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daveth-isnt-dead · 12 days ago

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Overlock Stitch Part 4/?

Summary:

Viktor is just trying his best to survive his years as a student at the academy when a girl studying textiles suddenly begs him to let her tailor his uniform. She is right, it doesn't fit, but he isn't in the business of accepting charity from strangers. "Please?" She asks, "It would be fully anonymous on your part and we would both be better off." Then again, but with feeling, "please?" Viktor eyes her again and against his better judgement, presents an undeserved olive branch, "Will you be here tomorrow?" Her smile is so wide it almost makes him want to recoil. He wonders if her cheeks hurt.

Contains: Third person POV, She/Her Pronouns for reader

Word count: 3195

Read on ao3

Having Viktor in her room makes her jumpy. Every one of her nerves is a live wire, she feels like she might implode in on herself if she doesn't find a way to calm the battering ram of her heart. It's somehow worse how casual he looks, the way he comfortably sinks into the cushions of her sofa and sips on a cup of tea, as if to him this is not a panic inducing experience. She should have fought harder when he offered- well, not offered, told her that he was going to fix the radiator. What kind of host invites a person over and then just stands around while they do household repairs for them? She gets an itchy feeling, worming into her brain, remember that conversation they had about favours and their value, looking at him now she can't help worrying that he felt he had to do that, so he wouldn't owe her anything.

She bounces a knee, glad that he has decided to stay, terrified at the prospect of keeping him occupied all the while.

It is much warmer in the room now that the radiator is actually working. Viktor quickly stood up from the sofa and turned the boiler back on five minutes ago before settling back into his seat and she can't deny how much nicer it feels inside now that the place is actually properly heated. She has been trying to carefully unpick the inner seam on a pair of his trousers for some time now, but her shaky hands are making it difficult. It's not so much Viktor that is making her nervous, more just the presence of another person at all. Viktor is special in a sense, largely that he is the only person she has cared to impress for reasons outside of maintaining her already fragile reputation.

Whatever desire she has to maintain airs around her classmates is more about protecting her enrolment at school, in making her final year of study as smooth as possible. Aside from that she could hardly care what they actually think about her as a person, she already knows they don't like her. With Viktor it's different, she aches for his approval, for the tiny first inclinations of a smile that she catches every so often. She wants for him not to just tolerate her, but to like her and that is what makes her hands shake.

"How old is your sewing machine?" Viktor asks suddenly.

She nearly stabs herself with the seam-ripper. She had half expected him to not say a word until she did and she was still trying to muster up the confidence, "I-I'm not sure, very, I think. It was my grandmother's on my father's side."

He hums low under his breath and then leans forward to rest his teacup on the table, "Might I take a look at it?"

"Oh, sure, that would be fine." She finally finishes undoing inseam of his trousers and hangs them over the armrest before reaching for the last pair, "Just be careful, it's pretty delicate."

"I did say look and not touch, didn't I?" Viktor asks in a tone that she almost dares to interpret at playful. He smiling again, she tries not to stare, "I will be careful, don't worry."

Luckily finding the first stitch and hooking her seam-ripper through it takes enough focus that it's easy to avoid watching as Viktor crosses the room to look at the machine. It's nothing like the ones in the academy, it's an old thing with scuffed dark paint and a litany of chipped hand painted flowers decorating it in a assorted colours and styles. Her father and grandmother paint differently enough that she can tell which flowers were drawn by who by style alone. Her father always seems to paint the sorts of daises that grow up through cracks in the pavement, the ones she always watches the academy groundskeeper ripping out because they are apparently weeds. Her grandmother largely favoured painting an old species of flower that her father says haven't been seen in decades, not since he was very young. Butter yellow, with a shape like two scooping hands held upward to the sky.

"Did you paint these?" Viktor asks quietly.

She peers up at him, he's bent half over, fingers not quite brushing the flowers on the base of the machine, "No." She answers truthfully, "My father, and grandmother. I'm too nervous to add anything to it, I'm better with a needle and thread than I am with a paintbrush."

"These are Zaun flowers." Viktor says and she might imagining it, but he sounds almost wistful.

