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𝐑𝐞𝐝 𝐂𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐬

Jayce Talis x gn!Reader

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 7.5k

𝐀𝐎𝟑 | 𝐀𝐫𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐞 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝐓𝐖 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐂𝐖: Heavy angst, hurt/no comfort, one-sided pinning, unrequited love, hanahaki disease, mentions of blood (from the disease), major character death. (A box of tissue in advance, sorry 😢 )

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: Jayce is forced to confront the painful reality of his unrequited love, each petal from his lungs serving as a cruel reminder of his fate.

No one talks about the downside of wearing your heart on your sleeves. It’s an admirable trait to carry— being open, honest, and not being afraid to express emotions. It fosters strong relationships, builds trust.

But no one warns you about the pain it brings.

No one tells you that it leaves you vulnerable— easily manipulated and susceptible to getting hurt. No one tells you that the same heart that you bare so openly can be shattered just as easily.

For Jayce, it was a weakness he never would’ve anticipated.

It all started with a simple fondness— he enjoyed your presence, your mind, your company. The way you carried yourself and the way you worked was easily admirable to anyone. But he didn’t realise how quickly that fondness would spiral into infatuation until it was too late.

Like liquid spilling over a surface, his feelings spread— quick and uncontrollable. And yet, no matter how they ran, your obliviousness remained a frustrating barrier.

He would try to hint his attraction— small compliments or physical touches— but you never caught on. It was maddening how you would dismiss his gestures as friendship.

And now, as you sat across from him, discussing ways to improve and expand the Hextech capacitor, Jayce wasn’t even pretending to focus.

The way your voice lifted when you spoke passionately about something— like the thoughts and ideas would burn you alive if it was left unsaid. It should’ve been amusing. Instead, it was intoxicating.

The way your words picked up pace, excitement spilled over every syllable. And all Jayce could do was watch.

Watch your lips move and the way they shape every word, every breath. It wasn’t the first time his eyes would linger, but somehow, it always felt refreshing to witness.

The resistance to pull you closer, the ache growing in his chest, was getting harder to ignore each day.

But that feeling was cut short when something tickled the back of his throat. Jayce barely had a moment to react before a sharp cough wrecked his chest. He turned away, clenching his fist over his mouth, but the cough kept coming.

You stopped mid-sentence, concern flickered over your face. “Jayce?”

He tried to wave it off, but his body seized up again, another fit rattled his chest. He struggled to catch his breath, and it became clear that this wasn’t just him clearing his throat.

“Sorry,” he managed to rasp out between coughs.

As the tickle in his throat faded, something else lingered. But for now, he ignored it.

“Uhm…are you okay?” you asked, concern evident in your voice.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he tried to play it off, waving his hand dismissively with a weak smile. “Just a little cough, nothing serious.”

“Do you want some water?”

Jayce hesitated before nodding, still clutching his chest as the fit subsided. “Yeah, some water would be great, actually.”

You stood from your seat and left the room, the sound of your footsteps faded down the hall.

Despite being grateful for your concern, there was a nagging feeling of doubt and anxiety that clawed him. He couldn’t shake off the fact that something was seriously wrong. Something deeper than just a dry throat.

His lungs felt tight, his ribs sore. He tried to shake it off but the unease lingered in the back of his mind.

You returned moments later, glass in hand. Jayve accepted it gracefully, murmuring a soft thanks. He took a long sip, feeling the cool liquid soothing his raw, scratchy throat. It helped— briefly.

“Are you sure you’re not sick?” you asked, watching him closely. “You’ve been like this for days now.”

Jayce exhaled, trying to compose himself. He couldn’t deny your words— the frequency and intensity of his fits were getting worse. His chest ached like it had been bruised from the inside out, every breath felt heavier than the last.

Maybe it was just the flu. But flu season had long passed, and even then, his immune system was strong. He couldn’t remember coughing this hard and feeling drained.

“I’m not sure,” he admitted, running a hand through his hair. “I thought it was just a cold, but it hasn’t gone away.”

Your expression tightened with concern. A wave of guilt washed over him. He hadn’t told you how bad it had gotten— maybe he should have.

His throat burned dry and irritated again, and he drained the rest of his water, hoping it would help. It didn’t.

“You can go home if you need to, I can cover for you,” you offered gently.

“No, I don’t need to go home,” he said firmly. That was the last thing he needed. “I’ll be fine, I just need to take it easy.”

As uncomfortable as it was for you to see him like this— coughing, weak— he refused to step away from his work. Missing one day means losing valuable time on research, progress that could be made now. He couldn’t afford that.

