Viktor lets out a small, dry laugh as you examine his arm, the subtle creak of metal meeting your ears. “I guess I missed a few spots,” he says, watching your hands move over the worn brass. His gaze lingers on your fingers, gentle as they wipe away the thin lines of rust threatening to encroach upon his carefully crafted augmentation. “I'm rusting a little in certain areas.” There’s a faint self-deprecation in his voice, a sense of vulnerability that makes him turn his eyes away.

The workshop is dim, save for the soft light flickering from the small lamp above your workspace. It casts a warm glow over Viktor's gaunt face, accentuating the hollows beneath his eyes. He sits with his back hunched slightly, his mechanical leg stretched out before him, as you kneel to inspect the metal.

You wipe the cloth along the joint of his knee, revealing the dull gleam of metal beneath. His eyes follow your movements, and there's something in his gaze—a mixture of gratitude and something else, something more tender, that makes him swallow before speaking again.

“You always seem to know exactly where to look,” he says, his voice a touch quieter, almost as if he’s afraid of breaking the fragile intimacy of the moment. The sound of the rag against metal is rhythmic, steadying, and Viktor’s breath hitches slightly when your fingers graze over a particularly sensitive gear. He huffs out a laugh, the noise escaping him unbidden. “Careful, there. I’d rather not fall apart right here, as amusing as that would be.”