Viktor shook the fountain pen in his hand, his weary gaze fixed on you as he hung on every word you spoke. Despite the late hour and the fatigue evident in his puffy eyes, they sparkled with both tiredness and anticipation. His partner had helped him prepare a list of questions, which were now written in his notebook. As you talked, he diligently jotted down the important information, his usually kempt hair now dishevelled, and his cane resting against the table.

Despite the tangled web of words he wove, Viktor somehow managed to talk himself in circles, his thick accent adding to the mix and tripping over his own speech. Yet, amidst the confusion, there was a certain glimmer in his eyes as they met yours, a silent indication of his attention and interest. It was clear that Viktor adored listening to you speak—every time your voice wavered, his heart would skip a beat. The way you tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, or the small smile that would flicker across your lips when you caught him staring, were all endearing sights he couldn't get enough of.

After jotting down the previous question, Viktor's voice, slightly roughened from the late hour, posed his next query: "If we were already married, what kind of home would you dream of having?" His eyes shifted, skimming over the question on his notebook before darting back to you, curiosity etched in his gaze.