#not jayvik

“Silco? Jinx? Is that you?” Before he can fully finish calling out, Jinx has appeared in front of him with a flash of blue hair and a big smile.

“Viktor!! Happy birthday!!!!!!” She swings an arm around his shoulders and angles him away from the kitchen and towards his bedroom. “We’re not gonna go in there yet! he thought you were gonna be at work for a few more hours so he isn’t ready.” They reach his bedroom door and Jinx gently shoves him in. “Take a nice bath and read a book or whatever you were planning to do when you got home and when you’re done he’ll have something nice put together for you and I will hopefully be safely back in Zaun for the night. Happy birthday!!” And with that the door shuts behind him and he’s alone again.

He shakes his head (though the twist of a smile on his lips won’t seem to straighten out) and takes the path of least resistance. He had in fact been planning to take a bath. It is all the easier to relax and read a book knowing his boyfriend is in the other room baking him something, even as a slightly up-ended surprise.

Time slips away once he finds himself in the hot water, and the bath has gone tepid by the time he relents and drags himself out of the lavender scented tub to dry off. He doesn’t bother putting real clothes or his brace back on, instead sliding into boxers and a big t shirt and grabbing his crutches to get to the kitchen.

Sitting on the counter is a vanilla sponge cake, doused in powdered sugar, a jar of blueberry jam next to it. A pot of rich stew is simmering on the stove, a loaf of bread buttered and ready for the oven sitting next to it. Hotter than the stew, though, is the man standing in front of the stove and stirring, one hand coming up to push the loose strands of hair off of his forehead which have been dislodged from his careful coif by the steam. His sleeves are rolled up and his top button is undone, but his vest remains carefully done to accentuate his frame.

The two men in Viktor’s kitchen could not appear dressed for more different occasions, but when Silco turns away from the stove to face Viktor, his eyes still soften like he couldn’t imagine a more perfect sight. He sighs, exasperated but fond “Surprise. Happy birthday, darling.”

Viktor steps forward and wraps his arms around Silco’s waist, holding him tightly for a moment as he enjoys the familiar smell of his cologne mixed with the richness of the food. “Thank you, lasko.”

He pulls back with the beginnings of a smile playing at his lips. “I do hope you do your business with better intel than you do your surprise parties, though. Adversaries do not often allow themselves to be corralled to a bath.”

Silco scoffs, “I tend to be more careful when there are greater consequences. Jinx did offer to intercept you on your way home if necessary or create a diversion, but I am less inclined to submit you to her explosive tactics than most people.”

He pauses for a moment, the smile truly forming now, crooked teeth and sharp edged lips igniting the kindling in Viktor’s heart like the ragged edge of well used flint.

“Besides, it is advantageous to lay low enough to cross into Piltover as I please. How else would I visit my lover on short notice at my advanced age.”

A laugh breaks from Viktor’s lips. “It is my birthday, today we are both old. We will be forced to exchange letters from across the Pilt should we get any older!”

Viktor’s eye catches on the stove behind Silco, “Show me what it is you have cooked up before I eat the cake for dinner.”

The stew is rich, the savory broth thickened with cream. The bread is crunchy along its face and soft in the middle. The cake is moist and delicate, topped with the jam for even more flavor.

Later that night, when their clothes are gone and their breathing even once more, Viktor breaks the tentative silence.

“Thank you, Silco. I am lucky to have someone I am so fond of who will break into my apartment to make me dinner.”

Silco’s rhythmic breathing is disrupted again by Viktor’s words. Neither of them have named the feeling they share. The humor does little to lighten the weight of identification in his words. Perhaps it is a little strange to break into your boyfriend’s apartment, but Silco is strange and Viktor is fond of him. Silco could count the number of people he truly cares about on one hand, and those he cares about enough to try and express it he could count with a peace sign. Viktor is worth more than the trip up from Zaun, the rescheduled meetings, the looks at the Piltovian supermarket, the extensive lock picking, the burned peppers, the new peppers, the hand written cake recipe, and the time and sweat put into their meal. He’s worth the words “I love you” and “I’d leave Zaun if you needed me” and “I’d burn myself to keep you warm.” But Silco can’t give more than his actions, the words dying in his throat, and worst of all, Viktor knows that. He has spent long enough out of Zaun to say “I love you” when he means it, but he also knows there are lots of ways to show it that mean even more.

So when Silco’s breathing eventually returns to normal and Viktor feels a hand slip into his, he hears it as clearly as if Silco had said it out loud.