Plus, if he was being honest with himself, he didn’t want to leave you to handle everything on your own. He wasn’t going to pass up the chance to be near you just over something minicule as a cough.

It would pass. Eventually. He just had to stay hydrated, that’s all.

“Okay…if you’re sure.”

Jayce could sense that you weren’t convinced, but was grateful that you didn’t push further questions.

It wasn’t like him to hide when something was wrong. He wasn’t afraid to express himself— to be open with what mattered. But this wasn’t worth your concern. It was just a cough. He straightened up, pushing aside the discomfort gnawing at his ribs.

You exhaled, deciding to move on. “Anyways…back to these calculations.”

Jayce refocused his attention to the papers in front of him. “Right…”

“Could you take a look at these numbers?”

He leaned in to examine them, jaw clenched as he willed himself to focus. As he leaned closer to get a look at the numbers, he couldn’t ignore how close he was to you.

Close enough that he could hear the steady rhythm of your breathing, close enough that the scent of parchment and oil mixed faintly with something undeniably you.

It was distracting.

But he swallowed hard, forcing himself to zero in on the figures instead. His mind ran through the calculations, picking them apart, all while trying to ignore the ache in his chest and your close proximity.

“This doesn’t look accurate.”

There was another sudden discomfort that spread through his chest, an undeniable itch in his throat. He fought the urge to cough, digging his nails into the palm of his hand. He couldn’t let himself get caught up in this.

“Urgh, if this formula doesn’t work, I might actually lose my mind,” you groaned.

Jayce managed to suppress another cough. “Don’t give up yet,” he managed, voice rougher than before. “We just need to take a different approach.”

He couldn’t afford to let himself get distracted by the discomfort he was feeling. Determined to find the solution, he refused to be defeated by a simple equation.

Just as Jayce was about to suggest another formula, the numbers blurred slightly. His chest felt heavier, like something was curling around his lungs.

Another coughing fit struck him without warning. Sudden and brutal. This time, it was much more intense than the last. He doubled over, gasping for air as his chest seized up.

“Jayce?” Panic flashed across your face as you reached for him. “Are you sure you’re okay?!”

“Y-yeah,” he gasped out between coughs. “Just…caught me off guard.”

The worry in your eyes made him realises he wasn’t fooling anyone. He could see it— the growing concern. There was no point in pretending anymore. Before he could say anything to reassure you, you stepped closer.

“Let me check your temperature.”

“Wait, hold o—”

You ignored his weak protest, reaching out before he could pull away. He felt a jolt of surprise as you pressed your palm gently against his forehead.

The touch was light, careful, but still enough for him to take his breath away. Literally.

Your skin was cool against his feverish warmth. His heart was hammering in his chest. He barely registered the discomfort in his chest anymore, too focused on the way your fingertips brushed on his skin.

It was soothing, grounding— and far too much to handle all at once.

“Hmm…no fever,” you mused.

Your touch lingered a little longer, warm and steady. Jayce found himself fighting the urge to lean into it. To close his eyes and just stay there.

But he held back. He forced himself to pull back just enough.

“See? Nothing major,” he said, trying to downplay his symptoms.

You didn’t say anything for a moment before sighing. Eventually relenting. “Okay, okay. Let’s just move on from this.”

A few hours had passed and the coughing fits subsided enough for it to be manageable. Though, Jayce’s throat still burnt from earlier. The ache was persistent, but he refused to let it stop him.

Now, standing before a chalkboard, the two of you were in deep discussion. Jayce watched you intently as you spoke, your voice full of conviction as you hand moved fluidly.

He jotted down, trying to keep pace— trying to focus on the numbers rather than the way your presence seemed to make the tightness in his chest worse.

“Okay, so if we increase this energy output, the capacitor should store enough charge for a prolonged use,” you explained, drawing out a diagram.

“Sure, but if we push past the threshold—” Jayce grabbed his own piece of chalk and scribbled some numbers besides you. “We risk an overload. We don’t want another mini explosion.”

You scoffed. “It was one explosion, Jayce.”

“It set Viktor’s coat on fire…”

“And yet, he still insists it was ‘and interesting result.’”

“Viktor has a weird definition of ‘interesting,’” he quipped, adding another line with his chalk. “Let’s try to avoid any more explosions.”

“It was a little funny seeing soot all over your face.”

Jayce pulled a face, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment at the memory of the soot incident after the mini explosion.

“Uh huh, laugh it up,” he said with a hint of sarcasm. “I’m glad I could provide some entertainment for you.”

Those moments felt like such a long while ago— before the coughing fits, before the growing tightness in his chest. Even if the ache in his chest only started a few days ago.

