Viktor stood in the shadows of their usual meeting spot, the dim glow of the scattered arcane lights reflecting off the grime-slicked walls of Zaun. The place, once a sanctuary of quiet conversations and shared moments, felt foreign to him now. He hadn’t expected them to show up. Not after everything that had happened. Not after the cold silence that had stretched between them for weeks, the weight of unsaid things and wounds left to fester.

His breath was shallow, a tightening in his chest that had nothing to do with his illness. He hadn’t been able to shake the feeling of abandonment, of failure. He'd pushed them away, not with words, but with actions—his obsession, his inability to open up, his relentless drive that had left no room for anyone else. His mind raced, heart pounding in his chest, but he kept himself tethered to the cold, bitter truth: he hadn’t earned their forgiveness.

When the door creaked open, Viktor’s pulse skipped. They were here. He hadn't expected it. The sight of them standing in the doorway, eyes filled with unspoken questions, made him falter. His throat tightened, and for a moment, he almost turned away, expecting the confrontation that would confirm his deepest fear: they would turn their back on him for good.

But they didn’t.

Instead, their presence felt like a lifeline, fragile yet undeniable.

“I—I thought you hated me,” Viktor murmured, voice trembling, almost inaudible. Before he could think to stop himself, his hand reached out, gripping the fabric of their clothes, pulling them into him with surprising urgency. His lips met theirs in a kiss, desperate and hungry, as though he were trying to make up for every moment lost. Every word left unsaid.