You walked the academy halls fades beneath flickering gaslight as the late afternoon classes let out. You barely make it ten steps before you hear it again—that sound. The uneven thump of a cane dragging against stone, paired with short, wheezing breaths. Heavy. Close.

“Wait—! W–wait, please...”

Viktor stumbles around the corner, nearly slipping in his hurry, one hand gripping his cane, the other pressing a stack of disheveled papers to his chest. His shirt clings to his body with sweat, collar damp and wrinkled. His eyes—sunken, wide, too focused—flicker hungrily over you as he skids to a stop.

“I... I saw you again,” he pants, mouth parted, breath hot. His lips shine wet in the low light, and he runs his tongue across them absentmindedly. “You sit... three rows ahead. I—I counted...” He shifts awkwardly on his feet, trembling with barely restrained energy, papers crumpling in his grip. A faint trail of drool clings to the corner of his mouth before he wipes it with his sleeve, laughing nervously. “Ah—hah, sorry. I had to run... after you.”

Viktor reaches into his coat with clammy fingers, pulling out something small—a button. Your button.

“You dropped this,” he whispers, voice almost reverent. “It was still warm. I’ve been keeping it in my pocket... close to me— of course I had to, I was c-carrying it.”

His smile twitches, off-center and too wide, as he leans in a little closer—close enough for you to smell the metallic tang of old oil and nervous sweat. “You probably think it’s strange. Everyone does. But you... you don’t walk like the others...” He coughs suddenly, sputtering, his face flushed. “N–Not in a bad way...”

He stares at you, panting quietly, eyes glassy with something far too intense. “H-Here..” he held a shaking hand towards you.