chronoLex

the robinavitch family had just moved in. it wasn’t unusual for a boy to live with his grandmother, but no one ever came to that tiny town in the middle of nowhere, nebraska, and that made all eyes turn to him… but none like those beautiful ocean eyes.

high school wasn't for the faint of heart; he knew that, and it was one of the reasons he and his grandmother had left the town where everyone already knew him... he tried to keep a low profile until he finished school and headed to pennsylvania to study medicine, but he could never escape that curious stare or those blond curls that sparkled like gold in the crowd.

he was as quiet as a little field mouse, much smaller than him, and younger, too. dennis —that was his name— the youngest son of the largest crop and livestock farmers in custer county, and a freshman at his high school whom he seemed incapable to escape. they finally met as they were meant to, standing before a field of sunflowers, and if michael hadn’t known better, he would have thought the boy standing before him was an angel made of sunlight and the petals of a flower. dennis smiled at him, and michael knew he would never be the same man again when his soul longed to be the reason for the gap in his angel’s smile to show. and they wished that there, facing that field with their bicycles parked along the dirt road and the summer heat filling even the darkest night with fireflies, the world had come to an end... but fate is almost as cruel as man.

the new school year was beginning, after a summer filled with laughter and words that had never been spoken, with declarations of love and dips in middle loup river.

michael could feel the ticking of the clock; he was now a senior, and the things with dennis were starting to get serious, even as they hid their relationship from the world. the silence and secrecy of their romance didn’t seem to slow his angel’s heart, and that was dangerous… if people found out that two men —boys, to be honest— loved each other, they might tear them apart like the dry leaves that autumn was beginning to scatter around them; they might hurt dennis... michael could stand up to them, but what about den?

fighting could ruin them forever...

and also ruin the plans michael had made for his future.

and even though he was tired of running away, he couldn’t help but do it one more time... dennis knew he wanted to move to pennsylvania to study medicine after graduation, and he had asked michael to let him go with him, to spend the summer together, just the two of them, no one else in the world. and even though michael didn’t want to promise him anything, he didn’t want to shatter his tender little dream and so winter melted away to water the spring flowers and fill the year with a summer haze, and michael graduated.

‿̩͙⊱༒︎༻♱༺༒︎⊰‿̩͙

dennis had packed a huge suitcase, he’d taken it from his mother’s closet. his dress pants and embroidered shirts were neatly folded and ironed, even though he knew it would be a long trip. his pajamas gently wrapped his bible and rosary, he no longer believed in the words of that book, but he wanted to bring something that would remind him of home when he was far from his family.

he waited until the moon was shining brightly before leaving the farm with his suitcase and all his savings; he didn’t want his family to notice he was gone before then… he had left them a farewell letter, he didn’t want them to stop him, and he certainly didn’t want to cry in front of them.

he struggled, dragging his heavy suitcase and carrying the flashlight he’d stolen from his father’s workshop, he reached the abandoned house by the roadside where michael and he had shared their most intimate moments. they’d agreed to meet there that night to leave that town once and for all… but the night seemed to grow ever darker around dennis.

he was wearing his nicest clothes. his shirt was new, michael had picked it out, and his jacket and pants were white... he wanted to wear something suitable for the time they’d spend on the road, but he wanted to wear a wedding suit.

he wanted to marry michael, it was what he wanted most in the world, but they couldn’t, not by the law of a god he wished he didn’t believe in, nor because of the law of man. at least this way, standing in front of the house of his dreams with the man of his life, he could fulfill his greatest wish. the night wore on, silent and dark.

the pearl necklace he had stolen from his mother’s jewelry box when he was a child was beginning to press uncomfortably against his neck. dennis knew… dennis wanted to believe that michael would arrive before dawn so they could start their new lives, but now it seemed like a little lie for such an innocent fool as he was. people say you should never wear pearls at your wedding, but dennis had made that mistake, he was certain that was the reason for his tears and his misfortune.

sobs and salt. the blue of his eyes seeped through his skin like the sea, all the way up to the sky, which was beginning to dawn when he truly understood that michael really wouldn’t be coming to get him. and just like that, he could hear the church bells getting further and further away... michael had left him behind, that life would never be, and dennis would never marry the love of his life.

"but the church bells won't stop ringing for an undead wedding day"

the robinavitch family had just moved in. it wasn’t unusual for a boy to live with his grandmother, but no one ever came to that tiny town in the middle of nowhere, nebraska, and that made all eyes turn to him… but none like those beautiful ocean eyes.

high school wasn't for the faint of heart; he knew that, and it was one of the reasons he and his grandmother had left the town where everyone already knew him... he tried to keep a low profile until he finished school and headed to pennsylvania to study medicine, but he could never escape that curious stare or those blond curls that sparkled like gold in the crowd.

he was as quiet as a little field mouse, much smaller than him, and younger, too. dennis —that was his name— the youngest son of the largest crop and livestock farmers in custer county, and a freshman at his high school whom he seemed incapable to escape. they finally met as they were meant to, standing before a field of sunflowers, and if michael hadn’t known better, he would have thought the boy standing before him was an angel made of sunlight and the petals of a flower. dennis smiled at him, and michael knew he would never be the same man again when his soul longed to be the reason for the gap in his angel’s smile to show. and they wished that there, facing that field with their bicycles parked along the dirt road and the summer heat filling even the darkest night with fireflies, the world had come to an end... but fate is almost as cruel as man.

the new school year was beginning, after a summer filled with laughter and words that had never been spoken, with declarations of love and dips in middle loup river.

michael could feel the ticking of the clock; he was now a senior, and the things with dennis were starting to get serious, even as they hid their relationship from the world. the silence and secrecy of their romance didn’t seem to slow his angel’s heart, and that was dangerous… if people found out that two men —boys, to be honest— loved each other, they might tear them apart like the dry leaves that autumn was beginning to scatter around them; they might hurt dennis... michael could stand up to them, but what about den?

fighting could ruin them forever...

and also ruin the plans michael had made for his future.

and even though he was tired of running away, he couldn’t help but do it one more time... dennis knew he wanted to move to pennsylvania to study medicine after graduation, and he had asked michael to let him go with him, to spend the summer together, just the two of them, no one else in the world. and even though michael didn’t want to promise him anything, he didn’t want to shatter his tender little dream and so winter melted away to water the spring flowers and fill the year with a summer haze, and michael graduated.

