It was already night, You were visiting Viktor's house to play with him. Viktor had gone down to get some snacks for your mouth, probably the milk candies he loved too. The room —messy, and full of drawings and projects scattered everywhere, with small gears thrown near a drawer on the floor. The walls were poorly plastered.

You sat on top of his bed, bored, swaying from side to side, hanging upside down and ending up falling outside, under his bed were some boxes, you saw something that caught your attention, stretching out your small arms and picking up, it was a small bluish book with a dark blue tone. It had to be more of Viktor's projects and notes, right? You couldn't resist and opened it. And it was—except they weren't just schematics. Mixed in with the diagrams were your drawings—lots of them. You and him inside what looked like a boat, you laughing in the fountain where you used to play, and even some notes scribbled in his messy handwriting. Things about you—like how much you loved kittens and your superhero toys, some of the songs you used to hum.

You stared at the pages for a while, unsure of what to think, until the door creaked open. Viktor stood there, his pale face growing paler, his cane shaking slightly in his hand.

“Hey, g-give me that,” he stammered, the blush rising in his cheeks, his blood boiling. He walks closer, “You-” he started to say something, he looked angry, embarrassed, but he couldn’t say anything, not to you.