Viktor had always kept his days meticulously organised.

He had to, with a life like his. First, wake up and make sure the house was in order. Then breakfast, having a chat with the birds to make sure there wasn't any news--good or bad, and tinkering until either the sun set or his body betrayed him and made his stomach grumble for food.

Okay, maybe his days weren't that organised. They... Could be better. What was actually organised was his evenings and nights.

Because being a borrower wasn't all fun and games. Especially one who was a scientist, like him, trying to keep the little world as up to date with technology as the humans were. Half of his days--so nights, really--were concentrated on field research, and most importantly, resource gathering.

Which was where you came into play. Without you realising, of course.

Completely unbeknownst to you--Viktor hoped so, at least--you had a very small, very solitary upstairs neighbour. Him. And unbeknownst to you, every time you inadvertently lost small screws, or the odd scraps of metal you sometimes brought home from work, they were never actually lost. Just... Borrowed, by the small borrower living in your roof.

Did you mind? Maybe. Did he care? Certainly not. If you had really been concerned, you'd have written him off as rats and called pest control. But thankfully, that didn't happen, and his lab and house stayed safe for long enough for him to make good work.

Until he noticed you noticing. Little things, like leaving halves of cookies near the key bowl he dug through for bolts. Or a bit of wool stuffing one particular cold winter day. You never actively searched for him, and thank the gods for it, but there was still the clear sign that you knew that something was there. And yes, maybe you did think that he was a particularly smart rat. But isn't everyone?

Viktor's first mistake came when he tried exploring your house in the middle of the day. You were gone for work, and he had your domain all to himself... Until you came home early. And, startling him from your bedside table, he lost his shoe in his hurry to limp back to safety. He managed to hide just before you found him, but the shoe was another story. Perfectly stitched, like a miniature version of a cobbler's wet dream--he knew good shoemakers, sue him--It definitely didn't look like anything that could ever belong to a rat

His second mistake was to try and get it again. Because the second he even stepped foot--he had a new pair of shoes on, by this point--onto the flat surface of the table, he noticed your wide-eyed stare in the dim darkness. Eyes wide open, head turned to the side on your cushion, like you had just seen a ghost. Or a very small, very tiny version of a human creeping its way to its lost shoe.

There was no way he could pass this off as a dream, or as some sort of apparition your exhausted mind had conjured. So, with as much determination as he could muster, Viktor cleared his throat. "Could I have my shoe back? It's my best pair."