Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Bar smelled like stale synth-liquor and perfume that couldn’t quite hide the sweat of too many bodies pressed into too small a space. Neon lights flickered above, glitching red and violet. Some slow synth-pop remix played in the background, all bass and breathy vocals.
V sat alone in a cracked leather booth, one boot up on the seat. In his hand, a tall, ridiculous cocktail that looked like someone melted a pride parade and poured it over ice. Tiny umbrella, sugar rim, even a glowing straw. Total joke and he just had to try it.
Was surprisingly tasty.

> “Gayer than you sleeping with men,” Johnny muttered from somewhere behind his eyeballs, voice dry like gunmetal. He looked bored.

V snorted quietly into his drink.
“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
Didn’t feel mad, not really. But something twisted in his chest when he remembered Viktor’s voice earlier. That low, careful tone. The kind he used when he didn’t want to disappoint, but was going to anyway.
“Gotta reschedule, V. Eye swap’ll have to wait. Got a full plate tonight.”
Viktor never flaked unless he had good reason. But still...
"Yeah, no problem, Doc," V had said. Tried to sound like it was nothing. Like he didn’t already have the optic in his pocket, just waiting for an hour upgrade.
Guess Viktor had other plans. Man had his own life, right? Still... stung more than it should’ve.
He took another sip. The drink almost too sweet. Like candy with a bad attitude.

A prickle ran across his neck. That unmistakable feeling—someone watching.

V let his eyes wander, casual. Booths full of corpo types pretending they weren’t, street punks chanting something, cute girls and boys flirting for drinks they wouldn’t pay for. And then there was him.
The guy.
Late twenties, maybe, clean-cut for Night City. Skin mostly untouched, no chrome flashing except some LED-threaded tattoos wrapping his wrists like woven bracelets. Pale blue light pulsing under the skin. Smooth. Intentional. Beautiful.

He was watching V. Not shy about it.
V didn’t look away. Just raised a brow slightly over the rim of his glass. A little smirk—not an invitation, but not a dismissal either. Just to say he saw him.
Guy took it as a green light.
Slid into the seat across from him like he belonged there. Ordered a synth-beer from the passing waitress. Then looked right at V and smiled, bright and stupid and unnaturally honest.
“Friends ditched me. You looked like better company anyway.”
V arched a brow. Sure. Why not.
“That right?”
“Yeah. You looked kinda lonely,” the guy said. “That a bad read?”
He reached casually for his drink when it arrived—hand brushing V’s fingers like it was an accident. It wasn’t.
“Name’s Kyle,” he added, still holding that smile like it might win him something.
V let his gaze drift over him. Soft edges. Pretty eyes, natural ones. Not fully his type, but close enough.
Most guys didn’t need much. And V? V didn’t ask for more than a few hours. Half an hour sometimes even. V didn't have much more to offer anyway.
“No chrome. That’s bold,” V muttered, nodding toward the LEDs. “Just bracelets?”
Kyle chuckled.
“Aesthetic choice. You like them?”
“I’ve seen worse. ”
Kyle leaned in slightly.
“You always this hard to read, or am I just off my game tonight?”
“You’re friendly,” V said. “Suspiciously friendly without giving your card. That’s not really Night City style.”
Kyle pouted. All right, he did look handsome, even if V didn't like pink hair that much.
“Maybe I’m just trying to make a connection. Unless…” He tilted his head. “Unless you don’t swing that way?”
That earned a soft laugh from V. He leaned back, drink halfway to his mouth.
“You make a habit of hitting on straight guys?”
Kyle shrugged.
“It happens sometimes. Life’s a risk, huh?”
“Yeah,” V said, smile crooked. “So’s waking up in someone else’s bathtub with your kidneys gone.”
Kyle laughed, a little too loud. The kind of laugh that said he was either new to this game and just too hopeful... Or very good actor.
They talked. Nothing that mattered. Kyle said he wanted to be famous—didn’t say for what exactly. V lied, said he was a courier with stuntman dreams. Said he had a gig lined up with a braindance producer next week.
Kyle believed him. Or pretended to.
Guy leaned in close, really close now. Started dropping more bold lines—stuff about energy, connection, fate. Said he’d seen V in a dream once, or someone just like him. Said V had kind eyes. He looks like a gentle soul.
V fought the urge to laugh. Gentle soul, huh?
He thought about the guy this morning—drugged punk with mantis blades screaming about demons, and the way V had cut him open mid-sentence. How the blood steamed on the alley floor.
Kind eyes sure. Let's go with it.
Kyle touched his hand again. This time, fingers lingering.
“So,” he said softly, “are you interested in man or... ?”
V looked at him for a long second. Let the silence stretch. The lights from the dancefloor flickered in Kyle’s eyes, soft purples and pinks. Outside, somewhere far off, a siren wailed.
He took another sip of his drink. Let the umbrella tilt sideways.
“Yeah,” V said. “Yeah, I’m gay.”
Kyle smiled, like that was the answer he’d been waiting for. He even exhaled like if he was waiting for the answer for weeks.
Johnny, still there in the corner of his mind, scoffed loud enough to echo.
> “Told you. Gayer than your f*ckin’ drink.”
V ignored him. For once, didn’t feel like answering back.
Here a lot of people were like that. Experimented or were at least more open. In Nomad lifestyle choices were... Scarce. Had to be lucky in the next stop to meet someone.

The bar buzzed around them, full of strangers and noise and the illusion of safety... So for now?
He let Kyle talk.
Let him touch.
Let him pretend they were just two guys meeting by chance in a city that didn’t eat people alive every night. Pretending they will date later. Pretending it will mean something.

Kyle’s fingers slid between his. Casual at first. Then firmer. Intertwined.

The guy wasn’t new to this, not by a longshot. The way he leaned in close, let his smile hang just long enough to feel charged. The way his thumb traced over V’s skin like he already knew the shape of his hand. Smooth, practiced. But not sleazy. That was the trick—he knew how to look sincere and innocent.
A quiet moment passed. Eyes on eyes. Music thumped in the background, slow and heavy like a pulse. Neon reflected off sticky glass and chrome limbs. Somewhere behind them, someone shouted, laughed, and then glass shattered. Business as usual.
Then came the ask. The inevitable invitation.
Kyle leaned in, lips brushing the edge of V’s jaw. His voice low, soft with suggestion.
“Bathroom stall. If you got a condom... I promise it’ll be a good time.”
Of course. V smiled. Just a twitch of his mouth, like the move was automatic. He liked it. He was wanted. Just the stupid game around it was tiresome but he learned a long time ago - it's always a game.
“I'd love it” he said.

For a second, just a flicker, something cold and thin crept through him. That wish. Stupid, soft wish that came out sometimes when he wasn’t looking—about meeting someone, actually meeting them. Someone who called him in the middle of the night just to talk. Someone who waited for him to come home. Someone who cared if he didn’t.
But yeah. That wasn't this. Never was.
He followed Kyle through the haze of bodies, back past the dancefloor and down a hallway lit by flickering red light. He Hever once left his hand, smiling brightly all the time.
Bathroom door groaned on hinges too old for this century.
Inside, it smelled like piss and synth-smoke. Cracked tiles, graffiti, old gum under the edge of the metal divider. A little sensor light flickered to life above them.
The stall was the last one—bigger, slightly less disgusting. Slightly.

Kyle was already pressing against him, with very eager hands. Kissing like a man with a mission. A little too breathy, a little too much lip. Theatrical gasps that didn't match the rhythm.
But V didn’t care. He kissed back, hands sliding beneath Kyle’s shirt, feeling bare skin, warm and smooth. No chrome surprises—no hidden ports, no implanted limbs. Flesh. Real.
And beneath all that urgency, the familiar thing: emptiness.
Not loneliness. That had weight.
This? Chemicals and instincts. Body heat and friction in a space that didn’t care.
Kyle gasped against his neck, fingers curling into the hem of V’s shirt.
“Top?” he asked, breathy and hopeful.
V murmured:
“Vers,” lips grazing skin. Biting the nape of the neck of the man.

It didn’t take long - Kyle lowered his pants, almost shyly, as of he haven't done it before. Hands on the dirty wall. V teased him a little, enjoying those moans, hugging him close to himself like if they were more than just one time lovers. Then came the condom, the wet slap of skin, and the distant bass of the club music. Quick, messy, forgettable.
And when it was over, Kyle leaned back against the stall wall, flushed and smiling like a man who’d seen god - not just left white stain on the tiles on the wall. He bit his lower lip, eyes still half lidded.
“Shit,” he whispered. “That was... kinda life-changing, V.”
V pulled up his pants, trying to catch his breath. He smiled, giving Kyle a little kiss on the nose.
“You say that to all the guys?”
Kyle chuckled, breath still hitching.
“No. Really. You’re different.”
Of course he was.
Then Kyle asked V to lend him his phone for a moment - glowing screen smeared with fingerprints.
“Here,” he said, still panting slightly, giving it back after a moment . “I wanna see you again.”
V smiled at him but... It didn't matter.
He was almost sure it was a burner anyway. Same plastic feel, same fake smile, same pitch. Always ended the same. But they spent another few minutes tangled together, sharing breath and body heat, as if those kisses meant something.

He left a moment after Kyle, cleaning his hands, wiping on a paper towel that basically disintegrated in his fingers.
Outside, the air bit with ozone and exhaust. V lit a cigarette without thinking. Johnny didn’t show. For once, maybe even he figured there wasn’t much to say. Or the guy wasn't his type. Johnny was very eager to comment on... Lukas? Names were blurring together.

He pulled out his own phone. Typed the number Kyle gave him. Waited.
Number not in service.
V smiled around the cigarette, smoke curling up past one eye. Just a little smirk, wry and tired. Why he even expected something?
“Yeah,” he muttered. “Of course.”
He turned, started walking back toward the alley where his bike was parked. Pebbles would be waiting. Or at least hungry enough to scream like he was. Like shaven sack of meat V loved with all his heart.

The night was warm. The streetlamps buzzed. And somewhere inside him, something small and quiet whispered:
You weren’t expecting more, anyway. So why are you sad?

V’s apartment door hissed open, that familiar electric click echoing through the darkened room. Coughing just a, little, needing a small kick now and then. No meow. No immediate clattering of claws on the floor. But the cat feeder in the corner was two portions lighter. So the lil stinker was here during the day.
“Pebbles?” V called out, kicking his boots off one at a time. “You still alive or finally evolved into a gremlin?”
No answer.
Figures. It's not a dog.
He didn’t turn the lights on—just let the glow from the skyline filter in through the grimy window. Misty said he really needs to finally clean it.
Aaah... Another night full of ads flashing promises no one believed in anymore. A thousand neon lies beaming down into thousands of tiny apartments just like his.
V hit the shower, cranked it hot.
Let the water run too long over his face before actually washing anything off.
Nomads were supposed to be a family. Supposed to have each other’s backs, right?
His half-brother’s words rang louder in the small shower than they ever did out on the highway:
Too hot-headed, too short-sighted… wrong all the time. Doing before he thinks. And sleeping with man.
Like it was V’s fault he didn’t turn out right for them. Like who he loved made him defective.
“In the twenty-first fucking century,” he muttered under his breath, fingers scrubbing through soaked hair that had already started fading to blue at the roots. He’d need to change the color again soon.
He'd never say it out loud. Just to him. Only to him. Because Matteo knew it will sting. And others just waved it as teens being teens.

And yeah, out here? No one gave a damn who you fucked. But that also meant… no one gave a damn. Period.
Nothing deeper. Nothing lasting.
Just hands in a bathroom and then another burner number that led to nowhere. Cum and be happy you got it for free.
V turned the water off.
Toweled off slowly. Sat on the closed toilet lid for a long second, dripping, staring at the floor.

By the time he walked out, steam trailing behind him, he saw the lump.
Pebbles. Center of the room. Smug as a corpo.
Laid out across V’s jacket like he’d been there all night, purring like an old engine that needed recalibrating.
“Oh sure,” V muttered, crouching to scratch the cat’s naked belly. “Don’t greet me at the door, don’t meow, but steal my jacket like it’s your throne. You’re lucky you pee where you're supposed to.”
Pebbles blinked slowly and purred louder, stretching one hairless leg out like he was showing off.
“At least you’re a good roommate. But still, getting things out of my closet? Bad kitty! ,” V said chuckling, not really mad.
Still in his towel, V grabbed his phone and checked it. He thought he got pinged but ignored it.
One missed video call.

VIKTOR VECTOR
[15 min ago]
Video message: 00:41

V’s brow lifted as he tapped play. Screen lit up with Vik’s face. His jaw was smudged with blood—someone else’s, probably—and a smear of something oily crossed one cheek. Even half-covered in someone’s viscera, he looked solid. Familiar. Reliable.

“Hey, V,” Viktor said. Voice low, a little tired. “Sorry I had to push back. Had a bleeder on the table, couldn’t get away. You’re the only one I trust not to give me shit for rescheduling, but still—sorry, alright?” He paused, scratched behind his ear with a clean knuckle. “Call me when you’re free, all right kid?”
V stared at the frozen frame. Vik looking right into the camera, brows slightly furrowed. Real apology. No guilt trip. Just… being a good guy.
“Good old Viktor,” V murmured, leaning back onto the edge of the table. “Knows all the big words. Please. Sorry. Discount plans.”
It wasn’t just now, either. It was always. The quiet way Vik made sure he didn’t go hungry. Said he owed less than he really did. Gave him time when he had nothing to give back but promises and bruises. Gave some money to threads. Bought food few times.
Back when he was scraping enough eddies for kibble, couch-surfing at Mama Welles' place when Jackie was still there...

V watched the video again. Paused it on Vik’s face. Tilted his head as of studying a picture in museum. Or pretending to understand it.
Big frame, sure. Ex-boxer build. Thick forearms, broad chest. V remembered catching glimpses of his workouts with Jackie—those slow, heavy punches, solid footwork.
And no chrome. Not on him. Not even a damn neural port. And cool tattoo.
V smirked.
“Maybe that’s what ripperdoc means, huh?” he said out loud to Pebbles, who yawned in response. “Doc who is ridiculously ripped.”

He was mid-eye roll when the phone buzzed in his hand.

Incoming Call – VIKTOR

V’s heart jumped like he got caught doing something illegal. His thumb fumbled on the accept button.
“Yo,” V said, instantly smoothing the nerves out of his voice. “Sorry, didn’t see you called earlier. Was showering.”
Viktor’s face filled the screen again. He raised a brow.
“Uh-huh. Long shower.”
V glanced down, realized he was still shirtless. Pulled phone's camera a little higher.
“What, you keeping time on me now?”
“Just surprised. Usually you’re outta the bathroom in, what, ninety seconds? I could wait another minute for you to get dressed, you know? .”
V snorted.
“Was trying to make a lil show for you. Thought I’d show some skin. You like?”
Viktor chuckled.
“Seen it all already, remember? I installed half of it.”
“Yeah, but now it’s moist and lit with mood lighting.”
Another chuckle. That low rumble in Vik’s voice that always made V feel strangely... grounded.
“Flirty as always, V. I uh... Just wanted to check in,” Viktor said, tone softening. “Didn’t want you to think I bailed on you.”
“Nah, it’s fine,” V said. Shrugged like it didn’t matter. “Besides, we’re meeting up tomorrow anyway. Misty’s Takeout Wednesday. Noodles and vague existential dread. Provably something cosmic too.”
Viktor blinked, then groaned.
“Shit. I forgot.”
“You’re lucky you got Misty in your life, choom,” V said, pointing at the screen. “Otherwise you’d forget to eat. You ever leave that damn clinic? Do you remember how daylight looks like? ”
Viktor gave a tired grin, waved his hand.
“You know how it is. Work piles up.”
“Still. Come for the food, stay for Misty’s tarot and my absolutely dazzling personality.”
There it was again—that laugh. Small, real. Saying the joke was poor but still it mattered. It made something weird happen in V’s chest. Like his ribs pinched too tight for half a second.
“Yeah, yeah, it’s a date,” Viktor said.
V blinked. Stumbled a beat.
A date? He laughed, quick. Played it off. It's just an expression, he realised.
“Date with destiny, you mean. Misty said recently something is in your cards. Death so uh... Change if I remember that correctly?,”
Viktor’s smile lingered for a little more, then he yawned.
“Alright, sorry kid. Gotta crash. See you tomorrow, V.”
“Yeah,” V said, voice softer. “Sleep tight, Vik.”
Call ended.
V just sat there a moment, staring at the screen.
Pebbles leapt up beside him, curled into a ball without ceremony. Front paws still kneading. This guy was a killer when it came to rats, but recently it was the most affectionate little killer.
V looked down at him.
“What, you think that sounded like a date?”
Pebbles didn’t answer. Just purred and twitched one paw like it didn’t matter either way.
V smiled. Just a little.

The smell of incense hung thick in the Esoterica shop, something floral and bitter, like burnt lavender with an edge of citrus. A quiet hum played from Misty’s old speaker in the back—wind chimes, or maybe some ambient zen mix from the 2020s. A single candle flickered next to a cracked statue that collected too much of harmful energy.
V suspected Jackie broke it and never confessed.

