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He itches.
He's not sure how else to explain it. Like a side effect of strong medication that has his nerves constantly misfiring. He feels it in every part of him: his hair, his soul, his teeth.
“I don't like it either, you know. It's thrown off the whole vibe in here.”
The little demon’s eyes flicker with luminescent violet light, its annoyance with the new addition to their realm made apparent. None of the courses at the academy had really prepared Viktor for how it would feel to consume a witch’s soul. She'd been the type with an affinity for centipedes. He has to wonder if that's why it feels like things are crawling through his veins.
Viktor takes an unnecessary breath, sheer habit and self-soothing reflex. “You are just upset that something new is vying for my attention. But fear not. I am perfectly capable of being tormented by more than one thing at a time. I feel you may know this better than most, no?”
The little demon huffs out a laugh before hoisting itself onto Viktor's desk, stubby legs swinging off the side in feigned boredom. Viktor pointedly doesn't look at it, sketching a new reinforcement on an updated leg brace. He's been spending more time in his weapon form during their missions recently. Jayce lets them both pretend that it's for the sake of safety. Viktor knows they're both aware of the real reason: it's just too painful to make the treks himself.
Soon enough, it may be too painful for Jayce, too.
“Yes, yes. You are so broody and tortured, aren't you? Always something aching. You know there's a solution for that.”
Viktor waves him off, too tired to be truly bothered. It's been years of this, now. He thinks his strange little companion merely keeps at it from instinctual compulsion. Creatures of habit, the both of them.
“Mm. We have of course been over this. Your solution is not viable. Good try though. Why don't you make yourself useful and find a way to hire an exterminator for my soul’s interior–”
“Am I interrupting?”
Viktor cannot help himself. The surge of relief at Jayce's voice is near pavlovian, unconscious and immediate. Part of him is irritated at this. Once, years ago, when they'd first partnered, he had made a deal with himself. The deal was that he would do all he could to be the best weapon he could manage to be for Jayce. It was the least he could do, considering the way their resonance would eternally subject Jayce to the bone-deep ache of his ailments.
But regardless of that, he would do his best to manage himself on his own. He would not rely fully on Jayce Talis for anything.
Least of all his sanity.
What a joke, he thinks, looking at it retrospectively. He had reached out to Jayce in his darkest moments, soul wide open for the emotional agony of a hopeless boy teetering on the edge. Their first resonance had been a revelation, their souls harmonizing so beautifully, the frequency of it soothed the deepest of aches for both of them, dispersing their pains between their strengthened bond.
And so, it's hard not to believe that they were born to be inextricably bound to one another. For better or worse.
“Hello, my love. We were just discussing new roommate friction.”
A quiet skitter from the corner of his soul times itself so perfectly, it pulls a morbid laugh from him. Jayce winces, a grimace twisting his features, as he makes his way to Viktor's desk. Another stool appears beside him, and the little demon shuffles over into a corner of the desk to make room for Jayce to sit unobstructed. Viktor reels for a split second about how truly bizarre the dynamic is, before remembering that his little demon is just…him. Or part of him, at least.
“Ah, so that's why the talk of an exterminator?” Jayce says, taking his seat and slipping an arm around Viktor's waist. Viktor allows himself to lean into his partner, his hand going lax as Jayce pulls the pen from his fingers to make a notation to add more padding in the bracket near the interior of the knee. The comfort of Jayce's touch seems to make Viktor acutely aware of just how exhausted he is. The desk chairs shift into an emerald green velvet loveseat beneath them, and he nestles further into Jayce's side, seeking the inexplicable warmth that Jayce seems to carry with him no matter where he is.
“Yes, unfortunately. Lady Mille regrettably seems to be disinclined to integrate without objection. I suppose the fight to the death wasn't quite enough to defang her entirely.”
“De-pincer, technically,” his little demon chimes in from the desk. He sends the most withering look he can muster in the general direction of it before settling back in. Jayce shakes with quiet laughter, and he flicks his pec in retaliation before chuckling too.
The skittering is quieter with Jayce here. Of course it is. His soul has always settled once linked with his partner’s.
“We could ask for the soul to be rescinded, you know,” Jayce says, voice purposefully casual. “Lord Death can do it as punishment. It stands to reason he could do it as a mercy, too.”
It's not the first time he's thought about it, since that battle. It probably isn't even the tenth time, really. Wrestling with what is essentially spiritual indigestion isn't necessarily his idea of a good time. He's tired, and he's sick of itching in a way that cannot possibly be scratched.
But still, the weight of his community crushes on his weary shoulders at the mention of it. So much had gone into getting him into the academy. Neighbors rallying and saving to get him the tuition, the supplies, the transportation necessary for him to get there. It wasn't much: the school only charged for the first semester. If students survived that, their remaining education would be free.
But still. It was enough.
To give up the goal his loved ones had invested in would be to prove it wasn't worth it. That they had struggled and sacrificed for him, for nothing. For him to achieve what he had intended, only to spit in the face of such accomplishment because of what? A bit of unmitigated, maddening soul dissonance?
“V. Come back.”
He blinks himself out of the miserable reverie, curling closer to Jayce. Jayce strokes his hair, pressing a kiss to his temple.
“Sorry I–I don't know that I can accept that mercy. I don't know that I have the right to.”
Jayce's breath catches, and he pulls Viktor closer to him, his embrace tightening protectively. Guilt sears Viktor from the inside out. He knows how hard it is for Jayce to see him struggle this way, is intimately familiar with it from bearing terrible witness to Jayce's depressive lulls. To be offered a viable solution to his own suffering and refuse it for the sake of his pride feels almost self-indulgently stubborn. He's certain not a single person who had helped him get here would begrudge him this, were he to seek to forfeit this soul.
And yet.
Jayce kisses his hair, voice low, the way one speaks to skittish foals, “Just. Promise me you'll consider it. Don't let this get worse than we can manage, okay V?”
A fissure in his heart wrenches open, deep and unmistakable. He cannot let his pride be his undoing, knowing it would be Jayce's undoing as well.
Because they were born to be inextricably bound to one another. For better or worse.
“Alright, Jayce,” he says, face tucked below his partner’s jaw, words whispered against his throat, “I promise.”
He desperately hopes that he means it.