"Yes." She answers softly, noticing the way his hair curls up at the base of his skull, the broad slope of his shoulders, "My father says they died out sometime after he moved topside to be with my mother. I've never seen them."

There is silence for a moment, so long that she returns to tailoring. She manages to unpick a few more stitches before Viktor replies. His voice is quiet and mournful, he doesn't turn to face her, still staring at the sewing machine.

"My mother had two of them pressed in a hardcover novel." and then, quietly, like a rasp in the back of his throat, "They were beautiful."

She doesn't know how to respond to that. To the realness of it. She could tell him that she is sure they were beautiful, but that wouldn't help because she doesn't know and she can only assume, that's all it ever is with him, assumptions that she is sure are wrong half of the time. "My grandmother must have painted them well, then. If you recognised them." She tries, hands shaking in her lap.

Viktor hums, peering at her from over his shoulder, "She did."

There is a lapse in conversation, in time too, it feels like. Viktor slowly returns to the sofa and picks his teacup back up and she returns to unpicking stitches in his final pair of trousers. It feels like hours have passed before she finds the courage to peer up at him, only for her heart to gallop in her chest at the sight of him staring back. He doesn't move to break her gaze, just continues to look at her, curiously, she thinks. Her hands shake at the final stitch, unsure where she is supposed to be looking but unable to bear the thought of turning from him.

His nose is slightly crooked, she's never noticed that before.

She quickly ducks her head down before she notices anything else. Before she starts mapping the contours of his face, enveloping his topography in the soft inner recesses of her mind. Though she can't stop visualising the curve of his upper lip, the jut of his chin.

She finally manages to unpick the last stitch, but the uncomfortable twisting in her stomach doesn't leave.

"I-I have to affix the fasteners now." She says quickly, trying not to look at him, "It can be a little noisy sometimes, I need to hammer them. Is that alright?"

"Cannot be louder than what I hear in the engineering lab." Viktor says dismissively from somewhere in her peripheral vision, "Besides, I am not much of a complainer."

She has noticed that, and as she gathers all of his trousers and starts bringing them up to her worktable, the thought stews in her a little, they way thoughts always do before she says something stupid. She does, of course, right as she sits down at the table.

"You can complain." She says quickly before she can stop it, "I'd like it if you did."

Viktor barks a laugh from behind her, "Would you?"

She shrugs a shoulder, opening her sewing kit to remove a set of fastener pieces and the tool used to press them together, "My classmates never tell me when I've done something wrong, at least not to my face." she pauses as she rummages through her drawers for the hefty cube of metal that she uses for hammering, she hits her fingers less this way, "I like that you speak your mind. If you did it more I'd probably be less nervous around you."

"I make you nervous?"

She turns around quickly with the intention of defending herself, completely forgetting there was a reason she hasn't been looking at him. Viktor has one leg crossed over the other, one arm resting across the back of the sofa and the other still holding his teacup. He's smiling too, which isn't fair. That toothy smile, the one she barely gets to see.

"Everyone makes me nervous." She says unconvincingly, certain that her tone betrays that the way he makes her nervous is somehow different, "I'm not good at pretending, not like them."

Viktor hums, and she likes the way the sound is absorbed into the walls of her dorm. She hopes it sticks.

"A complaint, then." Viktor begins, "For your satisfaction." "O-Okay." She responds, nerves suddenly alight at the thought of him disliking anything about her, despite asking for the truth herself.

"You are too afraid of me." He says slowly and evenly, "I will not bite, Myšičko."

She feels blood rushing up the sides of her throat, she is not afraid of him. Of disappointing him, of driving him away, yes, but not of him. She swallows, "Promise not to pretend around me, then I won't have a reason to be afraid."

Viktor pauses, his brow furrowing and she panics, terrified that she has overstepped. He exhales evenly and responds, "I can try, but it will not come all at once. I do not know you yet, you understand?" he shrugs one shoulder, "Maybe if you stop pretending around me as well, it will be easier."

She didn't really think she was pretending. She has been trying hard not to, but the high-society false pretences cling to her like a second skin and Viktor is right, they don't know each other, it is not so easy to shed the falsification that way it is with her parents. Every minute detail of herself that she has shared so far felt terrifying, made her heart race and muscles tighten like her body was preparing to sprint. She wants to be real, but it is like prying herself open each time.

