Chapter Text
Jayce woke before the sun, the grey-blue hour where the world would be just starting to wake up. Nausea rolled through him. For a moment he laid completely still, breathing carefully, hoping—futilely—that it would pass.
Beside him, Viktor slept on his side. At the foot of the bed, Rio was curled. And by Jayce’s head, perched right on the corner of his pillow, Mercury slept.
He eased himself upright. Mercury’s ears flicked, but she didn’t move until he swung his legs to the side—then she stretched, yawned, and hopped down to follow the moment his feet touched the floor.
Their bedroom was a disaster: clothes on the floor; Viktor’s scattered notes littered the dresser and desk; a mug with a forgotten tea bag sat on the nightstand, next to Jayce’s half-assembled project piece that he kept meaning to finish. The curtains weren’t drawn properly, one corner drooping low where the rod had bent months ago, letting in just enough predawn glow to cast blurry shapes across the floor.
Jayce navigated through it all by memory until he reached the hallway, one hand sliding along the wall for balance and direction. Mercury trotted close behind, her tail lightly brushing his ankle whenever he slowed. He didn’t bother turning on any lights; he didn't want to wake Viktor.
He reached the bathroom, nudged the door open, and let Mercury slip in before closing it behind them. If he didn't let her in she'd scream at the door. Then he switched on the light.
The bathroom was small but clean—at least compared to the bedroom. Pale tiles, slightly chipped along the edges, reflected the soft yellow overhead glow. A cluster of Jayce’s skin care, hairbrushes, and Viktor’s tools for tuning his braces lay spread around the sink. A towel was slumped over the shower rod.
Jayce didn’t even get a full breath in before the nausea surged again—he dropped to his knees in front of the toilet, barely making it in time as his stomach heaved violently. His hands shook against the cool porcelain, breath hitching between spasms.
It had been like this for weeks. Morning after morning of waking up queasy, sometimes dizzy, sometimes so exhausted that even sitting felt like work. He’d blamed stress, blamed bad sleep, blamed whatever takeout they’d eaten, blamed anything and everything.
The nausea, the strange metallic taste in his mouth, the tight soreness low in his abdomen, the way certain smells suddenly made his stomach lurch—it all felt disconnected, like separate little problems that unfortunately lived in his body.
He paused, breath trembling, waiting for the next wave.
Eventually he sat back on his heels, shoulders slumped, and exhaled slowly. Mercury bumped her head against his thigh with a soft chirp.
“Yeah,” he whispered, voice rough. “I’m fine.”
He brushed his teeth to get the sour taste out of his mouth, washed his face with cool water, then turned off the light. Mercury followed him again as he slipped quietly down the hall, careful on the creaking board near the door.
Back in the bedroom, the predawn light hadn’t changed—but Viktor had, just a little, shifting closer to Jayce’s side of the bed. Jayce eased back under the blankets, Mercury circling twice before settling against his chest.
He closed his eyes and hoped that in the next few hours he’ll feel better.
Morning came gently, Jayce stirred when a weight shifted beside him—then Viktor’s lips brushed his forehead, feather-light and warm.
“Good morning,” Viktor murmured, voice still thick with sleep.
Jayce blinked awake, the tightness in his stomach was gone. The tenderness in Viktor’s tone made something inside him soften. “Mm... morning.”
Viktor’s hair was tousled, pushed up unevenly on one side, and his eyes crinkled in that way Jayce loved as he smiled. Mercury crawled her way over Jayce’s ribs to wedge herself between them, purring loudly as if demanding to be included. Rio, sensing movement, lifted her head at the foot of the bed.
Viktor leaned into Jayce’s shoulder, Jayce kissed the top of his head, and for a while they simply existed in that soft pocket of warmth under their blankets.
Eventually, Jayce sat up fully, scrubbing a hand over his face. Viktor pushed himself upright with a small grunt, reaching for his cane.
“How did you sleep?” Jayce asked as he stretched, joints popping softly.
“Well enough,” Viktor replied. “You kept stealing the blanket.”
