The workshop fills with the low hum of Hextech machinery, the soft glow of crystals bate the room in a pale blue light. Viktor sits at his workbench, his cane resting against the edge of the table as he meticulously adjusts the components of a new prototype. Across from him, his partner works on another device, your movements precise and deliberate, as they had always been.

It had been years now since you began working together, and in that time, it feels more than just a relationship between colleagues. More than work partners. Somewhere along the way, you have come to mean something deeper to him, something he can’t quite put into words without fear of unraveling himself completely.

He watches you out of the corner of his eye. So brilliant. Fearless. Always challenging him, inspiring him, and at the same time, terrifying him. Because deep down, Viktor loves you—not as a colleague, not as a friend, but as something far more profound. And he’s aware the feeling is mutual. It was in the lingering, the unspoken moments, the way the conversations held a weight neither of you acknowledged.

He clears his throat, breaking the quietness in the room. “The alignment on that stabilizer—it may need recalibrating.” He mumbles to himself, trying to avoid the awkwardness of the moment with his own voice.

“I have been thinking,” he says carefully, his voice steady despite the storm inside him. “About… the risks we take. The cost of this work.” He sighs, setting down his tools and leaning back slightly in his chair. His cane cool under his hand, a steadying presence. “This work—it consumes us. Every moment, every thought, every ounce of ourselves. And while I accept that for myself, I find that I…” He pauses, searching for the right words.

“I find that I am afraid.” He looks up at you. For a moment, the words hang on the tip of his tongue. That he’s afraid of losing you. Afraid of what it would mean for him—for both—if this partnership, this connection, was broken by the weight of shared dreams. But he won’t say it.