"Ask me a question, then." She says quietly, urging her hands not to shake, "I'll answer." she finds she can't meet his eyes anymore and suddenly figures it will be easier if she doesn't have to look at him, "Just…Just let me get started on the fasteners, the distraction will help, I think."

Viktor stays quiet for just a moment, waiting for her to start focusing on her work again. Then, he asks, "When you first introduced yourself to me, you didn't offer a surname. Why?"

Despite his gentle intonation, her shoulders still jump like his question is some sort of assault. She tries to focus on aligning the pieces of a fastener, pressing the pins through the fabric. This is an easy question, she can tell he has tried to ease her into it, but despite that her body still arc with terror even though Viktor is perhaps the only person at the academy who wont judge her for this.

"I don't have one, technically." She says quietly, lining up the tool designed to press the pieces of the fastener together "My mother's surname was forfeit when she married my father, she tried to negotiate for him to take hers instead, but they didn't allow it."

Viktor doesn't speak behind her, so she quickly hammers the fastener into place and continues, "My maternal grandmother lets me use the family name on academy documentation and I use it with my classmates but I-" she moves onto the next fastener, struggling with her shaking hands, "I guess I felt like I didn't have to with you, lie I mean, at least, not about that."

"Is your grandmother your patron"

She nods, taking a moment to hammer in the next fastener, "She says I shouldn't suffer for my mother's poor decisions, and that if I study and find a nice topside husband I can rejoin her side of the family, it's all so very-"

"Piltover?" Viktor offers mischievously, and that makes her laugh.