They were sitting cross-legged on floor cushions around a low wooden table with uneven legs, bowls of steaming noodles between them. Mismatched chopsticks. The faint whirr of the fan overhead. Outside, Night City rumbled, but in here... time felt slower. Quieter.
V slurped a long noodle, savoring the salty spice...and pretended not to notice how close Viktor’s knee was to his.
Misty, sitting with her legs tucked to the side like always, smiled with that dreamy, too-knowing look.
“So... V,” she started, like it was casual. But V knew that tone. That oh-so-innocent voice. “You’ve been single for almost a year now, right?”
V raised a brow without looking up from his bowl.
“Mmm?”
“You know,” she went on, poking at her noodles, “since the breakup with... what was his name?”
V exhaled, chewing louder.
“No idea who you’re talking about, lifetime ago.”
Misty pressed on, undeterred.
“Anyway, I was just thinking… there’s this guy. Works with me at the wing. Assistant surgeon. His name’s Thomas. Handsome, kind, has a —”
“Mistyyyyy…” V said, already bracing. “Don’t.”
She blinked.
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t set me up. I’m not interested.”
“He’s really sweet! Been here a few times—he bought those blue quartz beads I had on sale. You liked those!”
“Misty.” V gave her a flat look. “I don't want a boyfriend.”
“You don't know him just yet.” Misty sighed, resting her chin in her hand while she leaned on the table. “I just think it would do you good. You’ve been… kinda somber lately.”
V didn’t say anything. Just kept eating, the chopsticks clacking softly against the bowl.
“Especially now I think you could use some company because… I mean.. ” She hesitated. Blushed slightly. Said too much of what she thought.
V slurped loudly—finished the sentence for her. “Because I might die soon?”
The words hung in the air. Then he smirked, flicking a nondecribed veggie into his mouth.
“It’s very sweet and well-meaning and cosmic of you, Misty. But love? Not real. Not for me, anyway.”
A small, awkward silence settled over the table like ash.
Then Viktor chuckled, low and warm.
“Well… give him a chance at least. I’ve seen the guy. Gotta say, he’s definitely your type.”
V froze, chopsticks mid-air.
“The hell do you know about my type?”
Misty giggled, already covering her mouth.
Viktor leaned back against the pillow, jabbing his chopsticks in the air with mock authority.
“Lean, tattooed, colorful short hair— relatively short, maybe just shorter than yours? And taller, always taller. Doctors, veterinarian, pharmacists...”
V scoffed them laughed a little, wiping his eyes.
“Okay, maybe I have a type. Hey, docs are cute,” V added. “Very romantic. All that life-saving aura. Fixing people up while I cut others open. Perfect poetic balance.”

> “Especially one ripperdoc, huh?”
Johnny’s voice slithered in suddenly, sharp and amused. V pictured him lounging across the tarot table, flicking Misty’s cards like a bored cat.
V choked now.
Not metaphorically—actually choked. Noodles caught in his throat. Eyes watering, sauce burning the inside of his sinuses.
“Shit,” V coughed. “Shitshitshit—”
Misty patted his back, gentle but firm.
“Breathe, V.”
“Some of it’s in my nose! I took spicy one! ”
“Good luck with that,” Viktor muttered, grinning behind his bowl. It was obvious he found it amusing. Like a child!
Misty passed him a napkin, looking too pleased. “Anyway.. . Thomas is single, you’re single... no pressure. We could all go as a group! Like a friendly hangout. No setup date.”
V wiped his face with the napkin, grateful for the hot sauce making his cheeks flush—less obvious than the creeping blush underneath.
Viktor had gone back to stabbing his noodles, like always. Never got the hang of chopsticks. Or maybe just didn’t want to. Still looked damn good doing it, muscles taut in his forearms, the old scar across his cheek catching the light like a mark carved by history.
V tried not to look.
But he was. And Vik smiled at something Misty said, mouth curved slightly at one side, easy and real.
V looked away immediately. Picked up his drink.
Viktor glanced up.
“You used to like meeting people. Remember that guy at... Lizzie’s, I think? You had him in your lap in, what, five minutes?”
“That was different,” V muttered.
“What changed?”
V shrugged, not meeting his eyes.
“Guess I got used to disappointment.”
Misty fell quiet.
V sighed, finally exhaling. She meant well after all.
“It’s fine. We can go. As a group.” He raised a finger. “But I’m not promising anything.”
Misty beamed like she’d just won a silent bet.
Viktor grinned, leaning back.
“No pressure.”
V looked down into his mostly empty bowl. Hot sauce still burning the inside of his mouth.
Shit.
Viktor was his friend. Had touched every part of his body professionally. Probably didn’t even notice half the things that V did notice about him. The way his voice dipped lower when he was tired. The little bald spot on the back of his head. The scar that ran across his chin and made him look like an old action movie hero.

V stirred the last few noodles around. Deliberately didn’t look up. Why he looks so much at Vik? He's not his type. Even if he weren't his friend already. You don't mess up good friendship.

BONUS (because I finally had time to made screenshots):

“Got your glasses, doc!”

“How old are you guys..?”

Chapter Text

It wasn’t a bar V knew. That in itself was kind of rare these days.
The place didn’t scream for attention. No pulsing holo-ads or chrome-lined booths. Just a half-lit sign that flickered something vaguely spiritual—BLUE AURA—and a paper lantern over the entrance, like someone dug up some old-world aesthetic and forgot it belonged to temples, not taprooms.

Inside, the lights were low, all blue haze and candle-flicker. Music played soft and slow—something instrumental, lots of synths and ambient hums that felt more like breathing than beats. Half the people in the place looked high as orbit, like they’d found inner peace by kissing a tree and merging with the mother code of this city.
V felt slightly overdressed and way too self-awareness.

> “Sweet mother of chrome, you better not order something with a fckin’ umbrella again,”* Johnny muttered. He manifested near the edge of the bar, half-transparent and leaning against a shelf of dusty liquor bottles like he owned the place. His aviators flashed under the low light.
“Yeah, yeah,” V said under his breath, sliding onto a stool. “Whiskey. Neat. Keep your circuits calm.”
The bartender didn’t even blink. V half expected they will serve only water and spirituality here.
Guy just poured. Either they were used to people talking to ghosts, or just too chill to care.
V sipped, eyes scanning the room without urgency.
In the corner booth, half-swallowed by shadows, sat a guy reading something on his slate. Tall. Clean face, strong jaw. Curly black hair falling across one brow. A floral tattoo curled around one hand, peeking up past the cuff of his shirt. V raised a brow slightly.
Handsome, he thought with small smile.
Johnny noticed.
> “Bingo,” Johnny said, pacing behind the bar now. “Tall. Dark. Broody. Definitely your type. Five minutes and he’ll be on his knees, begging for a taste. Come onnnn, let's do something! I'm bored! ”
V took another sip of his drink, unbothered.
“I’m not here for that.” he thought to Johnny.
> “The hell you mean, ‘not here for that’? You’re always placesfor that.”
“I’m meeting Misty. Some ‘mysterious date just for me.’ Her words, not mine.”
Johnny threw his arms up, laughing.
> “You did get lucky last week so you now think you're behind down to earth pleasures? ”
V smirked into his glass.
“See? I’m evolving. No need to think with my pants right now.”
> “Liar,” Johnny said, grinning. “I’m literally in your head. You can’t lie, I know what your dick think too, unfortunately.”
V groaned out loud, dragging a hand across his face.
Just then, the door creaked open.
Misty walked in with two people flanking her—one a tall woman in a pleated skirt and long converses, hair dyed dark blue, and the other a slim guy dressed like a holographic peacock. Shiny jacket, glitter on his collarbones, eyeliner sharper than most blades.
"Please, Misty, he's not my type! I know I'm not supposed to judge the book by the cover and all that but...!" V thought to himself, very ashamed for those thoughts.
Johnny cackled.
The guy from the corner booth. They sat with him. Misty greeted him. So there's one more person it seems.
Phew.

Misty caught V’s eye and waved him over, beaming.

“V! You’re early for once!”
“Had to beat the ghosts to the bar,” he muttered, sliding off the stool and walking toward them. Johnny faded out with a snort.
Misty took over introductions.
“This is Betty, she's nurse like me... and this is Norman—he’s in my wing, helps with psych evals. And this is Thomas“ she pointed to the dark haired guy in the booth sitting already, one that V was eyeing earlier “our new assistant surgeon. I'm glad we were able to find free time all at once.”
V nodded to each of them, keeping his smile in check. Misty didn’t call him “Vincent,” never had. Only a handful of people even knew the name.
She turned to the group.
“This is my friend V.”
“Mysterious,” Betty purred, offering her hand. Her bracelets clinked as she leaned in. “That a real name or just sexy branding?”
V shook her hand, cool and polite.
“Depends who’s asking.”
Norman laughed. Betty didn’t get the hint. She kept asking questions—what did he do, did he like it, was it dangerous—all with a sugary, performative interest. She probably was good looking, even V could appreciate it, but she was not subtle at all.
“Motorcycles?” she gasped when he mentioned a gig escape on his Kusanagi. “That’s so wild!”
V smiled, lips tight. “Sorry, sister. I don’t like girls.” But he didn’t say it. Just kept polite, answering her never ending questions while Misty talked with Norman.
V suspected she had friends, just never talked much. Always worried for him. For Viktor. For Jackie when he was still alive....
Thomas, meanwhile, had been quiet. Until:
“You said Kusanagi?” His eyes lit up like a jackpot. “You ride the CT-3X model?”
V blinked.
“Uhm... Yeah. Tuned it myself. Swapped the brake pads, swapped the limiter, chromed the side mounts.”
Thomas leaned in, eyes gleaming.
“You run lean or add the boosters?”
“Lean. Control's smoother.”
“Damn. I’ve been dreaming of one. But studies are draining the eddies outta me. And it's not ending anytime soon.”
Finally. A real conversation.
Thomas shifted across from V, no longer half-in the booth. Their talk flowed easily now—custom builds, weird gigs, close calls. Thomas shared how his job sometimes felt like science fiction horror: patients flatlining, then suddenly spasming back to life like corrupted bots. As if animated corpse.
V chuckled. Not understanding few technical words.
“So… zombies?”
Thomas laughed.
“More like malware. Once had a guy twitch so bad mid-stitch, I thought I’d lost my fingers.”
Under the table, their knees brushed. Soft contact. Not accidental.
V paused. Glanced at him.
Thomas looked back. Not cocky. Just curious. Testing the waters. Leaned in again, subtly, their knees touching again—this time for longer.
V didn’t pull away.
Still, a voice echoed in his head—not Johnny’s this time.
Just a quiet pulse of something warm and dangerous:
This isn’t Viktor.
V sighed inside. Not gonna ruin this because whatever "this" was... It was nice. Really.
That was the surprising part.
V sat a little sideways in the booth now, half-lounging, beer warm in his hand, and Thomas still across from him—closer now. They’d been talking long enough that the bar’s ambient glow shifted around them. Betty had gone quiet somewhere between Norman’s exit and Misty whispering something into her ear. V only caught the soft murmur—“No, just let them…”—before she nodded, adjusted her skirt, and excused herself.
Misty said they have morning shift. Thanked them for coming.
It left only them. Just V and Thomas in the half-empty booth, music soft and people few.
Thomas bought the next drink. Simple lager, no frills.
“You’re fun to talk to,” Thomas said. His fingers drummed the rim of his glass as they both almost finished their drink. “And since I don’t have surgery in the morning... two options.”
V raised an eyebrow.
“One, we part ways now, and maybe call when you’re not busy saving Night City or setting it on fire.”
V’s mouth twitched.
“Or two,” Thomas went on, “we go to my place. I’ve got cheaper drinks there. But no expectations,” he added quickly. “Really. I'm not trying to lure you or something. Only drink’s a promise.”
The way he said it—firm, with no pressure—was maybe what made V nod. That, and the heat from the drinks in his stomach, and that constant pull he pretended not to notice.
They walked. Just a few blocks.
City wasn’t too loud tonight. Just drizzle on the pavement and the occasional siren carving through the dark. Thomas told a story—one of his first times assisting in the ER. Patient’s cyberware glitched mid-surgery. Spasmed like he was waking up, even though he was deep under.
“Whole room jumped. One guy screamed and nearly dropped the scalpel.”
“Malfunction?” V asked, hands stuffed in his pockets, hood drawn up.
“Yup. Nerve loop fired wrong signal. Dude snored through the whole thing.”
V chuckled. He seemed proud of his work. Most people hate their jobs....
Thomas glanced at him sidelong. He smiled a little more flirty now.
“Misty said you were a friend. That’s the only reason I’m letting you in. Otherwise? Who knows you do look dangerous.”
“I still could be,” V said, giving him that crooked smirk.

Thomas’ place was clean, quiet. Too tidy. V immediately felt out of place as he stepped into the minimalist apartment, all muted greys and chrome fixtures. Nothing like the chaos he left behind with Pebbles knocking over half his laundry pile and sleeping on his jacket.
He dropped onto the couch while Thomas vanished into the kitchen.
“Beer or gin? No whisky, sorry. ”
“Beer,” V called. “Simple man, me.”
They clinked bottles. V got up to fiddle with the old radio near the window. He found a rock station—some old-school synth-metal remix that Johnny would’ve approved of, if he hadn’t vanished sometime near the bar.

The air shifted again. Lower. Closer. They joked a little. Thomas flopped down beside him, a little drunk now, but watching him like he’d already started undressing him with his eyes. V raised his eyebrows and Thomas blushed.
“I’ll behave,” he said, smiling. “Swear.”
“Sure,” V muttered.
“But,” Thomas added in a low whisper, voice playful now, “you are strong, so maybe you should push me away. Because I might do something very bad.”
V looked at him. Blinked.
Then shoved him. Not hard—but enough. Thomas fell back onto the couch with a laugh, legs splayed, grin wide.
“Was hoping for that,” he murmured, breath catching as V leaned over him. “Just a tad, sorry.”
“You know how you look, don't give me this cute smile! ” V chuckled then kissed him, moving dark curls to the side, and Thomas eagerly responded. Pushing hips a little higher. Letting V unbutton his shirt. Gasping when V's hand teased his chest, then allowing V to suck on his nipples. He whimpered, trying not to moan.
Thomas' hand slid to the drawer beside the couch. He tapped it.
“Condoms are in here. V…”
He didn’t finish the sentence and V was already half undressed. Standing next to him, slowly removing his shorts. Thomas bit his lip while he moved to the floor. First removing his trousers, then lying down on the carpet. Shy a little, legs trembling slightly.
V looked at him, whispered compliments. He even meant them - because man was not bad looking and he enjoyed brushing his hand through Thomas' locks.
Some lube. Some preparations. Man's dark skin glistened while he squirmed under V, pulling him closer with his legs and arms as they kissed.
Both panting, skin slick from sweat and heat. V’s back pressed against the fuzzy carpet. Thomas was above him now, trailing kisses down his neck. And it felt good. His body reacted exactly how it was supposed to.
He gave into the sensation fully.
Thomas moved with purpose, riding him with rhythm, with enough gentleness to make it more than a fuck and enough pressure to keep it from feeling empty. And V wanted—wanted—to be present. To enjoy it. Looking at expressions Thomas made. Touching his cock in synch with his movements.
But—
Somewhere under the pleasure, in the cracks between breathless moans and shifting limbs, a thought slithered in.
Viktor.
Why fucking now?
He pushed it away. Focused instead on the way his fingers dug into lover's hips. How Thomas leaned over him. How he gasped when V started pushing into him, as if to remind he just haven't had him fully inside. The heat of breath against his jaw. The taste of beer and sweat and something sweet on his tongue.
This isn’t Viktor.
Didn’t matter. Didn’t mean anything. It was just skin and noise and the usual kind of comfort V had grown used to.
They finished with the carpet crumpled near the wall, breathless and tangled.
V lay there, staring up at the ceiling, heartbeat slowing. The quiet crept in. He didn’t know if it was guilt or just that emptiness that always followed pleasure.
Thomas sat up slowly. Pulled the blanket off the couch and covered them both in a lazy gesture.
Then, quietly:
“You don’t have to go. I mean, if you want to... that’s fine. I’m not weird about it. But I like... you know. Sleeping with someone. Like, actual sleeping. Cuddling. It’s nice.”
V sighed but he was not angry.
He looked at him, and smiled. Just a little. Tired and real.
“Sure. I’d like to stay.”

They showered together. No more teasing. Just warm water, a few quiet words, hands not lingering too long. A little laugh. Bad joke about dropping soap.
Then bed. Thomas curled behind him, arms light around his waist. V stared at the wall in the dark. It was... Something more. Sex with a promise of tomorrow. But damn, something was missing and V was angry at himself. What more he wants? Why he can't be happy for those weeks or months he has left?

V woke up to the low murmur of the news. Some anchor talking about another corpo scandal, background music bleeding into the hum of city traffic outside. The smell of leftover beer and synthetic pine cleaning fluid hit first.
Then Thomas’ voice. He sat on the bed for a moment, gently shaking V's arm.
“Didn’t want to wake you, but—afternoon’s already creeping in.”
V blinked awake, groggy. The light pouring through the windows hit too hard. Thomas was already half-dressed, packing his satchel with the kind of precision you’d expect from a guy who worked with scalpels and cardiac monitors. His white shirt was neatly ironed, tucked halfway in.
He looked over his shoulder with a soft smile.
“It’s okay, really,” Thomas said, voice low and friendly. “If it’s a one-time thing. Was still cool. Very nice, even. Not a total disaster.”
V huffed.
“Not how I remember it. I’m pretty sure it was your fault. You wore me down.”
Thomas laughed, zipped the bag.
“I’ll take the blame. I’m good like that.”
He paused, then added, a little more carefully, “Still… you’ve got my number. Just in case you ever feel like doing something again. Or not doing anything. I don’t mind just talking.”
V sat up, the blanket falling to his waist. His hair was a mess so he just smoothed them with his hand. He nodded, grabbed his shirt from the floor.
They left the building together, steps echoing on the stairs. At the outer door, no kiss, no promise or lies. Just a smile, quiet and genuine, and a simple “Take care.”