“I did not.”
“You absolutely did.” Viktor gave him a teasing look.
Jayce laughed as he slid out of bed. “That’s a lie and you know it.”
They eventually got dressed and stepped out the bedroom. Their living area had a couch draped in blankets, in front of their tv, shelves filled with plants Jayce loved and tools Viktor kept for sentimental reasons.
The sliding glass door to their balcony let morning light spill across the hardwood floors, illuminating the tiny herb garden Jayce was trying to keep alive outside. Beyond it, the city was beginning to wake.
Jayce headed straight into the kitchen, Mercury trotting behind him. The kitchen was small, but every inch was used: jars of spices on the counters, a few too many mugs beside it, and a pan already waiting on the stove.
While Jayce cooked Viktor clipped Rio’s leash and stepped outside with her.
He plated breakfast just as Viktor came back inside. Viktor unclipped her then headed into the kitchen, brushing a hand along Jayce’s back.
They ate together, unhurried. Talking about the smaller things. Afterward, they finished getting ready—grabbing keys, tying shoes, patting pockets to make sure nothing was missing. The morning light followed them as they stepped out the door and headed toward the lot where their cars waited side by side.
Before parting, Viktor placed a hand on Jayce’s waist. Jayce leaned down. Their kiss was quick.
“Drive safe,” Viktor murmured.
“You too,” Jayce replied.
They shared one more quick kiss, then separated, each sliding into their respective cars before heading off toward work.
Morning traffic moved slow, usually Jayce would day-dream during this time, or listen to music. Not today. Not with the way his stomach kept flipping.
He cracked the window for air. The outside world smelled too sharp—fresh asphalt from somewhere up the block, the faint tang of a bakery he usually barely noticed. Today it all hit him like someone had turned the scent dial to maximum. A breeze drifted in, carrying something floral, and he winced as the sweetness turned his stomach again.
“Fantastic,” he muttered, rubbing his thumb along the steering wheel.
It wasn’t just the nausea. His body felt... crowded somehow. He shifted in his seat, feeling the soft pressure of extra weight around his midsection. He knew he’d gained some, but he also hasn't had the time to exercise like he used to.
And then there was the emotional mess that was him these days. One stupid commercial last night had him tearing up over stray dogs. It wasn't unusual for him to tear it. But it was another when he'd start to sob snd Viktot had to hold him through it.
He sighed and adjusted his shoulders, his shirt brushing lightly against his chest. That brought a whole new flare of discomfort. His nipples were sensitive—aching, almost—and even the soft fabric felt like too much. It hurt somedays to wear his binder. Like today. A few days ago he’d flinched when he bumped into a doorframe. He’d chalked it up to stress, to hormones, to... something.
His back ached lately too. His appetite was all over the place. Some nights he was starving; others the thought of food made him queasy. He’d been exhausted, bone-deep tired, falling asleep on the couch mid-sentence. And the headaches—those smaller, pulsing ones blooming behind his eyes—were becoming more frequent.
A thought, half-formed and ridiculous, tugged at him.
Could he be...?
His hands tightened on the wheel.
Immediately he shut it down. Absolutely not. Impossible.
Well—maybe not impossible, just... very unlikely. He and Viktor hadn’t exactly been careful during those couple weeks where he’d stopped his birth control to switch prescriptions. He’d intended to track everything, to be responsible like an adult, but Viktor had looked at him like he hung the moon and then—
Jayce felt heat rush to his face. No. No, no, no. That wasn’t it. He was just stressed. Work had been insane. His schedule had been thrown around so much he barely knew what day it was. That could explain everything. Probably. Mostly. Maybe.
He inhaled slowly through his nose—immediately regretted it when the scent of someone’s too-strong cologne through the window made his stomach churn—and rolled the window up.
Pregnant. The word echoed too clearly in his head.
He shook his head.
There was no way. He would know. He would feel something different. People didn’t just... accidentally end up—
He swallowed.
He wasn't.
...right?
The car behind him honked when he didn’t move quickly enough. Jayce jolted and eased forward with a shaky breath.