His laughter came so easily, without the pain laced between each breath. Back when he could listen to you speak without feeling like something was splitting inside him.

It scared him how fast things could change, how something so simple, something happy, felt so unreachable.

Jayce tried to push past it, tried to focus on the task at hand. But every now and then, he couldn’t help but glance back at you. Being close to you like this made the tightness in his chest more prominent.

He discreetly tried to massage the area, hoping it would alleviate the discomfort. But it only seemed to be getting worse with each passing second.

A quiet cough slipped past his lips before he could stop it. He quickly covered his mouth, trying to muffle the sound as much as he could.

It didn’t go unnoticed by you.

“Do you want some more water?” you asked.

Jayce hesitated again, torn between his pride and his raw discomfort. But in the end, the pain won.

“Yeah,” he admitted. “I think I need it.”

You stepped out briefly to fetch the jug from the hallway, returning to fill his empty glass. When you handed it to him, he took it with a slight tremor in his fingers, his grip faltering just enough to betray his exhaustion.

He brought the glass to his lips, taking slow and measured sips. As he drank, he kept his eyes on you over the rim— his gaze caught somewhere between vulnerability and a quiet desire.

The concern returned to your face, this time it deepened. “You look flushed.”

“It’s just…really hot in here,” he forced a chuckle. Even as the words left his mouth, he knew it wasn’t true.

The lab wasn’t warm at all. If anything, the air was cool and crisp against his skin. The space in the room felt open, yet his lungs felt impossibly tight.

You glanced out the towered window— the sun had long set, and the Academy had grown quiet , its once bustling halls now nearly empty.

Turning back to him, you gave a small smile. “Maybe we should call it a day. We’ll continue this tomorrow.”

If his tiredness wasn’t already creeping into his bones, Jayce might’ve protested, insisting he could keep going. But the weight of his fatigue was pressing him down.

He knew there was no point fighting against it. With a weary sigh, he nodded. “You’re probably right.”

As Jayce packed his notes, he felt another cough claw its way up his throat. He didn’t bother suppressing it this time. But as he brought a hand to his mouth, he felt something emerge from the back of his throat. Something small and feather-like.

The sensation was foreign, wrong. And then it was followed by a warm dampness that met his palm.

Jayce pulled his hand away and froze. Nestled in the palm of his hand was a single petal. Jayce stared at the lone petal as realisation was slowly dawning on him. His stomach plummeted in fear as he recognised what this meant.

The tightness in his chest, the lingering ache— it now made sense. It wasn’t just a stubborn cough or a passing sickness.

It was the Hanahaki Disease.

His breath came uneven as he quickly clasped his hand over the petal, concealing the evidence from your eyes. He stuffed the petal in his breast pocket, his heart hammering in his chest.

Despite his mind being a whirlwind of panic and denial, he forced himself to keep moving. To act naturally in front of you.

“I’ll…see you tomorrow.” His voice was stiff, yet hurried.

Before you could question it, he was at the door. “Good night.”

He didn’t dare look back as he left.

“Uh…yeah, good night,” your voice echoed far behind him, tinged with confusion.

But Jayce barely registered it. The moment he stepped out into the cool air, the weight of everything came crashing down like a violent storm in his heart.

The Piltover streets still thrived around him— lamplights flickering, laughter echoed from taverns, the rhythmic pitter patter of footsteps in the air. But it all dulled into a distant hum.

Because as far as he was concerned, his world had crumbled beneath his feet.

The petal burnt in his breast pocket, a constant reminder of his condition— a cruel symbol of his unrequited love.

He had been so focused on pushing through the discomfort in his chest, that he hadn’t even considered the possibility of Hanahaki Disease.

Why would he? He had been trying to win your affection, with subtle romantic gestures. But now, he only felt guilty for even thinking of burdening you with his feelings.

The familiar path home stretched before him in a blur, and before he knew it, he was standing in front of his door. The moment he stepped inside, the silence surrounded him like a suffocating shroud.

It was colder now, even though the windows were tightly shut. The room felt hollow, stripped of its warmth. His loneliness pressed down on him, now even heavier with the undeniable truth. You would never see him the way he saw you.

The relentless itch and discomfort in his chest grew stronger, a constant reminder of his situation. Each coughing fit came with more petals, the delicate red that scattered onto his lap.

The flowers were beautiful, a sick, ironic contrast to the agony he was feeling. Each petal was like a silent confession that would never reach your ears.