V walked away, hands deep in his jacket pockets. Sun filtering through smog clouds.
It looked like what he always said he wanted. Low-key. Simple. No strings. Just two people enjoying each other for a night, but there was something more than just sex.
And still...
His gut twisted with something that didn’t have a name. Should’ve been enough. Why isn’t it?
Johnny appeared half-reclined on a public bench ahead, arms behind his head like he’d been waiting hours.
“You got everything you wanted,” he said, raising an eyebrow. “Nice guy, decent lay, smarter than you and smells better than you.”
V didn’t answer. Just lit a cigarette, dragging slow.
Johnny tilted his head.
“Still not it, huh?”
“Don’t start.”
“Oh, I won’t. But you’re already chewing yourself up inside.” Johnny smirked. “Wanna know why?”
“No.”
“It’s that old ripperdoc.”
V groaned.
“Nah.”
“Uh-huh. Except—he’s here.”
And just like that, as if summoned by guilt or fate or Johnny’s uncanny timing, Viktor stepped out onto the sidewalk ahead. He was crossing the street, carrying something under his arm—a decently sized package, wrapped in grey tape and sealed with strip tags. Probably parts. He looked very happy.
V instinctively waved, smiling before his brain caught up. Instant regret.
Viktor spotted him mid-crosswalk, raising his head for a moment in recognition. His gaze flicked downward, narrowing slightly.
Shit.
The cigarette.
V knew Viktor didn’t like smoking. Had told him, once, over takeout and beers, that he’d quit after the fifth close call with coughing blood.
Johnny muttered beside him, voice low.
“Yeah. Don’t like this guy at all.”
V stubbed the cigarette half out, coughed twice—more from nerves than the smoke—and Viktor raised a brow as he approached.
“Exactly why I quit,” Viktor said, glancing at the still-smoking butt. “I like my throat.”
V grinned, trying too hard.
“Yeah? I know a pretty good ripperdoc if you ever need new vocal cords.”
Viktor gave him a slow, sideways look.
“Do you now?”
There was a pause. Just city sounds and the rustle of plastic from Viktor’s parcel.
“Clinic’s open,” Viktor said, nodding toward the parking bay. “You texted two days ago about your pneumatic tendons? Said something felt off.”
“Yeah. Thought they were... Uh, clicking too much? Like there's a lag” V nodded, grateful for the change in topic. “Didn’t think you had time.”
“Guy canceled. Thought I’d run a few errands, pick up spare parts,” Viktor gestured with the package. “Since I caught you... You want a ride?”
V hesitated a moment too long.
“You were working?” Viktor asked, already moving toward the car.
“Nah,” V replied quickly, following. “Just… met up with a friend nearby.”
The silence that followed was short but too sharp. No accusation, no probing. Viktor didn’t ask. V didn’t explain.
Still, as he slid into Viktor’s car, the interior smelled like old oil and leather. Clean, sterile, faintly warm. Familiar.
Why nervous? V thought. It was just Viktor. His friend. His anchor in a world always shifting under his boots.
But maybe that was the problem.

They walked the familiar route to Viktor’s clinic—quiet for the most part, the silence between them never awkward but just... there. The afternoon haze hung low over the city, filtering sun through layers of grime and neon dust. Ah, and the smell of old oil from nearby Burger place...

Inside the clinic, it smelled like old electronics and antiseptic—same as always. Viktor placed the package atop a stack of similar nondescript boxes near the workbench, peeling it open like a kid on Christmas morning.
"Finally," he muttered with a small grin. Inside was an old-school music player—some chrome-trimmed, rusted-edge relic from decades past, fitted with clunky buttons and a tape deck.
“Still collecting junk, Vik?” V teased, voice loose.
“Not junk,” Viktor replied, holding it up like it was a treasure. “They don’t make things like this anymore. Analog. Warm. Imperfect.” He glanced over. “Like me.”
V laughed, but it came out a little too tense.
Viktor turned and nodded at the chair.
“Hop on. You know the drill, right?”
V nodded and plugged in, jacking his neural link into the diagnostics port. The chair hummed to life beneath him. He kicked off his boots, then—automatically, habitually—reached for the belt of his jeans. Started to slide them down.
And suddenly… paused.
He’d done this a hundred times before. Viktor had seen everything—scars, bruises, cyberware half-installed. Once, even had to open him up fully below the waist when a connector misfired and fried some muscle fiber. No modesty, not between them. He saw more of V than any guy V slept with!
Still, V hesitated.
Fingers stilled at the waistband. A dry swallow caught in his throat.
“All okay, kid?” Viktor asked without looking up, glancing at the monitor. “Your pressure just spiked.”
V barked out a short laugh, trying to mask it. “Johnny’s saying dumb shit again.”
In the corner of his vision, Johnny materialized, arms crossed, smirking like the devil who already won the bet.
“Don’t drag me into this, lover boy” Johnny said, mockingly defensive.
V groaned.
“Priceless” Johnny echoed, flicking invisible ash off his phantom cigarette. “—anytime Vik calls you kid, you wanna moan out Daddy. Not my fault you’re the one with a wiring issue.”
V muttered a curse under his breath.
Shaking his head, V finally slid the jeans down and tossed them onto a nearby chair. He was left in his briefs, but the embarrassment still lingered. Viktor rolled his stool forward, sitting between V’s legs, already absorbed in the glowing diagnostics above. He didn’t seem to notice anything was off.
But V noticed everything and more.
The soft profile of Vik’s face in the dim blue light. His nose had definitely been broken once. Maybe twice. He never had it fixed properly , never touched up his face like most in Night City did. Even V had paid for minor vanity mods. No stubble, ever. Always smooth chin, synthetic dermis blending perfectly into his neckline.
But Viktor? All natural. No synthetic dermal patches, no chromed jawlines. No fake irises or luminous pupils. The only visible upgrade was the stabilizer on his wrist, not even bolted into the skin—his precision gear he wore when working on people’s insides.
“No arm ever steadier than mine,” he used to say.

“Spread your legs for me, eh?,” Viktor said casually, voice neutral, focused on his tools.
V blushed instantly. His cheeks clashed horribly with the shade of teal-blue he’d dyed his hair recently .
Viktor gave him a puzzled glance but said nothing, just waiting. V obeyed. Finally.
“Lay back,” Viktor instructed. “Local anesthetic first.”
A soft hiss followed as the cool mist numbed the area near V’s groin. Viktor leaned closer, fingers brushing skin, tools clicking softly as he opened skin to get to mechanical parts. Precise. Surgical.
And so close.
A second later, Viktor’s fingers skimmed along the inside of his thigh, inspecting the cabling. The motion froze. Just slightly.
“You, uh…” Viktor cleared his throat “Your ‘friend’ left some bite marks.”
V stared at the ceiling. Ah shit. He forgot. Somehow it was suddenly embarrassing. V came to gloat to Viktor from time to time if he had a very good one night stand!
“Yeah. Night was… fine.”
“Fine?” Viktor repeated, amused, as his fingers were touching V's thigh.
“He was... nice,” V mumbled, trying to sound casual.
“Only nice?”
V scratched the back of his neck.
“Dark hair, not colored this time. The-the Misty’s friend. Good guy.”
Johnny was now stretched out across Viktor’s desk like a bored housecat, inspecting doc's medals lined on the wall.
“Not him, though, huh? Not our good ol’ ripperdoc with chest that could rip a shirt! .”
V didn’t react. Didn’t want to. But his spine stiffened slightly.
Viktor didn’t push. He never did. Never asked too much. It was comforting. And yet… part of V wished he would ask more. That he’d want to know.
Instead, Viktor adjusted a display and clicked his tongue.
“Yeah, okay. Looks like a minor misalignment,” he said. “Nothing dangerous, but I’ll need to swap the connector, it's easier this way. Good thing I grabbed spares today.”
“Lucky me,” V muttered.
V clamped a hand over his eyes.
He’d had dozens of procedures. Opened up, modded. But this felt… different. Like something he shouldn’t be doing. Not here. Not now. Or maybe… not with Thomas’s bite marks still on his skin.
Johnny, of course, was loving it. V FELT how Johnny was laughing even more than hearing it.
“Oh man. You are so screwed up. Got one guy's mouth on you yesterday.. . And all you can think about is calling this one ‘Daddy’.”
V nearly choked.
“Hold still,” Viktor said without looking up.
“Trying,” V croaked.
Viktor replaced the connector cleanly, efficiently. Sutured the incision, sealed it with quickfoam. Just like always. Just a repair job. But V’s heart was thudding like he’d just come back from a firefight. He felt Vik's hand brushing over his penis and he wanted to think about maggots, death and lawyers just so he won't get hard.
When Viktor finally stood and peeled off his gloves, V was already scrambling to sit up and searching for his pants.
“Pressure’s still a little high,” Viktor said, eyeing the screen.
“Just the anesthesia or something,” V lied.
Viktor just glanced at the screen again, then at V’s leg. Satisfied, he straightened up with a tired grunt, pulling his arm brace off.
“Alright. You sit still for a while, hear me? Not joking this time. Proto-skin graft needs another fifteen minutes to settle before the nanoseal fully bonds. Otherwise it will wrinkle and you will come to me crying it's ugly. And I swear, V—just once—can you not treat post-op care like it’s optional?”
V raised both hands in mock surrender.
“You got it, Doc. No acrobatics. But I’m gonna need pants if you want me to just sit here and not scandalize your other patients.”
“There are no other patients,” Viktor muttered, already turning to the side tray, collecting his tools, sterilizing them one by one. “But fine. Pants.”
V pointed lazily with his chin at the nearby chair. For some reason turning to his cute persona. Why? He wasn't on date!
“They’re on the back. Can’t get ‘em if I can’t move, right? Help me, please? ”
Viktor rolled his eyes, amused despite himself. He grabbed the trousers, handed them over. “You’re lucky I don’t charge extra for attitude.”
V pulled them on gingerly, careful not to tug too hard around the surgical site. His movement slow, distracted. There was something else bothering him, crawling at the edge of his thoughts like a parasite he couldn't debug.
He glanced at Viktor, who was now cleaning off his instruments. Putting faulty connector into a metal, small bin. Focused. Efficient.
And that’s when the thought came.
He was married once. V remembered hearing that months ago. A woman. Someone Viktor never talked about much. That had to mean something, right? Maybe he's straight. That would make it easier. Cleaner. He could just let this weird fluttering shit inside him die quietly.
V looked at him. Still smiling delicately, like if he wanted to flirt his way out of the ticket.
“Gotta say, being a ripperdoc’s gotta be weird sometimes. You’re just doing a part swap, and suddenly—bam. Hand on dick contact. Just awful,” he added with a grin, trying to sound flippant, jokey.
Viktor didn’t even blink.
“Doesn’t bother me. Got the same hardware down there, after all.”
V tried again, still keeping the tone casual. “Yeah? So what, girls give you trouble? Or maybe you enjoy it when they’re the one lying on this chair?”
He stretched a little, just to test the new part—gently. Johnny appeared in the corner of the clinic, leaned up against the wall, arms crossed and sighing like he was watching a bad sitcom.
“You flirting or dying, V? 'Cause this is painful to watch.”
Viktor glanced up, his brow furrowed.
“Don’t stretch it yet,” he warned. “You just got sealed.”
Then he answered V’s question. Calm. Straightforward.
“Doesn’t really matter. Man, woman… honestly, even if I wasn’t bisexual, the moment someone’s in the chair, it’s not about that. It’s anatomy. Nothing more. Person is patient, not gender.”
V went still.
Bisexual.
He’s bi.
Fuck.
His brain short-circuited for a second.
Johnny grinned and cackled finally like it was long overdue. If he had lungs he would have troubles breathing.
Viktor caught the look on his face, and gave him a little smirk.
“Wait… what’s with that face?” he teased. “Worried about me tinkering with your precious parts? You want a different doc? One with glossy lips and.. Dunno, a chrome jawline?”
V chuckled—only it came out thin, barely there. His voice cracked just slightly.
“Nah. I’d rather have someone I trust. I mean, it’s a very valuable part. Would hate to have someone inexperienced slice the wrong wire.”
Viktor smiled at that, settling down beside him on the old swivel stool tucked into the corner. Not close enough to touch, but close enough to feel. His presence had some... Warmth.
V finally managed to button up his pants, his fingers still fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. He caught Viktor watching him. Not inspecting, not glancing—watching him with the kind of quiet intensity that made it hard to breathe.
“You okay?” Viktor asked softly. “You seem off. More than usual, I mean. You’ve been off since we met today.”
V scrambled for the mask. The grin. The voice. “Yeah, yeah. Just enjoy talking about my junk with my favorite ripperdoc. Nothing weird about that.”
Viktor laughed. The sound was warm, genuine—but he didn’t drop it.
“You know I’m here for you, right? Not just for maintenance. You don’t always have to be fine.”
And there it was. That crack. That slip. The smile fell off V’s face for just a second.
“I know. Thanks. It's just … it's nothing,” he said, quieter this time. “Nothing to fix.”
Viktor exhaled. Heavy. Not frustrated—just tired in the same way someone gets when they know this kind of pain too well.
“If it’s a heart problem, I can’t help. Trust me—I’m not the one to ask about how to love people. I’ve wrecked my relationships. Misty however… she’s got more empathy and social wisdom in her pinky than we both combined.”
There was silence for a beat. Then—
“But I’m still someone you can trust.”
V didn’t even think. The words escaped on instinct, honest and raw.
“I trust you completely, Vik.”
Viktor looked surprised for a moment—but not displeased. He smiled again, that crooked smile that made his laugh lines more visible, his face more human than almost anyone V had ever met in this chrome-and-hollowed-out city.
And V… just stared at him.
Shit.
Do I really… like him?
Johnny groaned from across the room, dragging both hands down his spectral face.
“YES, YOU STUPID ASSHOLE,” he bellowed, eyes rolling hard. “Took you this long? What’s next, you gonna write his name in glitter on your gun stock? Tattoo his name on your ass? Just tell him! ”
V didn't respond. Couldn't. He just looked at Viktor, heart pounding harder than it should after a simple tune-up.
He wasn’t bleeding. His leg wasn’t misfiring. Nothing was technically broken.
But something deep inside? Definitely not fine. Twisting his stomach.
Viktor sighed, rubbing the back of his neck, voice low and unassuming like always.
“Look… I suck at giving advice...”
V stayed quiet, watching him, unsure where this was going.
“But,” Viktor continued, “I can be a distraction. Pepe’s been trying to get me to watch a football match with him. Eight tonight. I’ve bailed on the last few, he’s gonna stop asking soon if I keep dodging him.”
He looked over, eyes narrowing in a playful challenge.
“Maybe you drop by?”
V didn’t hesitate.
“Yeah,” he nodded, shoving his hands into his pockets, trying to act nonchalant. “I’ll be there.”

He stepped outside the clinic, the dull glow of Night City humming under his skin like a second heartbeat. He walked to the curb, pinging his bike with a flick of his wrist, waiting for it to rumble up. Boots scraping on pavement.
But something tugged at him. A thought, slow and persistent.
When was the first time I saw Viktor as more than a friend?

Before the growl of the engine reached his ears, his mind pulled him somewhere else.

Jackie's ofrenda.

The air inside El Coyote Cojo had smelled like candle wax and marigolds, sorrow soaking into every grain of the wood walls. The ofrenda glowed with soft orange light, Jackie's smile frozen forever in an old photo frame—warm, alive, and completely gone.
V stood still for what felt like hours, a bottle of beer cradled loosely in his hand. The ache in his chest was different than anything he'd known. Not pain, not really. Something emptier.
Jackie had filled so much space in his life—fast, loud, loyal. Brother he always wanted to have, instead of this prick Matteo.
Jackie was... Always trying to shove V into some blind date, nudging him toward a “real romance.”
“You gotta find yourself someone, hermano,” Jackie used to say. “Misty makes life worth living, y’know? You need that. You deserve that.”
V had always brushed him off. Smiled, made a joke, promised “someday.” But now Jackie was ash, and “someday” felt like a cruel joke.
He glanced over and saw Viktor near the altar, standing quiet in his usual coat. He looked like a statue—weathered, tired, his suit strange costume. But his eyes… his eyes betrayed everything.
When it was Viktor’s turn to speak, his voice was steady, but his hands curled tight around boximg glove.
“Jackie… he was a good soul. Loud as hell, sure. But good. We didn’t share much in common—age, circles… But we shared laughs. And that was enough.”

