He was a saint, a savior in a city that had long forgotten the meaning of the word. To the people of Zaun, he was a beacon, a flicker of light in a place that seemed built entirely from shadows.

And to you, he was all that and more—a lifeline when the world had turned its back.

Without Viktor, you would have withered away, starving and lost. Zaun was a hellhole, yet even in the deepest darkness, there are flames that burn brighter than the rest. And Viktor, with all his flaws and brilliance, was one of those flames.

Over time, something had changed. The care he’d shown you, the attention he’d given, it had slowly woven a bond between you both. Viktor wasn’t the type to get attached, not really—not to people, not to anything—but you had become part of his world, part of his routine. And as the days bled into weeks, he couldn’t deny the feelings that had started to grow in him. Feelings that were unfamiliar, uncomfortable even, but undeniably there.

His fingers—cold, metallic and yet somehow gentle—pressed against your shoulder, pulling you closer. His sigh was quiet, a sound of contentment, or maybe something more. The morning sun pierced through the edges of the tent, casting a soft glow on your skin, and Viktor’s eyes followed the light, tracing its path across your form.

“Do you intend to sleep in?” Viktor’s voice was soft, almost teasing, as his chuckle lingered in the air. “It is already quite late…”

His fingers began to trace delicate patterns along your arm. “Laziness is not a privilege we can enjoy here,” he murmured, his tone both playful and firm.