Arcane: Incubus

-The Next Day-

Viktor twisted in his sheets before groaning and turning over. Morning light filtered weakly through the window.

He opened his eyes—and froze.

Jonathan was standing there. Silent. Still. Staring directly down at him.

Viktor blinked hard, then shut his eyes tight, hoping it was just sleep-induced hallucination.

He opened them again.

Jonathan was still there.

"Hey," Jonathan said casually, like he hadn't just been looming over a sleeping man for an unknown amount of time.

"Uh… hello?" Viktor sat up slowly, voice thick with confusion. "What are you doing?"

Jonathan shrugged, hands in his pockets. "Nothing much. How about you?"

Viktor ran a hand through his disheveled hair. "Waking up. Or trying to."

"Oh, that's nice," Jonathan nodded. "Waking up is an essential part of life."

Viktor yawned and nodded slowly. "So… how long were you standing there? And what for?"

"I came two hours ago to ask you a question," Jonathan said, completely serious. "But I didn't want to wake you up. Because sleep is essential and stuff like that."

"Did you have to stare though?" Viktor asked, rubbing his temple. "You couldn't have just waited outside?"

"The thought did cross my mind… but you were having such a nice dream."

"Dream?" Viktor repeated, frowning. "What are you talking about?"

Jonathan tilted his head at Viktor's confusion. "It's okay. Most people rarely remember their dreams anyway."

He clapped his hands once, smiling faintly. "Now! My question."

"Just go for it," Viktor said, still lost somewhere between tired and unsettled.

"Okay…" Jonathan leaned in slightly, lowering his voice as if it were something serious.

"Do we have any meetings or plans with the council about hextech?"

Viktor blinked. "…That's it?"

"Yeah," Jonathan said, standing upright again. "Because I gots to be in the Undercity."

"Well, you gots to be less weird," Viktor muttered, pulling open a drawer.

He handed Jonathan a folded sheet of paper. "Here. It's the schedule. Meetings, events, whatever we're stuck doing."

Jonathan took it and skimmed it lazily. "Thanks, man."

Viktor gave a short nod. "Heimerdinger wanted to talk to you."

Jonathan froze mid-fold. "What does that midget want from me this time?"

.

.

.

". . . I was out of line," Jonathan said with a sigh.

Viktor nodded, unsurprised. "He wants to talk about the hospitals."

"Oh… I knew that," Jonathan said, tucking the paper into his pocket. "I just wanted to call him a midget... I should probably go."

__________________________

Later, after meeting with Heimerdinger

They'd spoken at length about the hospitals. Jonathan had shared a handful of strange—but surprisingly useful—ideas for improvement, ways to rework equipment designs.

"No hard feelings, right?" Jonathan asked cautiously as they wrapped up. "I know you were against magic—or hextech, which is what we're calling it now."

Heimerdinger gave a small nod, his whiskers twitching thoughtfully. "I know you mean well. Magic can help… but it is still very dangerous. That said, I'm proud there are people like you who still want to do the right thing."

He gave a warm smile. "You did good."

Jonathan chuckled.

"The best," he said with a smug grin. "I do the best."

____________________________________

The elevator doors slid open with a soft ding, and Jonathan stepped out.

"Let's just get this over with," he muttered.

I should be a good assistant and help Singed, he thought as he walked though the undercity.

His mind wandered—back to the lab, the explosion, and the list of excuses he could give if he bumps into powder.

Something about how he slipped off the building? Got hungry and left? He'd come up with something.

Behind him, a voice called out:

"Jonathan?"

He turned.

Ekko was sprinting toward him, feet skidding slightly on the floor. He stopped just short, hunched over and panting.

"…How?" Ekko gasped between breaths. He looked up, concern etched into his features. "I saw the enforcers take you. Did you—did you escape?"

Jonathan ruffled Ekko's hair with one hand. "They did take me. Just not for the reason you think." He lowered his hand, eyes unreadable. "Just know I'm better now. Safe."

Ekko didn't smile.

"Speaking of safe…" Ekko's voice dropped. "Vander was taken."

Jonathan's expression didn't change.

"…And Benzo is dead."

"What a pity," Jonathan muttered, voice flat.

Ekko looked down, then went on, "I told Vi where they took Vander. But now—"

He hesitated. His voice shook.

"They're not at the Last Drop. Not Vi, not Powder, not Vander, not Mylo, not Claggor. No one."