Later that night, they sat together at the bar, two beers between them, the jukebox low and crackling.
“At my age, people don’t come and go anymore. They just… go, V.”
And fuck, that line hit hard.
V had meant to just sit in silence, but instead he found himself talking. About Jackie. About dumb stories. About the way the world looked emptier now.
Viktor listened. Said very little. But when he did speak, it was like smoothing balm over a raw wound. Gentle. Honest. He was hurt but not showing his feeling like V even. Certainly not like Jackie did.
V had wanted to hug him. So bad it ached. He didn’t. He just stared at his hands instead. But the feeling had been there, clear as chrome. Not just sadness.
It was want.
Not sexual. Not then. Something softer, deeper. An ache to take some of Viktor’s sadness and carry it himself.
To never see him that broken again. To never let this man be sad like that.

He missed the moment his ride was there
The engine purred as V threw a leg over his bike. The city stretched ahead, hazy and restless
Not the time. Not the place, back then - he reminded himself. Still, a small, dry laugh escaped his lips.
“One last setup, huh, Jackie?”
The thought sat warm and ridiculous in his chest. Set him up with Vik… at his own damn funeral.
“Could never read the room,” V muttered with a grin. “Would be just like you.”
He took the long way home.

The apartment was dim when he stepped in, the only light coming from the soft pulse of the aquanet filter on the ceiling and the glitchy LED over his TV.
Before he could pull blinds up—
“MRRAAAAW!”
The meowing nearly shook the walls.
“Pebbles,” V groaned, peeling off his jacket. “You ever considered not screaming your lungs out the second I’m late?”
The feeding machine was jammed—again. The third time this month. He knelt down, flipped the side panel open, tapped a loose wire back into place. The light blinked green, and dry food tumbled into the dish with a satisfying clatter.
Pebbles dove in, tail flicking. As if offended he had to wait this long.
V leaned against the counter, watching him. Then sighed.
“Hey…” he muttered, voice low. “You think I’m into him?”
Pebbles looked up with those yellow eyes. Paused. As if considering question on astral level. Let out one solid meow, sharp like a damn gunshot.
Then kept eating.
V rubbed his forehead.
“Right. Real helpful.”
Johnny appeared in the sofa, boot up on the table, arms folded behind his head.
“Jesus, you’re asking a shaven nutsack with whiskers for dating advice now?” Johnny drawled. “What’s next? Tarot cards?”
V rolled his eyes with a grin.
“Pebbles has more empathy than you do.”
Johnny pointed a finger.
“Maybe. But he’s not wrong.”
He tilted his head.
“Y’like the doc? Do something. Ask him out. Kiss him. Die awkwardly while trying to flirt—whatever. Just stop acting like every boner and blood pressure spike is my fault.”
That made V laugh. A real one. From the chest, not the mask. He let it fade into a quiet smile, staring at the city outside his window.
At least he got nice view here.

The ride to El Coyote was quieter than usual. No music blasting through, no call on his shard interrupting his thoughts.
A gig pinged just as he turned the corner onto the main stretch—good payout, decent risk. Smuggling a package across Pacifica. Easy creds. Normally, he would’ve accepted before the offer even finished decrypting.
But tonight?
He ignored it.
Tonight, he just wanted to sit beside Viktor, test the waters. Figure out if this gnawing feeling in his chest was just leftover grief or something deeper.
El Coyote Cojo was already buzzing by the time he pulled up. The neon sign buzzed slightly, casting its glow on the sidewalk. The scent of spiced meat, beer and warm wood filled the air—comforting, familiar.
As he walked in, Pepe spotted him and grinned.
“¡Ah! Mira quién se digna aparecer,” Pepe called, reaching behind the bar and popping open a bottle of V’s favorite beer before V even made it to the counter.
“You psychic now?” V smirked, sliding into the bar stool beside Viktor.
“Nah,” Pepe said. “You always drink this when you’re trying not to think.”
“That obvious, huh?”
“Just a little, had this frown when you entered.”
V took a swig, the chill and bitterness grounding him. On the screen overhead, a preem-tier football match was in full swing. Bright uniforms, fast cuts, and even faster fouls. He blinked, already lost.
“You know I don’t understand a damn thing about this sport, right?”
Pepe waved it off.
“Is not about understanding. Is about watching them trip each other like idiots.”
“Not that invested, huh?” V asked, eyebrow raised.
“He's lying” Viktor muttered, his voice low and amused.
Right on cue, someone scored. The bar erupted in cheers and groans. Pepe launched into a stream of curses in rapid-fire Spanish, clutching his head dramatically.
V chuckled, watching him. It all felt... normal. The kind of night you don’t think twice about. Just good drinks, stupid jokes, friends. But every time Viktor shifted next to him, and their legs brushed under the table, V’s thoughts spun out of control.
Does he notice? Is he doing it on purpose? Or is this just... me?
His phone buzzed in his pocket. He fished it out with one hand, trying to stay casual.
[Thomas]
> Hey! Motorcycle showcase this Friday at the Corpo plaza. Wanna go?
The text wasn’t even suggestive—just friendly. But still, V’s stomach twisted. He wasn't a dick to ghost the poor guy. Just said he'll know tomorrow for sure. Just to give himself time.
And then—of course—Viktor noticed.
“Who's that?” he asked, voice easy, but his eyes tracked the screen before V could flip it down.
V's brain stuttered. His tongue felt like metal.
“Uh… guy I met yesterday.”
Viktor raised an eyebrow, leaning a little closer. “Boyfriend?”
V laughed, awkwardly, and maybe too loudly. “No. Just… someone. Nothing serious.”
“Not just another quick night for Candy V, huh?”
V’s grin faltered.
He blinked at Viktor and whispered theatrically.
“You… know about that?”
Viktor’s expression softened, but didn’t shift into pity—just something gentler. Understanding.
“I patch you up. I see more than you think.” He shrugged. “Not judging. Not my business who you spend your nights with. Jackie came up with that, not me. ”
But somehow, it felt like judgment—only because V judged himself. For the first time, the long trail of one-nighters, the no-names, the easy hookups… It didn’t feel fun. It felt like he’d been trying to cover something up.
Like he was running from this exact moment.
“I dunno,” V said, swirling his beer in the bottle. “Thomas is... nice. Real nice. Looks great on paper, even suggest building something, y’know? But…”
He glanced sideways at Viktor.
“It’s not clicking. Feels like something’s missing.”
Viktor looked at him—really looked. His eyes locked on V’s face for a beat too long. Like he was searching for something. Or hiding something.
Then he gave a small, almost imperceptible nod. “You deserve someone good. Someone who makes you feel something. Misty says you deserve a good man, even if you never believe it.” He smirked again. “Maybe this Thomas guy’s worth a second shot.”
“Yeah. Maybe.”
Pepe, never one to let a lull go unfilled, slid back into the conversation just in time.
“If perfect guy doesn’t work for you,” he said, half-shouting over the crowd, “means you already got a crush on someone!”
V nearly inhaled his beer. He coughed violently, blinking and pounding his chest like he’d been hit by a car. Red like C24 red hair paint.
Pepe laughed hard.
“¡Ah, lo sabía!”
“I do not—”
“Oh, come on,” Pepe waved him off. “That face? That cough? Classic love-struck V.”
Viktor raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying the scene but trying to hide it behind his beer bottle. Trying not to laugh.
“Pepe, stop tormenting the guy.”
“No, no, look at him! He’s squirming! This is gold!”
“I’m not—” V tried again, but now both of them were leaning in, grinning like idiots.
“Tell us,” Pepe teased. “Pretty boy from the Afterlife? Corpo exec with shiny implants? That NCPD guy with the fake arm? He was a thing for awhile! ”
V’s cheeks flushed crimson.
Viktor tilted his head, mockingly solemn.
“Wait… do you have a thing for guys with fake body parts?”
“No!” V groaned, burying his face in his hands. “Can we not do this here?”
“You’re in love!” Pepe sang in a mock whisper, raising his beer. “Congratulations, chico. Next one on me. Hell, if you bring him here I'll give him a freebie too.”
Viktor laughed—an honest, rich laugh that made the corners of his eyes crinkle. And suddenly, the teasing didn’t sting anymore.
It just made everything harder to hide.
And suddenly... V saw it. Viktor's eyes. Under all that laughter he was.. Sad. Or did he imagine it?

Two Weeks Later
The job was supposed to be clean.
Just sedate the target. Bag him, tag him, put a little bow on it and leave for the team to collect the man. But when the guy in question was juiced up and wrapped in custom chrome like a walking tank, “clean” became a relative term.
Fucking psychos, V thought, ducking behind cover as a chunk of concrete exploded where his head had just been.
Another bullet whined past, then another. Jones had insisted this one could still be saved — signs of regret in his messages, erratic but non-lethal behavior. Non lethal so far . Maybe he could be studied, helped. V didn’t argue. He didn’t want to kill the guy either. A sap for happy endings.
That was the real bitch of it: under all the edge, all the bravado, he had a soft heart.
He tried not to let people see it. Tried to act cool, untouchable. But when someone was in pain, especially the kind no chrome could fix, it got to him. Every goddamn time.
It was more of inconvenience, really.
“Come on, choom,” he muttered to himself, vaulting over debris. “Don’t make me flatline you.”
The exosuit came at him again, heavy footfalls and a scream of pain turned rage. It took everything V had — quick hacks, two mags, and a bit of dumb luck — but he got the guy down. Breathing. Alive.
And V was smiling as he cuffed him.
Not because he won. Not even because Jones would be thrilled.
He smiled because he’d have to stop by Viktor’s clinic to get the bullet out of his shoulder. For now a hypo so it won't hurt so much.

He hadn't seen him in days. And every day without Vik felt like a dull, echoing space. Like forgetting to eat or leaving a song unfinished.
“Please don't try to be poetic ”Johnny groaned in his mind.
He called from the curb as he lit a cigarette with one good hand. Hiding it behind his back, though.
“Hey, got room for a bullet removal?”
Viktor’s sigh was almost immediate.
“Kid... again?”
“I dodged most of 'em.”
“That’s not comforting. You got chrome under that skin, not ...adamantium. Yeah, come by. I’ll stay later for you.”
V grinned despite the blood on his jacket. He looked at the screen long after the call ended.
He always did.

The next week was a blur. Runners, smugglers, tech scavengers, a corpo exec looking for a quiet place to bury secrets. V kept moving. Work kept coming. But under the adrenaline, under the wired focus... he kept checking his messages.
Sometimes it was just a comment from Viktor about an old boxing match. Sometimes a weird photo from Misty. A funny sticker. A "still alive?" ping at 3 a.m. after a newsflash about another firefight in Heywood.
Why does it feel like... home? V wondered, one night, sitting on his bed with Pebbles curled against his thigh. Just a text from Vik and the city goes quieter.
Alive.

Chapter Text

One night hit different.

The gig was bad from the start. Some corpo brat selling experimental implants on the black market, cutting corners, causing deaths. V was hired to extract a witness from one of the labs.
By the time he got there, the guy was already dying. No way to save him. And V knew it the second he looked into his eyes.
He still tried. Laughed with him waiting for trauma team.
He always tried....
He got paid, sure. But it didn’t sit right when they packed him in black bag. It felt like another small piece of his soul slipped out with the blood on that lab floor.
He didn’t even think when he called Viktor.
“Hey,” V muttered. “You busy?”
“…You sound like shit.”
“I’m fine. Just—"
“No, you’re not,” Viktor cut in. “Don’t argue. Come by. I’ve got drinks. On me this time. No excuses.”
“…You’re paying?”
“Even throwing in food if you admit you forgot to eat again.”
V winced.
“You forgot, didn’t you.”
“…Maybe.”
Viktor groaned.
“You’ll be the death of me, kid. Come.”

By the time V got to the clinic, the city lights were dimming into deep red and purple. Viktor was waiting, two bottles of rye on the table and a bag of takeout from the noodle shop down the street.
The food was still hot.
Viktor always thought ahead. Even when V didn’t.
They didn’t talk about the job. Not at first.
They talked news, then a little boxing, because V tries to make his name known. Tech followed. Viktor showed him an old data drive he salvaged, half-dead but still loaded with 2020s music files. V joked about how much worse taste had been back then, and Viktor protested — mock-offended — defending retro like it was sacred.
Eventually, the silence came. The one where V slumped back in his chair, drink half-empty, lids heavy.
“You wanna talk about it?” Viktor asked, voice soft.
V just shook his head.
“Just sit and be there for you. Got it, kid.”
They sat together for a while. Viktor didn't try to fill the silence. His presence was soothing.
Another drink followed. Another. No questions, no pushing.
“...We should go to a shooting range,” V said eventually, out of nowhere.
Viktor raised a brow.
“Since when do you want to do something recreational with me that doesn’t involve bleeding?”
“You said you weren’t bad with a gun.”
“I said I used to be decent. Big difference.”
“You chicken?” V teased, smirking.
“You’re drunk.”
“Only a little,” V grinned, holding his thumb and index finger apart. “Tiny bit.”
“You’re swaying.”
“I’m... charismatic. Can talk through being drunk.”
“You’re an idiot,” Viktor said, but his voice was fond.
V leaned his head back, feeling warmth in his chest that had nothing to do with the liquor. It was the way Viktor looked at him. The concern. The patience. The quiet that didn’t demand anything.
God, he wanted to reach out and touch his hand. Just... something. A sign he likes him.
But instead, he looked at him and whispered:
“Thanks for being here.”
Viktor blinked at him, caught off-guard.
“Always, kid,” he said finally, voice low. “I’m always here if you need me.”
And somehow, that made everything feel bearable again.

Finally V decided it's high time to go home. It was only the matter of time when Pebbles will learn how to open armory door.
Viktor, however, insisted:
“You’re not going anywhere like that. Blood on clothes, head half-drunk, and one eye’s already closing. You’ll crash at my place.”
He said it like a command, not a suggestion. It didn’t leave much room for V to protest — not that he really wanted to. The clinic was locked up for the night, and Viktor's apartment was just around the corner, walking distance even for someone half stumbling.
V barely made it inside before a shirt smacked him in the face.
“Here,” Viktor muttered. “Yours is more hole than fabric. That one’s clean. Wear it or freeze.”
V caught it lazily, pulling it down over his face with a grin.
“Ohh, smells like you,” he said, voice slurred with mischief. “Sexy. Hot. Little bit like... Uhm... Discipline and aftershave. That’s your brand?”
He pulled off his own shirt without hesitation, bruised muscles catching dim kitchen light. He pressed Viktor’s shirt to his nose, a low hum in his throat.
“Mmh. Free clothes always taste better when they smell like the guy I’m crushing on.”
Viktor gave him a look over his shoulder. A sigh.
“You’re really drunk tonight, huh?”
“Drunk enough to speak the truth. Not enough to forget it.” V blinked slowly, stepping toward him. “You promised a pillow and blanket.”
“I did. And I will. Pull out the couch and... .”
V crossed the space in two strides. He leaned on Viktor.
“I’m not sleeping unless you’re sleeping with me.”
And maybe that wasn’t planned — not really. But it felt inevitable. Like everything in his chest had led him here, to this moment, this impulse.
V’s hands were already reaching before he thought better. He pulled Viktor toward him, arms winding around his shoulders, mouth crashing against the older man’s. A kiss, hot and sudden, tongue searching, desperate. Hungry.
Viktor didn’t kiss back.
But... he didn’t pull away either.
His lips parted just enough to let V deepen the kiss, his hands still limp at his sides — frozen, like he didn’t know what to do with them.
When they finally parted, V was already breathing heavier. The world tilted and steadied at the same time.
“I have a crush,” V whispered, eyes locked on his. “A huge, gigantic, horrible crush on you.”
Viktor looked at him for a long moment. A small smile tugged at his lips. Soft. Sad.
“It’s fine,” he said eventually. “You’re drunk. You’ll wake up. It’ll be like none of this happened.”
V stepped closer.
“I’m not that drunk.”
“You sure?”
“I’ve never been more sure,” V said, catching Viktor’s hand and pressing it to his chest. “You wanted to know what’s been wrong with me lately? That’s it. You... You are what's wrong with me.”
He searched Viktor’s expression, desperate for anything — a crack, a glimmer. Hoping to see him smile and said he loves him.
“I’ve felt this way for a while,” he went on. “But I only realized it recently. And it’s hell. I trued to push it away. Because I feel something real, and you’re—” he swallowed, “—and you’re pretending it’s just the alcohol.”
Viktor pulled his hand back, gentle but firm.
“It’s not real, V. Not like this. You’re still young. It feels real, but—”
“Then say it.”
V’s voice cut sharp now.
“Say you’re not interested.”
Viktor hesitated.
“Say you don’t want me this way.”
The silence stretched.
“V. That’s enough,” Viktor muttered. “Just drop it.”
“I won’t drop it,” V pushed, stepping in closer again. “If you don't want it , say the words. ‘V, you’re great, but I don’t want this kind of thing with you.’ Easy. I'll back out. Promise. ”
Viktor closed his eyes like the weight of the words was physical.
“You’re insufferable,” he groaned.
V grinned — not smug, just softly persistent.
“So say it.”
He kicked off his boots slowly, deliberately. Then started unbuttoning his jeans, peeling them off and letting them fall to the floor with a soft thud of denim. He stepped toward Viktor again, bare thighs brushing his pants.
V took Viktor’s large hand — careful, calloused, surgeon’s hands — and guided it to the hardness under his briefs. Viktor didn’t move. Shocked? Definitely. But didn't move.
“Maybe you do want me,” V murmured, hips shifting so Viktor could feel the shape of his dick better, grinding slowly, feeling arousal. “All of me. No Candy V. Just me. Fully.”
Viktor looked down at their joined hands. His lips parted, breath shallow. His hand didn’t retreat. His eyes didn’t close.
“You’re letting your hormones get the best of you,” he murmured.
V shook his head, forehead brushing Viktor’s. “No. I’m letting you get to me. I wasn't able to enjoy guys because each time it wasn't you. I haven't had sex in... Well, awhile. ”
Another beat of stillness.
Then Viktor’s voice again — rougher, lower.
“No sex for awhile. That's why... You act like this.”
A breath. A shift.
“Then we’ll take care of it.”
And V barely had time to process what that meant before Viktor’s hand closed around his wrist and pulled him toward the bedroom, toward shadows and quiet and something that burned beneath the skin.
Viktor kisser him - a breath taking, hungry kiss, V had to tip toe a little to match his height. V wanted to protest for a moment but his body was already to excited to stop. Viktor pulled his shirt off, V was already on his knees, wanting to show him - not sure why - that he's amazing with his lips. Show him he's experienced and worthy of affection. A best he could have in bed so Vik wouldn't regret it. He unzipped Viktor's trousers, the moment he felt hand in his hair he purred. It was not like other guys. It was Vik. He felt dizzy, high on pheromones, as if he was a teen during his first time.
Circumcised. Nearly trimmed in this area. V gasped seeing the size. He started touching him. Looking up at Vik, wanting to see him loose it. V took him in his mouth. Viktor grunted and it was probably the sexiest sound V ever heard. When Vik grabbed his head, pushing his cock deeper, V was sure he'll loose it instead. Free hand found a way into his own shorts, playing with himself, smearing precum with his thumb.
V was sucking him eagerly, his tongue running around his cock. He moaned, feeling his own cock twitching, when Viktor's fingers tangled a little in his hair.
Waiting for Viktor to say V is great at this. Waiting for compliment... But those never came. Viktor grunted again, loudly, before grabbing him like if he weighted nothing and forcing him in the bed. V felt how he quickly removed his underwear. Vik was looking at him with fire in his eyes when he pulled V by his legs closer to him.
“So you're the silent type in bed,” V teased, panting already. No answer. Just a pillow under V's hips. Condom and lube, silently taken out from the drawer near bed.
“I figured you for a top,” V murmured, his hands delicately making patterns on Viktor's chest “I can live with that...,”
Vik tried to turn him... So V turned around, moaned loudly when he felt his body being invaded. Shit, this guy had a giant in his pants! Could use a little more prep time but... V arched his back, feeling like with each push Viktor's cock is deeper and deeper inside him.
He wasn't vocal. Not usually. But now the arousal was mixing with excitement, something he barely could contain. And the moment Viktor leaned closer when they swapped position? V didn't hesitate, pulling him into his arms, biting his neck, hands in his graying, black hair...