‿̩͙⊱༒︎༻♱༺༒︎⊰‿̩͙

dennis had packed a huge suitcase, he’d taken it from his mother’s closet. his dress pants and embroidered shirts were neatly folded and ironed, even though he knew it would be a long trip. his pajamas gently wrapped his bible and rosary, he no longer believed in the words of that book, but he wanted to bring something that would remind him of home when he was far from his family.

he waited until the moon was shining brightly before leaving the farm with his suitcase and all his savings; he didn’t want his family to notice he was gone before then… he had left them a farewell letter, he didn’t want them to stop him, and he certainly didn’t want to cry in front of them.

he struggled, dragging his heavy suitcase and carrying the flashlight he’d stolen from his father’s workshop, he reached the abandoned house by the roadside where michael and he had shared their most intimate moments. they’d agreed to meet there that night to leave that town once and for all… but the night seemed to grow ever darker around dennis.

he was wearing his nicest clothes. his shirt was new, michael had picked it out, and his jacket and pants were white... he wanted to wear something suitable for the time they’d spend on the road, but he wanted to wear a wedding suit.

he wanted to marry michael, it was what he wanted most in the world, but they couldn’t, not by the law of a god he wished he didn’t believe in, nor because of the law of man. at least this way, standing in front of the house of his dreams with the man of his life, he could fulfill his greatest wish. the night wore on, silent and dark.

the pearl necklace he had stolen from his mother’s jewelry box when he was a child was beginning to press uncomfortably against his neck. dennis knew… dennis wanted to believe that michael would arrive before dawn so they could start their new lives, but now it seemed like a little lie for such an innocent fool as he was. people say you should never wear pearls at your wedding, but dennis had made that mistake, he was certain that was the reason for his tears and his misfortune.

sobs and salt. the blue of his eyes seeped through his skin like the sea, all the way up to the sky, which was beginning to dawn when he truly understood that michael really wouldn’t be coming to get him. and just like that, he could hear the church bells getting further and further away... michael had left him behind, that life would never be, and dennis would never marry the love of his life.

"but the church bells won't stop ringing for an undead wedding day"

The rain fell like a blanket of stars, the mountains began to be surrounded by a thick mist covering the valley with a velvety silence. The echo of the last chimes of the village cathedral dissipated among the prayers of those leaving its enormous wooden doors. The footsteps of the congregation, in unison with the raindrops falling from the sky, seemed to form a song within the volcanic stone walls where the village priest stood.

Jayce was a man of faith, raised in a Catholic home and educated in religious institutions. He wore his Catholic education around his neck along with his rosary of red beads. Devout like no other, his heart burned with passion when speaking of the word of the Lord. He was God's favourite lamb, pure, neat and profound like the love he professed. The people of Piltover had adored him since he was a child. He and his mother had arrived there after a terrible season of storms that had ravaged life in the mountains, the white snow stained crimson with every life withered under the burden of uncertainty. Misfortune had led them to stumble upon the enormous church where he was now the highest authority. It had been a long time since there had been children in that place, and Jayce seemed to be a good omen for the birth rate. If that little angel who had appeared in the blizzard could survive in those lands that seemed abandoned in a golden cage, then every little sprout of the inhabitants could also flourish. 

And since then, Jayce had been regarded as unique in the world; his mother already saw him as such, he was her baby, the same one who saved him, without knowing how, but in her hands he slept until he was reborn after the dark days, his voice seemed to have been the one that called on God to help them live in his holy glory, he was the miracle of life made a child. His mother's words flowed like the river that connected the village to the sea, with strength and faith. What happened filled everyone who crossed his path with hope, and he understood that it was his life's work to become the man who would guide his people to eternal life in divinity.

He knew God, not just as everyone in Piltover knew Him, not as the other young men in the seminary knew Him, not even as the Holy Father knew Him... Jayce had seen Him. In flesh and bone, with blood and moles, like any human on earth, but He was more beautiful than the holy texts described Him. In his eyes lay a gold more beautiful than that which adorned the churches, deep as the sea that lulled the city's shores and bright as the sun itself. His gaze was gentle and warm, like the benevolent love that only God in all his grace could give. Jayce was young, perhaps too young to fully discern reality from fantasy, but that slender and delicate figure existed before his eyes like a miracle, and that was indisputable. His skin seemed to have been kissed by the stars, leaving freckles everywhere, and on his face rested the two most beautiful gifts in the universe, finely embellishing his serene expression... although it also seemed distressed. Jayce wanted to know why, but he had been taught to wait for his Lord's words, not to speak before he did. But that voice never filled Jayce's ears with grace. Without uttering a single word, the man in front of him opened the heavens with his slender hands and saved the Talis family's life with his miracle. He remembers that his prayers for help were answered without the need for words, only the presence of a divine apparition; his broken, childish voice crying out for help, answered only by the echoes of his own words, answered by the silence and compassion of his saviour. And then, just as he had appeared, a majestic mirage, he disappeared after rescuing them, just as the snow that stained his mother's dress melted, replacing the white fear with flowers full of hope.

Jayce gazed at the horizon, cloudy and stormy like his heart.

Blue and nothing but blue from his fingertips to the depths of the world before him, as if that colour stained his existence. The life of a saint who still breathed was tortuous. People appreciated him, but they never crossed that line. Perhaps the blue splashed across his tan skin and hazel eyes was visible to everyone. Holiness weighed heavily on his broad shoulders, like the cross of the Son of God. People said they loved him, even adored him, but Jayce never felt that way. The watery curtain now matched the diamonds that seemed to want to escape from the priest's tired eyes. No one shook his hand when he went to the village to bring supplies on nights like this, no one hugged him during the end-of-year celebrations, celebrating the end and beginning of a new dawn in solitude, or when he baptised the youngest children in the village, the parents, touched by hands drenched in holy water, seemed more absorbed in the contact than in their little ones blessed by the mantle of God. He did not feel real; it seemed that nothing bearing his name was real. Neither love, nor affection, nor compassion or admiration, much less his human existence. Jayce existed only as a vessel and a means for God to protect Piltover in His glory. That was all he was to everyone.

