The small guest room was a mess of fabric, pins, and half finished ideas, this had started as a joke, a way to kill time before the council’s dull annual reception. You were supposed to be helping Viktor choose a suit. Instead, he’d wandered toward the rack of costumes from old Academy galas, humming thoughtfully before he goes behind the dressing screen.

Then he steps out from behind the screen like it was the most normal thing in the world with white earrings brushed his neck, his hair a little messy, eyeliner smudged under his bottom lashes, effortless, like he’d been doing this all his life. The red Victorian dress fit him too well, the corset snug around his thin waist, sleeves draping like falling petals, a matching red necklace catching the light with every slow step he took.

He wasn’t posing nor teasing. Viktor just adjusted one sleeve, completely calm, completely himself.

“How do I look?” He asked, eyes flicking down to inspect a loose thread on the dress, as if he wasn’t about to knock the air out of your lungs. He really didn’t know what he was doing to you.