Once, he had dreamed of telling you— standing before you with a steady heart, baring his soul in hopes that you would feel the same. He pictured your smile, your warm laughter, the way your voice might soften as you spoke his name in a way that told him he wasn't alone in this.

But all those fantasies no longer filled him with hope. They no longer gave him the boost of happiness. Instead, they stung like sharp needles pressing deeper into his already wounded heart.

It was all out of reach, and now he was left alone with a disease that felt like a punishment for his cowardice.

He recalled every intimate moment with you with the painful realisation that you weren’t just oblivious to his feelings. You genuinely didn’t see him as anything more than a friend.

He stared down at the petals in his trembling hands. The disease was slowly consuming him and there was nothing he could do to escape its vicious grip.

══════════════════

The days following Jayce’s realisation about his Hanahaki disease were nothing short of miserable. His usual morning routine felt like a drag— not just because of the constant pain in his chest and the petals, but because he knew he had to see you.

Being around you was both exhilarating and heartbreaking too. He cherished every second in your presence, yet each moment only reminded him of the distance between his feelings and yours.

He no longer tried to win your affection or tease you like he used to— he knew it was pointless now. Still, he never blamed you. If enduring the pain meant he could hold onto these moments with you, he would bear it.

But hiding his condition was becoming harder each day. The disease was taking its toll on his body, weakening him little by little.

Every morning, he forced himself to cough up as many petals as he could and dispose of them before you arrived at the lab. The routine left his throat raw and aching, but he endured it. He had to.

He didn’t know what he would do with himself if you found out. He didn’t want to see the guilt in your eyes. Didn’t want you to feel responsible. The mere thought of that hurt him more than the disease itself.

If a cough threatened to expose him while you were near, he would stifle it. Swallow down the ache. Fingers pressing tightly against his chest.

And if a petal does escape, he would discreetly tuck it away, hiding the evidence deep in his pocket.

“So…I heard you were thinking about becoming a professor at the Academy,” you said.

Jayce glanced up from his papers, a small smile tugging at his lips. Pretending to be fine in front of you had become a challenge— one that was growing more exhausting every day.

“Yeah, I’ve been thinking about it.” The words felt heavy, like gravel in his throat. He didn’t want to think about the future, or what fate held for him.

“But not anytime soon,” he added, hoping to deflate the conversation elsewhere.

“Do you know what field?” you asked, your curiosity unwavering.

Jayce sensed that you weren’t going to drop the subject anytime soon. His mind raced with excuses and half-truths without revealing about the disease that he was forced to face.

“Engineering, most likely,” he said, his voice a little strained. “It feels like the right path.”

It was vague, but he was all he could manage without betraying himself. The pressure in his chest was growing, but he fought the urge to cough again, keeping a tight grasp on his closed fist.

He couldn’t afford to slip now.

“That’s really impressive,” you commented.

The admiration in your voice was obvious— you believed in him, in his brilliance. And for a fleeting moment, he let himself bask in your praise. Let himself pretend things were normal.

Then another wave of pain consumed him.

“Thanks…” his reply was barely more than a breath.

“I mean it,” you insisted. “I think you’d make an amazing professor—an incredible addition to the Academy.”

The warmth in your voice and the sincerity in your words brought a mixture of pain and pleasure. Like sweet torture.

To be seen in such a positive light by you. To be admired. Yet never to be loved in the way he longed for.

He forced a chuckle, trying his best to sound grateful. “Thank you… that means a lot.”

“And the students admire you too.”

Oh…you really weren’t going to stop, were you?

He truly wanted to believe the admiration you speak of. Wanted to revel in the idea of being someone worth admiring. But his mind wandered instead— drifting to a dangerous territory.

He imagined you holding his face, brushing your fingers over his cheek. Imagine the warmth of your lips as they pressed against his skin, whispering praises between kisses.

A bitter cough made its way up his throat, shattering the fantasy before it could take root. He swallowed hard, forcing it back down, gripping his thighs beneath the table to ground himself.

“I guess they do,” he managed to say through a strain.

“You don’t sound very enthusiastic, Jayce.”

Your observation almost pierced through his facade that he had been clinging onto.

“Of course I’m enthusiastic,” he said, though his voice lacked the usual energy. “Teaching can be rewarding.”

“I thought you’d sound a bit more passionate about it.”

He hesitated before replying, exhaling a little. “I am… truly. It’s just been a long day.” He rubbed his temples, as if trying to shake off the exhaustion weighing him down. “I’m just tired, that’s all.”

“Right,” you said, watching him closely. “But… you do want this, right? No one’s pressuring you into it?”

His heart sank.

Caught off guard by your words.