Except for him.

For the one who had the face of his God and the gentlest love he had ever felt in his heart.

Him. 

Viktor. 

His Viktor.

The only person in the world who truly saw him, listened to him, understood him... who loved him. 

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

Their first encounter was a misstep.

Jayce had gone to the village to give the sacrament of anointing of the sick to a believer. The man was so ill that his family had gone to the house of God for help. It was the first time he had done that, and in his nervousness, he lost his way to the family's residence. He found himself some distance from the village, barely able to see the cathedral's steeple. It was a beautiful view from up there, lost among the trees and flowers of the forest. It was early in the morning, and he knew that if he went down the hill at that moment, he could reach his destination in daylight, but... being so close to the forest and the river, he could hear the sigh of nature. It was like a song calling him to enter the green landscape. Perhaps it was God speaking to him from the wind, perhaps the trees, the river and the clouds were also part of God's divinity, as he had always thought. He wasn't sure what it was, but he couldn't stop himself and entered the grove, following a feeling in his heart.

His steps were heavy but gentle; he did not want to hurt the nature around him, and it seemed that nature did not want to hurt him either. The branches of the junipers touched him but did not scratch him, like the touch he had always wanted from others. Under the sun rising in the sky, his black cassock and purple stole shone like the flowers that were beginning to peek out from among the grass surrounding a ploughed field path. He found it strange and wanted to know where it led, without thinking about the danger that might lie beyond the path he was now walking on.

In the distance, among the forest, he could see a small wooden building. It was a house surrounded by flowers of all colours, animals seemed to find refuge in that corner of paradise, deer rested near the stream that crossed that little Eden. It looked like the entrance to a magical world, the first step to what appeared to be a new village hidden in the wooded landscape, but curiosity was greater than caution, and so the priest approached to knock on the light wooden door. But before he could raise his hand, he heard a voice... the most beautiful he had ever had the honour of hearing.

"Can I help you?"

Those were the first words Jayce heard from the one who possessed a majestic, human divinity in his existence. Jayce turned to look at the owner of such a sweet voice and unforgettable accent, and found that face he could never forget. It was identical to the man who had saved him from that blue and white storm, who believed he was the living image of the Almighty, who since childhood had always thought he guarded his sleep and watched over his awakening. He wasn't sure if it was the same man or if it was just the mirage of hope for him that Jayce painted in that new body, in that new being; perhaps it was his serene presence and his soft scent of jasmine and the sun that melts the snow at the beginning of spring, perhaps it was just the need to imagine another human being around him, as close as the owner of that cabin was.

DeFrom that moment on, Jayce was never the same again. After venturing into the forest, his world changed, his perspective broadened beyond the stained glass windows of the cathedral, he discovered science and understood it as something divine, even if the church did not consider it to be of God. Viktor was a brilliant, talented, and compassionate man. He had enormous patience, almost as great as his love for life and care for it. He was generous and devoted to his loved ones... as much as Jayce was to God. He devoted himself to being a healer for the community in which he lived, that hidden place in the forest where the priest was lost, that community that fought to be recognised as existing, denied by the power that existed in the town of Piltover. A village with wounds so deep that not even God was able to stop the bleeding of the pain of injustice; that was no longer the jurisdiction of the Almighty, after being forgotten by the church, uncovered by the mantle of the Virgin Mary and their prayers ignored by the Father, they had to find alternatives to exist in exile outside of Eden. Viktor had been one of those alternatives. When prayers and requests for the sacrament of anointing of the sick were never answered, he learned science so he could try to soothe the people's discomfort, off the radar in the form of a cross that could end his life for ignoring religious authorities. He gave his whole life to his people. Viktor loved caring for them, using his knowledge to keep those who worked the land, those who cared for and loved their families, those who built their society hidden among the trees, but... he felt alone, terribly alone. Jayce knew how that felt. Being the pillar of Piltover made him feel like the boats at sea during silent nights, locked in a golden cage, the cathedral was beautiful, and being a servant of God made him smile, but when the frescoes on the walls looked at him gloomily, when the stained-glass windows no longer shone with the sunlight and his chest trembled with the echo of a burning heart, he knew how alone he was in the world.

But up there, in front of that cabin he had reached after getting lost, he knew he would never be alone again.

They would never be alone again.

That morning, Viktor walked him back to Piltover, enjoying the father's confusion and the beautiful views of the mountains and the sea, worthy of a painting. Jayce was enjoying the man's company so much that he asked to stay and visit with the sick believer, extending the request to examine him and give his opinion... perhaps they could form a team. Perhaps they could visit each other; the cathedral had another room if night fell after long conversations as long as time itself, and surely sleeping in that cosy cabin could be a pleasant experience. Together they could help others, from faith and from science, they could bring together two worlds that seemed distant until they exchanged glances, they could help each other in the face of the emptiness that seemed to want to consume them from within.

Being able to help.

Those were the first words he heard from Viktor.

Words that would stay with him forever.

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

The professional partnership grew beyond those boundaries; Viktor had become his friend, his first friend. Not only did they care for the sick in both settlements together, but they also shared a table, eating together under the blue summer sky, talking about what they knew, what they believed, what they feared and... what they loved. For the first time in a long time, Jayce remembered what it was like to laugh. Viktor had taken the communion wafers he was going to use in the afternoon mass and prepared them with a little cajeta for lunch; his laughter was something that seemed almost as sinful as eating the body of Christ with dulce de leche, but Jayce could not reprimand him, nor feel anger, nor even think about what he had learned in the seminary when he saw his partner enjoying with such joy the sweet taste of the delicacy he was savouring. He also couldn't remember what it was like to touch another person without them pulling away and apologising for tainting their existence with something less than the sanctity of God's vessel. Viktor let him rest his hand on his delicate back. He had shown him how to adjust the device that completely supported his right leg and how to hold the cane he used to maintain his stability, especially when he had to move around to care for others. Sometimes Jayce would hold him with his arm, feeling his slender figure become a little warmer under the delicately embroidered robes he wore. And, most importantly, he couldn't remember the last time he felt appreciated for who he was, but Viktor remembered his favourite food, how much he hated lies and deceit, and knew how to make him smile even when the sky turned cloudy. He saw him as the man he was, not the priest of Piltover Cathedral.

