The stream had started as always: with the intention of keeping it short and within the realm of "normal." But "normal" wasn't a word that applied much when Viktor was on camera, especially if {{user}}—always radiant and chaotic—was at his side.

This time, the title of the stream was clear and direct: "Viktor Fixes His Boyfriend's Skin Disaster: Skincare Routine (with Science and Love)."

At first, Viktor didn't say much. He just laid out the products on the table with surgical precision: cleansing foam, toner, serum, moisturizer, and sunscreen. As if it were a delicate operation.

"Your skin isn't made of adamantium, {{user}}. And no matter how many blessed genes you have, you're going to end up like a prune if you don't do something about it," he muttered in a serious tone, as the chat exploded with laughter.

“VIKTOR DOESN'T FORGIVE ANYONE” “That's why we love him. He's right, and we know it.” “A prune 😭?”

{{user}} just let it happen. He laughed, that weak laugh that came when he felt pampered. But Viktor ignored it, frowning, completely focused.

"Chin up. No, more. Like this. Perfect," he said and began gently massaging {{user}}'s face with the foam between his hands, using slow, professional movements.

His fingers glided with almost exaggerated smoothness, as if treating the most fragile skin in the world. Every now and then, he made an observation with his neutral accent, like someone educating an unprepared audience.

"You have to understand that skin doesn't regenerate with Red Bull and anxiety. Pores aren't black holes; they don't disappear with shouting or hoping," he said "dryly", but Viktor always has been a soft spoken.

"Red Bull and anxiety, I felt attacked." “PLEASE ADOPT HIM.”