But tried to hide the solemn look on his face. If his chest hadn’t already been aching from the disease, it certainly was now.

He hated upsetting you— hated that he couldn’t just tell you the truth. Tell you how he felt. Be raw with his words.

But the disease bound him, trapping him in a web of silence.

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “No one’s pressuring me. I’m doing this out of my own will.”

A beat of silence passed before he continued, his tone a little quieter. “It’s something I’ve been thinking about for a long time. I just want to give something back to the world, you know?” He let out a slow breath. “Just want to use my talent for something meaningful.”

If it were any other day, your kindness would have been comforted. He would have basked in it, allowing himself to drown in the warmth of your presence.

But now, it only served to cut deeper into his heart.

Because he was deceiving you.

He tried to maintain eye contact with you, just as he always did. But seeing the quiet concern in your eyes made it harder to keep the truth buried. The disease was a chain around his throat, keeping him silent. Forcing him to pretend.

And every moment spent pretending was another petal waiting to bloom.

Later on in the day, the coughing didn’t stop. If anything, it had worsened. But now, the guilt of his deceit loomed over him like a dark shadow, pressing against him like the disease itself.

The moment you stepped out of the lab to fetch something, Jayce took the chance to cough up as many petals as he could, surrendering to the tremors. His body convulsed from the effort.

It wasn’t a surprise to see so many, given how much he was holding himself back. But what shocked him was the thin streaks of blood staining the petals.

Jayce stared at them in horror. The bright red stain still stood clear against the velvety petals, wet and glistening under the lab's lighting. His stomach churned, making him dizzy in panic.

This was getting worse.

The once small sign of his disease— the irritable cough and soreness in his throat— now felt like a ticking time bomb. Counting down the hours until the inevitable.

With shaky hands, he quickly gathered the petals and disposed of them, erasing any traces before you returned.

He couldn’t console anybody about this without raising suspicions— especially not to you. The thought of burdening you with this was unbearable.

For the first time in a long while, he felt truly alone.

══════════════════

The next day, Jayce made a trip to the Piltover marketplace, keeping a low profile to avoid being recognised. The streets weren’t too busy, but every passing glance still made his pulse quicken. He couldn’t afford to be seen like this— tired, coughing, and desperate.

His first stop was an apothecary shop in the shopping district. Through the glass window, he could see shelves lined with glass bottles of rare herbal extracts, nearly labelled jars filled with dried herbs and fruits, and bundles of medical roots hanging from the ceiling.

After a moment of hesitation, Jayce pushed the door open and stepped inside. A bell chimed softly above him. The place carried an underlying aroma of dried herbs and something acrid. A mix of earthiness and medicine.

The vendor behind the counter greeted him with a polite smile. Jayce nodded in acknowledgment, his gaze sweeping over neatly at the remedies and concoctions on display.

He cleared his throat before speaking, keeping his tone casual. “I’m looking for something to help with a persistent cough…and maybe a mild fever.”

The shopkeeper nodded, offering various options— lung-tonic, anti-inflammatory teas, and soothing balms. Jayce listened carefully, his fingers twitched slightly at the discomfort in his chest.

But he knew none of them were designed for something like Hanahaki disease. He was grasping at straws.

Suppressing his disappointment, Jayce gave the vendor a nod. “Thanks. I’ll think about it.”

Without another word, Jayce turned to leave, the bell chimed softly again. The fresh air did little to settle the weight in his chest. It was foolish to hope for an easy fix.

But the sense of helplessness still clawed at him, making it harder to breathe. For a fleeting moment, Jayce considered riskier options— unconventional treatments that weren’t exactly legal but were rumoured to be effective in a way science hasn’t recognised.

He shook the idea away, he could afford to make the condition worse. No matter how desperate he was, the path wasn’t worth the risk.

Turning the corner, a familiar sound stopped him— you laughter.

His head snapped up, and from a distance, he spotted you. His body tensed up. You hadn’t noticed him, too busy talking with someone else, a wide grin lighting up your face.

He tried to look inconspicuous, pretending to browse a nearby stall, but his eyes kept drifting back to you. He wanted to see what made you laugh, what had pulled such joy from you. Yet, the more he watched, the more his anxiety twisted.

And then, he saw him.

A man standing close, too close, laughing with you. Engaging in an easy, lighthearted conversation. The two of you weren’t touching, but the warmth and bond between you was unmistakable. And Jayce standing at a distance, had never felt colder.

A piercing ache shot through his chest.

Seeing you with another man, laughing, was an unwelcome reminder of what he couldn’t have. It made the discomfort in his chest squeeze tighter.