Time stained the fields and their bodies, nights turned into days, and weeks turned into years. They were no longer those young men who had met in the forest and gone from house to house caring for the sick and wounded. Jayce's dark hair was now streaked with grey, and Viktor's skin was dotted with freckles that had not been there before... Jayce still said Mass twice a day, but these were shorter, hastier and more rushed; words interrupted by the anguish of hearing coughs inside the parish house, murmurs still spreading among the pews, rumours as strident as the bells in the tower.

Viktor was the victim of those sharp tongues. Ever since the people of Piltover saw him walking alongside the priest, they couldn't stop their poisonous words. They said he was the devil incarnate, hidden in those eyes as golden as the sun, in his blunt and honest words, in his ability to heal so many without the need for godhood... and in his close relationship with the priest.

Jayce knew that what he felt for Viktor was huge, warm, fervent, and vehement from the first moment he laid his hazel eyes on him, and he confirmed it when he heard him speak. At first, he thought it was because Viktor had the face of his God, confusing devotion and love for the Lord with that other thing that was like the fluttering of a butterfly in his chest, nesting like the swallows in the bell tower, right inside his heart. But the more he got to know him, the more stars Viktor showed him at his cabin, the more he watched him write and draw things that divinity could not explain, the more he understood that it was not something about God... but it was something heavenly.

He was afraid to tell his dear friend, so for months he kept it hidden close to him, avoiding looking too closely at Viktor's calm face when he was sunbathing in the small garden they were building together near the cemetery, or from touching him possessively so often when there was a crowd of people around him at the market, wanting to separate him from everyone else so that no one would hurt him, as he had heard in the confessional a couple of times, or from asking Viktor to stay with him in the parish house longer, perhaps forever, so that he could be by his side every day. Until one night when the stars embroidered in the sky seemed to come undone and fall from above, like in the crown of Our Lady of Sorrows, Viktor took his hand in front of the church gates, Jayce looked at him in surprise and could see that his pale, porcelain skin was tinged with the red of pomegranates, and then he understood that it was love... true love.

Viktor was also in love with him.

Viktor loved him, and Jayce loved Viktor.

That was more than enough to live in peace, happiness, and fulfilment, which could only be found in Heaven.

But of course, the Almighty, being omniscient, had noticed this, and not even God's favourite lamb can escape His wrath.

Viktor.

His Viktor began to grow increasingly ill. Increasingly frail. Increasingly compassionate. Increasingly kind.

Jayce did not understand why God was doing this to Viktor, since it was Jayce who had broken his word, who had left Eden on his own accord to experience life. Viktor was not to blame for anything; he should not have to pay for Jayce's sins. He said that his declining health was not divine punishment, that the deity in whom the priest believed had nothing to do with his worsening condition, that science explained what seemed like misfortune tied to providence. Even when he was ill, his beloved still cared for others, and that broke his father's heart. When his body began to hurt even more, they moved together to the parish house, and when his legs gave out, Jayce, guided by the blueprints he had designed with Viktor in advance in case that happened, built a wheelchair. When his lungs filled with mucus and blood, they sought herbal remedies, and even then, Viktor taught the village children what he knew, built a shelter for weary travellers, and founded a small school behind the chapel for the adults in his community. How could the Creator do this to someone who, in his life and in his pain, never forgot those in need, those he loved and understood as equals and as deserving of a chance? Jayce wanted to help him, he wanted to, but all he could do was pray and take care of him... Viktor had helped so much, and yet he couldn't.

Their first encounter had been a misstep, but Jayce revered that day as he once did when kneeling before the figure of Jesus, the Son of God. He understood the pain of losing someone dear, the anguish of asking his father why he had forsaken him, the suffering of being told he was loved while enduring such hardship. Jesus would know the pain of watching Viktor slowly wither away, of seeing the light fade from his eyes, of hearing his witty comments now laced with bloody coughs, of watching his long brown hair lose its colour, and how his delicate hands could no longer hold tightly to the rosary he had made for Jayce, with dried Castilian rose petals brought from his cabin and pressed in the books they used to read together, to kiss him deeply.

Viktor slowly began to fade away in the candlelight.

Until one snowfall.

It had never snowed in Piltover.

Jayce was terrified. He remembered his childhood, the storm, the cold, and the screams that sounded like his own. Viktor had never seen snow before. Jayce gathered his courage and joined Viktor at the door of his home. He understood Jayce's fear, so he didn't pressure him to join him and had rolled his wheelchair almost to the porch when Jayce reached him. They went out together, sheltering under the clay tiles of the porch. White flakes like clouds and the moon began to cover everything: the paths, the garden and the graveyard. Viktor found it beautiful, but Jayce couldn't help but look at the sight of him: his nose reddened by the cold and not by blood, his cheeks flushed as they had been before he became even more ill, and his eyes shining with a thousand stars in them. For the first time in weeks, Viktor pulled Jayce by the rosary to kiss him, and it was the warmest, most loving kiss Jayce had ever received.

It was like a dream.

But dreams don't last forever.

And sometimes waking up is like dying.

The snow didn't last long, it was as brief as Viktor's apparent improvement. And as soon as it began to melt, it carried Viktor's life away with it.

Viktor died in Jayce's arms, like someone trying to catch a shooting star with a racket. They were resting in front of the fireplace, the cold from the snowfall penetrating their bones, lying on the couch in front of the fire, entwined in an embrace when Viktor drew his last breath. His golden eyes were filled with tender love, and with what little strength he had left, he kissed Jayce, who was about to close his eyes to sleep, and lay against his beloved's chest once more, falling together into a deep sleep from which only Jayce would be able to rise.

The snow melted away, and the flowers in the garden wilted.

The earth was cold, frozen like Viktor's skin when Jayce tried to wake him.

The sky was cloudy, like his beautiful golden eyes.

The bells rang, and Jayce heard the screams again.