No. He wasn’t. He couldn’t be.
He stared ahead at the stretch of road, shoulders tight, the steady thump of his heart suddenly far too loud in his ears.
But doubt clung to him like static and impossible to ignore.
Jayce pushed through their labs door, the familiar hum of and the blue glow of Hextech welcoming him in. The morning light filtered through the wide atrium windows, glinting against suspended models of past Innovators Competition entries—his and Viktor’s old prototype among them, the one that had first pulled them into the orbit of the Academy itself.
Back then, Hextech had been little more than a dream. Now? Now it shaped half the research corridors on this floor. Now he and Viktor were elbow-deep in refining the newest project: the Hexgates, portals meant to send cargo across vast distances in seconds, bypassing hazardous seas and long transport routes entirely.
Viktor wasn’t here today. He’d warned Jayce last night that he'd be going down to Zaun to help Silco.
The lab always felt a bit emptier without him.
Jayce exhaled and swiped into the private research wing. The door slid open, releasing a soft hiss of pressurized air and the sigh of cooling fans.
Sky was already there, hunched over a disassembled Hexcrystal, goggles pushed up into her hair. She looked up when she heard him, offering a bright but tired smile.
“Morning,” she called.
“Morning, Sky,” Jayce replied, setting his bag on the counter. “You’re here early.”
“I could say the same to you.” She angled her head. “You look... tired. Feeling okay?”
Jayce forced a shrug. “Just didn’t sleep well.”
She didn’t press, thankfully—Sky had a knack for knowing when to pry into Viktor’s problems but respected Jayce’s limits. They weren’t close, not really. Friendly, sure. She was Viktor’s person first and foremost. With Jayce she was cordial, professional, occasionally teasing, but she kept a bit of distance.
Which was fine. Sky was Viktor’s best friend.
He grabbed a pair of gloves and joined her at the workbench. The Hexgate model sat in pieces: crystalline plates humming faintly, brass frame half-assembled, runic circuitry flickering in shifting blues.
“I recalibrated the power distribution nodes,” Sky said as she tightened a screw. “But the output still spikes above safe thresholds when the gate stabilizes.”
Jayce frowned. “Even after rerouting the secondary channel?”
“Even then.”
He leaned over the schematic, tracing the lines with his finger. “Maybe the hex matrix is too sensitive to fluctuations. We could reinforce the lattice—add a buffer between the core and output conductor.”
Sky perked up. “That could work. It might dampen the feedback loop.”
They fell into a rhythm—adjusting, soldering, debating. There was something soothing about it, even with the faint nausea. Here, logic had shape. Cause-and-effect made sense in a way his own body didn’t.
Sky chatted as they worked, mostly about Viktor.
“He said he’d be back tomorrow,” she said, aligning two crystal slats with a faint click. “Silco’s projects always take longer than he expects.”
Jayce swallowed the flicker of worry. “He’ll be careful.”
Sky nodded. “Always.”
Silence settled again, broken only by the buzz of a tightening tool and the soft thrum of the core warming.
Jayce adjusted a piece and winced—his chest twinged, that same tenderness he wasn’t thinking about, wasn’t acknowledging. He angled himself to hide the discomfort.
Sky didn’t seem to notice. “We might get stable activation today if the core holds,” she said. Her eyes lit with optimism. “Heimerdinger will lose his mind.”
Jayce chuckled under his breath. “I’m hoping he doesn’t scold us again before praising us.”
“That is his process,” Sky smirked.
Hours slipped by in scattered conversation—simple, impersonal things: a new publication Sky had read, the coffee machine finally being replaced. Jayce, usually charismatic, found himself quieter than usual. Sky seemed comfortable filling the silence.
He appreciated that more than he’d ever tell her.
When the Hexgate model finally hummed with stable resonance—Sky stepped back and let out a triumphant laugh.
“We did it!”
Before Jayce could reply, a wave of nausea began to creep up his throat. Jayce blinked hard, swallowed, hoped it would fade.