"I was going to say vapid, but i suppose the two are synonymous." She sighs, moving onto the final fastener for this pair of trousers, "I took up the offer for patronage and just need to play nice with her until the end of this year, and then I can go set up my own shop without her or her help."

~~~

There's a lamp on her desk with a pale yellow bulb. Viktor notices they way the light catches on the shaken out mess of her hair. He also notices the tension in her shoulders and aches to ease it, the same way he aches for someone to ease the ever-present tightness in his temples and behind his eyes. he notices that even with the explanation behind her reasoning, she still never offered the surname, but supposes that he is a secret he is happy to let her keep.

"Ask me something." He says before the rational side of his brain has a chance to stop it.

She freezes in the middle of affixing the next fastener, the tension in shoulders changes to one of alertness instead of discomfort. Viktor is shocked that he can even tell the difference. She turns to face him, bright eyes wide and uncertain. The light of the lamp shines out around her and his gut once again churns with the thought of softness and warmth and home.

"Are you sure?" She asks, as if he had just ordered her to bury a knife into his gut.

He laughs, "Supremely, it's only fair."

She makes a sound, a sort nervous titter and he imagines her as a mouse all over again, "Are you…enjoying your studies?"

Viktor nearly laughs again at the innocent inquisitiveness of her question, so easily answered and so seemingly kind, "Yes and no." He answers truthfully, "It is good to have my brain teased a bit, but I could do without my gaggle of classmates."

She turns back to her worktable and nods, "The same as me, then."

She doesn't ask him anything else, instead returning her focus to the worktable. The tight pull of her shoulders seems to have loosened and Viktor doesn't appreciate how relieved that makes him feel. He decides not to ask her another question either, at least not yet. Instead he muses about the difference in how she works on her textiles to how she communicates. At this angle he only catches glimpses of her hands, how quickly and nimbly they move as she inserts the fasteners. Hands that shake at her sides whenever he speaks to her seem completely stable now that her focus has returned to her work.

He finds himself wishing he were sitting across from her, to watch her brow furrow and lips purse as she loses herself in focus. He wonders briefly how he looks when he does the same. Viktor is not one of those self-important engineering students who believes the arts are a frivolous endeavour requiring little to no actual expertise. He watched his mother darn enough of his socks that he has more than a burgeoning appreciation for textiles, the art of it, the mathematics behind knitting or crochet, the importance of different stitches for different fabrics. The essentially of over-locking, preventing the edges from fraying, holding everything together when it could so easily fall apart.

So he continues watching her, even as she finishes the last fasteners and instead begins pinning the folded seams before lining them up with the needle on her sewing machine. It's a loud thing, each press of the pedal sounding more like a kur-chunk than the smooth gear rotation of the one she uses at the academy. She's confident enough with the machine that she is able to tuck some unruly hair behind her ear and continue holding the fabric in place with just one hand.

For some reason, sitting here in her small, dimly lit dorm room. The sound of old machinery, the clutter of bolts of fabric and dried flowers reminds him of a home that hasn't existed for years, back when his parents were both alive and his mother would slip flowers between the pages of old books and his father would tinker with whatever he could find at an old worktable. It's a nostalgia so aching that he almost resents it.

Then the silence breaks, gently, tentatively, when she whispers, "Viktor?"

She is very focused on her sewing and doesn't look up, even when he responds, "Yes?"

She grows still, foot pausing on the pedal, and then after a moment she asks, "Do you miss Zaun?"

She says that word, Zaun, with a quivering intonation. It's as if she isn't sure that she is allowed to say it, that this is her first time actually voicing it out loud.

Viktor has been asked about his home many times, though usually with a teasing edge, or even worse, with a morbid curiosity. Though her question is different from all the others he has suffered through. She doesn't ask for gritty details, doesn't ask if it is just as terrible and violent as everyone says that it is.

Of all the students who have asked him invasive, curious questions, this is the first time anyone has dared acknowledge that his home is a place worth missing. That it isn't just somewhere he was lucky to escape from, or some stink that he will never be able to scrub out. It makes the inner corners of his eyes prickle with the beginnings of tears. He clenches his hands and takes a deep breath in through his nose.

"Sometimes." He lies, he misses it always.

She hums quietly and slowly starts working the pedal again, "Well if you ever want to go visit, I could always come with you?" she says softly, as if she is reaching her hand out, pleading for him to take it, "My grandmother used to have a workshop down there, but my father closed it when he lost his arm. Sometimes I wonder if it's still there, I guess."

Viktor finds himself laughing, in disbelief more than anything, "Are you certain? You aren't worried that someone might try to attack you or rob you, Myšičko?" She shrugs a shoulder, "You haven't, and you've had every right to, I know I can be very annoying to be around."

He laughs again and is happy when he catches the nervous upward curl of her mouth, "Alright, then." he says non-noncommittally, not wanting to come off as too enthusiastic, too appreciative, "Maybe someday."

She turns around in her chair and gives him another one of those achingly wide smiles, her eyes crinkle in the corners and her cheeks flush red.

Viktor is too afraid to tell her that these days he hardly finds her annoying at all.

#bree writes occasionally #overlock stitch #viktor x reader #viktor/reader #arcane x reader

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daveth-isnt-dead · 2 months ago

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Overlock Stitch Part 3/?

Summary:

Contains: Third person POV, She/Her Pronouns for reader

Word Count: 3,991

Read on AO3

She doesn't see Viktor for a few weeks after that, he came by to collect his uniform and allowed her to take her photos before offering little more than a curt 'thank you' and disappearing through the door. She tries her best not to be too hurt by this, after all, one forced, awkward interaction where she could accidentally stab him with a pin at any moment is not exactly the usual first step in making friends. Not that she has ever been good at following that particular rule-book anyway.

If she pokes her head out at the right time on Thursday she sometimes still catches him on his walk through the fine art wing. One time she was brave enough to wave at him, but he either didn't see her, or did and pretended he didn't. Regardless, she couldn't find the courage to try again. The few times she has seen him, she hasn't been able to resist admiring how utterly stunning he looks in his properly fitting uniform. She just hopes that is has helped somehow, that he gets fewer stares in the hallways and most importantly, that the alterations she made to his trousers make it easier for him to get ready in the mornings. Especially now that the cold outside is biting.