Later, much later, V lay half-curled in the sheets, Viktor’s scent all over his skin, still catching his breath. He’d screamed his name — once, maybe twice. Left long scratches on Viktor's back.

Viktor sat at the edge of the bed now, dressing slowly. Quiet.
“I... shouldn’t have done that,” he said softly, without looking back.
V propped himself up on one elbow, eyes still warm. Eager to tease but wanting to talk. To continue where they left.
“Was I bad?” he asked, grinning, trying to keep it light.
“No,” Viktor said quickly. “That’s not what I meant.”He stood, pulling on his shirt. “I just mean… you needed it. You’ll be fine tomorrow.”
“What if I don’t want to be fine? Hey, Vik, listen... ” V started but Viktor didn’t wait.
He crossed the room without looking back and shut the door behind him.
V sat alone in the quiet. The room still smelled like him. Like both of them. He used the cologne he could sniff any time he was in shopping mall. V usually smelled like citrus deodorant only.
And V... Suddenly didn’t know what that had been. If Viktor had wanted it or gave in? If it had meant something or he just had long dry spell and wanted to cum?

V's heart almost stopped when he looked at closed doors.
Or... if he’d just crossed a line that couldn’t be uncrossed.

V woke to... Homemade warmth.
The scent reached him first — not cat on his chest, not sheets that could use being cleaned already. This was... breakfast. Eggs... Coffee. Something crisp and sizzling. Bacon? Or maybe the synth version that Viktor always insisted was “almost” as good. V haven't got real eggs or bacon anyway since he moved here. Not sure if he knew the difference anymore.
Still foggy with sleep, V blinked and pushed himself upright, sheets tangled around his hips. He padded quietly to the doorway, rubbing a sore spot on his shoulder and catching a glimpse of Viktor in the kitchenette. Morning light slid across chrome fixtures and faded cabinets, glinting off the countertop. The news hummed quietly on the TV in the corner.
Viktor’s reflection flickered in the glass of a cabinet door — soft, contemplative. Still wearing a black T-shirt and sweats, he moved methodically, like a man who already made peace with the day.
V took a seat at the small table, deliberately choosing the angle where he could see Viktor’s expression best.
“What’s for breakfast?” he asked, voice rough with sleep but teasing.
Viktor didn’t turn around. “Eggs. Bacon. Or... the synthetic knockoff. I don't have real thing.” A pause. “And coffee.”
V smiled, folding his arms on the table.
“Well,” he said, “sex was exactly what I needed. All that dumb shit I said last night? Chalk it up to lust, right? God, I needed to cum! ”
He watched the words hit like a slap. Viktor’s shoulders stiffened. His hand paused mid-motion. His jaw tensed, lips pressing tight. Eyes closed for just a second too long — and when he turned to set a plate in front of V, his face was neutral. Overly so.
“I figured,” Viktor said quietly. “So it can go back to normal now?”
V didn’t move, didn’t even pick up the fork. Just grinned.
“Jesus, you’re a terrible liar.”
Viktor stilled mid-step. Squinting his eyes just a bit as always, when he was without glasses.
“I saw your face just now,” V continued, leaning on the table with that too-sharp smirk. “You wanted it to mean something.”
Viktor’s expression shifted instantly — wide-eyed, vulnerable for half a second before he sighed heavily and turned away.
“Not fair, tricking someone like that.”
“Wasn’t a trick.” V popped a bite of egg into his mouth, chewing with exaggerated delight. “You're salty but eggs? Gimme a shaker, huh? ”
Viktor didn’t laugh. Just sat opposite him, finally, and poked at his own food. Not meeting V’s gaze. Giving him the damn salt shaker.
V’s smirk faded slightly.
“I still have those feelings,” he said, quieter now. “I met that guy, Thomas awhile back. He was nice. Good looking. Polite. We hooked up once, and I tried,so fucking hard, to tell myself that was it — the real thing. But it wasn’t. Not even close.”
He looked at Viktor earnestly.
“But this? Last night? I felt... happy in your arms. I know it sounds cheesy, but it felt right. To be close.”
Viktor’s fork scraped the edge of his plate. He said nothing.
“Cards on the table,” V continued. “I’ve got feelings for you. Real ones. You’ve never been the one-night stand type. And... I think you know this meant something more.” He leaned forward slightly, hoping a little Viktor will hold it. “So... do you? Have feelings for me?”
Viktor finally looked at him — not with that guarded neutrality, but searching. Like he was trying to look past the words, into whatever truth might be hiding behind V’s eyes.
“You’re serious?”
V nodded, almost solemn.
“Dead serious. Sex was amazing — seriously amazing — but I want more. So much more. A-a-a date. Relationship. Cuddles. All... All that. ” He offered a half-smile. “Besides... You’ve never said ‘no’ when I asked. Not once.”
Viktor sighed, sitting back, expression softening. “I’d be lying if I said... nothing romantic ever came to mind. When Jackie brought you in, you were like this stray dog he was proud of. Loud, charming. Always talking. And talking to you was... easy.”
He chuckled quietly, rubbing the back of his neck.
“I figured it was just another thing Jackie tossed into my life without warning. Then I found out you were gay. For a moment I thought "maybe". Just a moment. Then I knew - that you were a player. ”
V reached across the table and put his hand over Viktor’s. Warm. Steady. He felt ashamed of his sex life. Felt like used up joy toy for a moment. Seeking thrills to be ACKNOWLEDGED. To be WANTED.
“Are you afraid I just want sex from you?” he asked gently, his ears burning. “Or is it the body count that appals you? You know... not the killing kind.”
Viktor gave a small laugh — dry, a little tired.
“Maybe I’m scared of being compared. You’re young. Good-looking. You could have anyone so only an idiot would think you didn't use this charm. Why would you want to settle with someone like me?”
V’s voice dropped, quiet and honest.
“I act like a joytoy sometimes, yeah. Because it’s easier. Quick, clean, forgettable. Kneeling in a bathroom? Easy. Compliments? I have rehearsed sets. Cum and go. But love?” He shrugged. “That’s harder. I’ve loved twice. Got left both times. Broken heart both times.”
Viktor’s hand turned under his, fingers brushing gently along V’s knuckles.
“There’s also the age,” he murmured. “V, I could be your father.”
V smiled warmly.
“But you’re not. You’re just... you. And that’s all that matters. I'm not even sure how old are you, doc. ”
Viktor didn’t pull his hand away.
V let out a slow breath, then leaned back slightly. “It’s okay. You don’t have to say anything yet. I know I can’t make someone fall for me.”
He looked up at Viktor with a soft grin. Hopeful.
“So... you take your time. If you ever do figure out what you want — whether it’s yes or no — I’ll be here. I won’t push. No is fine. Just tell it to me straight. ”
He paused, then added, almost a whisper. “Although... I really hope it’s a yes.”
Viktor looked down at their joined hands, the morning light warming the lines on his face. He didn’t smile. But he didn’t let go
And that was enough — for now.
“Great. So he's a pussy too. Not my type at all.” Johnny murmured, walking around room like a cat who wants to throw things from the shelves.

For now, V let it go, true to his word.
He wasn’t the type to wait around, not usually — but this was different. There was something soft in the air between them, something unsaid but alive, and it made V hum inside every time he remembered Viktor not saying no. Not pulling away. Not rejecting him.

He hadn’t ghosted Thomas either. Would’ve been easy, but that wasn’t V’s style. They met few times, each time like a friends. Thomas didn't push. But this meeting V just admitted :
“You’re great,” he said, scratching behind his ear. “Just... not it. Not the click. You know?” Thomas had smiled, a little disappointed but understanding. Good guy. Just not his guy.
And V was happy to hear he'd still be up for a movie night.

A few nights later, they were all gathered at Misty’s.

The light inside the shop was low and mood setting, incense curling like lazy snakes through the air. Misty perched on one of her velvet cushions, her knees folded elegantly as always, gazing down at a sleepy kitten half-curled inside an old planter. No one was sure how he made it inside her shop but was harmless so she let it stay
V was on the floor, one leg stretched out, one tucked under, a soda bottle half-empty next to him. Viktor, quiet and ever composed, leaned on a stool with a cup of black coffee balanced on his thigh.
Misty let out a dramatic sigh.
“I thought ‘Pebbles’ was cute,” she said. “Earthy. Soft.”
V snorted.
“It is very cute,” he said, then grinned. “It’s also ‘cause he looks like a ballsack. Balls. Rocks. Small rocks. Pebbles!”
Misty blinked. Viktor choked on his coffee.
V held up both hands innocently.
“I mean, come on! Little wrinkly beige skin, couple hairs sticking out—”
“Oh my god, V,” Misty groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Say something, Vik! Tell him he’s immature.”
Viktor, recovering from his near-spit-take, just chuckled softly.
“I’ve learned to pick my battles.”
Misty shot him a flat look.
“Coward.”
But then she tilted her head, her gaze shifting toward V, softer now. Studying.
“Something’s different,” she said.
V glanced up.
“Huh?”
“You’ve been... lighter, lately. Happier. Aura way brighter and warm... You’re smiling like you used to.” Her eyes flicked to Viktor. “And you—”
“No,” Viktor warned.
“—you don’t have your bald spot anymore.”
“Wait. You had a bald spot?” V asked. If course he saw it, just never really cared for it one way or another.
Viktor sighed, already regretting this conversation.
“It was noticeable.”
V, trying to sound tactful, stood and peered over him.
“Yeah, yeah, I see it now, you’re definitely more... hairy up top. Big changes here, doc.”
Viktor gestured toward V’s technicolor hair — now a green-purple ombre, messily swept to one side. Like if he was offended.
“Says the guy who changes his hair weekly! ”
Misty’s voice was quiet but sure.
“But you don’t change, Viktor. You’re the same guy, every day. So... maybe this means something?”
V, trying not to visibly hover, stayed by the chair, pretending to be uninterested. But he was listening very closely.
“Maybe you found someone,” Misty suggested, eyebrow raised.
Viktor gave a noncommittal shrug.
“Misty. Sweety. Barely leave the clinic. You read too much into things. Maybe I just thought... it was time to try something different.”
And V—he kept his face still, controlled—but inside, there was a flutter. A stupid, hopeful flutter. It didn't bother him how Vik's hair looked. Each imperfections dear to V. But the thought was already there.
Did you do it for me?
He tried not to grin. Tried not to care. But it was there. The stupid warmth.

He hoped.

After dinner, the city buzzed around them in warm neon as the two walked side by side. Viktor kept his hands in his pockets, shoulders relaxed. V matched his pace easily, nudging him few times with his elbow.
“I can’t believe I missed your new look,” V said with a smirk, glancing up. “But then again, you’re taller. Kinda hard to see the top of your head from down here.”
Viktor gave him a sidelong look.
“It’s really not that... dramatic change.”
“Sure,” V grinned. “Next you’ll be getting implants to match me.”
Viktor laughed.
“Only if they glow. Like this ridiculous strip you had on your chest when we met. ”
He steered the conversation smoothly toward boxing — a safe, familiar ground.
“Watched a couple of your amateur matches, kid ,” he said, like it was no big deal. “You’ve got good instincts. Not much brute force, but you’ve got speed. Fluid motion.”
V beamed.
“You watched my fights?”
Viktor shrugged.
“You mentioned it, so I... Wanted to check.”
“Speed over power, huh? I am pretty strong, though,” V said, flexing playfully. “Compact strength. Meanwhile, you’re... well.”
He almost said fucking hot and ripped, but caught himself in time.
“You’re definitely a couple of categories up,” he settled for. “Heavyweight, at least. I uh... I think? ”
Viktor raised an eyebrow, amused.
“That’s flattering.”
V rubbed the back of his neck.
“I barely know the terminology. Jackie used to explain it and I just nodded like I got it. I like sport in action! ”
Viktor didn’t tease. Just smiled.
“You’re good,” he said. “And more importantly — you’ve got heart. It shows. ”
V’s grin faded into something softer.
“Thanks,” he said. Quiet. Real. Each compliment from him was not empty.
The conversation meandered on — from fight styles to Heywood’s underground league, to Viktor’s ancient boxing matches on tape, to which brand of coffee gave the best post-workout buzz. It was natural. It was easy. It was everything V didn’t know he was hungry for — connection, built slow. Earned.

He looked over at Viktor, the buzz of the city behind him. Streetlight caught in the corners of his glasses, face marked by wear and time — but still, somehow, the most solid and magnetic thing in this whole damn city of chrome and smoke.
And for now, walking beside him, V could let the hope stay in his chest.

It was a little like first love, V thought to himself, pressed hard against the slick concrete wall, pulse thudding in his ears like bass from a bad club mix.
A quick scan of the alley showed two gangoons still prowling, chrome glinting under the pale blue haze of a flickering light strip. V ducked lower, the muzzle of his pistol steady despite the way his heart pounded.
Just a quick jump to the next safe spot...Just don’t get gonked trying.
Like first love, the thought returned.
He could hear the voice again — not the enemy’s, but Viktor’s, from just yesterday. The old vid he’d shared. His match.
For once, Viktor had talked about himself. His younger self. Nimble and disciplined in the ring, moving like a machine but with something softer behind the eyes — something V couldn’t name.
V had grinned back then, sprawled across Viktor’s cracked old medchair with his boots up and a smirk on his face.
“You looked good,” he’d said, then tilted his head. “But truth? You look better now.”
Viktor had only chuckled, muttering something about better posture now that he wasn’t getting punched in the face for fun.

A bolt of static from his optical implant brought V back to the alley. The ganger stepped into view. Easy target.
V let the quickhack fly, frying the man’s nerves with a blink. He crumpled without a sound, the city swallowing him whole.
V exhaled. And then, inexplicably, he smiled. Like an idiot. Like some lovesick kid sneaking glances at his crush across the hallway.
Even if air around was blood, gasoline and vomit. A dying guy grunted not so far from him.
God, that was a good day!

