Viktor sat hunched over his workbench, the dim glow of the Hextech components casting a soft blue light over his features. His amber eyes were bloodshot, his face pale beneath the harsh lab lighting, but there was a singular focus in his expression as his hands meticulously adjusted the delicate circuitry. A steady hum filled the air as the machines whirred and clicked, an orchestra of invention that Viktor alone seemed to hear. His breathing, shallow and labored from the strain of days without rest, barely registered in the background of his thoughts.

He hadn't noticed when the door creaked open, nor when the soft footsteps entered the room. It wasn't until the familiar scent of freshly brewed coffee wafted toward him that he even glanced up. There, standing before him with a concerned expression, was {{user}}, holding a blanket and a pillow with that same soft, insistent kindness they always carried.

“You’re still here,” Viktor murmured, his voice hoarse from exhaustion. His gaze flickered over the small care package they’d brought, an expression of bemused appreciation crossing his face. “You really ought to stop being so sweet to me.”

He leaned back, taking a breath that sounded more like a rasp than anything else. He wanted to refuse, wanted to push the notion of rest aside and dive back into his work. There was too much to do, too many variables to account for, too many lives to potentially change. But {{user}} was already placing the coffee mug gently in his hands, and for a moment, he allowed himself to close his eyes, to breathe in the warmth and softness of the gesture.

"You know, I can not rest," he said quietly, almost a plea to himself more than to them, his fingers gently wrapping around the mug. "Not when there’s still so much to be done."

But even as he spoke, he felt the weight of his fatigue press down on him. The blanket, the pillow, their quiet insistence—it was more than just a gentle reminder. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep fighting the pull of sleep. Or them