expiationlogs | dead to the power of two

[All things considered it isn't a message Octavian is surprised to get; slightly surprised that it's Viktor's voice, rough as it sounds, although he supposes with the mention of the Hexcore it makes sense that he wouldn't want to leave a "paper trail" where someone could realize it's here.

But other than that it's not a surprise. Octavian listens to it and does nothing especially dramatic; Viktor would not want him to rush to his side, if he would even get there in time, and leaving a lengthy message in return is not Octavian's style. He will miss Viktor if the second theory is wrong on the point of returning in a week, this is true, but that much he will keep to himself until Viktor is hopefully in front of him again.

In the end he doesn't actually reply at all, but nevertheless he will look after the core, no one will ever get into his safe. Part of him wonders if the thing reacts when Viktor dies, but he made a promise, and the safe remains locked.

Three taps on the door can only be Viktor (because Charles or Root would knock and also shout something at him, bless them), and he leaves what he's doing to answer the door and gesture Viktor inside. Only once he's there and Octavian has shut the door does he turn and wordlessly hold out an arm for Viktor to come here, come here, dying is terrible, come here.]

[ yes, it is the lack of any written evidence of it, but also the fact he can barely see at that point — speech-to-text might have worked, but why do that when he'd be speaking regardless? and he doesn't expect a response; no point in that when he'll be dead, unable to read or listen to it until he is back, and can go see octavian in person. his own message is a passing of information, a plea and an apology all in one go, there only because he wouldn't have octavian think he's returned home, leave him with no explanation over his own sudden disappearance.

(he doesn't do this for anyone else — jayce will undoubtedly come to the lab, which means he'll be found, which means the others will be informed. it will be a bother once he's back, but only then.)

there is a modicum of relief as octavian opens the door; there was always the chance that he'd be gone, for one reason or another, and the haphazard message viktor left him would have been their last communication —

it's a terrible thought, but only a thought, because here octavian is, not alive but nonetheless well. and here's the thing: neither of them is really the hugging type, instead choosing to hold hands or lean against each other, existing next to one another with at least one point of contact. but now, as he reaches for octavian, it is to stumble over to him, let his crutch rest against the wall so he can wrap both his arms around octavian, holding onto him as he takes deep breaths. and he will find some words, soon; right now, he's simply going to feel this, the fact they are both here — still, again. ]

[True enough that Octavian has never been a hugger. In life he wasn't much one for any kind of touch, only comfortable with it when it came from family— but then he died and suddenly to feel the physical anchor of himself in the world became the most important thing. It's why he spends so much time now touching all the tools in the lab, touching every table, fascinated by the cats at the cafe; the lack of one's whole self is a terrible part of this process, dying and coming back.

And so he understands that much wordlessly when Viktor wraps around him, all of it layered into the grief and the worry that he might not have returned. Octavian wraps his arms around Viktor in turn, tight and definite; he's here, they both are. He presses his cheek into Viktor's hair and simply appreciates the weight and the warmth of him, returned and alive.

(A thought occurs to him then, that he left Viktor to die and then didn't seek him out, and isn't that what was done to him? Guilt twists in his gut, but surely not, no, this was entirely different— he won't unpack this now, in any case.)

Viktor. Nothing else matters besides Viktor's return. Octavian doesn't know how long they stand there like this, minutes? An hour? But when he feels like Viktor is at least not going to collapse around him, he says,] Welcome back.

[—which is I missed you and it must have been hard and a handful of other things at once, but Viktor will know. He'll know.]

[ of course octavian understands without him having to say a word — understands the need to feel, to be certain of his own existence, to anchor himself to something else, someone else, to say without saying that you are here, i am here, we are both here right now, this is real.

because it is a terrifying thing, death — and no one knows that better than octavian.

they stand there until the combined support from octavian and viktor's good leg are no longer enough to hold him upright, until his eventual collapse might be far more physical than metaphorical; and so he holds on with one arm, still, the other reaching for his crutch, leaning on it once more without moving away at all.

and of course he knows; just as his own message had been all of it, i'm afraid and i will miss you even when i won't be aware of it and i'm sorry, so is it easy for him to hear everything octavian puts between the lines, there, every word that lingers in the air between them.

which is why he says, quiet and yet soft, ] I came to you immediately. After I woke up.