The mass was brief, attended only by the people Viktor had healed, some children to whom he used to read, and people who had been able to come down from Zaun after the storm, mourners who soon dispersed like leaves in the stream. Viktor would not have wanted to take up so much of the workers' time, or frighten the children with talk of an unforgiving God, and even less to sadden those who he had stood by. Nor would he have wanted the words of the priest, but rather those of his beloved Jayce.

Only Jayce and Viktor were there, as was usual... but Viktor no longer laughed, his wheelchair was no longer heard in the aisle, nor could he embrace the priest who now wept over the coffin of the only person who loved him.

Alone, Jayce carried the coffin to the cathedral cemetery, where he would bury it right in the centre of his garden. Viktor loved flowers and would be happy resting among them, but they were wilted, the cold had burned them... but perhaps he could plant more soon.

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

The rain fell after evening mass, showering life upon the flowers that were beginning to bloom in Viktor's garden. Jayce was sure that soon they would be beautiful enough to form a bed for Viktor, where he would have his holy sepulchre, a place from which Jayce could watch over him and care for him every day, as he had done for years. That's how it should have been, but something happened.

The priest entered the cathedral, closing the enormous wooden doors behind him. The liturgical celebrations of December were coming to an end, and with them, the time for him and Viktor was returning. The man's footsteps echoed through the aisles lined with pews, reverberating off the stained-glass windows like cannon fire. His black cassock still bore the marks of the stitches used to mend it, remnants of his love. His face seemed serene, but his brow was furrowed, tired, and his gaze was full of melancholy; the lively, smiling man he had been seemed to have disappeared with the snowfall. During the mass, he had slipped up, his tongue seemed sharp, a little more honest, a little more hostile; but how could he not be, when the people who proclaimed to love him so much did not have the decency to attend the mass for his beloved... He knew that no one knew for sure the nature of the relationship between Viktor and himself, but how could they not attend the requiem of the man who in life was greater than all of them, who had the face of God and whose actions proved him to be purer than all those damned people? He had heard the rumours that Viktor was the devil and had seduced him, leading him wickedly astray, that it was the reason he had fallen ill, that it was the price he had to pay for his sins.

Viktor a sinner?

When they had confessed to atrocities? When they were the poison that was killing the entire village?

When even Jayce himself was more sinful than Viktor?

He could do nothing but hate them, all those people who said they loved him, who said they adored and cherished him. He despised them all for doing that to Viktor and his memory.

Hatred and anger were becoming Jayce's greatest sin, and yet he was God's favourite lamb.

Tired, he entered the parish house, but a smile spread across his face when he saw Viktor, his Viktor, sitting at the table. His skin was beginning to look greyish, his eyes had lost their beautiful colour and were now the terrible blue of the cold in the mountains, his long hair was no longer as soft as before, and his sweet jasmine scent had vanished like the smoke from the fireplace that was beginning to fill his home. He sat in front of the corpse of his beloved, there were flowers from the garden in a vase, their petals falling exhausted onto the cake that Jayce had baked hours before... it was December 29th, Viktor's birthday. He would celebrate his life, they would celebrate together. Jayce approached Viktor's body and kissed his wrinkled lips as tenderly as he had done until a few days ago. He took his thin, almost skeletal hand and placed a ring on his finger. He would have liked to give it to him while he was still breathing, to entwine their lives forever, but death had separated them too soon. He carefully carried Viktor in his arms, resting his head on his chest, and returned to the cathedral. The smoke began to follow them wherever they went, like an ominous shadow, as if God were trying to stop them in their tracks, but Jayce did not stop until he was in front of the altar, right where he should have been with Viktor, both dressed in white, ready to unite their lives before God's grace... But now only Jayce could swear that in voice and living flesh, because He had torn him from his hands, He had already claimed him. But no one loved Viktor more than Jayce. There was no wedding lasso, but Jayce used his red rosary; there were no godparents, but they didn't need them because it had always been the two of them against the world; there was no priest but Jayce, and perhaps there was no God, but that didn't matter anymore because his God lay dead in his arms.

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

Two men lay before the altar, joining in holy matrimony. One last sacrament, one last love before the flames consumed that beautiful cathedral. Two men swore eternal love before the altar, one of flesh and blood, the other of bone and snow.

A lamb and his shepherd.

A devout man and his God.

Jayce and Viktor.

Consumed by the flames.

The rain fell like a blanket of stars, the mountains began to be surrounded by a thick mist covering the valley with a velvety silence. The echo of the last chimes of the village cathedral dissipated among the prayers of those leaving its enormous wooden doors. The footsteps of the congregation, in unison with the raindrops falling from the sky, seemed to form a song within the volcanic stone walls where the village priest stood.

Jayce was a man of faith, raised in a Catholic home and educated in religious institutions. He wore his Catholic education around his neck along with his rosary of red beads. Devout like no other, his heart burned with passion when speaking of the word of the Lord. He was God's favourite lamb, pure, neat and profound like the love he professed. The people of Piltover had adored him since he was a child. He and his mother had arrived there after a terrible season of storms that had ravaged life in the mountains, the white snow stained crimson with every life withered under the burden of uncertainty. Misfortune had led them to stumble upon the enormous church where he was now the highest authority. It had been a long time since there had been children in that place, and Jayce seemed to be a good omen for the birth rate. If that little angel who had appeared in the blizzard could survive in those lands that seemed abandoned in a golden cage, then every little sprout of the inhabitants could also flourish. 

And since then, Jayce had been regarded as unique in the world; his mother already saw him as such, he was her baby, the same one who saved him, without knowing how, but in her hands he slept until he was reborn after the dark days, his voice seemed to have been the one that called on God to help them live in his holy glory, he was the miracle of life made a child. His mother's words flowed like the river that connected the village to the sea, with strength and faith. What happened filled everyone who crossed his path with hope, and he understood that it was his life's work to become the man who would guide his people to eternal life in divinity.