Sky was saying something—something about the outer lattice readings—but her voice blurred slightly, muffled around the pounding in his ears.
“You okay?” she asked, eyes narrowing as she glanced sideways at him.
“I’m fine,” Jayce said automatically. His voice came out tight, thin. He straightened, tried to steady himself, pressed a hand to the edge of the workbench.
The lab lights suddenly felt too bright. The faint metallic scent of the machinery hit his nose sharper than it should, turning his stomach violently.
Sky’s brow creased. “Jayce, you look pale.”
“I just—” He swallowed again, throat tightening. “Need a second.”
In a frantic motion he snatched the nearest trash bin, barely getting it into his lap before he retched. His entire body curled around the pain, elbows braced on his knees. The world narrowed to the echo of his own heaving breaths and the bitter burn rising up again and again.
Sky flinched at the sound but recovered immediately, not touching but hovering closely. “You’re okay. Keep breathing, just let it pass—”
Another wave hit. Jayce coughed, eyes watering, gripping the rim of the bin tightly.
It felt like forever before the nausea finally eased, leaving him shaky and cold. He spat weakly, chest trembling, and sagged back in his chair, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
“Stay there,” she said, firm in a way he’d only ever heard her use with Viktor when he was being exceptionally stubborn. She slipped across the lab, grabbed a cloth, and dampened it with water. “Don’t try to get up yet.”
Jayce groaned softly, pressing the heel of his hand to his forehead. “Sorry. I didn’t—It just came on so fast...”
“I noticed.” Sky handed him a damp cloth, then quickly sealed the trash bag and replaced the liner.
Jayce wiped his face as she tossed the sealed bag into the disposal chute, washed her hands, then came back with a bottle of water. She twisted off the cap and pressed it gently into his hand.
“Small sips,” she instructed.
Jayce managed a few, the coolness soothing his raw throat. Shame prickled along his skin—he hated being seen like this, hated the idea of being worried about.
“I’m fine,” he tried again. The words wobbled.
“No, you’re not,” she said finally. “And you’re not staying.”
“Sky—”
“Nope.” She crossed her arms, her tone brooking no argument. “Jayce, you’ve been off for days. You nearly fainted on Tuesday, you went pale after lunch yesterday, and today you just threw up. You’re going home.”
“I can keep working,” he tried weakly.
She arched a brow—the expression Jayce had seen her use when shutting down Viktor’s more ill-advised self-neglect moments. “Absolutely not. Viktor would kill me if I let you pass out on the lab floor.”
Jayce winced at the thought of Viktor finding out. “He doesn’t need to—”
“Jayce,” she said softly but firmly, “go home and rest.”
He looked at her—really looked at her. Worry tugged at her expression.
She was genuinely concerned.
His shoulders sagged, the fight leaving him.
“...Okay,” he agreed “Yeah. I’ll go.”
Sky exhaled in relief, offering a small, encouraging smile.
“Good,” she said. “I’ll finish logging the readings. You go home before you throw up on something expensive.”
Despite everything, Jayce huffed out a weak laugh.
He stood slowly, still unsteady, Sky hovering close just in case. The room tilted once then steadied. She squeezed his shoulder briefly.
“Text me when you get home,” she said.
He nodded.
Jayce hadn’t meant to stop. He’d intended to go straight home like Sky told him—rest, hydrate, pretend nothing was wrong. But halfway down the main road, a glowing sign flickered into view:
Pharmacy — Open 24 Hours
Before he could talk himself out of it, he flicked his blinker on and pulled into the small lot, parking beneath the buzzing streetlamp.
“This is stupid,” he muttered to himself, forehead resting against the steering wheel. “It’s nothing. It’s gotta be nothing.”
But denial couldn’t soften the memory of his symptoms swirling in his head—nausea, tenderness, fatigue, the ridiculous way he cried over everything. And missing birth control for two weeks. And Viktor’s very enthusiastic attention during that exact period.
He exhaled shakily and opened the door.