[Viktor shifts and Octavian looses his grip just enough to let him— who knew he had that much of a hug in him before this very moment, he certainly didn't— and they could say nothing else at all here, and it would be alright. Octavian could simply watch Viktor for another few hours, a full day— enough time to fully process that he is here and alive and moving. Even reaching for his crutch is momentarily the most mesmerizing thing in the universe.

He remembers belatedly to blink and does so a few times in quick succession, tilting his head to lean against Viktor's. Immediately, he says...

It's not the sort of thing that deserves a stupid quip, so instead,] Stay here a while.

[Because Octavian missed him, yes, and he has a whole week of looking at him and touching him quietly to make up, but more than that: no one in this ridiculous city has an appropriate relationship with death, and he would not see Viktor try to work his way through this particular wreckage on his own.

And also the other things. He opens his mouth to say something else and his tablet begins to beep, the sharp chirp cutting him off. Ah, yes,]

I had set a timer. After your message.

[Normal things to do. Would that he could turn that off without having to actually move, hm, it's just going...]

[ it is perhaps unsurprising that he feels the same — that he too would be content to simply be, and the request to stay earns a simple, easy nod from him. of course he is staying; there's nowhere else he would rather be than here, their heads pressed together.

only, the beeping interrupts the moment — but when octavian explains the reasoning, viktor is once again struck speechless; that octavian had done that, to know when exactly viktor should be back... it is at once sweet and so very on brand for octavian to do that his chest feels full, not in the horrifying way of his death but with a ballooning emotion the size of an entire planet, warm and buoyant, and viktor stares at octavian for a moment and thinks, i adore you —

instead of saying that, though, before octavian can extract himself from their half-embrace, viktor leans in to press a soft kiss to his lips, hoping it says everything that would take him hours to put to words, and more.

and then, pulling back, ]

Let's go turn it off. The sound is... grating.

[The alarm continues to beep at them from nearby, and it is so grating, and yet Octavian too is content to spend another few moments looking at Viktor and enjoying his presence. He tilts his head to return Viktor's kiss, lingering in the moment to relish it a bit longer. He's missed this, too, and while after a week he feels like he has too many things backed up that he's wanted to tell Viktor or show Viktor, this kiss and the unspoken words behind it are somehow precisely enough.

But the sound is terrible, and so he draws away but takes Viktor's hand, come join him while he moves over to the table where he's left his tablet beeping away. That gets turned off, and Octavian looks over at the workshop; he was doing something earlier, but... it can wait.

Actually,] Are you hungry?

[He must be, mustn't he— Octavian doesn't know how it goes to be brought back from death in this place, but he would assume that the body is not restored at its full capacity or given a nice meal, so. Surely, there's a hunger.

And Sterling had always cooked, whenever he'd been in some kind of state, ill or otherwise, so instinct makes him want to do that now, for Viktor. As such,] I will make you something.

[ perhaps one day, he will speak the words aloud instead of letting his actions speak for him — but for now, it seems octavian has no trouble hearing him regardless. he spends a few seconds simply appreciating this quiet understanding between them, the knowledge that it doesn't matter what they say or if they say anything at all, they both know what matters... and then he is pulled after octavian as he makes his way to finally silence the incessant beeping.

the question is unexpected, but sparks a realisation that yes, he is hungry; his body is bad at signals like this, or perhaps it is something he's brought on himself after years and years of bad habits in sleeping and eating — but right now, his body, perhaps due to its recent resurrection, is quite clear in its message.

and so, with a small smile that warms his entire expression, ] Thank you.

[ once again, the words mean more than one thing: not thanks simply for this, offering to cook for him, but also for everything else; for caring, for being here, for asking him to stay. ]

[Ah, and his smile alone is enough for Octavian; he wants to bottle it somehow, to wrap it up and keep it in his pocket and remind himself, whenever it becomes necessary, that yes— he has been happy.

So he leans in to draw Viktor close again, to kiss him on the forehead. Then, slightly apologetic,] We will have to go up to the house.