It's still another fortnight before her final assignment for the term is due and she has been working on cataloguing both photos and sketches for all the tailoring work she has done. It is mostly alterations made for her father, some fittings for classmates, one wedding dress alteration, and the work she did for Viktor. The photos of his uniform turned out nicely despite her difficulties getting the film into the camera. Her heart does perform a traitorous little flutter each time she glances at any of them, the photo of his waistline post-tailoring is especially perilous, she tries not to look at it.

It's early evening and the sun has already well set outside the academy, but she knows that she wont get any more work done if she goes back to her dorm. Her radiator has been playing up and she has been avoiding contacting academy maintenance about it for the last few months. She doesn't feel like she belongs here half the time already, the last thing she needs is the academy thinking she is some sort of nuisance. With how cold it is tonight, all she will manage to do back home is climb into bed. So she stays late in the warm textiles workshop, sketching and annotating in preparation for her assignment. It's also nice to have the place to herself, even for just a few hours. She is usually forced to engage in exhausting faux polite conversation with Eliza and her other classmates. It gives her a headache, makes her teeth hurt. She has grown quite comfortable in the silence, sitting in the low light of her worktable's lamp as she works to arrange her portfolio. So the sound of the door to the workshop opening has her yelping and knocking half her photos and sketches off the desk. She whips around, quickly trying to come up with a polite way to tell whatever classmate has interrupted her to get lost, only to freeze in place when she sees that it is Viktor lurking in the doorway.

"Hello!" She squeaks, immediately regretting everything about her delivery of the single word.

Viktor's brows draw together, "Hello. I-" His eyes dart down to the pile of photos at her feet, "I am sorry for startling you."

Oh. She hadn't been expecting an apology. A nervous giggle escapes her, "It's alright, really! I'm easily startled."

Viktor laughs too, it's warm and sounds surprisingly genuine, "Yes, you certainly are."

They both sit in a lingering, uncomfortable silence for a moment. She can't manage to figure out why exactly he is standing here in the workshop, can't think of what she is supposed to say, what he wants her to say.

"I'm-"

"You-"

They both laugh at the failed start, and the energy in the room feels suddenly lighter. Viktor inclines his head towards her, "You first."

"Oh, okay, um." She chews her lower lip, it had been easier to say when it was off the cuff, but now that she's had a moment to think about it, she suddenly feels like it is far too presumptuous, "I'm happy to see you again, that's all." she says quickly, picking at her cuticles.

Viktor hums, his intense eyes peeling back her layers again. It makes her hands grow clammy.

"You did an impressive job with my uniform. That is what I was going to say." He replies.

Her stomach flips and she clutches her hands tightly in her lap, "Th-Thank you, I'm glad." She's nervous and her mouth moves faster than her brain, "I've been thinking about you, I-I mean, your uniform and I was really hoping that it had helped. It means everything to me, it really does."

An almost smirk tugs at the corners of Viktor's mouth, "You have been thinking about me?"

Sudden heat rushes to her cheeks, "About you uniform! That's what I said!"

Viktor shrugs a shoulder, "Suit yourself." he takes a few steps forward, allowing the door to slide shut behind him, "What are your going rates when it comes to favours?" He asks evenly.

She blinks at him, confused, "I'm sorry?"

"Topsiders rarely offer an act of kindness without a charge. The values and complicated, payment does not come back until months down the line when they need something from you." He steps over to her, ducking down and collecting her mess of photographs into a neat pile before handing it back to her, "One of my classmates gave me directions to my first lecture and then about two months later he all but ordered me to complete his assignment for him. I would not assign those two acts equal value, personally, though, maybe topsiders have found a way to charge interest on favours, it would not surprise me."

He speaks clearly, succinctly, and she realises that this is the most he has ever said to her, by a wide margin.

She swallows, hoping that she knows the right way to respond, "Eliza, my classmate, brought me a pastry before the end of first semester last year. She still holds it over my head anytime she needs something from me. The funny thing is, had she just been genuinely friendly to me, I would have helped without the need for threatening pretence." She gains the confidence to meet Viktor's eyes and finds his appraising expression encouraging, "It's exhausting, playing these games every day. I'm just not cut out for it. So my going rates for favours is complimentary, as it should be."

Viktor's lips quirk up in a smile, wide enough that for the first time, she catches a glimpse of his teeth. They're crooked, lacking the benefits of modern Piltover dentistry and she is enchanted by them, can't help picturing the shape of the imprint his bite would leave behind

"That is good." He says with a nod, "Very good."

He leans against her worktable, peering down at where she still sits in her chair, she gulps, averting her eyes, "I take it you need something from me, then?"

Viktor turns his head and crosses his arms. His open, almost playful posture tightens into something far more self conscious.

"I meant what I said." he beings, rapping his fingers against his arm, "My uniform is far more comfortable now and those eh, alterations you made were very-" He brow creases, "Accommodating.'

She can feel herself relaxing, unfurling almost, hearing that her work had managed to help, that it had meant something to someone.

Viktor looks at her out of the corner of his eye before continuing, "I told you I was not interested in charity when we first spoke and that is still true, but I am hoping you might be interested in getting some more practice, as it were."

She smiles wide, she can't help it, "Do you want more alterations? Is that what you're saying?

Viktor's next smile is shockingly warm, "Ah, there is that spark of yours. Yes, the rest of my wardrobe now feels woefully inept."

She quickly darts her eyes up to the clock and back, "The wing is going to be closed in a few hours, it's probably not enough time…but I would love to! Maybe tomorrow? Or the day after?"

Viktor barks a laugh, "I did not mean now."

Her enthusiasm gets away from her, she can't help it, "But if you have time now, then we could, or I mean, you could always-" too familiar, too familiar by far, she freezes, staring down at her toes, "Sorry. Never mind, I'm just overexcited, forget all of that."

Viktor's brows draw together and his jaw tightens, "Stop doing that around me, I am not one of your Piltie classmates, I despise it just as much as you do." He spits, "Do not dissimulate, just tell me what you want, is it really so difficult?"

It is. It is. Every bone in her body tenses and panics and tells her that this is exactly the sort of thing that makes one a social pariah, that gets them ridiculed by classmates for seeing friendship where there is none. She balls her hands into fists, sucks in a deep breath and says, "I have sewing supplies in my dorm. If you would like me to do the alterations now, you can come back with me."

When Viktor doesn't immediately start laughing at her, she gains enough courage to look up at him. His expression is thoughtful and not at all mocking. At the sight of him, all the nervous, electric tension suddenly melts from her body. Unlearning years of Piltover fake politeness feels a bit like pulling out rotten teeth. Painful at first, but a relief afterwards.

Viktor thinks her offer over a little longer, casting a considering glance in the direction of the clock before returning his attention to her, "I would have to collect my things first. Give me your address, I'll meet you there."