Later that night. Clinic.
Inside, everything was dim and warm — the hum of old appliances, a lamp glowing in the corner, casting soft light across the cluttered table where two half-finished beers sat beside each other.
V was perched on the arm of the worn out couch, rolling his neck, rubbing at the back of it.
“That last glitch,” he said, “felt like getting punched through a wall.”
Viktor looked up from his datapad. Concern flickered across his face — tight around the mouth, subtle in the furrow of his brow — but his voice stayed calm.
“And you didn’t come straight here because...?”
“Because I’m stubborn and hot?” V grinned.
Viktor raised an eyebrow but said nothing. That was his way.
V, sensing the tension, switched tracks — nudging the conversation into safer, brighter waters. He launched into a story — something about how he and Jackie once ended up in hot pink bathrobes after a job went sideways, with glitter in their hair and a tiger plush they didn’t remember stealing.
Viktor laughed. A real one — unguarded and deep.
“You and Jackie were chaos,” he said, sipping his beer. “But good chaos.”
V tipped his bottle toward him.
“You liked it.”
Viktor smirked.
“Maybe.” Then he asked, casually, “I've been meaning to ask... what’s with the ‘Candy V’ act? Jackie used to call you that, right? The lashes. The voice. The... everything. You’re good as you are, V. Don’t need a persona.”
V paused, caught off guard by the compliment. A flush crept up the back of his neck.
“It’s... not interesting,” he said quickly, eyes dropping to the label on his beer. “Honestly? Kinda embarrassing to talk about with you.”
Viktor bumped his shoulder.
“I’ve seen it anyway. That one night after shooting pool— you turned into some glittered-up, giggling, fifty-years-too-late stereotype. Like a joytoy commercial from the ‘50s.”
V chuckled, rubbing his face.
“God, that bad? .”
“Batting your lashes so hard I thought you'd fly away.”
They both laughed, the air between them easier now. But the humor slipped from V's face after a moment, and something more fragile crept into his voice.
“Some guys,” he said, slow, “they want to be the tough ones. The smart ones. Or mysterious.” He twirled his beer. “Me? I figured... if I acted dumb, sweet, all flirty — I’d be more wanted. More... enough.”
Viktor didn’t laugh this time.
“Enough?” he echoed. His voice was quiet, confused. “V... you’ve made more friends here in two years than I’ve had in my life. Unwanted? What are you talking about?”
V smiled, but it was a tired smile. He looked down.
“Can I say some dumb story?” he murmured.
Viktor didn’t speak. Just gave a small nod.
“I fell in love when I was sixteen,” V said, his tone low and far away. “First time anyone looked at me that way.”
He exhaled.
“My half-brother, Matteo? He was a piece of shit. Always mocked me for being gay. Said I was soft. A joke of a man, a fucking fag.”
He picked at the label of his bottle. It sticked to his fingers.
“Then this guy — a student — just shows up on the roadside, hitchhiking or whatever. Nomads were close to the city and we made the camp there. Ah... He was ten years older or something. A doctor in training.”
Viktor let out a soft scoff.
“Figures.”
“Yeah,” V chuckled bitterly. “Real my type, huh?”
His voice dipped.
“He called me pretty. Said I was special. First sex in his small apartment. First love that was supposed to last forever. I was this scrawny little tech runt, but he made me feel... normal. Like I wasn’t broken.”
V’s eyes flicked toward Viktor’s but didn’t linger.
“Turns out he had a wife. Two kids. I was just a shiny new toy. A nice distraction. He called me ‘little Vinnie.’”
V took a long drink.
“That messed me up more than I thought. Still hoped, still tried. Had some flings. Then came David.”
Viktor’s hand stilled on his beer.
V kept going.
“He was fast. Charming. Said ‘I love you’ before I’d even figured out his middle name.” He laughed once, humor less. “I fell for it. Again.”
He drained the bottle.
“He called me chaos. First lovingly. With time? . Said I was lucky anyone put up with me at all. Said I’m too emotional. Too undecided on future. Too... Shit, I even forgot. That all I have going for me is a decent ass. So I was quiet for a long time. Just serving pretty face and decent ass.”
The silence after that stretched, soft and heavy.
Viktor reached out and patted his back — a solid, grounding pressure. Then he took V’s empty beer and swapped it with a fresh one. No lecture. No pity. Just... presence.
V took it, his fingers brushing Viktor’s briefly.
He stared at the bottle for a long second before murmuring:
“Took me awhile to dump him. Maybe because... that’s the kind of love I thought I deserved. But it’s not the kind I want anymore.”
He looked over at Viktor.
And for once, he didn’t joke.
He didn’t smile.
He just said:
“I like it here. With you. Like this. Makes it easier to say stuff I never thought I’d say out loud.”
Viktor didn’t say anything. He just stayed close.
And didn’t move his hand, still on V's arm.
The beer in V's hand was warm now, but he swirled it anyway — lazy circles, catching faint light in the foam on the bottom . The two of them sat silently in the soft dim of Viktor’s clinic apartment, old jazz leaking through the wall. It was quiet, late, and peaceful — a rare combo in Night City.
V sat lower, on the couch, leaned back against the old sofa’s armrest, the cushions dipping under him. The texture of the bottle, the slow hum of old electronics, and the low rasp of Viktor breathing beside him made everything feel… not good, exactly. But grounded. Bearable.
He smiled, just faintly. Continuing.
“Then I just figured... sex was fine,” V said. “Easier, right? More guys, more validation. Means I’m wanted. Means I’m… normal.”
He let that word hang in the air a moment.
“Night City taught me real quick that plenty of people swing both ways. Or all ways. Some didn’t even swing — they just hovered wherever the chrome was shiny and wanted to try something new.”
V took another sip. Viktor didn’t interrupt, only watched.
“And guys?” V continued. “They all still wanted to be the toughest one. The alpha. So when someone came up to me with that look? I’d switch. Turn into the giggling idiot. Because that version of me? That guy got picked. Always picked.”
He chuckled to himself, bitterly.
“That guy was wanted.”
V stared down at his beer, then looked up at Vik. “Shit, sorry. Didn’t mean to get all emotional and—"
Viktor raised a hand, cutting him off gently.
“It’s fine,” he said, voice low but steady. “I asked.”
He leaned back, his tattooed arm resting across the back of the couch.
“You don’t have to pretend with me. You don’t have to only tell the funny stories, V.”
There was a pause, soft and warm between them.
“I’m here even for the sad V,” Viktor said. “The one Misty calls ‘melancholic V’... That one’s alright too.”
V’s lips curved into a smirk. “Misty’s too poetic for her own good.”
“You’re not shitty, V,” Viktor added, more firmly. “Just self-conscious. Human.”
V glanced away, the corner of his mouth twitching, eyes glassy but dry.
“Thanks. Means something, hearing that from you.”
They sat like that for a while — again no words, just breathing in the quiet hum of the city through sealed windows. The lamp flickered once. V didn’t move.

Chapter Text

Next evening – Pacifica

The neon was distant here — bled dry by sand and salt and decay. Pacifica at night was a breathing ruin: abandoned, rusting, forgotten. But tonight, the old GIM mall pulsed with life, echoes of voices ricocheting through cracked concrete and hollowed-out escalators.
V couldn’t believe he’d made it this far.
He stood near the back of the massive central atrium, surrounded by makeshift barriers and exposed piping. The ring wasn’t fancy — just ropes strung up around old gym mats, but the energy? Palpable. The air buzzed with sweat, cheap synth-alcohol, and the low thump of someone's portable speaker thudding old-school gangsta rap.
People milled around, hyped, shouting bets and trash talk.
For a moment, V just let it hit him.
Champion. Today, I could be the goddamn champion.

Fred spotted him and grinned, that familiar wide-toothed smirk splitting his scruffy face.
“There he is!” Fred called out, pushing through the crowd with an arm thrown up like V was already the winner. “My boy made it!”
V let the pride show — the glint in his eyes, the tension in his jaw. He earned this. Maybe not alone, but still… he was here.
Fred clapped a heavy hand on his shoulder, steering him toward a quieter hallway off to the side, away from the press of bodies and the reek of instant noodles and beer.
“Look,” Fred said, quieter now, more measured. “You’re good, V. Fucking good. You’ve come a long way. But this guy?” He leaned in, almost conspiratorial. “He’s a beast. Pro-level. You know what that means?”
V tilted his head.
“Thaaaaaat I’m about to get my ass handed to me?”
Fred laughed nervously, but it didn’t reach his eyes. He pulled something from his jacket — a datapad, screen dim.
“There’s an offer,” he said, eyes scanning the hallway. “From some... interested parties. Double the prize money.”
V frowned, jaw tightening. Didn't like where this is going. Fred’s voice dropped further.
“All you gotta do is lose. Just make it look good. Take a hard fall, sell it. No one gets hurt. No one questions a thing.”
The silence between them stretched.
Fred tried again, gentler now.
“Look — you could get seriously hurt. This guy doesn’t hold back. You got a good face, V. You want to mess that up? All for what? Pride?”
Fred was smiling. But V felt the chill creeping up the back of his neck.
All that effort. All that climbing. Every damn scar. Every fight.
And for what? To lie now?
He thought of Viktor. That quiet, grounding presence. The unspoken support. The way Vik looked at him — not as some flashy street brawler or chrome punk. Just… as V.
Would Viktor be disappointed?
Yeah. Probably.
But worse — V would be disappointed in himself. So he smiled — just a little.
And said:
“Nah.”
Fred blinked.
“What?”
“I’m not throwing shit,” V said. Calm. Steady. “Not this. Not now.”
Fred’s smile faltered.
“V…” he said. “C’mon, man. You know I’ve had your back—”
“Yeah. And I appreciate it,” V said, cutting him off gently but firmly. “But I didn’t come this far to lie my way across the finish line."
Fred’s jaw tightened. He looked away. Then waved his hand in the air like swatting away a fly.
“Fine,” he muttered. “Your funeral.”
He turned, muttering under his breath as he walked away, cursing V and the fight and the whole damn city.
V just stood there, alone in the echoing hall, the low roar of the crowd spilling back into the space behind him.
He closed his eyes, breathed deep. Yeah, it’d be a hell of a fight. But it’d be his.

What a sight it was. The crowd pressed close against the makeshift barricades, shouting, waving credsticks, placing last-minute bets with backroom fixers. The ring stood under a spotlight like some ancient shrine, ringed with flickering neon.
V paced behind the curtain of scrap metal and tarps they called "backstage," bouncing lightly on the balls of his feet, fists tapping together with rhythmic intensity. He could feel it starting — the rush. Blood like hot chrome in his veins. Jitters. Electricity. A cocktail of adrenaline and tension that always hit right before a fight.
He exhaled through gritted teeth.
Let’s fuckin’ go.
Then he saw him. Razor Hugh — or whatever this meat tower was calling himself now — across the way, stepping into the arena like some prize stallion. Dude was huge. Shoulders like wrecking equipment. His entourage circled him, all hyped up and loud, barking encouragement, flexing like they were the ones stepping into the ring.
Jesus, he’s got his own posse.
V felt the spike of nerves — but it didn’t stop the smirk that spread over his lips. Couldn’t back down now. Not after all this.
V glanced around — and there.. . Just beyond the outer row of fighters and hangers-on.
Viktor.
V’s grin went wide, brighter than any spotlight. He practically skipped toward him, suddenly seventeen again and catching his crush at the school gates.
“Well, well, look who crawled out of his cave,” V teased, breathlessly. “Rare sightin’ of the elusive Viktor Vector. I thought you were allergic to fresh air, choom.”
Viktor smiled, warm and dry.
“Don’t get used to it. Figured I should be here. Big night, after all.”
“You came,” V said, voice suddenly a little too soft, eyes holding Viktor’s for a second longer than necessary. “Shit. Now I actually gotta win.”
They talked a little, low-voiced. V admitted he was nervous, rolling his neck, cracking knuckles. Trying to seem chill, though his heart was banging like a synth bass drop.
Viktor leaned in then, just a bit, speaking into V’s ear — the touch of breath there making V almost flinch, but not out of fear.
“Overheard something,” Viktor murmured. “That guy — Razor — had an abdomen implant. Real recent. Still settling in. Internal swelling, nerves adjusting.”
V blinked. Then his eyes lit up.
“No shit?” he whispered back. “That’s his weak spot?”
Viktor shrugged, like it wasn’t a big deal. But he smiled — that knowing, wicked smile that made V want to melt and punch something at the same time.
“I think they’re banned in sanctioned boxing,” V grinned. “This ain’t sanctioned, huh?”
“Not even close,” Viktor replied, winking. “Go get him.”
The wink. The fucking wink.
V felt more nervous from that than from the looming bloodbath with Razor. He turned quickly before Viktor could see the flush rise on his face.

The ring.

Lights blazed down. The crowd roared. The bell clanged like an old war drum.
Razor came in hard. No taunting. No finesse. Just brute force, fists like goddamn sledgehammers. V ducked, weaved, danced sideways. Every impact was a shockwave, air shifting around them.
V knew he wasn’t gonna win this by trading hits. Not unless he wanted his ribs relocated to his spine. He circled, baited. Took a few hits — not good ones, but enough to shake him.
His ears rang. His vision tunneled. Time slowed, then sped up again.
Come on, give me something...

Finally, two minutes into third round— an opening.
Razor shifted too far forward, lunged in with a right hook meant to knock V’s head off. V dodged it by a breath, twisted around — and drove his left fist straight into the abdomen.
Right where Vik said.
The hit connected hard. Not a clean bone strike — this was deeper, internal, right against the neural base of the implant. Razor staggered. Just a moment.
But a moment was enough.
V didn’t even think — just moved. Another hit, this time right under the ribs. A third, clean across the jaw. Razor dropped to one knee, clutching his side, mouth open in a silent scream.
The crowd erupted when huge body was on the mat.

V stood there, chest heaving, knuckles throbbing. Sweat dripped down his temple, mixing with blood — his or Razor's, he wasn't sure. His ears still rang from the roar, but under it all, he could hear the clang of the bell.
He won.
Ref’s voice barely cut through the noise, something about knockout and official time, but it didn’t matter. The crowd surged around the ring, cheers deafening now.
V screamed. Loud, raw, alive. Fists in the air, eyes wild.
“Fucking YES!” he shouted into the sky of cracked ceiling panels and pulsing light. “Jackie, you see that, choom? I fucking did it!”
And when he looked around - Viktor was there.
Among the scattered silhouettes and strobing lights, Vik stood out clear as chrome. Clapping. Not just a polite pat — he was smiling, proud. Warm in a way that sent a jolt right through V’s already-overloaded system.
V beamed like an idiot, all teeth, bruised and breathless. His heart was pounding, but it wasn’t just the fight.
Even Johnny—leaning lazily in a corner only V could see, arms crossed, expression somewhere between impressed and annoyed—nodded faintly.
“Well, I'll be damned,” Johnny muttered. “You actually did it.”
V leaned against the ropes, bloodied but victorious, eyes still locked on Viktor.
He could die tomorrow. The ticking clock in his head still counted down — relic humming quietly under skin.
But tonight? Tonight, he lived.

Most of the crowd melted away after another ten minutes. Some stayed, because the moment the bruise behemoth that was Razor kissed the floor, people wanted a piece of the new champion.
V didn’t mind. He laughed with them, let someone shove a cheap, fizzy drink into his hand, posed for a few shaky photos with giddy fans who clearly had no idea who he was last week. Some of the other fighters gave him that gruff nod — respect, begrudging or not.
But the truth? He wanted to bolt right through the crowd and ask one person.
Did you see me? Were you proud?
Like a damn dog in love.
He found Viktor off to the side, calm as ever, but not indifferent. His eyes crinkled at the corners when he saw V approach, hair still damp from the quick rinse, face half-covered in a towel, cheeks flushed with victory and adrenaline.
Viktor took V’s face in both hands. Careful, warm, thumbs brushing the bruised cheekbones, checking damage but... fuck, to V it felt almost romantic.
“All teeth in place,” Viktor said, mock-stern. “Miracle, considering the hit you took in the second round.”
V grinned, crooked.
“You saw that, huh?”
“I saw all of it,” Viktor said, voice low, sincere.
V could barely stand still. His limbs jittered, high on endorphins, soaked in sweat and pride.
“It was a good fight,” Viktor went on, withdrawing his hands reluctantly. “You're—” he huffed a soft laugh, “—you're stronger than you look. That frame of yours? It lies.”
“Rude,” V teased, bumping his shoulder lightly.
“I’m just saying... you’re wiry, V. Not built like a tank. And yet—” he gave a little shrug, lips twitching in a half-smile. “There we have it. New champion of the street.”
V swallowed. The warmth spread again, down his spine. He wanted to kiss him. Right here, blood and all. Pin him to the cracked concrete and kiss the fucking daylights out of him. But, hey... that would probably be "unprofessional."
So he settled for a soft :
“Thanks, doc.”
Viktor nodded, but his eyes flicked back to V’s brow.
“You took a few nasty ones, kid. We can celebrate after I check for any actual brain trauma.”
V smirked.
“Nothing says party like being scanned and poked by a sexy ripperdoc.”
And Viktor—fucking blushed. Looked away, muttering something under his breath.
“C’mon,” he said eventually, “let’s take my car. You’re not riding your bike like this.”