[Which is, hm, forty feet from the workshop at best? But it's still more walking, when he would like to wrap Viktor up himself and let him rest. Unfortunately the workshop does not have a kitchen, and while he would absolutely cook a meal over a Bunsen burner, the food is all in the house. The food is also whatever eclectic pantry stock he's gathered in his quest to eat things, but listen, he'll make something worth eating out of it. It's the art of the scrounge.

Either way, he puts his tablet back on the table and leads them back to the door; he has no interest in anyone else but Viktor tonight, so the tablet stays here. Then it's out and into the house, and he brings Viktor over to the couch rather than one of the high-backed armchairs, so he can lie down. He should lie down. Ahem.]

What do you like to eat?

[ somehow, it is not the initial kiss but rather that second press of lips against his forehead that makes viktor feel like maybe his body has come back wrong, that what he is is ready to melt into a pile right here, right now — but, no, it's just octavian being impossibly sweet and lovely, and him having somehow forgotten during that week of non-existence how it feels, to be close to him like this.

the slightest edge of an apology in his voice makes viktor raise his brows slightly and say, dryly but gently, ] I'm not an invalid, Octavian.

[ dying seems to have brought him back to the baseline he'd been after claude's treatment — certainly better than he'd been upon arrival, at first, and what strangeness he is feeling after dying seems to be solely located inside his mind, not elsewhere in his body.

in any case, walking the short distance isn't terrible; he walked the whole way here from his lab, after all. what is worse than that is the knowledge that he would much rather pull octavian to sit next to him on the couch than let him go to the kitchen, but he seems adamant about cooking, and viktor is hungry.

so he sits down, leans against the cushions and says, ] Whatever you want to make. I'm not picky.

[ and that is true — he has a sneaking suspicion octavian would shudder at the sight of what jericho sells in the undercity. for a few seconds, he laments over the fact he can never see that happen, because he can imagine the face octavian would make, and it is very cute, imaginary as it is. ]

[Octavian huffs, amused, and presses another kiss to Viktor's temple. Much as he relishes Viktor's sass, takes it as a sign he's feeling better than he was, please—]

You died. It was grueling. I would not have you hike back and forth for my whims.

[This said mostly as they walk back to the house; Octavian is, of course, keenly aware of the discomfort of literally dying, and as it happens, the strange detachment of finding oneself in a body after not inhabiting one for a time. Any length of time, from a week to years and years, even the handful of hours he needs to spend letting his summoned vessel recharge its magic. It's strange and disorienting, so if he's inclined to fuss over Viktor more than usual, well— he died! He gets to rest!

Specifically, he gets to rest on the couch, while Octavian runs fond fingers through his hair as he passes said couch to the kitchen. This is a small house; he isn't going very far. From behind Viktor comes the sounds of cabinets opening and closing, a pot being moved... and moved again, while he tries to remember the steps of cooking in order.

He was good at this, give him a minute. Hmm.]

Something simple. [This is a given; he doesn't keep much in the way of fresh meat or produce, given he much prefers to go out and be given prepared food when he wants to experience eating. But he's got, like, pasta? It's going to be noodles. He sets a pot to boiling and then immediately leaves it, to come and lean on the back of the couch and poke two fingers into Viktor's shoulder and 'walk' them up to the side of his neck. Hey. He really missed this.]

How do you feel now?

Offering to feed me isn't a whim, [ he says quietly, as they walk, ] It's a kindness.

[ one that he appreciates tremendously, at that. just as much as he appreciates the fingers running through his hair — it is like that week with them apart, unable to touch each other is now making octavian reach for him whenever he is within reach at all... and frankly, viktor finds he likes it quite much, finds the same kind of urge making his fingers twitch with the desire to reach out to him, to stop him from going into the kitchen, to make him stay right here.

but no; food is imminent, and he can manage on his own for now. though that doesn't mean he isn't looking up at octavian when he appears again, that the fingers doing their little one-two walk up to his neck doesn't make him smile. ]

Better, [ he says and means it entirely in the romantic sense, tilting his head to the side and down, pressing the side of his cheek and the tip of his nose against octavian's hand.

and then, because he can only be a romantic for so long, and because he knows octavian is asking in earnest, ] It is strange. My body feels better than it was, but my mind... [ with a twist of his lips, he looks down. ] I keep weighing every breath in my mind. Is this the one that will catch in my lungs? Or the next one? Or the one after? Because if I have died once, then I will die again.

