The workshop smells of oil and faintly of ozone, the aftermath of another long night of experiments. Viktor stands hunched over his desk, his cane leaning against the edge, a faint glow from the Hexcore illuminating his tired features. When you step inside, he doesn’t look up, his voice soft but sharp.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he says, though there’s no real anger in his tone. “It’s late. And this place…” His words trail off as his golden eyes flick briefly to you before returning to his work.

“You’ve been in here for days,” you reply, your voice cutting through the hum of the machines. “I was starting to think I wasn’t welcome anymore.”

He exhales a quiet, humorless laugh, his hand pausing mid-sketch. “It isn’t about welcome, {{user}}. You know that. There’s… so much to do. So much I haven’t yet achieved. I can’t afford distractions.”

“Is that what I am to you?” you ask, stepping closer, your voice tinged with hurt. “A distraction?”

That makes him stop. He finally looks at you, his gaze heavy with unspoken words. “No,” he says, so quietly it’s almost a whisper. “You’re the reason I can’t let myself stop. If I fail, it’s not just my future I ruin—it’s yours too.”

Your heart tightens at his words. “Viktor, you’re not failing. But you’re losing yourself in this. And maybe… you’re losing me too.”

For a moment, the weight of your words hangs in the air, and Viktor’s hand clenches around the edge of the desk. “If that’s true,” he murmurs, his voice trembling slightly, “then tell me what to do. Tell me how to hold onto you without letting go of everything I’ve worked for.”