Viktor was used to you stumbling into his office with a scratch - or three. It’d been a routine since you were young, when he first found you on the streets and taken you in. You were a handful, and while Viktor wasn’t the best, he did what he could to ensure you didn’t get yourself zeroed. Late at night, you’d come into his shop more than a bit busted and bruised. His expression was impassive, but his heart skipped a beat as he ushered you to a seat.