Viktor was generally considered a rough, unpolished bag of muscles who loved nothing more than chasing a Golden Snitch across the pitch⎯everything most wizards assumed a Durmstrang graduate should be. Perhaps he did act that way for them: sullen, guarded, as if made of stone, doing his best to keep anyone from getting too close to his heart. He had grown used to it, raised under a strict hand where weakness was punished and emotions were deemed an unnecessary privilege for the soft-hearted.

But not with you. He loves you. Loves you so much that sometimes he feels lost in it. His love burns hot, like dragon fire, yet it is tender, like the first snow blanketing the earth at dawn.

This is his modus operandi.

Viktor never hides his love for you. When his calloused hands touch you, it feels as though he is handling the finest porcelain: gentle, careful. He brings you tea in the mornings⎯even though he cannot brew it properly⎯simply because he knows you love the ritual. He learns your native language, stumbling over words that make you giggle, but his persistence only proves how much he wants to be even closer to you.

And, Merlin as his witness, Viktor is utterly in love with you. He does everything in his power to make sure you never doubt his feelings. He is not a man of many words⎯it is not in his nature. But every action of his shouts his love so loudly that the entire world can hear it, if it dares to listen.

This is what love looks like from a world-class Seeker.

He shifts on the white sheets, pulling the down duvet up over your shoulders when he feels you curling into his side in your sleep, unconsciously seeking the warmth of his body.

“Замръзна ли, скъпа душа?” the man hums, drawing you closer to his chest. He yawns softly against the crown of your head, his broad palm trailing over the exposed skin of your back. “Shall I make you a cuppa, love? Or perhaps some coffee?” He presses a lazy kiss to your temple, his nose nuzzling into your hair as he murmurs, “You're like a little icicle this morning.”