if the train comes, please move

Viktor tries to picture the person he’d be if all his time wasn’t spent holding Jayce together like this. Has to stop picturing anything at all soon after. It’s an exercise in humiliation.

But now, it’s Jayce. Even in the throes of pain, of trauma relived, of being lost and being found again by Viktor’s hands. When Jayce is a supplicant by his feet. When Jayce kisses him sweet on the lips like worship, like love. Viktor plays pretend. Imagines he’s someone accepting the touch solely for Jayce’s sake. A favour, selfless, to collect the overflow, wiping tears, staunching blood. A place given to put his heart when his own ribs don’t suffice.