightness of it. He has no doubts, and yet when Viktor turns to face his family, Octavian spends a split second completely unaware of what he intends to do.
They aren't real, after all, the thing he must continously tell himself to keep himself centered— and yet. And yet. Octavian grips Viktor's hand harder, all but stunned into silence as he speaks to Sterling. The words themselves are sweet, Viktor has already made him happy a dozen times over, of course he'll be able to do that again, but—
It was good to meet you, said to a man who isn't really there, who he can never truly meet, to assure him that he will make Octavian happy. Octavian isn't sure anyone has ever given him anything more meaningful than that; he doubts anyone else ever will.
The figure of Sterling does respond again, raising his glass to Viktor and mouthing something else that isn't entirely audible, but his smile is clear enough. Then he looks at Octavian and winks, and Octavian makes a noise like a little wheeze and looks down and away. Good god, hang on, he needs a moment.
......Okay.] Yes. I did tell you he would like you.
[All of that interaction is proof enough for him, frankly, dream or not. He looks around for Rio then, wiggling his free hand at her— let him pat that big pink head as they finally move to leave the house.
It's dusk outside now, heedless of whatever late evening hour it was supposed to be indoors; everything is even redder in the dimming light. Octavian very studiously doesn't turn back to look at the house until they're a few more houses away, just in case.]
I do not know how robust this replication is... but where would you like to go?
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and oh, alright, so it is a good thing; viktor smiles softly at octavian as they make their move to leave the house and says, ] Confirmation bias.
[ and yet, his tone is warm — yes, he hopes he is right. he hopes that should he ever have met octavian's twin for real, he would have liked him. but that is a dream even inside this one, and he dwells on the thought only for a heartbeat before they leave the house. (rio, once again, butts her head against octavian's hand, and if he's not quick enough to avoid it, will also lick it excitedly like an overgrown dog.
outside, she is quick to start skittering around again, clearly thrilled to be out and moving — viktor smiles at the sight before turning to octavian, their hands still interlinked. ]
I was hoping to find something similar to the Academy, [ he says with a half-shrug, ] To see what disciplines are studied there... but now that I know where we are, perhaps not. You will be able to tell me. [ so, instead, ] Is there anything you would like to show me?
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Ah, but he's yanked out of those thoughts by pink lizard tongue, sputtering and tugging his hand back to look at it like he doesn't get why that would happen. Help? Animals? How does one deal with an animal? After a moment he looks over at Rio zipping around, and as he shakes his hand to dry off this Rio spit,] Your opinion is noted.
[Jeez... look at her go, though. At least she's having fun. He looks at Viktor again, taking a moment to appreciate how he looks in the fading light, very handsome, 10/10—]
The university is in another district... although, well, [He shrugs; this is a dream? It could be around the corner, who knows.] We could visit the river. Come.
[Come, it's time to take a walk in the direction he remembers the river being in, and whether or not the dream folds space to make the walk shorter is both unclear and unimportant; they make it to said river, a fairly impressively wide thing especially given how dusty and dry the rest of the place is, with a bridge close by and plenty others in sight further down. They're heading onto the bridge.]
This river is man-made. Before my time.
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and then he's not really focusing on that, anymore, because octavian's sputtering is frankly adorable, and viktor, having gone through this same experience when rio appeared in his dream for the first time... viktor laughs, for it is an actual laugh this time, quiet and sounding very close to a chuckle still, but somehow more. so no, he is in fact no help with this, but at least octavian gets to watch this once-in-a-decade event?
he disentangles their hands for a moment, digging into his pocket and pulling out a handkerchief, which he only has because he, again, had to use it to dry his face perhaps five dreams ago. he holds it out for octavian with a shrug and a little shake of his hand, as if to say, here, and also sorry about her. ]
The river? [ right, he only said there are no large bodies of water; nothing about small bodies of water. and the dream continues to be kind to him — his cane remains in his hand, in the way he has not been able to walk for years, now; his leg is still in its customary brace, though, blending past and present neatly.
he makes a little noise of appreciation as they make it to the river; it is a beautiful sight, especially in the dusk, the reds dark and vibrant around the water. ]
There are no rivers like this in Piltover... nor Zaun. It is beautiful.