The automatic doors of Pharmacy slid open with a cheerful chime far too bright for his mood. The place smelled like disinfectant and lavender. Rows of fluorescent lighting cast a cold glow over the aisles, making everything too sharp, too bright.
Jayce rubbed at his eyes as he stepped inside. The clerk at the counter glanced up, offered a bored half-smile, and returned to scrolling on their phone. Good. He didn’t want attention.
He forced himself forward, walking past shelves of cough drops and vitamins, past a display of pastel baby blankets that he definitely did not look at too long.
The pregnancy tests were in the back corner. Next to the family planning products and the racks of condoms. He hesitated at the end of the aisle, staring at the section like it was a cliff edge.
It was ridiculous how much his hands trembled.
Just grab one, he thought to himself. Just one.
But then he thought about false negatives, false positives, what if one didn’t work, what if—
He ended up grabbing three different brands.
They clattered awkwardly into the crook of his arm, boxes sliding when he tried to hold them discreetly. He felt heat rush to his face, like the entire store had suddenly turned its head to stare at him.
You’re being dramatic, he told himself. No one cares. No one knows.
But the embarrassment felt real and heavy as he walked toward the register.
The clerk looked up again as Jayce approached the counter. Their expression didn’t change.
“Everything alright?” they asked in a monotone voice.
“Yeah,” Jayce croaked. “Yeah, just... stocking up.”
Stocking up? Really? he mentally groaned.
The clerk scanned the boxes. “Need a bag?”
“Please,” he breathed, running a hand through his hair.
The tests slid into a small white bag, the plastic rustling far too loudly in the quiet space. Jayce paid quickly, fingers fumbling with his wallet, heart thudding unevenly.
“Have a good day,” the clerk said without looking up again.
Jayce nodded stiffly, grabbed the bag, and walked back out.
He sank into the driver’s seat, shutting the door with a dull thud. The bag sat in his lap. He stared at it.
Swallowed.
And whispered to no one, voice breaking around the edges:
“Please... let it be nothing.”
Jayce barely remembered the drive home—just the thrum of the engine under him, the constant glances of the bag in the passenger seat, the sinking pressure behind his ribs growing heavier with each passing block.
The moment he opened the apartment door, Rio came barreling toward him. Mercury wasn’t far behind.
Jayce managed a shaky laugh, dropping to one knee to rub Rio’s head and give Mercury a couple absentminded strokes between her ears. He tried—really tried—to sound normal.
“Hey, girls... yeah, I missed you too.”
His voice cracked.
He kicked off his shoes, almost stumbling over them, and headed straight down the hall. The bag swung gently at his side, its crinkling sounding too loud. He reached the bathroom door and hovered there, hand on the handle. For a full ten seconds he didn’t move.
Then he opened it.
As expected, Mercury shoved herself in before he could close it again, determined to supervise the entire ordeal whether he liked it or not. Jayce huffed out a trembling breath.
“Fine. Stay,” he whispered.
He set the bag on the counter and stared at it. His reflection in the mirror behind it looked pale, wide-eyed, frightened. He didn’t recognize himself.
Jayce opened the first box with fumbling hands.
His stomach rolled.
He washed his hands.
He read the instructions twice.
Then, finally—heart hammering so hard it hurt—he took the test.
It felt like an eternity passed while he placed it on the counter, Mercury winding anxiously around his ankles like she sensed the tension radiating off him. Jayce rested both palms flat on the edge of the sink, breathing shallowly, staring at the little white stick as though he could will it to stay blank.
A soft digital beep broke the silence.
Jayce froze.
His blood seemed to drain straight into the floor.
Positive.
His breath hitched. “No. No, that—it could be wrong.”
His hands shook as he dug into the bag, ripping open the second box with none of the care he’d shown minutes ago. Mercury jumped onto the counter to watch.
The second test.
Positive.
Jayce’s heartbeat stumbled. His vision blurred for a moment.
“No. No, it’s—” His voice cracked, high and tight. “They can’t all be right. It’s stress, or hormones, or—or something.”