In the dim, familiar hum of Viktor’s clinic, V sat back in the exam chair with a sigh, still dripping from a quick rinse. His hair curled slightly when wet, stuck to the sides of his face and neck, but he didn’t care. He looked like shit, but felt like fire.
Viktor leaned in close, scanning, murmuring something under his breath. The lights on the monitor glowed pale blue, and a soft old timey jazz track played low in the background — Viktor always claimed it calmed patients, but V suspected it calmed himself, too.
“Jaw’s a little misaligned,” Viktor said after a minute. “Muscle stress. I’ll give you something for it.”
“Expensive, I bet.”
“On the house,” Viktor replied with a smile, prepping the hypo.
God, that smile. The kind that didn’t belong to a man of chrome and clinical walls. It wasn’t smooth. It was slightly lopsided, quiet, full of dry humor. Real.
The hypo hissed gently as it pressed to V’s skin.
“So,” V said, head tilted slightly, “am I free to celebrate?”
Viktor glanced at the monitors, then back at him. “You’re clear. As long as you don’t do anything too stupid.”
“Define stupid,” V grinned.
“I meant physically.”
“Well, that ruins most of my options.” Then, in a more grounded voice: “Unless you have plans for me tonight?”
Viktor looked surprised. Or maybe just caught off guard — the way he always did when V was too direct.
“In a way, yeah,” Viktor replied, clearing his throat. “To sweeten the loss or celebrate the win... I’ve got whisky. Real stuff. Private reserve. Not that gutter synth.”
He paused, watching V’s reaction.
“Unless you’d rather go out? Celebrate with people?”
V snorted, shaking his head immediately.
“Two guys drinking whisky in a clinic? Sounds perfect.”
And it did. More perfect than any party.
V leaned back in the chair, grinning at the ceiling. Tired. Bruised.

Fucking. Happy.

The soft clink of glass against glass echoed through the clinic, more ceremonial than celebratory.
“To the new street champ,” Viktor said, raising his glass with that half-smile of his.
V knocked his glass against it lightly.
“Fuck yeah. Cheers to me.”
The whisky was smoky, probably older than V. It burned in the good way. V let the silence hang for a moment, relishing the buzz—not just from the drink, but from this. Sitting across from Vik. No med scanner humming. No Johnny bitching in his ear. Just low light, music from a dusty speaker in the corner, and the comfort of almost home.
V stretched lazily, shoulders cracking.
“You know,” he started with a grin, “maybe I should go pro now. Get my name in lights, grab a sponsorship. Maybe something tacky like… ‘Mr. Sexy Punch.’”
Viktor choked on his sip, coughing.
“Yeah? That’d be your whole day gone. Every move under a camera, contract here, trading sass for PR lessons …”
V clicked his tongue, mock-offended.
“You think I’m not media material?”
“I think your idea of a press conference involves cursing out a mic and showing off a fresh bruise.”
“Exactly!” V leaned back, smug. “Authenticity sells.”
Viktor laughed, dry and genuine, but then V’s tone shifted, just slightly.
“Why’d you stop, anyway?” he asked, swirling the whisky in his glass. “You were good, Vik. Medals, sashes. On the right track, huh?”
Viktor’s eyes dipped, face shuttering a little. “Getting old,” he muttered. “Body couldn’t take the strain anymore.”
“Bullshit,” V said simply, leaning forward, calling it without hesitation. Viktor barked a soft laugh, rubbing his face.
“Alright,” he sighed. “Didn’t want to risk permanent damage. Joints were already creaking by the time I was twenty-eight. But that wasn’t all. Being a ripperdoc… started to mean more. More than just winning.”
Viktor sighed.
“That was the moment I became boring. ”
He looked away when he said it. Like it tasted like guilt in his mouth. As if choosing healing over hurting was something to be ashamed of.
V tilted his head, thoughtful:
“So,” he said slowly, “was it a woman? Called you boring for changing your dream?”
Viktor smirked, eyes glinting. He took a sip, then another, before replying.
“Nah. A man,” he said. “Only one I ever had something real with.”
V blinked, caught off-guard but delighted. So he was with man once!

V’s eyes widened just a bit, lips parting like he had half a dozen questions bubbling inside him.
Viktor noticed.
“You’re gonna explode, if I won't tell more ” he said flatly.
“I am,” V said, sitting forward now. “C’mon, doc. Don’t do the whole mysterious brooding shit. I want to know you. Really know.”
Viktor snorted, shaking his head. He looked reluctant, but also... a little glad, maybe, that someone gave a damn.
“All right, all right,” he muttered. “His name was... Norm. Let’s go with that.”
He shifted, sitting a bit straighter.
“I was maybe your age. Maybe younger. Norm was this die-hard fan. Barely eighteen, nineteen tops. Showed up to every match at one point. Always had something to say after. Weird thing was—he wasn’t pushy. Just... eager. Always wide-eyed. Asked smart questions. Had every match recorded and logged like I was some kind of legend.”
V smiled, imagining it.
“So what, you two grabbed a drink one night?”
Viktor nodded.
“Yeah. Just once first. Then again. Then it became a thing. I wasn’t sure at first—felt the age gap, you know? I was pushing thirty. But he was kind. Supportive. It was a rush, being looked at like that. Like I was... larger than life.”
V tilted his head.
“So… no sex? Just admiration? ”
Viktor gave him a withering look.
V held up both hands.
“Just asking!”
“Yes,” Viktor sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “There was sex. After a match, Norm would ride me like his life depended on it and—”
He stopped as V nearly choked on his drink.
“Anyway,” Viktor continued, clearing his throat, “that was part of it, sure. But the bigger part was how much he believed in me. In the dream. That version of me. The boxer. It was intoxicating.”
“And you fell for him.”
“I did.” Viktor nodded. “We even moved in together. It was the real deal. Or... I thought so.”
V was quiet for a moment.
“So what went wrong?”
Viktor removed his glasses slowly and poured them both another round, his voice quieter this time.
“I wanted to be more. Someone different. I liked the idea of saving lives. Being a ripperdoc. Stable pay, fewer concussions, y’know?”
He took a drink.
“But Norm? Norm was about the thrill. The fight. The legend. I stepped away from that and suddenly... we didn’t have anything else in common. Nothing to say to each other that didn’t have gloves on it. He got distant. One day, I came home and he was just... gone. Left a text.”
V exhaled.
“Damn. That’s cold.”
“Yeah.” Viktor gave a small, sad smile. “Not long after, I met a woman. We got married after a year or so. She wasn’t cruel or anything, just... we weren’t compatible. She wanted a neat, quiet life, kids... I was never really in it. Patched up merc. Going home blood on my hands. Half the time, I avoided going home because she would scream at me.”
V watched him, lips pressing into a line.
“Divorce made things easier,” Viktor added. “I stopped pretending. Focused on work. Found a rhythm that worked. Friends, clients. Life got... Good. Then…”
He turned his head, eyes softer now.
“Then Jackie walks in with you. Loud. Covered in grease and neon. Your jokes were worse than his. You were quick with your mouth, but there was something in your eyes. Like... like the world hadn’t crushed you yet, but you were expecting it to.”
V smiled faintly at that.
“You had all this young fire, but underneath it... something gentle. Something scared. You kept it hidden, but I saw it.”
Viktor chuckled, raising his glass for a small sip. “Still do.”
V scooted closer, boots scuffing against the floor. His voice dropped just a touch.
“So… are you scared of giving me a chance? Afraid it’s gonna be like it was with... Norm?”
There was hesitation in Viktor’s eyes, something quiet and flickering like an old neon sign half-buzzing to life. He didn’t answer right away. Just looked at V—really looked—as if there was a right answer somewhere on his face, if only he could find it.
V let out a slow breath, tipping his head back against the wall with a dull thunk.
“You’re my friend, Vik. That’s not going anywhere. I know we spent a night together and... yeah, it was good. Better than good. But it didn’t make how I feel go away. So why’re you still dodging the question?”
Still, Viktor said nothing.
The silence between them wasn’t cold. It wasn’t heavy. Just... long. Stretched out like the city beyond the clinic windows—flickering, unresolved.
Finally, Viktor gave a soft smile. Sad, apologetic.
“You’re young, V…”
“Oh, come on,” V interrupted, sitting up straighter with a smirk. “Old is that argument, not you.”
Viktor chuckled, running a hand through his hair. “Alright, alright. But listen… You and I, we are friends. Good ones. You’re important to me. And if we try this—really try—and it doesn’t work?” He looked down at his hands. “Do we lose this too?” He hesitated again, voice low. “I’m not exciting, V. You know that.”
V leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, gaze locked on Viktor’s.
“I like a lot about you,” he said earnestly. “I like your passion for sport. The way you never stop talking about footwork in old matches, like you're narrating a damn documentary. I like that you care so damn much about your clients even if it keeps you up at night. I like that we can argue over the worst movie we’ve seen and make it feel like we’re solving world hunger. I... I like how you scratch your nose right before every diagnostic, like a ritual. And the way you kick that chair from the desk to the med station like it personally betrayed you.”
V smiled, warm and open.
“I’ve had a lot of guys in my bed, Vik. Lot of nights that didn’t mean a thing. But this?” He gestured between them, heart in his throat. “This feels like it could mean something. Like... real something. And I’d be an idiot to walk away from that. I want more that sex. ”
He let the smile turn cheeky.
“Though for the record, I still won’t say no to a quicky. You’re a sexy ripperdoc, Viktor Vector.”
That earned him a low, helpless laugh from Viktor, head shaking as he tried—and failed—to hide a blush behind his hand.
“But really,” V added, quieter now. “I know I might not have a lot of time left. Might be a month. Might be fifteen years if I get damn lucky. But however long I’ve got... I want to spend it with someone who means something to me.”
He looked down, voice almost a whisper.
“With someone who gives a shit about me. Not the rep. Not the ghost in my head. Just... V.”
The words hung there.
Viktor reached out, tentative at first, like he wasn’t sure he had the right. But he took V’s hand, warm and calloused, and held it gently in his own.
“I’m not good at this,” Viktor said. “Not the dating part. The... feeling things part.”
V smirked, slipping into a mock-serious tone.
“It’s easy. Just buy me flowers. Real chocolates. Take me to one of those overpriced Corpo dinners that costs half your paycheck.”
Viktor raised an eyebrow, amused. V snickered.
“Or we could keep it simple. Shooting range, billiards at The Totentanz, shit-talk over noodle bowls. Why complicate what already works?”
Viktor smiled at that, eyes softer now. He leaned in a little closer, voice low.
“Then I need you to promise me two things.”
“Hit me.”
“First,” Viktor said, “you’ll keep fighting. Do whatever you can to stay alive. I don’t care if it’s a long shot. I want you around.”
V’s throat tightened. He nodded.
“Okay. I promise.”
“Second...” Viktor paused, brushing his thumb over V’s knuckles. “If it doesn’t work—if we don’t click like that—we stay friends. No matter what.”
V nodded again.
“Deal.”
He closed his eyes, meaning to let the moment settle... but instead, he felt Viktor’s lips press against his. A soft, hesitant kiss. Careful. As if Viktor was afraid it would break something.
V leaned into it, letting his hand slip around Viktor’s neck. The kiss deepened—not rushed, not desperate. Just right. He climbed into Viktor’s lap like it was the most natural thing in the world, arms wrapping around him as their bodies fit together with a kind of practiced ease.
Viktor held him close. His scent—antiseptic and cologne and this pricey whisky—wrapped around V like armor. A grounding weight in a world that kept trying to yank the floor out from under him.
Here, in Viktor’s arms, V wasn’t a ticking bomb. Wasn’t a dead man walking. He was safe, valid. Enough.
They smiled at each other, foreheads still touching. V felt butterflies in his stomach. Something that wasn't there during their quick sex. Something he haven't felt since he was a teen.
And damn, it was a great feeling.

Morning crept in through the slats of the old blinds, casting fractured lines of soft gold and dusty shadow across the bed. V stirred, reaching instinctively across the mattress in search of Pebbles, the perpetually hungry alien who usually greeted him with pointed meows and a demand for food. Despite automatic feeder.
But instead of whiskers and judgmental eyes, his hand brushed against warm skin.
He blinked one eye open.
Ah. Right. Not his place. Viktor’s. And not just Viktor’s apartment—Viktor, himself, still in bed beside him.
Huh.
It hadn’t been a wild night. No blurred memories or frantic passion. Just a very bad action movie with enough explosions to lull V to sleep before the third act. Viktor didn’t even make fun of him for snoring a little. V had drifted off, his head resting on Viktor’s shoulder like it belonged there. He didn't recall getting to bed.
Now, he was wide awake, face barely inches from the crook of Viktor’s neck. He shifted closer, wrapping an arm around Viktor’s waist, pressing a lazy kiss just beneath his ear.
“You’ve got such broad, sexy shoulders,” he murmured quietly against skin warm with sleep.
Viktor shifted onto his back, voice gruff and half-muffled.
“You drunk still?”
V chuckled softly, nuzzling closer.
“Nah. Just happy.”
He drew slow, featherlight circles on Viktor’s chest with a fingertip. It was oddly comforting—the contrast between wiry chest hair and soft skin. V usually went for the smooth type, maybe because it was easier not to feel so much when things were streamlined, polished. But this? Viktor felt real.
V nuzzled again, content. Viktor gave a low breath, brushing a hand through V’s hair.
“You’re like a damn cat.”
“Maybe you should make me purr, then,” V teased, lips ghosting near Viktor’s collarbone. “Compliment me.”
Viktor scoffed lightly, amusement in his voice. “You’ve got very pretty, colorful fur. But you’re clearly a feisty one. Gets into fights. Bad kitty.”
V laughed loud and clear, head falling back.
“You absolute dork.”
Viktor groaned and rubbed a hand over his face. “Told you I’m bad at compliments.”
V shook his head, leaning up on one elbow.
“Teasing. That was perfect, Vik.”
He leaned in to kiss him—slow, tasting the edge of sleep still on Viktor’s mouth. Something soft curled inside his chest. He deepened the kiss, shifting to straddle Viktor’s hips, his body already starting to move in an instinctive rhythm. He grinded against him, just fabric between them. Feeling his his body reacts to V's teasing.
Viktor’s hands hovered at V’s waist but didn’t move.
“You can touch me,” V whispered, voice husky and a little vulnerable. “You know?”
His fingers trailed down Viktor’s sides, over old scars and muscle that came from a life well lived. He breathed in the familiar scent of antiseptic and aftershave.
“Still feels a bit unreal. I’ve never chased someone before. Never... cared.”
Viktor sighed, hands finally settling on V’s thighs. “The first time. When we—when I said all that—I figured it was just... What you needed. Thought maybe you wanted to try something new. I wasn’t great. Rushed it.”
V’s smile was soft, almost shy. His hips kept moving, slow and deliberate. He was hard and Vik - oh, his shorts were raised already.
“Then maybe it’s time for a second first time.”
That made Viktor freeze for a beat. Then he moved—rolling V onto his back with a gentleness that felt almost reverent. His eyes searched V’s, like asking one last time if he was sure. V only nodded, pulling him down for another kiss.
Viktor’s mouth moved along his neck, kissing over old bruises. His hands found the edges of V’s shorts, tugging it down slowly, careful.
“You’re gonna laugh,” V said, breathless, “but I gotta ask. I'm fucking vain. Viscerally, like down to bone... do you think I’m hot?”
Viktor smirked, trailing a hand up his bare side. “You look way out of my league.” He paused, brushing hair from V’s eyes. “If you were a joytoy, I couldn’t afford you.”
Then he cringed.
“Shit—that sounded awful, I didn’t mean—”
But V was already laughing, reaching up to tug Viktor closer.
“You can still tease me, you know. Joke, call me out on my bullshit. I don’t want anything else. We’re still us. Just... with better cuddles and mind-blowing sex.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “I was waiting for an answer, Vik. That’s why I haven’t been with anyone since. Over a month. I wanted this. I wanted you. When you're this close? I feel it. I'm starved .”
That was all it took when Vik grabbed his hips, shorts thrown on the floor. What followed wasn’t rushed. Wasn’t sloppy or mechanical. It was a slow fire building under skin, igniting where Viktor’s hands explored V’s body. Every touch, every kiss down V’s stomach and thighs, felt electric. Not just lust—though there was plenty of that—but joy. Intimacy.
The moment steady hand of his favourite ripperdoc touched his penis V moaned loudly. Too high pitched, unexpectedly. Not the trained voice.
“You’re so vocal,” Viktor murmured into V's ear. Jesus F Christ. Does he know what this low voice does to me? , V thought.
Hands moved lower, V instinctively spread his legs. All right, Vik's going to be top all time? Fine, V smiled to himself. Feeling how careful hands, slick from the lube, stretch him properly, finger hitting just the right spot on his prostate. V gasped loudly.
“Found your spot,” Viktor chuckled and V hit his chest with open hand.
“Stop showing off! ,” V laughed.
V almost cried when Viktor entered him, arms tightening around his shoulders, fingers clawing at pale skin. Their movements found a rhythm after few thrusts, V adjusted himself just a little, giving his lover better access. He felt kiss on his forehead. Then nose.
“Vincent...” Viktor breathed. Like it tasted sweeter than air.
V had always hated that name. It sounded like his father who bailed on all of them. Like a name buried deep in government databases out of sight.
But on Viktor’s lips?
It sounded like love. And for once, V didn’t want to escape from who he was. His hands on Viktor's arm and head, hissing from time to time but any discomfort went away quickly.
Just Vik's size was... Complex giving.
He didn't want to rush it. He didn't want some fancy position, toys and role play. There will be time for that. For now V was close to him, and this slow sex was more electrifying than when he paid for professional joy toy just to know what's that like.
The bed creaked beneath them, their bodies giving into this primal urge. V’s cock was trapped between them, slick with pre-come. He could feel his orgasm building, a tight coil of pleasure in his gut.
“Vik,” he panted, his voice hoarse. “Gonna—”
Viktor chuckled only and cut him off with a kiss. V moaned into the kiss, his body tensing as he came, his release hot and messy between them.
Viktor followed moments later, his thrusts stuttering as he spilled deep inside V, his breath ragged against his neck.
They lay there for a long moment, their hearts pounding in unison, the sweat cooling on their skin. Viktor pulled out slowly, his hand brushing a strand of hair from V’s forehead.
“You okay?” he asked again, his voice softer now.
V smiled, reaching up to tug gently on Viktor’s hair. Caressed his stubbled chin.
“I uh... Is there... Better than okay,” he said sheepishly, his tone light but sincere.