~~~

Viktor barely understands why he agreed to this. Locking his door behind himself and preparing to navigate the maze-like block of dorms under the cover of darkness. It is a clear night, at least, the moon provides a good deal of light and like the rest of the Piltover's streets, the footpaths surrounding the dorms are lit with streetlights, casting a pale orange light across the ground. His leg complains when he starts walking in the cold air, less than it was complaining yesterday, if that was not the case he definitely would have turned her down. But it's a rare good day and so much of the student body seems to wish they were anywhere other than the academy that speaking with someone who actually cares about what they are studying is refreshing.

Her block of dorms actually ends up being quite a bit closer than the main academy buildings are, so Viktor is at least grateful for that despite the confusion he feels at his own sudden acquiescence. Agreeing to her first tailoring felt a lot like peeling back his fingernails, it was painful, it ached, it was shameful. So what changed, really? She doesn't have any sort of ill intent, that much is plain as day, but there is still no real reason for him to be trudging himself through the cold air in the dark of night. This could have been handled in the morning. It should have been, but when she smiles the way she does, the way that makes his cheeks hurt empathically, he finds it difficult not to keep that smile lit as long as possible. It's far realer than any of that achingly false pretence she slips in and out of, maybe her smile reminds him of home. Just a little.

The set of buttons she had affixed into the inseam of his trousers were another reason he agreed. It was a defensive mechanism, to far understate just how useful he had found them in even just the past few weeks. Despite her insistence that she doesn't charge for favours like so many Pilties do, he still can't shake the feeling that letting her know just how much he owes her would be dangerous. Because he does owe her, he owes her a great deal. Every evening when the cold has left his leg stiff and uncooperative, when he would usually need to spend almost half an hour massaging muscles before being able to undress for bed, he was instead able to unsnap the fasteners with one tug, and the trousers would slide right off. He had been fine without her help, he would have continued being fine without it. But now, he is more than fine, just a little bit, an almost inscrutable amount, a decimal place somewhere within the nebulous number defining just how bad a day can be. It is a small change, but it is one he has noticed and that is significant.

