[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.]
[ viktor, too, is committing this to memory — as near-perfect as his own usually is, he knows how dreams can be, intangible, wispy things that dance away when you try to hold onto them, disappearing together with the darkness of night, and he will not allow this to fade away like that. no, this will stay inside his mind in perfect clarity, a window to peer through any time he wants, to remind himself of the time they both looked at each other and said, in words and in actions, you're the one i am choosing.
and that octavian should choose to stay near him, even now, shoulder pressed against his — another choice that matters. ]
Then I will endeavour to keep my promise.
[ and make him happy in return. though octavian has the lead on that, what with the way he rests his head on viktor's shoulder, the waves of his hair soft and smooth as viktor leans his cheek against his head in return.
and, oh, that question. if there's ever been a loaded one, this is it. ]
... yes and no. [ and he finds he doesn't dread the idea of explaining the why of it all to octavian, unpleasant as the whole thing is — but he doesn't want to do it now. not here, because this is too nice a moment for his fate at home to ruin.
but he can at least try and focus on the easier parts. ] I do miss the familiarity. And sometimes... I've not been to where I grew up in years. It wasn't a particularly good place, or a good house, but...
[ but then, maybe it isn't really the place he misses. ]
[The reiteration of his promise makes Octavian smile, and he shifts his arm pressed against Viktor's to loop around it loosely, since he can't see his face at the moment. It's comfortable like this; he has no intention of pulling away anytime soon.
He can't relate to Viktor's talk of his home, he finds, and he did kind of expect that much; they clearly come from very different worlds, not just literally, and Octavian knows that he has, hm, nothing particularly adept to say about the specific differences. He's never had to think about that before, not really, not in a way that permanently mattered.
So instead, the thing he thinks he can pick out that he can understand,] Your family?
[Or perhaps just the yearning for childhood, life before adult complexities, no matter the specific backdrop.]
I would hear what you have to share, [he says, the same sentiment Viktor had given about his own memories of Sterling; maybe not here, but someday. And,] Any part. The 'yes' and the 'no'.
[Which is frankly herculean for him, considering how little interest he manages to muster up for other people; but he would have the whole of Viktor, if he can—not just the glittering brilliance of his intellect, the lovely things that drew him into this particular orbit. Viktor would rather he not make those jokes at his own expense, so Octavian would rather Viktor not hold back on his account.
[ their arms looping together makes viktor let out a small sigh, content and comfortable and happy like this.
he gives a halting nod to octavian's mention of family, before realising they're not looking at each other and thus the nod is all but equal to silence; so, ] Yes.
[ and the offer, well — that creates a fresh burst of warmth in his chest, because yes, of course he's noticed that octavian doesn't place too much notice on others, and so the fact he is offering this freely, even asking to hear it, any and all... yes, it means a lot to him, its significance and importance are not lost on him. ]
Yes, [ he says again, a little softer, ] I will tell you. Someday. I would rather not...
[ burden this moment, he thinks, but lets the sentence trail off, trusting octavian to understand without it being completed. instead, he is silent for a moment, watches as the sun starts to disappear fully, leaving the sky a beautiful red-purple colour.
finally, when he speaks, it is with a kind of quiet nostalgia, ] My parents made me the uniform for the Academy. It is exceedingly hard to be admitted if you are from the Undercity. They will look at your exams and your application and only see your name. I would have been discarded immediately. So my parents made me a uniform, and one day I wore it and walked into the Academy like I belonged there. Attended lectures, took part in projects... and when I was finally found out, professor Heimerdinger had seen enough of my work to have been impressed and take me on as an assistant instead of kicking me out.
[Someday, someday— someday is nice, Octavian thinks, for both the promise of it and the lack of an immediate rush to the finish. Here they can be content to say someday and trust each other to mean it, where to other people someday may have actually been absolutely not, ever.
So. Someday is nice. The sunset is lovely, Viktor's skinny shoulder is surprisingly comfortable— it's all very nice, here. As is Viktor's story about his parents and his Academy, which makes Octavian laugh; never loud, but his shoulders shake with the small sound of it, and that much is readily noticeable.]
You walked right in? They should have given you the keys to the whole campus.
[And also not pigeonholed him as that strange professor's assistant, but that's a topic for another time, too. Viktor's intellect is wasted being assistant to anybody, Octavian thinks, and there's something about being impressed by the work of a "student" and shifting him over into a position with arguably less upward mobility than an actual student that feels... odd. Feels closer to "discarded immediately" than it perhaps should, but, well, hell if University darling and local wealthy prodigy Octavian can really speak to that.
But it feels odd.]
Your parents must have been proud. Did they know? Before you walked in?
[Or was the uniform just a nice gift, and Viktor had other plans—]
[ oh. the quiet sound of his laughter, the way his shoulders shake slightly with it — viktor freezes, or maybe the entirety of mars freezes around them instead, leaving nothing but him, head turning even though he knows he can't actually properly look at octavian like this, wishing he could see him, could make sure this quiet sound is forever embedded in his heart.
it buoys him, makes the smile audible in his voice as he says, ] Of course I walked in. Those in Piltover could never have imagined that a Zaunite could simply walk among them like that, or be smart enough to be there. Even though none of them were worth even a thought.