He knew God, not just as everyone in Piltover knew Him, not as the other young men in the seminary knew Him, not even as the Holy Father knew Him... Jayce had seen Him. In flesh and bone, with blood and moles, like any human on earth, but He was more beautiful than the holy texts described Him. In his eyes lay a gold more beautiful than that which adorned the churches, deep as the sea that lulled the city's shores and bright as the sun itself. His gaze was gentle and warm, like the benevolent love that only God in all his grace could give. Jayce was young, perhaps too young to fully discern reality from fantasy, but that slender and delicate figure existed before his eyes like a miracle, and that was indisputable. His skin seemed to have been kissed by the stars, leaving freckles everywhere, and on his face rested the two most beautiful gifts in the universe, finely embellishing his serene expression... although it also seemed distressed. Jayce wanted to know why, but he had been taught to wait for his Lord's words, not to speak before he did. But that voice never filled Jayce's ears with grace. Without uttering a single word, the man in front of him opened the heavens with his slender hands and saved the Talis family's life with his miracle. He remembers that his prayers for help were answered without the need for words, only the presence of a divine apparition; his broken, childish voice crying out for help, answered only by the echoes of his own words, answered by the silence and compassion of his saviour. And then, just as he had appeared, a majestic mirage, he disappeared after rescuing them, just as the snow that stained his mother's dress melted, replacing the white fear with flowers full of hope.

Jayce gazed at the horizon, cloudy and stormy like his heart.

Blue and nothing but blue from his fingertips to the depths of the world before him, as if that colour stained his existence. The life of a saint who still breathed was tortuous. People appreciated him, but they never crossed that line. Perhaps the blue splashed across his tan skin and hazel eyes was visible to everyone. Holiness weighed heavily on his broad shoulders, like the cross of the Son of God. People said they loved him, even adored him, but Jayce never felt that way. The watery curtain now matched the diamonds that seemed to want to escape from the priest's tired eyes. No one shook his hand when he went to the village to bring supplies on nights like this, no one hugged him during the end-of-year celebrations, celebrating the end and beginning of a new dawn in solitude, or when he baptised the youngest children in the village, the parents, touched by hands drenched in holy water, seemed more absorbed in the contact than in their little ones blessed by the mantle of God. He did not feel real; it seemed that nothing bearing his name was real. Neither love, nor affection, nor compassion or admiration, much less his human existence. Jayce existed only as a vessel and a means for God to protect Piltover in His glory. That was all he was to everyone.

Except for him.

For the one who had the face of his God and the gentlest love he had ever felt in his heart.

Him. 

Viktor. 

His Viktor.

The only person in the world who truly saw him, listened to him, understood him... who loved him. 

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

Their first encounter was a misstep.

Jayce had gone to the village to give the sacrament of anointing of the sick to a believer. The man was so ill that his family had gone to the house of God for help. It was the first time he had done that, and in his nervousness, he lost his way to the family's residence. He found himself some distance from the village, barely able to see the cathedral's steeple. It was a beautiful view from up there, lost among the trees and flowers of the forest. It was early in the morning, and he knew that if he went down the hill at that moment, he could reach his destination in daylight, but... being so close to the forest and the river, he could hear the sigh of nature. It was like a song calling him to enter the green landscape. Perhaps it was God speaking to him from the wind, perhaps the trees, the river and the clouds were also part of God's divinity, as he had always thought. He wasn't sure what it was, but he couldn't stop himself and entered the grove, following a feeling in his heart.

His steps were heavy but gentle; he did not want to hurt the nature around him, and it seemed that nature did not want to hurt him either. The branches of the junipers touched him but did not scratch him, like the touch he had always wanted from others. Under the sun rising in the sky, his black cassock and purple stole shone like the flowers that were beginning to peek out from among the grass surrounding a ploughed field path. He found it strange and wanted to know where it led, without thinking about the danger that might lie beyond the path he was now walking on.

In the distance, among the forest, he could see a small wooden building. It was a house surrounded by flowers of all colours, animals seemed to find refuge in that corner of paradise, deer rested near the stream that crossed that little Eden. It looked like the entrance to a magical world, the first step to what appeared to be a new village hidden in the wooded landscape, but curiosity was greater than caution, and so the priest approached to knock on the light wooden door. But before he could raise his hand, he heard a voice... the most beautiful he had ever had the honour of hearing.

"Can I help you?"

Those were the first words Jayce heard from the one who possessed a majestic, human divinity in his existence. Jayce turned to look at the owner of such a sweet voice and unforgettable accent, and found that face he could never forget. It was identical to the man who had saved him from that blue and white storm, who believed he was the living image of the Almighty, who since childhood had always thought he guarded his sleep and watched over his awakening. He wasn't sure if it was the same man or if it was just the mirage of hope for him that Jayce painted in that new body, in that new being; perhaps it was his serene presence and his soft scent of jasmine and the sun that melts the snow at the beginning of spring, perhaps it was just the need to imagine another human being around him, as close as the owner of that cabin was.

DeFrom that moment on, Jayce was never the same again. After venturing into the forest, his world changed, his perspective broadened beyond the stained glass windows of the cathedral, he discovered science and understood it as something divine, even if the church did not consider it to be of God. Viktor was a brilliant, talented, and compassionate man. He had enormous patience, almost as great as his love for life and care for it. He was generous and devoted to his loved ones... as much as Jayce was to God. He devoted himself to being a healer for the community in which he lived, that hidden place in the forest where the priest was lost, that community that fought to be recognised as existing, denied by the power that existed in the town of Piltover. A village with wounds so deep that not even God was able to stop the bleeding of the pain of injustice; that was no longer the jurisdiction of the Almighty, after being forgotten by the church, uncovered by the mantle of the Virgin Mary and their prayers ignored by the Father, they had to find alternatives to exist in exile outside of Eden. Viktor had been one of those alternatives. When prayers and requests for the sacrament of anointing of the sick were never answered, he learned science so he could try to soothe the people's discomfort, off the radar in the form of a cross that could end his life for ignoring religious authorities. He gave his whole life to his people. Viktor loved caring for them, using his knowledge to keep those who worked the land, those who cared for and loved their families, those who built their society hidden among the trees, but... he felt alone, terribly alone. Jayce knew how that felt. Being the pillar of Piltover made him feel like the boats at sea during silent nights, locked in a golden cage, the cathedral was beautiful, and being a servant of God made him smile, but when the frescoes on the walls looked at him gloomily, when the stained-glass windows no longer shone with the sunlight and his chest trembled with the echo of a burning heart, he knew how alone he was in the world.