Her dorm is one of the street-facing buildings and on the ground floor, which makes it easy to find. The lights are on in the windows and as she had described very explicitly, there are several bunches of dried flowers hanging from the door frame. Viktor also almost knocks over a dish of water on the doorstep that he can only assume she has left out for the cats he sometimes sees roaming around the academy grounds. The groundskeepers are always trying to chase the cats off campus, but it's no wonder they keep coming back if she is doting on them the way he is certain she is.

She comes to the door just a few seconds after he knocks. He hears the sound of a chain-lock frantically undoing and then the door quickly swings open.

"Hello!" She exclaims in her usual rush, out of breath and smiling wide. Her hair is down, still awkwardly kinked from being in an up-do all day and kicking up around her collarbone. Viktor finds that he likes it a lot more this way and doesn't appreciate how that thought twists at his gut.

"Hello, yourself." He replies, peering past her into the softly lit room beyond.

She follows his line of sight with a whip of messy hair, laughing a little before turning back and chewing her lower lip, it's chapped and red in places, it gives the impression that she is nervously chewing more often than not, "I tidied before you got here. I don't really ever have people over"

He doesn't doubt it. She is dithering in the front door like she isn't even sure how to welcome him inside. Viktor saves her the trouble, taking another step closer and peering down at her. She blinks again, in that mousy way and he inclines his head towards the doorway, "May I come in?"

Her wide smile comes back, "Yes! Please do!" and she quickly presses herself against the wall, motioning for Viktor to walk in through the gap.

He had been hoping for her to vacate the doorway entirely, but the way she clings to the wall and sucks in all her vital organs does at least give him enough room to squeeze past her and into the dorm. From what he can see, it seems to be the same layout as his own room but in reverse, the small kitchenette is off to the left and there's a rickety looking wooden divider separating the small alcove where her bed is from the rest of the dorm. Viktor hears the door lock behind him and she darts out and around him, standing expectantly in the middle of the room with her hands clasped in front of her. She is especially nervous now, it's all over her face.

"Do, um-" her face pinches, it's as if she is trying to remember exactly what she has been taught to say when she has a guest over, "Do you want something to drink? I only have tea, unfortunately, coffee makes me nauseous."

"Tea would be fine." Viktor says, eyeing the large collection of dried flowers in various cups and vases throughout the room, "you don't keep any living plants?"

She blinks, "Um, no I don't. I always over water them and kill them."

Not forgetful, then. Viktor muses, just overly doting.

"I'll go brew the tea, then." She says quickly, "Take a seat on the sofa if you want, oh! and leave your clothes that need altering on the armchair, I'll get to them in a moment."

Viktor nods and watches as she darts her way over to the kitchenette and starts heating some water on the stove. She's still in her uniform, he can only assume that she was so busy tidying that she didn't have any time to change. He finds the armchair sitting by the radiator and removes the clothes from his bag, folding them over the armrest. Now that he is standing so close to it, he realises that there is no heat at all emanating from the radiator, the room is at least marginally warmer than outside, warm enough that he didn't notice anything was wrong at first. He peers over his shoulder, she is in the middle of reaching for a pair of matching teacups from the top shelf, he decides not to bother her. Instead he rests his cane against the armchair and crouches down, careful with the weight distribution on his right leg. It still hurts enough for him to wince involuntarily, but it could be far worse. He turns the valve carefully and finds no resistance.

"Are you having problems with your radiator?" He asks

He hears her squeak from across the room, followed by quick footsteps and the sound of her putting a jar of sugar down on the coffee table, "Yes, I'm sorry. Are you cold? I have blankets."

"No. No I am okay for the moment." He turns to look at her over his shoulder, her cheeks flush involuntarily at the attention, "How long have you been experiencing these issues?"

"Since it started getting cold this year, it hasn't been much of a problem until now because it hasn't been too chilly." She shrugs, "I just, I don't know, I didn't want to make a big deal out of it."

