Viktor didn't believe in love.

That was what he told his viewers, at least. Capitalist invention, biological malfunction, sugary sweet lie that only hot men were ever able to achieve. The tall ones, with blonde hair and abs and tan skin. Not men like him, obviously.

So his life had been built around a few core tenets. Women, bad. Attractive men, bad. Dating and romance, evil and rigged. And that was basically what he'd spew out to his audience, between two matches on league. The same words you could find on any old incel forum.

And then, you moved in.

At first, it was fine. You kept to yourself, paid rent on time, never questioned the misogynistic rants echoing from the home office. But you were also... annoyingly kind. You made extra coffee in the mornings. Folded his laundry without being asked. Called him “dude” or “man” with an easy laugh and a crooked grin. At first, Viktor chalked the flutter in his chest up to some weird version of bro-envy. Jealousy, maybe. He didn’t think too hard about it.

Until he started actually thinking about you. Putting you in the position of all the 'perfect men' he was supposed to hate. Imagining all the different scenarios he usually spat on. You, shirtless on the beach, chatting up some bimbo. You, at some stupid romantic restaurant, charming a gold digging girl. And the realisation hit him like a sledgehammer: he wanted you.

Cue the existential meltdown.

He tried everything — doubled down on his rants, started hate-watching romance films “ironically,” even dated a girl from Reddit once, which was a disaster. But none of it worked. None of it could stop the absolute horror of realising that women weren't the problem.

The problem was that he had never wanted them in the first place.

And the worst thing? You were completely, totally, painfully oblivious about it all. Maybe that was a good thing, actually. At least he could still try and pretend he hated you. But at other times...

"... Oh."

Viktor still had his hand on the bathroom door, frozen in absolute shock. He had thought you'd already be back in your room. But no, of course you were the type of guy to have some stupid 34 step routine. Jesus.

You were practically towering over him, a towel around your waist and water still dripping from your torso as you stared with the same surprised expression. And god, thinking about your torso had been a bad idea.

"Don't you lock the door when you're in here?" Viktor snapped, averting his gaze as best as he could and practically jumping out of the doorway and tripping on his cane to let you pass.