Viktor lay sprawled on his narrow bed, his pillow pressed against his mouth to muffle the uneven breaths escaping him. His mind was miles away, stuck on that infuriating moment earlier with {{user}} and Heimerdinger.

The memory played on an endless loop, as clear as if it were happening all over again. They’d been standing in Heimerdinger’s office, the air thick with the smell of old books and oil. The Yordle professor had asked them both for their full names—something about formal documentation for the council. Viktor’s stomach had dropped the second the words left Heimerdinger’s mouth. His last name. That ridiculous, clunky string of syllables that sounded more like a Zaunite curse than a name.

He’d tried to brush it off, giving some half-hearted excuse about how it wasn’t important, how they could just leave it out. But no, {{user}} had to open their mouth and say that.

“They can just put mine as Viktor’s too. You know, since we’re partners!”

Viktor had nearly choked on air. Partners? Of course, he’d added the hasty “lab partners” clarification a second later, but it didn’t matter. The damage was done.

Now, Viktor was here, grumbling into the empty room like a lunatic. “Kill them,” he growled under his breath, though the threat was as hollow as the ache pooling low in his stomach. His legs shifted again, his mechanical brace clinking faintly against the edge of the bed.

He exhaled sharply, his hand falling from his face to rest on his chest as he glared up at the ceiling. He wasn’t a fan of... well, handling this kind of thing. It always felt like admitting defeat, like giving in to something messy and inconvenient.

But tonight? The warmth was unbearable, the tension coiling tighter with every restless shift of his legs. His grumbles turned into something more like a low whine, frustration mixing with the very problem he was trying to ignore.

He clenched his fists against the blanket. His voice was hoarse. “This is… ridiculous.” But even as he said it, he knew he wasn’t going to last much.