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Anyway, then he's going right back in for Viktor's hand, so they can hold hands while they look at this nice river. It's pretty straight, being a man-made thing, although it curves off in the distance. There's also a mechanism of sorts at the ends of this particular bridge they're standing on, as it becomes more evident upon a closer look that this is a drawbridge, actually. Octavian drums his fingers on the guardrail and then gives the whole length of it a more sweeping gesture.]
I helped to design this. In university. It was a project in our cohort. This is a mining town with plenty of boats coming through, you see.
[So the boats need space, etc etc, he took Viktor here to show off his college thesis project, more or less. Please gaze upon the fancy drawbridge and admire him more.]
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and he has already been eyeing the mechanism to the bridge with some interest (and ignoring the way the bridge itself sort of reminds him of the one between piltover and zaun; bridges are a normal thing, not a symbol for a city divided, at least not here), but when octavian explains his involvement in the designing process, viktor's eyes light up and he tugs on their hands to actually go an examine the structure in more detail. ]
It is a remarkable design, [ he says, and again, it is both a compliment and a sincere remark; he doesn't do flattery. ] The way the counterweight is hidden is very clever.
[ unlike most drawbridges, it doesn't actually look like one, unless one looks closer — yes, clever indeed. he straightens up from his half-crouch (well, straightens up as much as his spine allows; more, here in this dream, than normally) and looks at octavian — to admire him, yes, his turn to watch the setting sun illuminate him in its light.
time to try something he's not done in years; he sets the cane to rest against the rail of the bridge, and, yes, his balance holds. which means he can keep their hands entwined, and lift his other hand to tuck a lock of hair behind octavian's ear, gently. admiring, indeed. ]
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Biased, yes; doubly so, because it's both the expertise and the affection that settle warmly over Octavian in the cool evening air. He hasn't smiled this much in years, and of course he isn't beaming or anything so grandly expressive, but its staying power alone is remarkable.
(Involuntarily he wonders if this bridge is still there, if it hasn't been torn down and replaced in thirty years, or would it have lasted because his name is on it? Hmm-)
Here and now, though—]
Thank you. They used it for the other bridges eventually.
[Important to know. Also important: Viktor up close, the pleasant spark of his gentle touch, the sunset and the bridge. This is the part where people kiss, isn't it? Must be. Even if it isn't, it doesn't matter if that's what he wants,]
Viktor. One more thing.
[Leaning in to kiss him, specifically, short and sweet.]
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and he is smiling, too, more than he has had cause to in years; and more than that, there is a warm glow in his amber eyes as he looks at octavian like he's something incredible.
to the part about the counterweight mechanism, ] Well, of course. They would have been idiots not to.
[ when octavian's design is clearly superior to the common one... anyway. his hand still lingers near octavian's cheek, he hasn't moved it away since brushing the strands of hair behind his ear, and perhaps someone else would describe the kiss that follows a natural course of action, a gravitational pull — but they both know better. it is yet another choice, first from octavian to lean in, then from viktor to tilt his head slightly to kiss him back, just as soft and light, a press of lips more than anything else, but enough — more than enough.
when they part, viktor smooths his fingers over octavian's cheek in a mirror to earlier, in the house, before he lets his hand drop and reaches back for his cane.
and he says, contemplative and yet tender, ] I don't believe I've ever had anyone make me as happy as you do.
[ and perhaps someone else might wonder about this, the way his happiness is so quiet a thing, a gentle glow in the way he looks at octavian and nothing more... but it is there, and it is real. their surroundings may not be, but this — this, them, it is real. ]
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Yes. He will remember this. He's sure he will kiss Viktor in a hundred other memorable places another hundred times over, but they will never be here again.
For just one more beat he holds still, watching Viktor and committing every bit of him, and the river, and the bridge to memory. Making another person happy like this— well, perhaps Root was right about academic groupies he'd never noticed, but intentionally, on purpose this is his first time for that, too.]
No? I will endeavor to make up the difference. [He turns to lean back against the guardrail and into Viktor's space at once, shoulder-to-shoulder. Hey.] You are a marvel, after all.
[And what does a marvel deserve except the world and more— Octavian looks at him fondly a few seconds more, then leans his head on Viktor's shoulder, so that they're now looking in different directions at the city. Hm.]
I miss Mars. Do you miss your home?
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