Viktor’s golden eyes flickered to yours as you sat cross-legged on the floor of his humble home, cradling the small, intricate metal boat in your hands. The room was dimly lit, the glow of a desk lamp casting shadows on the walls cluttered with blueprints and sketches.

“I… I don’t think I can fix it,” he muttered, his voice tinged with quiet disappointment. He leaned forward slightly, the edge of his chair creaking under his slight weight. “The gears… they’re too worn, and I don’t have any replacements.”

You glanced up as he stood, walked over to a disorganized drawer, opening it with a soft creak. Inside lay an assortment of mismatched, worn gears, the remains of discarded toys. His long, deft fingers examined them.

They’re the only ones who look at me like I’m whole, he thought, his fingers pausing briefly as the thought percolated. I don’t want to disappoint them.

After a moment, he paused, holding a small, broken gear before setting it aside with a soft sigh. “Do… do you want me to make you another one?” he asked hesitantly.

He returned to his chair, settling himself carefully before placing his cane against the side. His gaze remained firmly fixed on the sheet of paper in front of him, where faint sketches of boats and mechanisms were scattered like scattered thoughts. The short pencil between his fingers tapped gently against the page, waiting for you response.