He clenched his jaw and forced himself to look away, to focus on the stall in front of him. It didn’t mean anything— he didn’t have any claim over you. It was just a friendly conversation.

That’s what he kept telling himself. But the way you leaned in, the way your eyes crinkled with joy, made it harder to believe his words.

The familiar tightness in his chest deepened, the discomfort brewing again. A warning that another coughing fit was coming with more petals. He tried to suppress it, until he was out of sight.

Just as he turned to slip away, you caught sight of him. From the corner of your eye, you turned your head, eyes lighting up as you waved.

The simple gesture wrecked him.

You had no idea how badly he wished that it were him standing besides you, close to you, making you laugh like that.

Despite the storm inside him, he mustered a smile. Forcing himself to look as happy to see you as you were to see him. The guilt he felt for deceiving you lingered again.

He hastily averted his gaze away, feigning calm and collected, and began walking away casually. Each step from you felt like a retreat, an act of self-preservation.

The moment he turned into an alleyway and out of sight, his composure shattered. He doubled over, coughing hard.

The force of his coughing fit almost knocked him off balance. Petals spilled from his lips, soft and delicate, with more blood that stained the pavement beneath him. The disease was advancing, and no matter how much he tried to fight it, he was running out of time.

He leaned against the wall, his body still trembling from the exertion. His breath came in ragged gasps, the metallic taste of blood still fresh on his tongue.

“Sir, are you alright?”

A sudden voice startled him. He jerked his head around to see a concerned pedestrian staring at him, eyes wide with worry.

“Yes— yes, I’m fine,” he stammered, quickly wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, smearing away any evidence of his condition.

“You’re bleeding, sir. Shall I escort you to a doctor?”

Jayce panicked, but fixed himself to shake his head, waving off the offer. “No, I’ll be okay.”

Thankfully, the coughing had simmered for now, making it easier to sound convincing— despite the blood that crusted the corner of his mouth. “Just need to rest for a bit.”

The pedestrian hesitated, but after another glance at Jayce’s expression, he gave a small nod and moved along.

Jayce managed to push himself upright, his breath still shaky and laboured. His ribs ached from the force of his last fit. In truth, he was far from fine, and he knew it.

It wouldn’t be long until the whole situation will come to light. And sooner or later, others would find out— especially you. He had to keep going.

He stumbled through the shopping district, putting as much distance between you and himself as possible. The thought of you seeing him like this— coughing up blood and petals— was unbearable.

It pained him to avoid you, but it had to be done. He needed to go home. Away from everyone. Away from you. So much for finding a remedy. The idea of a cure was foolish from the start.

══════════════════

The following day at the lab felt like an endless slog. The soreness in his throat worsened, each swallow feeling like sandpaper— but that wasn’t what was weighing on him the most. It was the memory of you, laughing with that mysterious man in the marketplace.

Every time Jayce looked back at you, the image thrusted itself back into his mind, chewing at the fraying edge of his heart.

He wasn’t sure for certain if you were together. That not knowing was already unbearable. But how was he supposed to bring it up? How could he ask without sounding desperate— without revealing how much it mattered to him?

Even if that was exactly what he was doing.

The day blurred on and the coughing hadn’t stopped. There were several moments where he nearly slipped, nearly letting you see the petals. But the lab was big and spacious and he used that to his advantage.

As for the blood, he would excuse himself under the pretense of fetching something or relieving himself, then cough into a sink, watching the pristine white ceramic stain red. He would rinse the evidence and return like nothing happened.

It was a vicious cycle. One he feared he couldn’t maintain for much longer.

Eventually, the need to know outweighed his caution. He watched you from across the lab, your attention fixed on the chalkboard as you annotated a complex diagram.

“So…” he began, carefully choosing his tone. “I’m guessing you’re seeing someone?”

“Oh!” You looked over your shoulder, a bit startled. “Uhm…yeah. It does feel weird saying it out loud.”

It wasn’t that you never talked about each other's lives. But Jayce suspected that you hadn’t shared the news with anyone, hence your hesitation.

Jayce was afraid to ask, but he knew his mind wouldn’t let him rest until he got some clarity. “Is it…romantic? With him?”

“You could say that,” you replied, a small smile tugging at your lips. “I’ve spent so long listening to everyone’s love stories. I think I’m finally living one of my own.”

Your voice was light, and your excitement was evident. It was everything he feared hearing, yet somehow, it still hit harder than he imagined. It made him guilty that he couldn’t share your joy.

“I see…” Jayce murmured, his voice strained— not for the soreness, but from the weight of your words. “Are you…happy?”

