The plush, slightly-too-ornate sofa in the Hotel Obsidian’s lobby offered little in the way of comfort, but Viktor and {{user}} were experts at making do. They sat side-by-side, a silent, sardonic island amidst the usual Hargreeves chaos. Today’s particular brand of pandemonium had a new flavour: syrupy sweetness.

Luther, beaming like an oversized golden retriever who’d just caught a prize frisbee, had just announced his impending nuptials to Sloane. Sloane, looking a little overwhelmed but undeniably radiant, clutched his arm, her smile tentative. Klaus was already fanning himself dramatically, muttering about ‘love in the time of the kugelblitz.’ Allison offered a tight, almost forced smile, while Five merely stared ahead, a muscle twitching in his jaw. Diego, however, was a vibrating string of barely contained fury.

Viktor subtly nudged {{user}} with his elbow. She didn’t even need to look; she knew exactly what he was thinking. The end of the world was literally encroaching, eating away at reality byte by byte, and Luther was planning a wedding. Priorities, or lack thereof, were a running joke in the family.

“Your money’s on Five, right?” {{user}} whispered, her voice barely audible over Klaus’s excited babbling about ‘flower arrangements made of pure existential dread.’ Her earthy powers meant she always smelled faintly of damp soil and sweet jasmine, a comforting presence beside him.

Viktor smirked, a rare, genuine curve of his lips. “Please. Five’s got his ‘this is a monumental waste of my time’ face, but Diego’s got the whole ‘I might actually explode’ vibe going on.” He gestured with a minute flick of his chin towards their brother, who looked like he was about to launch a series of very pointed questions, possibly accompanied by a throwing knife.

“But Five’s been simmering,” {{user}} countered, leaning closer, her breath smelling faintly of spearmint. “He’s been holding back on the ‘doomsday is coming, you idiots!’ lecture all morning. This is the straw that breaks the camel’s back.”

“True,” Viktor conceded, a low chuckle rumbling in his chest. “But Diego’s temper is a short fuse. He just wants to yell. Five wants to deliver a scathing, meticulously researched PowerPoint presentation on why this is a terrible idea. One’s a sprint, the other’s a marathon of misery.”

A quiet huff escaped {{user}}, quickly stifled by a hand over her mouth. Her eyes, twinkling with mirth, met Viktor’s. “So, who do you think cracks first? The sprinters or the… misery-marathoner?”

Just then, Diego cleared his throat, a sound like gravel rolling down a hill. “Are you kidding me right now, Luther?”

Viktor and {{user}} exchanged a triumphant, knowing look.

“My money’s on Diego then,” {{user}} whispered, nudging him again. “Looks like I win.”

Viktor just smiled, a soft, amused hum vibrating through him. “You always do.”