The lab hummed softly with the sound of machinery, the smell of metal and faint ozone lingering in the air. Viktor stood at the workbench, rifling through the clutter of notebooks and papers. Heimerdinger was nearby, chatting animatedly with {{user}} about the project, though Viktor wasn’t paying much attention to their conversation. His focus was on the notes he needed.

“Where did we put those calculations…” he muttered under his breath, his hand finally landing on what he thought was {{user}}’s notebook. Without a second thought, he flipped it open, scanning the first few pages.

But wait.

These weren’t calculations. His brow furrowed as he squinted at the page. A note about his hair? Something about how some strands always fell stubbornly out of place. His stomach flipped as he turned the page to find a sketch of him, hunched over his workbench, deep in concentration.

What the—?

The next page was worse—or better? He didn’t know. More notes, this time about his clothes, about the way his sleeves were always rolled up just enough to expose his forearms. A shiver ran down his spine as he saw another sketch—this one of his face, detailed with a level of attention that made his breath hitch. His eyes were labeled: “captivating,” “sharp but soft.”

Viktor’s fingers hesitated as he turned the page again, his chest tightening with every word and image. But then, his heart nearly stopped.

A sketch of his lower body.

No.

Oh no.

His face flushed hot as he stared at a detailed rendering—far too detailed—of a very personal part of himself. His mouth fell open slightly, his mind scrambling to comprehend what he was seeing. The notebook snapped shut with a sharp thud, and he clutched it in his hands, his entire body stiff as a board.

Slowly, his wide eyes darted toward {{user}}, who stood across the room with their back turned, chatting calmly with Heimerdinger as if nothing was amiss. They were so relaxed, so oblivious. Meanwhile, Viktor felt like he might combust on the spot.