"Have you noticed anything strange when you try to turn it on?"

"Um, it sometimes makes sounds? Creaking or hissing. I was worried I might break it so I've mostly taken to leaving it off."

"Aha. You must have air in the pipes." He stands from the ground, "I can fix it."

"W-Wait! You don't-" She sputters, chasing after him as he heads over to her kitchen

"Your boiler should be in the bottom of the pantry, if your dorm is the same as mine." He says quickly, deciding that it's best to cut her polite refusal off at the root instead of entertaining it, "I'll need to turn it off for a moment"

She stares at him open mouthed for a moment, but then seems to decide pushing back isn't worth it and follows after him, dithering over his shoulder as he crouches down, using the second to last shelf in the pantry for balance and turning off the gas. His heart races when he realises that she is leaning in so close to him that he can feel her hair brushing against the side of his neck.

"Can I help somehow?" She asks quietly, he can feel her breath in his ear.

Viktor swallows, clenches and un-clenches his hands, "Do you have a Flathead screwdriver?"

She shifts backward, and he suddenly feels like he can breathe again, "I have a fork that works in a pinch! Let me see if I can find it."

He peers over his shoulder and waits until he can see that she is busy digging through the drawers before pulling himself back to his feet. His leg complains, a little worse than the first time, but only marginally. He is glad she wasn't watching. As he steps towards her, she whips around with one of her enormous smiles, clutching a fork in her hand.

"This should do the trick, I had to tighten the towel rack in my bathroom and it worked a charm."

Viktor feels that urge again, the one in the base of his stomach that wants him to soften in the warmth of her gaze. The same urge that begged him to call her Myšičko last time they spoke despite the cloying affection behind the diminutive word, "Thank you." He says instead, taking the fork from her outstretched hand and walking back over to the radiator. Resting a hand on it, he finds it quite cool, it must have been that way for a long time based on when she says it stopped working, but turning off the boiler practically negates the possibility of him burning his hands. Working quickly, Viktor sticks the square end of the fork into the screw keeping the bleed valve sealed, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips when he realises just how perfectly the fork fits.

"Well you were not kidding about this fork working in- what was it you said? A pinch?"

He hears a laugh from somewhere behind him, the teapot on the stove must have finished boiling because when he looks backward he sees her pouring tea at the kitchen bench, "I told you!"

He exhales an amused breath, "So you did."

It only takes a few turns to loosen the bleed valve enough for air to begin escaping, just as he has expected. After a few seconds a thin stream of water spills down from the valve and Viktor quickly re-tightens the screw before any further water gets lost. Easy.

He stands from the floor with a wince, using the armrest of the chair for balance, "That should work now. Give it a few minutes and then we can turn the boiler back on." He grabs his cane and readjusts himself, turning to see that she is crossing the room with both cups of tea, gently resting them on the coffee table.

"I-" She starts, eyes darting around the room skittishly, "Thank you. I didn't mean to invite you over to fix things for me."

"No." Viktor says, unable to help the smile climbing up his cheeks as he rounds the coffee table and takes a seat on the sofa, crossing his right leg over his left, "In fact, I think you'll find I came around so you would fix something." He shrugs, "I suppose I was feeling generous."

Generous is too non-committal a term for how he is feeling. How he has been feeling all evening. Warm? Comfortable? Something in that realm. Something ill-advised and guaranteed to end in suffering, that's what the terrified voice in the back of his head says, the one that always hears alarm bells where there aren't any.

"Oh! Yes! I'm sorry!" She says in a near panic, darting over to the desk up against the wall and grabbing an embroidered sewing kit, "I was so busy with the tea and being a good host and- wait, you don't have anywhere to be do you?" and then faster, almost out of breath, "You can leave if you need to! I can drop everything off at your dorm tomorrow!"

Viktor leans forward and scoops several spoons of sugar into one of the teacups before grabbing it by the handle and sinking backward into the sofa. He takes a sip and suddenly finds that he doesn't feel like going anywhere at all, "No rush." He says, surprised to realise he means it, "I am all yours."

#bree writes occasionally #overlock stitch #viktor x reader #viktor/reader #arcane x reader #arcane/reader

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