#jayce defender

Jayce’s hand went to the back of his neck, fingers pressing into the tense muscles there. He could still see the golden bits of paper drifting from the rafters, hear the applause echoing in that vast chamber.

And now, the knowledge that you hadn’t heard from him— hadn’t heard it at all— settled heavy on his chest.

He wasn’t sure if he should feel relieved or disappointed. “Ah, Viktor told you, did he?” He forced a chuckle, but it came out dry and brittle.

“I’m sorry I missed it,” you said quickly, the sadness in your voice sounded genuine. “Why didn’t you tell me? I would’ve tried to make it.”

“It’s no big deal,” he lied with a shrug. “You didn’t miss much anyways.”

But the words taste bitter.

There was something about you not knowing, about you both skirting around something so personal, that only seemed to emphasise the distance between you both.

For months, Jayce had tried to bridge that gap— bringing you coffee before lectures, offering to help with experiments you never asked for, looking for excuses to linger after hours.

Because it wasn’t just about being the lab partner you could rely on. He wanted to be the person you turned to for more than equations and blueprints. He wanted you to need him, the way he needed you.

And as much as he told himself not to blame you, your absence had felt like proof of the barrier between you both. Proof that no matter how hard he tried, he hadn’t found a way past it. And that, more than anything, was frustrating.

“Happy belated birthday…” you said meekly. The words were small, almost shy. But to Jayce, they felt like a spark of light in the middle of a storm.

Jayce's expression softened.

“Thanks,” he murmured, his voice caught between gratitude and resignation. Despite the ache he felt in his heart, a flicker of warmth glimmered at your thoughtfulness.

“Let me make it up to you. I would get you something but I don’t even know what you like.”

He blinked. That wasn’t what he expected. At most, he thought you'd wish him a belated birthday, maybe even a smile, and then you would go on the rest of your day. He would be a little disappointed but he would get over it.

But now, here you were, offering more. Considering him.

He shook his head, a small smile tugging at his lips.

“You don’t have to get me anything,” he protested softly.

You waved him off. “That’s what everyone says…”

“I’m aware,” he sighed, shoulders slumped. “But really, you don’t have to go through the trouble. I don’t need anything.”

“Hmph, fine…” you muttered, clearly unconvinced. “Can you at least tell me what you like?”

Jayce paused to think about that question. What did he like?

He thought about all the possessions he had— the latest gadgets from the Academy. The finest clothes tailored to his fit. All of these materialistic things that he could get for himself by his Councillor status. But it all felt hollow.

He looked back at you, his gaze conflicted. “You really want to know what I like?” he asked, a hint of vulnerability in his voice.

You nodded, your eyes earnest, almost searching.

He drew in a deep breath, gathering his thoughts. The one thing he wanted most had been sitting unspoken in his chest for months. And now, with you looking at him like that, it nearly spilled over.

This could either go swimmingly… or he’d sound like a fool, some lovesick idiot you’d never look at the same way again.

“Honestly?” He began, voice low and uncertain. “I just want your time and attention. No fancy gifts, but just your company.”

To anyone else that would have sounded simple, but to him, it was everything. The only thing he couldn’t buy, couldn’t build, couldn’t pull from sheer willpower.

And though it was the most precious thing he could imagine, he bit back the rest. Your presence was worth more to him than any invention, every title, every council seat combined.

You tiled your head, unconvinced. “Oh, come on. I want to give you something tangible. Something that you’ll actually hold onto, years from now.

Jayce’s lips curved despite himself, a low chuckle escaping him. The way you were insisting was endearing.

“You’re not going to give this up are you?”

Before he could think of a response, you perked up suddenly, eyes bright.

“Wait… I think I have some ideas,” you said in a sing-song voice.

Jayce quirked his brow, his curiosity lifting with it. He tilted his head slightly at your sudden playfulness.

“Oh?” he inquired. “And what might that be?”

His mind raced ahead of your answer, already imaging what it could be. Something practical? Something sentimental? Maybe something with your touch on it, something he could hold and remember you by. The sheer thought made his heart beat faster.

But you only shook your head.

“Ah, ah, ah,” you tutted, wagging your finger. “I’m not spoiling the surprise.”

Now he was really burning with anticipation. And your vagueness wasn’t helping in the slightest.

“I hope it’s not something cliche,” he teased. “Like a mug with my face on it or something.”

The moment the words left his mouth, he quickly snapped it shut and froze. Too much? Would you think he was making fun of your effort?

But instead of offence, you looked up at him with a pout, your shoulders slumped dramatically.

“Oh no… there goes my plans,” you sighed, feigning defeat.

Jayce laughed, relief bubbled in his chest. In truth, even if you did hand him something as silly as a mug, or even a box of rocks, he’d cherish it. If it came from you, it would carry your mark. Your thoughtfulness. And that alone would make it priceless.

“But you’ll just have to wait until tomorrow,” you added with a sly smile.

Jayce hummed in acknowledgment, but his impatience was slowly brewing low in his chest. A whole night. It might as well have been an eternity. He knew you probably needed time to prepare, but the thought of waiting drove him restless.

The rest of the day in the lab, anticipation burned through him— an odd cocktail of excitement and nerves.

Not just because of the mystery of what you’d choose— even if the thought was stuck on his mind, especially after you specifically asked him what he liked.