[ and again, and again — until this place grows tired of that, or until he finds a solution that will stop the cycle. ]

[Well, it was immediately making him go somewhere else right after arriving... It doesn't matter; Octavian can let it go. Better to focus on Viktor, the living whole of him and the press of his face against his hand. That's cute— he loves that actually, and if he wasn't so dedicated to getting some food into Viktor, he would absolutely abandon the heating water to stay here and get lost in affectionate touches, the simplicity of being here, together.

But the water is heating, and he shifts his hand to run his fingers through Viktor's hair again.]

I cannot say I know the precise feeling, [he says, because he's only technically died the one time, and not here; but the body he inhabits does literally dissolve, so he thinks he has some kind of a handle on this feeling of waiting for the inevitable, at least a little.] So I cannot say it will leave you. But perhaps with time the terror will lessen. Shrink.

[A beat. Well,] Like grief.

[Only, you know, on a personal level.]

[ once again, he tilts his head into the touch, almost instinctively so, like any time octavian's fingers touch his hair or face or any part of him, all he wants to do is to lean into it, to feel as much of it at once as is humanly possible.

and maybe octavian doesn't know the precise feeling, but he does certainly know something similar — perhaps better than anyone else in this whole place, which is why everything he says matters more to viktor than anything coming from anyone else.

like grief — yes, an apt comparison, for it is grieving except for yourself, for the injustice, the pain, the lack of choice... all of it. ]

You believe I will grow used to it? If I die enough times, here? [ because yes, he believes the terror would recede, if he didn't have to be afraid of dying over and over again, but like this? he chuckles humourlessly. ]

What would that be like? Oh, another month has passed, time to die again. [ a pause, and his expression crumbles. ] No, I cannot do that.

Not exactly. [No, never used to it, not so much to expect it like one expects a clock to turn, that would be grim even for men in their relative, hm, health positions. Octavian's hand stays in Viktor's hair, a smooth and repetitive comfort, while he thinks.]

But I do think you will overtake it before it overtakes you. The grief.

[Not, at least not yet, the dying— he's not unconvinced the two of them could come up with a way to set back Viktor's symptoms, if not eliminate them entirely. Perhaps a bit of intricate runework, like his body? It's worth thinking about.

That's for later, though. Here, it's the grief, and he believes Viktor is stronger than the weight of it, too clever and driven to get lost wandering in the halls of despair. He wouldn't call that "getting used to it," though; it's subtler than that.]

I do not believe you persist to move from one death to another. You shine far too brightly for that.

[ for a moment that seemingly stretches on and on, into minutes into hours into infinity, it is only octavian's hand in his hair that keeps him anchored — there is a certain irony in octavian believing him stronger than the grief, all the while viktor feels that very grief pulling him under the waves, threatening to drown him in the hopelessness of it all.

quietly, with a twist to his mouth, he says, ] Those who shine the brightest burn the fastest. Professor Heimerdinger said that to me when he found out I was dying.

[ because of course he'd been so back home, too; it's not an aldrip development. he tilts his head, to try and look at octavian even as he presses his head against his hand. ]

You say that, and yet... that is what waits for me. I will die here, and if I go home, I will die there, too. Only to be brought back, just like here. [ he looks down, then. ] It is different to remain when you yourself have chosen it, than to have it all chosen for you.

Your professor is careless and inconsiderate. [Because really, that kind of greeting card-ass nonsense isn't something you should say to anyone, let alone a dying man. It doesn't help.] You do not shine brightly because you will fade.

[Broadly, in any case— it isn't a case of being brilliant and wonderful and so full of innovation because he is going to die, like the greeting card phrase implies. It rankles Octavian, to hear people have spoken of Viktor like a tragedy, puttering around before his inevitable demise. As if the rest of his life has been reduced to the single point of his death before he even gets there. And now Viktor speaks of this morbid cycle, a black hole emptying into that very point over and over and over—

He leans down a bit more, staring down at Viktor in his usual lightly intense way.]

