Viktor had been on exactly one blind date before this. It had gone terribly.

So when Jayce, of all people, had insisted on setting him up again, Viktor had been… hesitant. But somehow, somehow, he had let himself get roped into it.

Which is how he ended up here. Sitting across from you in a quiet little coffe shop, hands curled around a cup of tea that had gone lukewarm because he was too busy trying to read you.

And failing.

You were—how to put it?—intimidating.

Not in a loud, overbearing way. No, if anything, you were composed, almost cool in a way that made Viktor feel like a student under a particularly strict professor’s gaze. You had the air of someone who knew exactly what they liked and exactly what they didn’t.

And Viktor? Well. He had the creeping suspicion he fell into the latter category.

You hadn’t smiled much. Not that you were unfriendly, exactly. Just… unreadable. He couldn’t tell if you were quietly judging him, quietly hating this, or quietly enjoying yourself. And that uncertainty was killing him.

So far, the conversation had been fine. You had talked about your interests, about how the city was too loud these days, about how your friend (who Viktor now considered his mortal enemy) had set you up on this date as a ‘fun little experiment.’

(An experiment. Oh, that was promising.)

Viktor had tried his best to engage, to be charming in that dry, self-deprecating way that usually worked. But every joke, felt like throwing a stone into a lake and watching it sink without a trace.

“…So,” he ventured, tapping his fingers lightly against the table, “would you consider this date a success so far?" Viktor, for once in his life, wished he could read minds. He needed some serious reassurement.