It was the fact that you wanted to give him something at all. That had to mean something. You wouldn’t go out of your way if he meant nothing to you.

He caught himself daydreaming about it— how you’d hand it to him with that smile of yours, the one that always softened his chest. How you’d watch him intently as he opened the box, eyes eager in the same way they got when you solved a problem in the lab.

The look of yours— focused, earnest, alive— was something he could never get enough of. And now the thought of it being directly solely at him was almost too much to bear.

~

The hours leading onto the following day couldn’t have dragged any slower. Jayce had spent the night tossing and turning, dreaming not just about the gift you had promised him, but about you— your face, your voice, the way you’d say it.

It wasn’t the first time you haunted his thoughts at night. Especially after a long day in the lab, it was almost inevitable. But this night was worse. Knowing you had prepared something for him made it impossible to quiet his mind.

Every tick of the clock seemed to stretch the night longer, and by the time the morning arrived, he felt like he’d lived through an eternity.

He woke earlier than usual, restless energy pushing him out of bed, and even the short walk to the Academy felt unbearably drawn out.

When he finally stepped into the lab, he found you already there. You hadn’t noticed him, your head bent over your notes, expression frowning in focus. His gaze lingered and softened.

He wondered how long you’d been at it, and whether you’d gotten any rest at all. Probably not— both you and Viktor had a terrible habit of working yourselves to exhaustion. It usually fell to him to drag one of you out of the lab and lock the doors behind him.

Quietly, he stepped closer, unwilling to break the bubble of concentration but unable to resist closing the distance.

“Good morning,” he said gently, voice low, as though afraid to disturb something delicate. “Did you even get any sleep last night?”

You turned to look at him, and the first thing Jayce noticed was the shadows under your eyes and the dull weariness in your expression. His chest sank.

Whatever suspense had been simmering inside him dimmed instantly beneath the side of concern. But when you lifted a small box and held it out toward him, his heart stuttered.

He blinked in surprised before carefully taking it from your hands. The weight of it was solid, and when something inside shifted ever so slightly, his pulse quickened. His fingers traced over the lid as if the box itself was fragile.

“You stayed up all night for this, didn’t you?” he asked softly, though he already knew the answer. His voice carried more worry than reproach. “You shouldn’t have… you must be exhausted.”

You shook you head, waving him off with a tired smile. “Open it.”

He couldn’t help the hesitation for a moment. Then his hands lifted the lid, steady and slowly like he was opening a holy relic.

He was met with the smell of leather first. Inside lay a beautifully crafted toolkit, every compartment designed with meticulous precision to fit the shapes of his granulate mods. The leather was supple under his fingers, the polished edges gleamed.

For a long moment, he didn’t say anything, too stunned by the craftsmenship.

“You always scrambling to find your tools,” you said lightly, as though this were nothing. “I figured they deserved a better home than being crammed into the drawer.”

Jayce couldn’t help the boyish grin that stretched on his lips, bright and unguarded. The kind of smile he only ever found when he truly felt seen. Which, more often than not, was when he was with you.

He unfolded the kit fully and froze.

An audible gasp escaped him. Etched into the inner flaps were words that seemed to burn into his chest.

‘For the hands that build the future.’

This throat tightened as he imagined you bent over your work, choosing those words and etching them with deliberate care, pouring yourself into every stroke. The thought left him dizzy, aching with gratitude and something deeper.

“Jayce?” you prodded gently, worry flickered across your face. “Is it too much?”

He swallowed hard, forcing a laugh that cracked. “It’s perfect.” The words came out raw, almost broken.

Then he noticed a notebook nestling inside the box. Carefully, he lifted it out, his thumb brushing over the worn texture of the cover before flipping it open.

On the very first page, a handwritten with your writing on the paper.

‘You think so loudly, I wanted to give your thoughts a home.

And selfishly... maybe I wanted to live on a few of these pages, too.’

With your name signed at the bottom.

Jayce read it once. Twice. A third time. Slower, as if the ink might rearranged itself if he blinked too fast. His grip on the notebook tightened, knocked paling, as if the smallest slack might make it slip away.

You wanted to live in his thoughts, be stitched into the fabric of his mind in the same place where he would pour out his inner turmoil. The idea staggered him and touched him deeply.

Overwhelmed didn’t even begin to describe his feelings.

With reverent care, he set both the toolkit and the notebook back in the box, then lifted his gaze to you. His eyes shone.

“This… this is incredible,” he breathed, his voice hushed. “You made all of this… for me?”

You nodded mutely.

“Someone should take care of you every now and then.”

It was said lightly, the kind of kindness meant between colleagues— or friends. But for a split second, the way it slipped from your mouth, he swore it carried something more. Something he had been yearning for.

He forced himself to push it down, to file it under loyalty. And yet, the fragile spark of hope still kindled in his chest. Even if it burned him later, even if it was only an illusion, Jayce would hold it for now.

Who knew? Maybe one day, things might take a turn.

“Well, thank you… truly,” he said at last after a long pause.

You hesitated, then offered. “Maybe we could… have lunch together too?”

Your words came out tentative and shy, like an open door you weren’t sure he would walk through yet.

Jayce’s heart gave a sharp, traitorous leap. For so long, he’d craved that quiet, simple time with you outside of blueprints and lab benches. And now you were giving him that chance.

“Yeah,” he said softly, warmth bloomed in him. “I’d like that a lot.”