follow the cops back home

“Stop with the smirk, I know you’re smirking under there. You just can’t resist being clever, can you? You’re the one who nearly gave the game away, Viktor. I might be the one who picked you up for that last photo, and I’ll admit—that was incriminating. But your little quip is probably where the author got the idea we are together in the first place, you realize.”

Viktor scratches the back of his neck.

“What, now you’ve got nothing to say, wise guy?”

Viktor glances quickly over the page. “You don’t need to worry, they were smart enough not to publish it. Looks like it's edited clean out. And on the bright side: you look very cute in the picture, at least.”

Jayce’s irritation quickly dissipates under the warmth of Viktor’s praise. “You really think so?”

Viktor nods. “Although…”

“Although what?”

“I just think it probably didn’t help our case for discretion that you only agreed to do this pose as long as I was the one who printed the lipstick kisses on you.”

Jayce’s cheeks flush an adorable shade of pink. “Well…I suppose you may have a point.”

PRE-PUBLICATION INTERVIEW TRANSCRIPTION FROM THE PILTOVER DAILY ARCHIVES:

PD: As you know, we here at The Piltover Daily are all about asking the real questions. We’re the publication that dares to get personal and dig into the nitty gritty. So, Jayce: on behalf of our female readers everywhere, we need to know—does Piltover’s most eligible bachelor prefer a lady who’s trimmed from top to tail, or do you go for the nuance of a natural beauty? Don’t be shy, now.

[VR: Neither, if you must kn—]

[JT: Stop, Viktor, oh my god. Just stop. You swore if we did this you’d—]

[VR: What, I didn’t even say anyth—!]

[untranscribable]

[untranscribable]

[untranscribable]

[JT: Sorry, I just had to remind my partner here of a few things we previously agreed upon. You can cut that, right? You won’t publish any of this? Thank you, I owe you one. Can you—Viktor, can you not behave yourself for all of five minutes? Please? Pull it together, stop laughing. Okay then. Ahem. ]

JT: I think beauty is more than skin deep. All women are beautiful in their own way, and it’s up to them how they choose to let it shine.

PD: Mr. Talis, you’re every bit as charming as everybody says.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/85762921/chapters/231502691

Hob taps Dream’s knee. “Hey.”

Dream looks over just as Hob reaches out and takes Dream’s hand, pulling gently and encouraging him to face Hob as well. And instead of allowing Dream to fidget alone, wiggles his own fingers on Dream’s palm, getting them tangled together. Dream’s long, pale, pianist fingers against Hob’s sun-kissed digits with cracked knuckles and blunt, choppy finger nails.

Hob lifts his lashes with a smile when he hears Dream’s huff of amusement.

The party rages on inside, but outside, under the pale moonlight, Hob finds solace in their own quiet bubble. Lounging on the stoop, fingertips dancing along Dream’s wrist and feeling just a bit too warm from the alcohol. A little too comfortable.

A little too brave.

The wiggling stops and now Hob is just holding Dream’s hand, thumb pressed along the top, caressing his knuckles and veins that protrude slightly against milk white skin.

“After tomorrow,” Hob starts, licking his lips, eyes glued to how Dream’s hand fits in his. “Whatever we do, we’ll find each other again, right?”

Hob was moving across the country. He’d been offered a job in his field, something deeply coveted amongst his peers; obtaining an entry level job right out of college. While Dream currently interned at a publishing company, a place they both knew would hire him in no time once he had his degree in hand.

Dream’s grip tightened, a reassuring squeeze that encouraged Hob’s gaze up, struck down again by those inscrutable eyes.

“I don’t see why not,” Dream spoke, keeping his voice low and melodic. “We will still be friends, Hob.”

Hob took a deep breath through his nose, the air filling his chest, steadying himself.

“Friends, eh?”

Hob felt his heart crashing in his rib cage. So many unspoken feelings, so many moments that he’d let pass by. Opportunities to tell Dream how he really felt. They slipped away every day, the clawing belief that they could be something more. The fear of rejection, of ruining what they already had, keeping Hob at bay. Forcing him to appreciate what he had. Hob had Dream, and that was enough.

But it wasn’t anymore. And soon he’d lose Dream. In 12 hours they would walk across that stage and graduate and Hob would probably never see Dream again, and regret screamed through his veins, flooded his insides and threatened to pour over and past his lips. 

Dream said nothing, though his own fingers began to move, causing Hob’s breath to hitch as he felt Dream’s delicate fingers tickle his palm, soft writer’s hands that were stronger than they looked, circle around Hob’s wrist and pull him in closer.

Hob felt his heart thrashing in his rib cage, jaw dropping in wonder as he followed along, scooting closer, transfixed by Dream’s impossibly hypnotic gaze, darkening as the space between them slowly closed.

The silence between them felt tense, but in a good way. In a way that made Hob dizzy. Especially as Dream’s gaze flicked down, causing Hob’s pulse to jump.

Dream’s voice, when he spoke, was so soft Hob wasn’t sure he even heard him.

“You could stay.”

Something fiery hot burned in Hob’s belly, licking its way up and seizing his heart.

Hob felt himself shaking his head without being fully conscious of it, all of his attention focused fully on Dream’s face, his neck, his collar bones peeking out from his long sleeve shirt. And his hand, still in Hob’s. Warm and sure and safe.

 “I can’t.”

Dream’s eyes are back on Hob’s.

“Then I’ll come with you.”

A laugh tumbled from Hob’s lips, unbidden. 

“Dream, be serious.”

“I am.”

Hob gasped as Dream’s other hand suddenly slips up his jaw, cupping his cheek, a thumb swiping just under his eye.