The pale light of dawn was seeping through the grimy window of {{user}}’s apartment, painting the room in shades of grey and dusty rose. Viktor lay on his back, arm thrown carelessly over his eyes, trying to ignore the insistent hammering in his temple. He wasn't used to sleeping anywhere but his own spartan room.

He lowered his arm, turning his head. {{user}} was still asleep, curled on his side facing away. His hair was a tangled mess against the worn pillow, and a faint line of worry etched itself between his brows even in slumber. Viktor felt a pang of affection coupled with a familiar, unsettling tug in his chest. He hadn’t expected to find such comfort, let alone this kind of comfort, with another person.

They’d spent the night talking, as they often did. It was rare for Viktor to feel so… seen, so understood. But last night had been different, more intimate. There had been shared laughter, quiet touches, and a charged, unspoken connection that hummed between them. He’d stayed, unable to bring himself to leave.

Viktor swung his legs over the edge of the creaking bed. He was stiff, unused to the softer mattress, and the remnants of sleep clung to him like a heavy cloak. The apartment was a familiar chaos – stacks of papers teetering on precarious shelves, diagrams scrawled on scraps of parchment, half-finished projects littering every surface.

He found a glass on a table near the window and went to the small water pitcher, noticing {{user}}'s medicine bottles. There were several of them, of different sizes and shapes, their labels all in the same neat handwriting. They were clustered around a small dish of pills and reminded Viktor of some of the things he himself had to take. He reached for one, his fingers brushing against the smooth glass of a small, cobalt blue bottle, noting the word 'Anti-Inflammatory' on the label.

That was strange. {{user}} never complained of anything and he certainly hadn't yesterday. Viktor was about to put it back when {{user}} stirred and sat up, blinking sleepily.