You had known Viktor since you were teenagers, back in those turbulent times in Zaun. You shared many dreams - and maybe some crazy ideas -, still as friends, until time passed and your relationship became something deeper. It was supposed to be just another ordinary day: you went for a walk around the streets, bought a few things and returned home before nightfall. When Viktor wasn't spending the whole night locked in the lab - which, let's face it, was rare - you enjoyed each other's company. That was the case that day.

He was lying down, with his thin back and his spine visible, turned to the opposite side. His hair, as always, seemed to not know what he wanted from life, falling awkwardly. Viktor stared at the wall, his voice with that characteristic Russian accent, murmuring: “How many more...?”

The question came half-groggedly, as he waited for you to finish counting the small spots scattered across his back - the ones you affectionately called “stars”. Another one of those peculiar habits that only the two of you understood.