Your companions from home told you this? [The gross misuse of his body after death, even to bring him back, the disrespect of it—] Then from now you must choose. Every moment a choice.

[Choice keeps coming back to linger in the room with them, it seems. Octavian brushes Viktor's hair back again, then slides his fingers down to brush against his cheek.]

Become unrelenting. Bigger than death and those who would choose for you.

[ oh, and that — yes, that is why it had sounded so wrong to him, isn't it? the implication that he is like a supernova, that his brilliance (and yes, he knows it is brilliance, there are many things he's not proud of but he can stand behind the knowledge of his own intelligence on steady feet) is the result of his short life, like there is a correlation between them, like one follows the other. and he refuses to have that, to let it be like that; his death may be inevitable, but it has no bearing on anything else.

he looks at octavian, meets his stare and nods. ] Yes. My partner.

[ an answer to two things at once: who told him, and who is behind it, both at once. granted, jayce doesn't believe that he'd died... but viktor thinks he knows better. jayce is convinced, but there is no way he was left breathing after the bomb. and he knows the hexcore. ]

Choose... yes, [ he says, lifting his hand to cover octavian's. ]

Will you be here with me? [ he doesn't say, i can't do that without you, but it rings in the silence between the words, regardless — or perhaps rather i don't want to do that without you. because there are so many things he can do — he knows he's capable of it, all of it, if he just tries. he's always believed in himself, after all. and yet — none of it seems worth much, now, if octavian isn't by his side. ]

[Hm, Octavian really does not like that; of course he prefers Viktor alive and well, so on some level he understands the urge to... act in that kind of situation. As always however, he is uniquely disposed to view it from the other end: here he is, a thing that should not be mucking around in a body that is, generously, a science project, and it is miserable, and most significantly, he did this. He thinks if he had woken after his death without his consent as the thing he is, he would be...

Upset.

So he understands. Whatever Viktor's partner has done to him, the thing Viktor has not yet experienced, there is an indignity to it— to being stripped of choice, for someone else's benefit. Octavian will never bring his family back from the dead the way he's done to himself; an injustice, that Viktor would not be allowed the same respect.

He frowns about it. There isn't anything to do about that, at least not yet.

Now,] Of course. [There's nowhere else he'd rather be— whether being at Viktor's side is merely literal or if there is some actionable goal to push towards, he'll stay. How could he do anything else.] As long as you will have me.

[The water is boiling behind them somewhere; he ignores it.]

It may be difficult. Choosing. I know what that is like. Outside of this body it is a constant. A restless mind. [He ducks lower, a bit of an awkward twist, but all in the service of kissing Viktor's forehead.] Which is to say I am here for you. No woe is too great.

[ there is a relief to hearing that — enough so that viktor smiles, almost helplessly adoring as he turns his head to look at octavian; and once again, the words are right there, and it would be so, so painfully easy to speak them... but he doesn't, not like this, not after all of this. octavian deserves better than viktor speaking out his feelings like in gratitude, or in response — he deserves them without caveats, without any words said to viktor first.

and so instead, what he says is, ] That may be quite a while. I hope you are prepared.

[ at least he hopes so; however long they have here, his own failing health cycle aside.

still; no one else understands him in this like octavian, who knows what it is to choose and to make a choice every single day, and viktor closes his eyes against the surge of pure feeling as octavian presses his lips against his forehead. ]

There is always a choice, I know. [ just as he knows that those choices aren't always easy to make. rarely, when they are things that matter. ]

With you, it doesn't seem... too daunting.

[Even that is lovely to hear, the promise laced through it, that they will be here together like this for as long as they're able. Octavian hums, smiling lightly. He could say something quippy about how the work simply never stops, but— it isn't that kind of work, being at Viktor's side. There is work, one must always put in the work, but it is the kind of work that buoys him rather than weighs on him. Work, as any relationship is, and yet being with Viktor is the most enjoyable kind there is.