He grabbed the last box desperately. The cardboard tore messily under his fingers. He didn’t even want to take this one. Didn’t want to know. Didn’t want confirmation.
But he couldn’t not take it.
Hands shaking so hard he nearly dropped it, he used the third test. Waited. Pacing. Stopping. Running a hand through his hair. Sitting, standing, sitting again. Breathing too fast. Mercury watched him, concerned chirps leaving her throat each time he passed by her.
The final beep sounded like the loudest thing in the universe.
Jayce turned slowly.
Positive.
His knees gave out.
He sank to the tile floor, back against the cabinet, breathing in shallow, panicked gasps.
“Oh my god,” he whispered. It came out broken. “No. I can’t—I can’t be—”
His words dissolved into a choked sob, tears finally spilling over. He pressed his hands to his face, shoulders shaking. The panic came in a heavy, crushing wave. The future raced toward him too fast—Viktor’s face if he told him, the labs, their careers, their plans that had never included this, not now, maybe not ever.
“I can’t do this,” Jayce cried softly into his palms. “I wasn’t supposed to—I’m not ready. Viktor’s not ready. What if he freaks out? What if I ruin everything?”
His breaths came in sharp, uneven gasps, too fast, too shallow.
Mercury jumped into his lap.
She pressed her forehead against his chest and purred. A grounding vibration. Her little paws pushed into him as though trying to knead the panic out of his ribs.
Jayce wrapped both arms around her, burying his face in her fur, tears dampening the soft coat.
“I’m pregnant,” he whispered, voice tiny and terrified. “I’m actually... pregnant.”
The word felt impossible. Unreal.
Mercury purred harder.
Jayce sat on the bathroom floor, clutching his cat while the three positive tests stared back at him from the counter—silent, undeniable evidence that his entire life had just changed.
Jayce had barely stopped shaking when he heard the soft click of the apartment door unlocking, followed by the unmistakable tap-thump of Viktor’s cane.
Jayce froze.
“Jayce?” Viktor’s voice carried down the hall. “Are you home?”
Panic slammed into Jayce’s chest so hard it knocked the breath out of him. Not now. Not now not now not now—
He scrambled upright, wiping his face with the sleeve of his shirt, heart pounding so violently he felt sick all over again. He snatched up the tests with clumsy hands, nearly dropping one into the sink.
“Shit—fuck, no—” he hissed under his breath, mind spinning.
Another step. Viktor was in the hall.
“Jayce?” Viktor called again, closer this time. “Sky phoned me. She said you were unwell.”
Sky, I swear to God—Jayce cursed her inwardly, chest tight. He hadn’t expected her to reach out this fast. He hadn’t expected Viktor to rush home.
He yanked open the trash bin and shoved the tests deep under a wad of tissues, followed by the bag and boxes, burying the evidence as fast as he could. The sound of Viktor’s cane reached the very edge of the bathroom door.
Then a soft knock.
“...Jayce? Are you alright?”
Jayce’s pulse hammered against his throat. He took one last frantic glance around the room—no boxes visible, nothing left out. Mercury stared up at him, tail flicking anxiously.
“I’m fine,” Jayce blurted, voice too sharp, too high. He cleared his throat fast. “I’m—uh... I must’ve eaten something weird.”
Silence.
A heavy silence that made Jayce’s stomach flip.
Then Viktor spoke again. “I came home because I was worried.”
Guilt stabbed him hard.
Jayce swallowed, then forced himself to unlock the door. It opened with a soft creak, revealing Viktor standing in front of it, brows furrowed, eyes searching his face. He looked tired—he always looked tired after Zaun—but the worry made it worse.
“I’m fine,” Jayce repeated, softer now but no truer. “Really.”
Viktor’s gaze lingered on Jayce’s pale cheeks, the faint redness around his eyes, the stiffness in his shoulders. Jayce could see the moment Viktor didn’t believe him.
“...Are you sure?” Viktor asked quietly.
Jayce couldn’t handle his concern. It pressed against his ribs. He slipped past Viktor quickly, avoiding his eyes as he moved down the hall.