[ at least until that fateful trial. and he doesn't begrudge the professor; that viktor didn't get thrown out of there immediately is still a minor miracle, and being there to help heimerdinger did make it possible for him to talk to him, to learn from him, to have official, sanctioned access to the academy and its facilities.
and yet.
still, the question about his parents makes that slight edge of nostalgia seep right back in. ]
They knew. My mother thought it was a brilliant plan. My father thought I would be caught within the month. But they were both supportive. They knew that was the only real chance I had.
[ and he doesn't know if he has wasted it; and anyway, they both died soon after and didn't live long enough to even see him become the dean's assistant, let alone one of the minds behind hextech.
both of these things go right into that someday pile. ]
[Of course he walked right in, of course. Octavian can almost picture it, a much younger Viktor in his fresh little uniform, walking right in and putting everyone else there to shame by simply opening his mouth. It suits him, and Octavian feels a little tingle of warmth for Viktor's sake, that his parents were supportive of his idea.]
They sound kind. They must have been proud of you.
[He can't help but think of his own parents; they died not knowing what happened to him, although if he knows his family, he knows they would not have swallowed the "mysteriously left town overnight" excuse that was fed to the press. But, well, "My parents outlived me and died not knowing the truth" is also going straight into the someday pile.
He does lift his free hand though, to point... back over his shoulder, in the direction Viktor is facing. It's not a very precise point, but it's enough.]
My parents lived down that direction. Past the next bridge. And my university is over there in the old town center.
["Over there" is the way he's facing, but never mind it. Use context clues. He wonders if they could manipulate this dream actively, and he could see something of Viktor's home in turn, but hm. There likely isn't enough time to experiment on it.]
[ both of those things, in fact — kind and proud of him, always. he loved his parents immensely, and both of them passing due to the conditions in the undercity, well. it had fueled his desire to make a real change there, even more.
he hums as octavian points to somewhere past the other bridge, and then again when he speaks of the university; likely not in the same direction, because the direction he is looking into doesn't seem like an area to be called the old town center.... regardless, he notes these things, commits them to memory like he has done with every single detail octavian has told him so far. ]
Would you like to see either?
[ he doesn't know how much time they still have left in this dream, when it is that they will both wake up — which, how octavian is sleeping in the first place is a fascination, likely due to the simulation, but that is neither here nor there right now. what matters is they don't waste the time they have, here. ]
[Would he like to see either, Viktor offers, and Octavian quietly appreciates the offer for coming at all; Viktor would not go on walking tours of pseudo-imaginary cities for just anyone, after all. That, too, is a plume of warmth in his chest.
The question itself, however— the university has nothing for him anymore, he had already left it by the time he died, there is nothing there but a faint nostalgia, and his parents... Well. He'd been prepared to see Sterling and young Emory, to put them into their reunion scenario and see their faces, hear them speak, but his parents? Would he even make it through the front door?
So,] No.
[Not harshly said, just said. He's content with what they've already seen, and the rest is just... trivia.]
I would like to stay here with you. Until we cannot stay any longer.
[When night properly falls, maybe? He has no way of knowing, but the sentiment is the same.]
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expiationlogs2025-01-13 12:39 pm
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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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and that octavian should choose to stay near him, even now, shoulder pressed against his — another choice that matters. ]
Then I will endeavour to keep my promise.
[ and make him happy in return. though octavian has the lead on that, what with the way he rests his head on viktor's shoulder, the waves of his hair soft and smooth as viktor leans his cheek against his head in return.
and, oh, that question. if there's ever been a loaded one, this is it. ]
... yes and no. [ and he finds he doesn't dread the idea of explaining the why of it all to octavian, unpleasant as the whole thing is — but he doesn't want to do it now. not here, because this is too nice a moment for his fate at home to ruin.
but he can at least try and focus on the easier parts. ] I do miss the familiarity. And sometimes... I've not been to where I grew up in years. It wasn't a particularly good place, or a good house, but...
[ but then, maybe it isn't really the place he misses. ]
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He can't relate to Viktor's talk of his home, he finds, and he did kind of expect that much; they clearly come from very different worlds, not just literally, and Octavian knows that he has, hm, nothing particularly adept to say about the specific differences. He's never had to think about that before, not really, not in a way that permanently mattered.
So instead, the thing he thinks he can pick out that he can understand,] Your family?
[Or perhaps just the yearning for childhood, life before adult complexities, no matter the specific backdrop.]
I would hear what you have to share, [he says, the same sentiment Viktor had given about his own memories of Sterling; maybe not here, but someday. And,] Any part. The 'yes' and the 'no'.
[Which is frankly herculean for him, considering how little interest he manages to muster up for other people; but he would have the whole of Viktor, if he can—not just the glittering brilliance of his intellect, the lovely things that drew him into this particular orbit. Viktor would rather he not make those jokes at his own expense, so Octavian would rather Viktor not hold back on his account.