But up there, in front of that cabin he had reached after getting lost, he knew he would never be alone again.

They would never be alone again.

That morning, Viktor walked him back to Piltover, enjoying the father's confusion and the beautiful views of the mountains and the sea, worthy of a painting. Jayce was enjoying the man's company so much that he asked to stay and visit with the sick believer, extending the request to examine him and give his opinion... perhaps they could form a team. Perhaps they could visit each other; the cathedral had another room if night fell after long conversations as long as time itself, and surely sleeping in that cosy cabin could be a pleasant experience. Together they could help others, from faith and from science, they could bring together two worlds that seemed distant until they exchanged glances, they could help each other in the face of the emptiness that seemed to want to consume them from within.

Being able to help.

Those were the first words he heard from Viktor.

Words that would stay with him forever.

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

The professional partnership grew beyond those boundaries; Viktor had become his friend, his first friend. Not only did they care for the sick in both settlements together, but they also shared a table, eating together under the blue summer sky, talking about what they knew, what they believed, what they feared and... what they loved. For the first time in a long time, Jayce remembered what it was like to laugh. Viktor had taken the communion wafers he was going to use in the afternoon mass and prepared them with a little cajeta for lunch; his laughter was something that seemed almost as sinful as eating the body of Christ with dulce de leche, but Jayce could not reprimand him, nor feel anger, nor even think about what he had learned in the seminary when he saw his partner enjoying with such joy the sweet taste of the delicacy he was savouring. He also couldn't remember what it was like to touch another person without them pulling away and apologising for tainting their existence with something less than the sanctity of God's vessel. Viktor let him rest his hand on his delicate back. He had shown him how to adjust the device that completely supported his right leg and how to hold the cane he used to maintain his stability, especially when he had to move around to care for others. Sometimes Jayce would hold him with his arm, feeling his slender figure become a little warmer under the delicately embroidered robes he wore. And, most importantly, he couldn't remember the last time he felt appreciated for who he was, but Viktor remembered his favourite food, how much he hated lies and deceit, and knew how to make him smile even when the sky turned cloudy. He saw him as the man he was, not the priest of Piltover Cathedral.

Time stained the fields and their bodies, nights turned into days, and weeks turned into years. They were no longer those young men who had met in the forest and gone from house to house caring for the sick and wounded. Jayce's dark hair was now streaked with grey, and Viktor's skin was dotted with freckles that had not been there before... Jayce still said Mass twice a day, but these were shorter, hastier and more rushed; words interrupted by the anguish of hearing coughs inside the parish house, murmurs still spreading among the pews, rumours as strident as the bells in the tower.

Viktor was the victim of those sharp tongues. Ever since the people of Piltover saw him walking alongside the priest, they couldn't stop their poisonous words. They said he was the devil incarnate, hidden in those eyes as golden as the sun, in his blunt and honest words, in his ability to heal so many without the need for godhood... and in his close relationship with the priest.

Jayce knew that what he felt for Viktor was huge, warm, fervent, and vehement from the first moment he laid his hazel eyes on him, and he confirmed it when he heard him speak. At first, he thought it was because Viktor had the face of his God, confusing devotion and love for the Lord with that other thing that was like the fluttering of a butterfly in his chest, nesting like the swallows in the bell tower, right inside his heart. But the more he got to know him, the more stars Viktor showed him at his cabin, the more he watched him write and draw things that divinity could not explain, the more he understood that it was not something about God... but it was something heavenly.

He was afraid to tell his dear friend, so for months he kept it hidden close to him, avoiding looking too closely at Viktor's calm face when he was sunbathing in the small garden they were building together near the cemetery, or from touching him possessively so often when there was a crowd of people around him at the market, wanting to separate him from everyone else so that no one would hurt him, as he had heard in the confessional a couple of times, or from asking Viktor to stay with him in the parish house longer, perhaps forever, so that he could be by his side every day. Until one night when the stars embroidered in the sky seemed to come undone and fall from above, like in the crown of Our Lady of Sorrows, Viktor took his hand in front of the church gates, Jayce looked at him in surprise and could see that his pale, porcelain skin was tinged with the red of pomegranates, and then he understood that it was love... true love.

Viktor was also in love with him.

Viktor loved him, and Jayce loved Viktor.

That was more than enough to live in peace, happiness, and fulfilment, which could only be found in Heaven.

But of course, the Almighty, being omniscient, had noticed this, and not even God's favourite lamb can escape His wrath.

Viktor.

His Viktor began to grow increasingly ill. Increasingly frail. Increasingly compassionate. Increasingly kind.

Jayce did not understand why God was doing this to Viktor, since it was Jayce who had broken his word, who had left Eden on his own accord to experience life. Viktor was not to blame for anything; he should not have to pay for Jayce's sins. He said that his declining health was not divine punishment, that the deity in whom the priest believed had nothing to do with his worsening condition, that science explained what seemed like misfortune tied to providence. Even when he was ill, his beloved still cared for others, and that broke his father's heart. When his body began to hurt even more, they moved together to the parish house, and when his legs gave out, Jayce, guided by the blueprints he had designed with Viktor in advance in case that happened, built a wheelchair. When his lungs filled with mucus and blood, they sought herbal remedies, and even then, Viktor taught the village children what he knew, built a shelter for weary travellers, and founded a small school behind the chapel for the adults in his community. How could the Creator do this to someone who, in his life and in his pain, never forgot those in need, those he loved and understood as equals and as deserving of a chance? Jayce wanted to help him, he wanted to, but all he could do was pray and take care of him... Viktor had helped so much, and yet he couldn't.

Their first encounter had been a misstep, but Jayce revered that day as he once did when kneeling before the figure of Jesus, the Son of God. He understood the pain of losing someone dear, the anguish of asking his father why he had forsaken him, the suffering of being told he was loved while enduring such hardship. Jesus would know the pain of watching Viktor slowly wither away, of seeing the light fade from his eyes, of hearing his witty comments now laced with bloody coughs, of watching his long brown hair lose its colour, and how his delicate hands could no longer hold tightly to the rosary he had made for Jayce, with dried Castilian rose petals brought from his cabin and pressed in the books they used to read together, to kiss him deeply.