“I’m sure,” he insisted. “It’s nothing. I just need water. Or rest. Something.”
Mercury trotted after him, tail puffed, pausing only to glare at Viktor before catching up to Jayce’s heels.
Viktor turned slowly to watch him, lips parted like he wanted to say something else—but held back.
Jayce reached the living room and braced both hands on the back of the couch, taking in along, shaking breath.
He’d lied. He’d lied straight to Viktor’s face. Viktor, who worried. Who came home for him. Who kissed his forehead gently in the mornings. Who whispered goodnight into his hair.
Jayce’s throat tightened.
He had to tell him. He couldn’t bury this. Couldn’t hide three positive tests in the trash and pretend their entire future hadn’t changed.
He heard Viktor follow after him.
“Jayce,” Viktor said carefully, “lásko... what is going on?”
Jayce closed his eyes.
He needed to tell him.
The words lodged behind his teeth, trembling.
Jayce didn’t know how he made it through the rest of the afternoon without falling apart, but somehow he did—by clinging to normalcy like it was the only solid thing left in the room.
“I’m fine,” he kept insisting each time Viktor glanced at him too long, voice clipped, brittle around the edges.
Viktor didn’t argue, but he didn’t believe him either. Jayce could see it in the way he hovered—the two of them ended up on the couch with the TV murmuring softly, some lighthearted show playing episodes neither of them were really watching.
Viktor sat angled toward him, shoulders drawn tight, hands folded in his lap. Every few minutes he shifted as though fighting the urge to reach for Jayce. Jayce felt the weight of that restraint like a hand pressing into his spine.
At first, Viktor offered small comforts—asking if Jayce needed a blanket, tea, something to settle his stomach.
Jayce snapped quickly. “Viktor, stop. I’m fine.”
The words came out harsher than he meant. He flinched the moment they left his mouth. Viktor froze, then nodded.
He didn’t offer anything else after that.
But he didn’t move away, either. He stayed beside Jayce.
Jayce didn’t deserve tenderness right now. Not while he was lying.
His thoughts looped endlessly:
Positive.
Pregnant
Tell him.
Every few minutes his throat tightened, vision blurring. He’d blink it away before Viktor noticed.
Dinner was quiet. Jayce forced down what he could—three bites, maybe four. Viktor noticed, but didn’t comment. Afterward, Jayce rose abruptly from the chair, hands shaking faintly.
“I’m... I’m just gonna head to bed,” he said, voice thin.
Viktor stood. Then stopped himself. “Are you sure you’re—”
“I’m fine,” Jayce said sharply, cutting him off. He regretted it instantly but didn’t take it back. “I just need sleep.”
Viktor’s brow creased, concern settling over him like a shadow. “Jayce—”
“I said I’m fine.”
The room fell quiet.
Jayce turned away before Viktor could answer, his eyes stinging. Mercury darted after him, brushing against his leg with frantic little chirps as if she could calm him down.
He fled to the bedroom.
Once inside, he closed the door softly. He changed quickly, fingers fumbling with buttons, breath hitching when his shirt brushed his tender chest. He blinked tears away fast, angry at himself for feeling anything.
Mercury hopped onto the bed before he did, kneading the blanket urgently, waiting for him to lie down.
Jayce slid under the covers, curling on his side with his back to the door. Mercury tucked herself into the curve of his body, purring lowly. He pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes, biting hard on the inside of his lip to suppress a sob.
Viktor would come to bed soon. He always did when Jayce wasn’t okay. He’d slip under the blankets, curl gently around him, hold him until his breathing softened.
But Jayce didn’t deserve that.
He’s pregnant.
He’s pregnant and didn’t tell him.
He’s pregnant and lied.
He squeezed his eyes shut tighter, fighting the prickling heat of tears sliding down his temples.
He had to tell Viktor.
He needed to.
But the words felt huge, impossible—like opening his mouth would shatter his entire world.
Jayce curled closer into himself, shoulders shaking as he tried not to cry.