That is,] Someday.
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he gives a halting nod to octavian's mention of family, before realising they're not looking at each other and thus the nod is all but equal to silence; so, ] Yes.
[ and the offer, well — that creates a fresh burst of warmth in his chest, because yes, of course he's noticed that octavian doesn't place too much notice on others, and so the fact he is offering this freely, even asking to hear it, any and all... yes, it means a lot to him, its significance and importance are not lost on him. ]
Yes, [ he says again, a little softer, ] I will tell you. Someday. I would rather not...
[ burden this moment, he thinks, but lets the sentence trail off, trusting octavian to understand without it being completed. instead, he is silent for a moment, watches as the sun starts to disappear fully, leaving the sky a beautiful red-purple colour.
finally, when he speaks, it is with a kind of quiet nostalgia, ] My parents made me the uniform for the Academy. It is exceedingly hard to be admitted if you are from the Undercity. They will look at your exams and your application and only see your name. I would have been discarded immediately. So my parents made me a uniform, and one day I wore it and walked into the Academy like I belonged there. Attended lectures, took part in projects... and when I was finally found out, professor Heimerdinger had seen enough of my work to have been impressed and take me on as an assistant instead of kicking me out.
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So. Someday is nice. The sunset is lovely, Viktor's skinny shoulder is surprisingly comfortable— it's all very nice, here. As is Viktor's story about his parents and his Academy, which makes Octavian laugh; never loud, but his shoulders shake with the small sound of it, and that much is readily noticeable.]
You walked right in? They should have given you the keys to the whole campus.
[And also not pigeonholed him as that strange professor's assistant, but that's a topic for another time, too. Viktor's intellect is wasted being assistant to anybody, Octavian thinks, and there's something about being impressed by the work of a "student" and shifting him over into a position with arguably less upward mobility than an actual student that feels... odd. Feels closer to "discarded immediately" than it perhaps should, but, well, hell if University darling and local wealthy prodigy Octavian can really speak to that.
But it feels odd.]
Your parents must have been proud. Did they know? Before you walked in?
[Or was the uniform just a nice gift, and Viktor had other plans—]
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it buoys him, makes the smile audible in his voice as he says, ] Of course I walked in. Those in Piltover could never have imagined that a Zaunite could simply walk among them like that, or be smart enough to be there. Even though none of them were worth even a thought.
[ at least until that fateful trial. and he doesn't begrudge the professor; that viktor didn't get thrown out of there immediately is still a minor miracle, and being there to help heimerdinger did make it possible for him to talk to him, to learn from him, to have official, sanctioned access to the academy and its facilities.
and yet.
still, the question about his parents makes that slight edge of nostalgia seep right back in. ]
They knew. My mother thought it was a brilliant plan. My father thought I would be caught within the month. But they were both supportive. They knew that was the only real chance I had.
[ and he doesn't know if he has wasted it; and anyway, they both died soon after and didn't live long enough to even see him become the dean's assistant, let alone one of the minds behind hextech.
both of these things go right into that someday pile. ]
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They sound kind. They must have been proud of you.
[He can't help but think of his own parents; they died not knowing what happened to him, although if he knows his family, he knows they would not have swallowed the "mysteriously left town overnight" excuse that was fed to the press. But, well, "My parents outlived me and died not knowing the truth" is also going straight into the someday pile.
He does lift his free hand though, to point... back over his shoulder, in the direction Viktor is facing. It's not a very precise point, but it's enough.]
My parents lived down that direction. Past the next bridge. And my university is over there in the old town center.
["Over there" is the way he's facing, but never mind it. Use context clues. He wonders if they could manipulate this dream actively, and he could see something of Viktor's home in turn, but hm. There likely isn't enough time to experiment on it.]
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[ both of those things, in fact — kind and proud of him, always. he loved his parents immensely, and both of them passing due to the conditions in the undercity, well. it had fueled his desire to make a real change there, even more.
he hums as octavian points to somewhere past the other bridge, and then again when he speaks of the university; likely not in the same direction, because the direction he is looking into doesn't seem like an area to be called the old town center.... regardless, he notes these things, commits them to memory like he has done with every single detail octavian has told him so far. ]
Would you like to see either?
[ he doesn't know how much time they still have left in this dream, when it is that they will both wake up — which, how octavian is sleeping in the first place is a fascination, likely due to the simulation, but that is neither here nor there right now. what matters is they don't waste the time they have, here. ]
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The question itself, however— the university has nothing for him anymore, he had already left it by the time he died, there is nothing there but a faint nostalgia, and his parents... Well. He'd been prepared to see Sterling and young Emory, to put them into their reunion scenario and see their faces, hear them speak, but his parents? Would he even make it through the front door?
So,] No.
[Not harshly said, just said. He's content with what they've already seen, and the rest is just... trivia.]
I would like to stay here with you. Until we cannot stay any longer.
[When night properly falls, maybe? He has no way of knowing, but the sentiment is the same.]