“Uhm…” your eyes flickered, the enthusiasm from earlier dimmed slightly.

“You seem hesitant,” he said gently.

“He’s nice, don’t get me wrong. He makes me feel…wanted,” you paused, struggling to find the next words. “But I’ve never done this before, not really. How do I know if it’s real? Or if I’m rushing into something that isn’t right?”

“So you’re worried he might not be the one?” He took a deep breath, keeping his tone neutral even as his heart twisted inside.

“You know, if you’re feeling unsure you don’t have to be with him.” The words came out more blunt than he intended, but he didn’t pull them back.

“I know, but I’m not getting any younger,” you said with a soft laugh. “I don’t want to keep waiting. I’ve never had this kind of love before…so I think I’ll take the chances.”

Jayce swallowed hard, his heart screaming at him to tell you— choose me, I’ll cherish you and give you everything and I’ll never make you doubt my love.

But he didn’t.

“Right…” he said instead. “You deserve to be happy.”

He had no right to object— no right to stand in the way of your happiness. He cared about you too much to be selfish. Even if that happiness wasn’t with him.

“I hope so, yes. I just want to know what it feels like— to love and to be loved back.”

“I understand…” he said softly, trying to sound supportive. Even if his chest caved in itself. “Sometimes we hold ourselves back because we’re afraid. But love…love is always a risk.”

Jayce knew how hypocritical that sounded coming from him. Because while he had harboured feelings for you all this time, he never even tried to take that risk himself.

Hints. Subtle gestures. That was all he ever dared to give you. And that would never be enough to gain your affection.

He should’ve been honest about his feelings. He should’ve looked you straight in the eye and said it with his chest.

Even if you didn’t feel the same, hearing you say from your mouth would’ve hurt less than watching you overlook his love— like it was never there at all.

And now, he had to witness you slip away from his fingers, even though you were never his in this first place. His chance had already begun to wither the moment he coughed up the first petal.

“I guess I’m ready to take that risk then,” you said confidently.

All Jayce could do was smile. Silent settled around you both again, like dust. Thick and inescapable. He watched you turn your attention back to your work, his heart heavy and his body growing weaker.

══════════════════

The vice-like grip around his throat was getting tighter. His body weight grew heavier by the second. Every cough came with a sickening gurgle, blood rising from his lungs like water in a sinking ship.

The vines from the disease were starting to take root, making it painful to breathe. Not just petals anymore— something deeper, more invasive. Breathing was agony.

The disease was consuming him and he had to stay home from the Academy. Jayce knew he wouldn’t be able to hide it anymore. He couldn’t risk being seen.

He collapsed onto the bed, his body wrecked violently with each cough. His lungs felt like they were being torn apart.

Every night, he feared it would be his last— feared he wouldn’t wake to see the next day because the flowers had fully bloomed inside him. It was a horrible thought to have before going to sleep, but it was all he could think about.

Another wet cough spilled from his throat. He brought his sleeves to his mouth. He didn’t have to look to know it was stained red.

He recalled the last conversation he had with you— how your eyes lit up when you talked about that man, the excitement in your voice. As much as he envied that man who had your heart, he clung to the sound of your joy. That was enough to make him move.

With effort, he pushed himself out of bed and stumbled to the desk. He grabbed a sheet of parchment paper and laid it on the desk in front of him.

A quill dipped in ink shook between his fingers. Fingers were stained with ink from his nerves but he didn’t care.

He started off with your name.

‘I love you. I think I always have. I…’

His vision started to blur but he pressed on. He wanted to tell you everything— how long he loved you, how he yearned for you. How hiding it had been the hardest thing he’d ever done. How he never meant for you to carry the weight of his love.

But before he could write anymore, a squeeze seized his chest. A blinding pain unlike anything he’d felt before. His body gave out, collapsed from the desk onto the floor with a dull thud.

The vines had grown thicker and more dense, adding more pressure in his chest. He clutched his chest, nails digging his skin as if he could rip the disease out of himself.

Breathing became impossible, no matter how hard he desperately gasped. His lungs screamed for air but he felt helpless to its plea.

All he could hear was his pulse pounded in his ear— fast, then slower, and slower still. The fight in his body started to give way to resignation.

He tried to call out for help. Tried to call out for his mother, who was a few rooms away and has no idea of his suffering. But no sound same out— only the sound of his choking as another wave of petals and blood spilled from his mouth.

The last thoughts were of you. Of all the words he left unsaid. But he didn’t want to die with regret.

He focused on the sound of your laughter, the way you smiled at him at the marketplace. Waving at him so brightly like he was the only person in the world.

