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From birth, the entire world was against Viktor. His life was timed, and from creation, he was doomed. He was born simply to die young, before he could ever have a chance.

Viktor would never have a family. He would never be able to see his potential children grow up, and would never be a grandparent. He wouldn’t have the gift to grow old and experience back pains or elderly dementia, as horrible as it sounds.

Viktor had accepted this part of his life—Jayce couldn’t.

His disease could be pushed aside to the depths of their mind in the early days of their relationship. They met, and immediately in the span of two days, Jayce had made Viktor’s entire world. Although a scandalous beginning, it slowly delved into love.

A shaky, unstable and fragile love, but one nonetheless. It was a productive one on a scholarly level—they could talk for hours about scientific theories and the works. It was a lot easier getting to work when Viktor slept over at Jayce’s condo in Piltover as well…

His illness crept up onto him only a few months in the blooming relationship, and possibly the only time in his life he’d felt happy. It started small: the occasional spout of coughing blood, the moments he felt dizzy when standing, the weakness seeming more apparent in his already jaded limbs.

Collapsing at work was the telltale sign he was dying, and a quick visit to the hospital approved it. Viktor knew it, yet hearing it he’d never felt so unprepared.

He was forced to process it, for real, that he wouldn’t marry, he wouldn’t have children, and he wouldn’t live past his thirties.

He tried to distance himself from Jayce, but his attempts remained fruitless. The idea that Jayce would be hurt by his death ate at Viktor with an anxious uncertainty.

He found himself wondering as he kneeled over a toilet bowl at Jayce’s apartment, puking his guts out as his hair was being held back: How did I end up here?