So,]

I am already prepared. I know you would correct me were I to make some critical mistake.

[But they've definitely been nailing this relationship thing so far, so that doesn't feel like it's going to be a problem. He cards his fingers through Viktor's hair once more as he moves to stand, slowly, the touch lingering.]

You are eminently capable. Of this and whatever else you choose. I will be here to remind you.

[Literally and not so literally, as he looks over at the stove. Ahem,] But first I must rescue what is left of the water.

[ how silly, to think octavian could make any kind of a mistake that could be classified as critical, when it comes to the two of them — no, he trusts octavian implicitly, holds him so dear that there is very little he would not excuse, between them or outside of them.

what is not silly at all is the way octavian promises that there is no reason for him to prepare, for he is so already — a return of the commitment that viktor is offering him in not so many words; however long they have. whether it is days, weeks or years... this is where he wants to be. and he would never have expected it to feel so — easy, in a way, the way they are together, the comfortable understanding they have. ]

You wouldn't, [ he says, softly, with a tilt of his head; make mistakes, that is. not in anything that truly matters... or perhaps simply in his eyes.

and the rock-solid belief that octavian has in him — nobody's ever believed in me, he remembers, and yet, here he is, speaking of viktor being capable like it is something obvious.

wordlessly, he lifts his hand, touches octavian's hand with his as it lingers in his hair, takes it for a moment before he has to pull away to, ] Oh. Yes, the water.

[ he'd, hm, forgotten about that entirely. ]

[Look, he can't in good conscience rule out the possibility that he might do something wrong— even something minor, even while trying his best. He is just one dead man, after all, and as easy and wonderful as being with Viktor is, he's never done this thing before. So, just in case.

It's still lovely to hear Viktor say he wouldn't, though, to hear that faith in him expressed so simply and earnestly. Even if he does make a mistake it shouldn't be a disaster; no matter how much time they have, he doesn't anticipate any earth-shattering errors. Just this, more of this, on and on and on.

And also the pasta. He huffs his quiet little laugh and catches Viktor's hand again, tilting down to kiss the backs of his fingers. Yes, the water, one of them does have to eat.]

I promise I will make it worth your while. [To eat these noodles and spend the twenty minutes or so not holding his hands.] You must eat. Later I will even convince you to sleep.

[Look forward to it! Anyway, let him go put pasta in this pot. Cooking.]

[ that quiet little laugh, as it turns out, is on its own enough to fill viktor's heart, like it isn't blood cells and oxygen and a number of other things in the veins that circulate the blood through his heart but something else entirely; like he's woken up from death and instead of needing air or water or food, that little laugh alone is enough to sustain this new body of his.

a romantic thought, that, if untrue; octavian kisses the backs of his hands softly before letting go, and viktor stares at him, transfixed, before saying, ]

I was unable to knowingly miss you while I was dead, but I believe whatever part of me remained in this simulation, waiting to be brought back... I believe that part wanted nothing more than to be here with you.

[ read: yes, he's going to eat, and sit here waiting for octavian to finish cooking. he would argue against sleep, but, hm, he also doesn't want to argue with octavian about anything... so perhaps, perhaps.

for now, though, he will sit right here and wait. ]

[It's lucky— for this pasta, specifically— that Octavian has already moved away to deal with the food, or else Viktor saying all of that right now would have drawn him right back in to kiss his hands and stare at him adoringly for the rest of the night and then some. And while that wouldn't be a terrible way to spend time at all, it's still true that Viktor needs to eat something.

So, the pasta, but he does pause to wrap that feeling up and tuck it away for a rainy day, just in case. Then he hums, still busy with the pot.]

Romantic. You are eminently distracting. [Lightly chiding, if not at all serious; please, let him make these noodles, it's moderately important.] All that is left of my heart is yours.

[Things to say while stirring pasta. Anyway, give him a few minutes to return with Buttered Noodles in a bowl, and a fork. He delivers these to Viktor and sits next to him on the couch, close enough to touch as always. Immediately, his fingers go back into Viktor's hair.]

Eat.

dead to the power of two | OPEN

kicks my feet up

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

(no subject)

(no subject)

🎀