The last few moments of bliss before his vision blurred into total darkness. There was a faint voice— distant, echoing, and muffled like it was coming from underwater.

It didn’t register at first. Just sounds, noise. Until he recognised the voice.

“Jayce?” his mother called out, her tone quickly shifting to panic.

“Jayce?! Are you—”

But he never heard the end of her sentence. Only the sound of a sob— shattered, raw and breaking apart in the silence.

Then, everything faded into nothing.

══════════════════

You never thought it would be possible for the colours in your world to strip away so quickly. The rain in Piltover hit steady, gently pelting over the umbrellas that circled around the dug-up ditch.

In the front row, you had the perfect view of the casket being lifted and brought forward. You watched intently as it lowered into the ground. The crowd was silent, with the occasional sniffling, swallowed in the grief and gloominess that clouded over.

But your mind was too fogged to register the people around you. Too caught in your own sadness.

When you first heard the news of Jayce’s passing, you thought it had to be a mistake. There was no way he was gone. The message was sent through word of mouth, so of course you didn’t believe it.

People spread rumours. He was just sick. That’s what you told yourself. And yet, the more you heard it repeated, the harder it became to dismiss.

Because how could you spread rumours about someone’s death so casually— unless there was some truth to it.

Still, a part of you still didn’t accept it. You kept expecting to see him walk through the lab doors. Maybe a coffee in hand, a tired smile on his face— worn down but still bright enough to light up the room.

He would carry on working as if nothing had happened. Still cracking his smartass remarks. Still overflowing with the kind of passion that made you want to try harder, dream bigger.

And then came the official letter of his funeral. The date and location.

And everything collapsed. Your heart finally caught up with the grief you had been denying for so long. No more pretending. No more waiting for him to walk through the doors.

Jayce had always been a role model in your eyes. You had never met anyone who carried so much heart in their work. Who chased progress, even when he doubted himself. Working beside him had always felt like a privilege.

He listened. Really listened. When you spoke— even with uncertainty— he gave your words weight. He would never brush you off. He made you feel seen.

And now, you felt guilty for not doing the same for him. You should've noticed something was wrong. You should’ve checked in, even just once. But you thought…nothing terrible could ever happen to someone brilliant like him.

You regret never telling him how much you meant to him, how much you learned from him. How much you admired him. Now you only had a grave to talk to.

The casket had been buried and the crowd slowly began to disperse. The sound of wet shoes on grass faded as mourners stepped away one by one. But you stayed where you were near the unturned soil, unable to bring yourself to leave.

A quiet presence approached. You turned to see Jayce’s mother, Ximena, her eyes fixed on you.

Grief had withered her— lines that weren’t there before etched deep in her face. Her eyes were red, her cheeks were streaked with tears. She tried to compose herself as she stopped beside you, but her sadness was impossible to hide.

She reached into her coat pocket and pulled out a slightly crumpled envelope, holding it with trembling fingers.

“He never finished it,” she said softly, voice catching. “But I thought…you should still have it. He wrote it down before he…”

She didn’t finish her sentence. She didn’t have to.

You nodded in understanding, sparing her from the words. You took the letter with care, murmuring a quiet, “thank you.”

Inside the envelope was a folded letter. The ink had smudged in places, the handwriting jagged and uneven. Hurried and desperate— but still unmistakably Jayce.

‘I love you. I think I always have. I know this must come as a surprise, and maybe it’s too late to say it. But I need you to know. Being close to you, even in silence, was the greatest part of my life…”

You read the words again. And again. Letting them settle, letting them sink somewhere deep inside your psyche. These were Jayce’s last words before his passing.

Part of you wished there had been more. As if reading the small passage one more time would change something— ease the ache building in your chest. But it only made it heavier.

He had hidden this from you for so long. And now, it had surfaced in the most tragic of circumstances.

You could almost picture him writing it— pouring his heart onto the page. The thought made your guilt sink deeper. You had talked to him about your new lover, completely unaware of how deeply he must have been hurting.. how he must have been silently pinning for you.

You looked down at the grave in front of you, your eyes stinging. A sharp breath escaped your nose.

You should’ve told me, Jayce.

You held the letter against your chest, whispering a soft, “I’m sorry, for everything.”

Ximena had crouched down in front of her son's grave, hand resting gently on the headstone. You lowered yourself beside her and, wordlessly, wrapped an arm around your shoulder.

You never got to say goodbye. But maybe, somehow, he knew.

Ohhh oh thats gore my favourite character !!!

𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐬: @jupiter-letters @enoojnij @lover-girl009

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