This wasn't the reaction Viktor had expected, but then, maybe it should have been. He'd prepared for this, hadn't he? Or at least, he'd tried to. And yet, nothing could really help the fact that this reunion confirmed all his fears about his rapidly diminishing prognosis. Viktor had died, and this Jayce was from their — his — future. What else could his reaction mean?

Stomach twisting itself into knots, Viktor went willingly into that embrace, needing that grounding reassurance more than he cared to admit to himself. Jayce was always so emotionally open, as though it didn't pain him to pin his heart onto his sleeve even though he knew it did, and when all else in the world failed Viktor, this was his constant: Jayce. Their partnership, their affection for each other.

With a gloved hand pressing protectively along the back of Jayce's neck, his free hand clutching his cane a shade looser, Viktor nudged his nose against the side of his head. It was a small touch, but a meaningful one. I'm here. Instead, what escaped him was a rasping, "You don't want to hear my attempt at it," his voice wavering a little despite his best efforts. No matter what, they would get through this. He believed in that. He wanted to. Maybe that made him naive, but Viktor didn't care.