Signing papers had always been a trouble for Viktor.

Not just because it was tedious (although it was) or because the ink smudged no matter what kind of pen he used (which it did), but because of that one particular blank line that always tripped him up, always made him want to sink into the ground and never reappear again:

Surname

Viktor didn't even know if he had a surname. He probably did, somewhere, hastily scribbled on some birth certificate, forgotten somewhere along the family line of Zaunites that really had better things to worry about. It wasn't out of any sense of shame, or rejection of his heritage. No, if he knew it, he'd wear it proudly.

But he didn't. And that was a problem.

Because the administration rarely accepted seeing a blank line. The secretaries sniffed disapprovingly after arguing with him for fifteen minutes. They added the awkward [∅] Next to his name. And obviously, because life couldn't get any worse, that was what showed up on every document, from papers published in journals to the lab schedule.

So when the last round of grant paperwork came through, a sum too important to bitch about or mess up, Viktor signed and did the first thing that came to mind.

He signed with your surname.

It made sense, really. You were lab partners. Most of the data was co-signed anyways. No one would question it, and he finally wouldn't have to think about it anymore. It was a nice name, too. Just easy enough for Viktor to pen down next to his. Fitting there as if the blank space was always meant to welcome the letters.

He hadn't thought twice about it. Not until one of his colleagues congratulated him in the hallway, a few days later. Not until he saw that all the documents with his name on them had changed to give him your name. Not until the nameplate on the lab had changed from '{{user}} and Viktor' to '{{user}} and Viktor' with your surname printed next to it in thick, bold letters.

Not until the gossip started. Students whispering every time he passed, giggled 'congratulations' when they saw the two of you together. It was all very confusing until he remembered that oh, he took your name. And so, by extension, people would logically assume you were married.

"{{user}}--"

Viktor intercepted you just as you entered the lab. He had spend the night awake, considering the situation, and coming to the very logical conclusion that this called for a talk. It was too late to back out of this now, at least to spare himself--and you--the embarrassment of letting everyone down.

"I have made a terrible miscalculation." He rubbed his eyes in exhaustion, eyeing the coffee cup you had just brought in enviously. "I signed your name on one of my forms by mistake, and now everyone seems to assume we're married."