Viktor slowly began to fade away in the candlelight.

Until one snowfall.

It had never snowed in Piltover.

Jayce was terrified. He remembered his childhood, the storm, the cold, and the screams that sounded like his own. Viktor had never seen snow before. Jayce gathered his courage and joined Viktor at the door of his home. He understood Jayce's fear, so he didn't pressure him to join him and had rolled his wheelchair almost to the porch when Jayce reached him. They went out together, sheltering under the clay tiles of the porch. White flakes like clouds and the moon began to cover everything: the paths, the garden and the graveyard. Viktor found it beautiful, but Jayce couldn't help but look at the sight of him: his nose reddened by the cold and not by blood, his cheeks flushed as they had been before he became even more ill, and his eyes shining with a thousand stars in them. For the first time in weeks, Viktor pulled Jayce by the rosary to kiss him, and it was the warmest, most loving kiss Jayce had ever received.

It was like a dream.

But dreams don't last forever.

And sometimes waking up is like dying.

The snow didn't last long, it was as brief as Viktor's apparent improvement. And as soon as it began to melt, it carried Viktor's life away with it.

Viktor died in Jayce's arms, like someone trying to catch a shooting star with a racket. They were resting in front of the fireplace, the cold from the snowfall penetrating their bones, lying on the couch in front of the fire, entwined in an embrace when Viktor drew his last breath. His golden eyes were filled with tender love, and with what little strength he had left, he kissed Jayce, who was about to close his eyes to sleep, and lay against his beloved's chest once more, falling together into a deep sleep from which only Jayce would be able to rise.

The snow melted away, and the flowers in the garden wilted.

The earth was cold, frozen like Viktor's skin when Jayce tried to wake him.

The sky was cloudy, like his beautiful golden eyes.

The bells rang, and Jayce heard the screams again.

The mass was brief, attended only by the people Viktor had healed, some children to whom he used to read, and people who had been able to come down from Zaun after the storm, mourners who soon dispersed like leaves in the stream. Viktor would not have wanted to take up so much of the workers' time, or frighten the children with talk of an unforgiving God, and even less to sadden those who he had stood by. Nor would he have wanted the words of the priest, but rather those of his beloved Jayce.

Only Jayce and Viktor were there, as was usual... but Viktor no longer laughed, his wheelchair was no longer heard in the aisle, nor could he embrace the priest who now wept over the coffin of the only person who loved him.

Alone, Jayce carried the coffin to the cathedral cemetery, where he would bury it right in the centre of his garden. Viktor loved flowers and would be happy resting among them, but they were wilted, the cold had burned them... but perhaps he could plant more soon.

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

The rain fell after evening mass, showering life upon the flowers that were beginning to bloom in Viktor's garden. Jayce was sure that soon they would be beautiful enough to form a bed for Viktor, where he would have his holy sepulchre, a place from which Jayce could watch over him and care for him every day, as he had done for years. That's how it should have been, but something happened.

The priest entered the cathedral, closing the enormous wooden doors behind him. The liturgical celebrations of December were coming to an end, and with them, the time for him and Viktor was returning. The man's footsteps echoed through the aisles lined with pews, reverberating off the stained-glass windows like cannon fire. His black cassock still bore the marks of the stitches used to mend it, remnants of his love. His face seemed serene, but his brow was furrowed, tired, and his gaze was full of melancholy; the lively, smiling man he had been seemed to have disappeared with the snowfall. During the mass, he had slipped up, his tongue seemed sharp, a little more honest, a little more hostile; but how could he not be, when the people who proclaimed to love him so much did not have the decency to attend the mass for his beloved... He knew that no one knew for sure the nature of the relationship between Viktor and himself, but how could they not attend the requiem of the man who in life was greater than all of them, who had the face of God and whose actions proved him to be purer than all those damned people? He had heard the rumours that Viktor was the devil and had seduced him, leading him wickedly astray, that it was the reason he had fallen ill, that it was the price he had to pay for his sins.

Viktor a sinner?

When they had confessed to atrocities? When they were the poison that was killing the entire village?

When even Jayce himself was more sinful than Viktor?

He could do nothing but hate them, all those people who said they loved him, who said they adored and cherished him. He despised them all for doing that to Viktor and his memory.

Hatred and anger were becoming Jayce's greatest sin, and yet he was God's favourite lamb.

Tired, he entered the parish house, but a smile spread across his face when he saw Viktor, his Viktor, sitting at the table. His skin was beginning to look greyish, his eyes had lost their beautiful colour and were now the terrible blue of the cold in the mountains, his long hair was no longer as soft as before, and his sweet jasmine scent had vanished like the smoke from the fireplace that was beginning to fill his home. He sat in front of the corpse of his beloved, there were flowers from the garden in a vase, their petals falling exhausted onto the cake that Jayce had baked hours before... it was December 29th, Viktor's birthday. He would celebrate his life, they would celebrate together. Jayce approached Viktor's body and kissed his wrinkled lips as tenderly as he had done until a few days ago. He took his thin, almost skeletal hand and placed a ring on his finger. He would have liked to give it to him while he was still breathing, to entwine their lives forever, but death had separated them too soon. He carefully carried Viktor in his arms, resting his head on his chest, and returned to the cathedral. The smoke began to follow them wherever they went, like an ominous shadow, as if God were trying to stop them in their tracks, but Jayce did not stop until he was in front of the altar, right where he should have been with Viktor, both dressed in white, ready to unite their lives before God's grace... But now only Jayce could swear that in voice and living flesh, because He had torn him from his hands, He had already claimed him. But no one loved Viktor more than Jayce. There was no wedding lasso, but Jayce used his red rosary; there were no godparents, but they didn't need them because it had always been the two of them against the world; there was no priest but Jayce, and perhaps there was no God, but that didn't matter anymore because his God lay dead in his arms.

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

Two men lay before the altar, joining in holy matrimony. One last sacrament, one last love before the flames consumed that beautiful cathedral. Two men swore eternal love before the altar, one of flesh and blood, the other of bone and snow.

A lamb and his shepherd.

A devout man and his God.

Jayce and Viktor.

Consumed by the flames.