"Oh, wow," Jonathan said, raising a hand to his face in mock realization.

"So you told Vi where the dangerous people are—the ones who took Vander and killed Benzo—and then she left, dragging everyone else along, thinking they could rescue him?"

He clicked his tongue. "Hmm. I wonder—did they lose? Probably."

Ekko's shoulders sank. He didn't say anything, but the silence was answer enough.

Jonathan kept going. "Are they in the same place as Benzo now?" He shrugged. "Probably."

Ekko looked up at him, his eyes sharp now. "Why are you—?"

"And is it your fault?" Jonathan cut him off, voice calm, clinical. "Yes. It is."

Ekko looked like he wanted to argue, to shout at him, to tell him he was wrong—but the words wouldn't come. Deep down, he believed it too.

"But hey," Jonathan added, tapping Ekko's shoulder like they were sharing a joke, "you still have me.

And unlike them, I won't die tragically young."

"No, no, no…" Ekko shook his head. "They can't be dead. They'll show up soon. You'll see."

He stared hard at Jonathan. "Didn't you love Vi? Why aren't you sad?"

Jonathan blinked, thrown for half a second.

"...I do love Vi," he said finally, with a short laugh. "I love, uh… her hair. And many other things."

He gestured vaguely. "I could go on and on about what I love about her."

"So go on and on then," Ekko challenged. "You do love her, right?"

Jonathan raised a finger. "Wait a moment."

He turned his back to Ekko and stared off, as if thinking deeply.

I don't have to prove my love… It is love, right?

 He frowned. If it's not love, then what is it?

A soft pink glow started to travel along his skin, subtle at first, then blooming brighter as he released a dose of pheromones—internally.

A self-directed chemical flood. His skin flushed faintly pink—symptomatic of affection, artificially induced.

He opened his eyes, slowly turning back to Ekko with a forced smile.

"I'm ready now," he said. "I mean—I was always ready. I'm just... more ready."

Ekko blinked at him, puzzled. He tilted his head.

"Okay…?"

Something about Jonathan looked off. Or maybe smelled off. Ekko couldn't tell.

_________________________________

Jonathan launched into an explanation of what he loved about Vi—not just the obvious things, like her hair or her strength, but the tiny, specific details he'd noticed. The way her jaw clenched when she was thinking. How she always stretched her arms before a fight. 

He listed them like a scientist presenting data.

"And that concludes my love for Vi," Jonathan said at last, turning to Ekko with a self-satisfied smile. "Did I do good?"

Ekko exhaled, arms crossed. "Better than I expected… but you're still mean for what you said."

Jonathan grinned, unapologetic. "I just said what we were all thinking."

He walked past Ekko without another glance.

"See ya later… boy savior."

Ekko flinched at the words. He turned slightly, staring after Jonathan, then looked down.

"Boy savior…" he muttered.

"Savior of none."

________________________________________

Outside the lab, Jonathan pressed his back against the wall and took a deep breath.

"Please don't be there," he muttered, thinking of Powder. He turned quickly—nothing. No sign of her.

"Phew." He smiled. "Coast is clear."

He stepped forward and pushed open the lab door.

Singed was still at his workbench, tinkering with shimmer. His arms and parts of his face were wrapped in bandages.

Singed glanced back. "Oh. It's you." He squinted. "Why are you pink?"

"Because I'm so in love," Jonathan said, dramatically placing a hand over his heart as he moved closer.

Singed shook his head. "I know what love is. Love isn't something that should be forced."

"I'm not forcing anyone."

"You're forcing yourself," Singed replied plainly.

.

.

.

Jonathan blinked, then pointed. "Those bandages look so cool on you."

Singed offered a faint smile. "You should take notes. Let an injury stay with you."

Jonathan waved his hand. "My face is perfect. Imperfections would tarnish my beauty." He grinned—an eerie, too-wide, immaculate smile. "See? Perfect."

"You could lose a few teeth," Singed muttered, turning back to his shimmer.

.

.

.

Screech!

A chair scraped loudly across the floor as Jonathan dragged it to Singed's bench and plopped himself down across from him.

He glanced at the mixture on Singed's side, then picked up tools and mimicked the process on a separate batch.

"What are you doing?" Singed asked.

"I'm your assistant. I have to work," Jonathan replied innocently. "…And I want a vial of shimmer."

"…Fine," Singed sighed. "After we're done."

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