The air in the room was thick with post-sex warmth, the kind that made the sheets stick to skin and hair cling to damp temples. The window was cracked open, but it barely helped. The city’s summer heat had no chill to offer, not even at this early (per V's standards) hour.
V lay sprawled across Viktor’s chest, half dozing, wholly content, arms lazily hugging the older man like a particularly smug cat refusing to be pushed away. Viktor groaned, scrubbing a hand over his sweaty face.
“Shit, V, you’re like a furnace.”
V just snuggled closer, laughing softly into his neck.
“Mmmm....And you’re the idiot who lit the match.”
“I need air, not another body to bake me alive!,” Viktor protested, trying to shift, but V held fast with exaggerated drama.
“Nope. I claim this territory. Viktor's Chest. Property of Vincent.” He tapped the space above Viktor’s heart, then dragged his fingers down teasingly. “Besides... definitely better than last time. I need a moment to recover. ”
Viktor huffed a breath of laughter, too fond to argue. V looked up at him with that familiar glint of mischief.
“Though... let’s be real, Vik. With the equipment you’re packin’? You’d have to try to be bad.” He winked, snickering at his own joke.
“There it is. I was waiting for the dick joke,” Viktor muttered, amused.
“Oh please, without them, who am I?”
V shifted like he was going to say something else—maybe flirtatious, maybe ridiculous—but then he froze.
The glitch hit hard and fast.
A static-crackle buzz bloomed behind his eyes, and the room bent sideways. His whole body jolted, muscles stiffening with panic. He shoved off the sheets, stumbling with tangled legs and scraped his knee hard against the floor as he tried to stand.
“V?” Viktor’s voice followed him, half-alarmed, half - still groggy.
He didn’t make it far. Barely two steps into the bathroom, he collapsed to his knees, vomiting violently into the toilet. Some of it didn’t make it in time, splattering on the floor tiles and cold porcelain. It wasn’t just bile. There was blood m. Dark. Fresh.
V's chest heaved, a weak sob breaking from his throat. The pain in his skull wasn’t just a migraine—it was fireworks of agony, every nerve in his spine screaming. It was worse than the last one. Each one was worse...
The bathroom light flicked on. He hadn’t closed the door. And then there was Viktor—kneeling beside him. A steady hand rubbed circles on V's back, another one brushing sweat-matted hair away from his face.
V gave a weak laugh between dry heaves.
“Mmm... sexy V. Hair in vomit. That's gotta be someone’s kink, right?”
Viktor didn’t even flinch.
“I've seen worse. People barfing mid-surgery ‘cause they insisted on staying awake without anesthetics. Still sexy V.”
He said it with the calm, unwavering tone of a man who had seen blood, guts, and a hundred worse things than V breaking down beside a toilet.
“Just breathe, Vincent. That’s it. Deep breaths.”
V could barely focus, but he saw Viktor lean into the mirrored cabinet above the sink. The man’s hands were steady even as V’s world swayed.
And then V saw them—clearly labeled hypos and pill bottles, tucked behind medical supplies. Marked "V".
Even here.
Even in his home, Viktor had a stash prepped just in case this happened. With a quiet hiss, the first hypo pressed into V’s neck. Then another.
His body shuddered from the chemical relief—too slow, but at least it was coming.
Still, his limbs were jelly, his stomach twisted, and the taste in his mouth was acid and blood.
“I wish I had a damn bathtub,” Viktor muttered, voice thick with regret. “Come on, let’s get you cleaned up.”
V nodded but couldn’t speak. Could barely move.
Viktor guided him gently to his feet, one arm around his waist. In the dim bathroom light, they looked like a pair of ghosts—pale, unsteady, haunted.
The shower ran warm. Steam rose.
Viktor supported him, V's hands on the rail in the wall, washing him like it wasn’t the first time, like it didn’t bother him. Like he wanted to. His touch was patient, even when V winced. He cleaned around bruises with gentle fingers, his silence full of care.
“Y’know...” Viktor said softly, rinsing shampoo from his hair, as if trying to lighten the mood, “I liked you best with red hair.”
V let out a hoarse chuckle.
“You liked that?”
“Yeah,” Viktor smiled faintly.
“Which shade was it? Neon? Or... Poppy red, maybe?” V leaned against his shoulder, trembling.
Viktor shook his head.
“Doesn’t matter. Just... red. That was enough.”
“Come on, doc, I use seven different reds....”
The world tilted. V gripped the wall, but Viktor was already there. Supporting him. Holding him like it wasn’t a chore.
And V, out of instinct or insecurity, muttered:
“I get it if you want me out. Vomiting after sex kinda kills the mood, huh?”
Viktor gave him a flat look. Dried him patiently when V sat on closed toilet lid. Helped him lie in bed.
“You’re an idiot,” he said gently, pulling the sheets back and easing V down. “You’re staying. You need rest.”
He tucked the covers around him, brushing damp hair off his face.
“You’re still handsome, still wanted. Just... need care today.”
V smiled, barely. Lids heavy.
“Shit, I could fall in love with you again just for saying that...”
That was the last thing he remembered—Viktor still wet from the shower, fluffing the pillow under his head, fingers brushing his temple once. Being there....

V woke up to darkness.
Well—as dark as Night City ever got. Beyond the window, the skyline pulsed in neon sighs: violet flickers, chrome-white strobes, distant orange bursts from industrial stacks. Even at this hour, the city hummed like a restless beast, vibrating under his skin.
He groaned quietly, head turning against the warm pillow. There was a cold med strip pressed across his forehead. His body was still aching, but the fever heat had dulled to a bearable throb. Beside the bed on the nightstand sat a bottle of isotonic with a straw bent just right, easy to sip from without even sitting up.
He was in his shorts. Blanket kicked halfway off.
Not his bed.
Not just his bed, anyway.
It took a moment to click: Viktor. Vik’s apartment. Viktor’s sheets. The scent in the air—clean with a hint of metal and cologne and something warmer underneath. Sex. And then.... Barf. Glitch happened.

V exhaled slowly, running a hand over his face. Viktor had been… caring. Maybe too caring. And now V was lying here like some sick stray, crashing at his place after vomiting all over the bathroom and barely being able to stand. No witty lines, no smirking charm. Just... being a burden.
He’s probably tired of this shit already.
V tried to shake the thought, but it clung stubbornly. He wanted something real—wanted Viktor—but was it fair to ask for more, when all he could do was be here? Ill. Weak.He always had to be ready for being sexy, funny and distracting!
He sighed softly.
Better slip out while he’s sleeping. Let him have the rest of his evening in peace.
V sat up, careful not to jostle his head too much. The room was quiet, only the buzz of a broken flytrap near the window outside - as if flies had anything organic to munch on here - and the hum of some old fan cutting through the silence. His boots were tucked near the door, and he moved toward them barefoot, muscles still sore and tight.
He crept to the bedroom door. With Viktor not wired up like most... He had to be more careful. Couldn't just give track him easily.
So the moment he stepped into the hallway—
“Hey.”
Viktor’s voice cut through the dim like a scalpel. Calm, but sharp. He stood just around the corner, arms crossed loosely over his chest. His hair was a little messy, his shirt wrinkled. He must’ve heard the door. Or maybe he hadn’t been sleeping at all.
Immediately, V was hit with the full brunt of Viktor’s doctor mode.
“Are you seeing double?” he asked, stepping closer, scanning V from head to toe, snapping fingers near V's ear. One hand stretching his eye socket, one with his real eye. “Still dizzy? Can you stand on your own? Any nausea? Can you give me neural access so I can check your logs—figure out which brain functions are taking the biggest hit this time?”
V blinked, caught like a kid sneaking out of class.
“I—uh. No. It’s fine,” he said quickly. “I feel fine, Vik.”
Viktor gave a slow, tired sigh. One of those I’m too old for this, but I care too much kinds of sighs.
“Just because we’re dating—”
“... say it,” V cut him off, his mouth twitching, grin splitting his face uncontrollably. “I will kiss you into next week when you say it again—”
Viktor raised an eyebrow.
“Stop smiling.”
“I can’t,” V said through a dumb smile, practically glowing.
Viktor muttered something under his breath, running a hand through his hair. But there was the tiniest upward curl to his mouth.
Then he looked down.
“You were sneaking out,” he said again, more softly now. His gaze flicked to the boots clutched in V’s hands, held tight so they wouldn’t thump on the floor.
V winced.
“Okay, yeah. But only because… I didn’t wanna be a problem. It was supposed to be a chill day, you know? Sexy, lazy, maybe a little teasing—and instead I turned it into work. Shit. I barfed in your bathroom. And also? A little in the corridor.”
There was a beat of silence. Viktor just looked at him, unreadable. Then:
“Are we really a couple?” he asked. “Is that what you want?”
V didn’t hesitate. He nodded.
Viktor’s expression softened again. Still exhausted, but now with something tender at the edges. He smiled, and it hit V like a warm shockwave.
“Then if you want more than sex,” Viktor said, “you have to accept that sometimes being a partner means helping when the other’s hurting. That’s part of it. No keeping score.”
V nodded, eyes down, swallowing thickly.
“Usually,” he said quietly, “I got thrown out the moment I stopped being—” He stopped himself. The words felt ugly in his mouth.
But Viktor stepped forward, reaching up to brush V’s purple hair from his face with careful fingers. “You were there for me when I wasn’t great,” he said softly. “You didn’t wait for an invite, didn’t need an explanation. I’d be off, shutting down, not talking, and there you were—dragging me out of the shop, saying we had to watch this insane amateur bike race. Or that we had to eat noodles at that place that uses literal blowtorches.”
V huffed a soft laugh, eyes glinting.
“You were loud,” Viktor added, thumb still grazing his cheek. “Loud like a whole damn city. Smiling like an idiot. Made it impossible to ignore.”
V’s smile faltered into something shy.
“Sorry,” he murmured. “I’m just… used to being useful. Or gone.”
Viktor leaned forward, kissed his forehead. A soft press that made V flush instantly, the heat crawling up his ears.
“Well,” Viktor said after a moment, “I’m way too old to be mistaken for a shitty hookup. I agreed to be your partner. So don’t insult me by acting like I’m just another guy that would leave you because you threw up... ”
V stared at him, blinking fast. Then, quietly, he bent down and set his boots on the floor.
“Okay,” he said, throat tight.
Viktor looked him over again.
“Now. Can I run some tests on you?”
V’s eyes flicked up, a playful gleam returning to his tone.
“If you get pizza? You can run any diagnostic you want.”
Viktor snorted.
“Even a colonoscopy?”
V pulled a face.
“Within reason, doc.... ”
“Good. Then we’re ordering extra cheese and running a neuro scan.”
V’s stomach let out a grumble, and Viktor shot him a look.
“That settles it. You eat. I test.”
V watched him step into the kitchen, typing into a holo-display.
And for the first time all night, V didn’t feel like a patient or a problem. Just a person. A partner. Home in a place that wasn’t his, but might just become one.
He leaned against the doorway, arms folded, and grinned to himself. Yeah. He could fall in love in this guy over and over again.

Chapter Text

The walk to the clinic was quiet and short, save for the soft buzz of the city outside and the occasional crunch as V bit into his rapidly cooling slice of pizza. He’d insisted on bringing it, even with greasy fingers and uneven footing. Couldnt leave last piece just like that!
Viktor just shook his head, unlocking the heavy clinic door with a sharp beep and a muttered “You’re impossible.”
Inside, the air was dry, chilled by the ever-broken AC Viktor will fix "next week". The soft hum of machinery clicked on the moment they entered—sensors waking, low-light diagnostics spinning up with lazy flickers of neon green.
V sank into the diagnostic chair with an exaggerated sigh, still chewing on the last of the pizza slice, bits of locust clinging to melted synthetic cheese.
“Itf my faforite,” he mumbled, mouth full, gesturing with the crust in hand.
Viktor stood nearby, arms crossed, giving him the kind of unimpressed look that would’ve made anyone else shut up immediately. But his eyes, despite the annoyance, held that flicker of warmth. A twitch of a smile tugged at one corner of his mouth as he turned away, adjusting the settings on the panel beside the chair.

V wiped his fingers on a napkin from his pocket, swallowing hard. He opened his mouth to say something, maybe apologize again for turning their day upside down—but Viktor spoke first.
“I don’t have documentation from this soul preservation project,” he said, voice low but steady, more mechanic than medic right now. “So uh... I’m going blind with this. Making my own project.”
V blinked, slightly confused.
“What… project?”
Viktor didn’t turn around yet.
“From the moment that Japanese corpo hauled your half-dead ass through my door, this’s been a pet project of mine. I’ve been trying to build a predictive subroutine… something to forecast your next episode. Buy you time. Keep you from glitching in the middle of a firefight.”
V stared.
“That... long?” His voice was soft, almost boyish in disbelief. “You’ve been working on it that long?”
Viktor finally turned, giving a small nod.
“Good thing some people still owe me favors. Chrome, hardware, implants? Sure. I'll even make bio transplant. But programming a neural-based pattern-recognition semi AI? Not my forte.”
He held up a shard, still blinking with light, a small chip carrying something important. V nodded. Accepted the data chip without hesitation, leaning his head back into the cradle of the diagnostic frame. The interface slid into place, and he felt the quick bite of connection behind his left ear.
“It’s still in beta,” Viktor said. “Bugs, could be off... But it’s got more data now,with you it should learn... Enough that maybe it buys you more time. Honestly?” He leaned against the nearby counter, arms folded. “First time I saw you, I gave you weeks. And here you are, months later. Loud, annoying, ridiculous—and somehow, still breathing.”
He smiled then. Real, full, a little crooked with exhaustion—but real.
“I’ve never been so happy to be wrong.”
V swallowed the lump in his throat.
“Guess I got too much to live for,” he murmured. “Especially now.”
The chair hummed softly as diagnostics began. V’s vision flickered to black for a moment—standard stuff. Static buzzed behind his eyelids, then resolved into flickering data points and dull blue interface grids.
Pain sparked behind his knees. He winced.
“Just a moment,” Viktor said calmly, checking the screen. “Bear with me, have to ping each mod too.”
“’Course,” V muttered. “I trust you.”
He meant it. Without any smirk. No teasing in his voice. But that solemnity didn’t last long.
After a minute or two, the boredom kicked in—V was feeling stable again, if a little fried, and sitting strapped into a diagnostic rig made him twitchy.
He was kicking his leg a little. Then humming. Then having stupid ideas.
“Hey,” he said suddenly, grinning, “you ever do anything kinky in this chair? Or planned to? Y’know. While someone’s all wired up, helpless—at your mercy…”
Viktor didn’t even look up.
“No.”
V pouted, craning his neck
“C’mon. You’re such a nerd. You must’ve at least fantasized about it. Cyber-fetishist surgeon? Gotta be a category.”
Viktor arched an eyebrow but didn’t stop working, scribbling notes on a slate.
“Even if I did… I’m too professional to admit it.”
“That’s not a no,” V sang, triumphant.
“Kid,” Viktor said dryly, not looking away from the data. “You have to calm down.”
V’s grin went full Cheshire.
“Kid this, kid that... So can I call you Daddy?”
That broke something.
Behind his eyes, Johnny burst into laughter so loud it nearly drowned out the pulse of the diagnostics. “Oh my god, you did not just say that.”
Viktor, meanwhile, turned an impressive shade of red. Not the subtle, embarrassed flush—no, full-blown, hair palette red. He pushed an empty metal tool tray off the side table with a loud clang, not even bothering to hide the frustrated groan.
“You-you-you're are making it extremely difficult to concentrate,” he muttered. Stuttering for the first time as V knew him.
V beamed at him like it was a personal achievement.
“Love you a lot, Vik.”
Viktor didn’t respond right away, but the corner of his mouth tugged again. Just a hint. He shook his head, rubbing the bridge of his nose. Inhaled and exhaled.
“Let me finish this. Then you can flirt. Or misbehave. Or both. Just—give me ten minutes without chaos.”
V leaned back again, voice smug.
“I’ll try.”
He didn't.
But he tried to try as thr diagnostic chair hummed softly. Cold metal frame contrasting against the warmth that pooled low in V’s stomach. It wasn’t the systems check or the gentle flicker of artificial data flowing through his synapses. It was Viktor.
Still hovering nearby, still flushed from earlier. Still trying very, very hard to stay focused.
V watched him work from under heavy lids. “You’ve done this before, huh?” he said, voice low, lazy. “Run diagnostics, monitor brainwaves, all that.”
Viktor didn’t look up, but his shoulders tensed slightly.
“Dozens of times, it's my job, V.”
“With... anyone like me?”
Viktor finally looked at him, confused.
“Like you how?”
V smirked.
“Someone you thought about.... Inappropriately.”
That earned him a long pause. The sound of the slate’s stylus stopped. The hum of the chair filled the silence.
“V,” Viktor said slowly. Warningly. Like he wasn’t quite sure if he should play along.
V stretched his arms above his head, a showy move, cables from his neuro port and extensions now taunt.
“C’mon. You had these thoughts.. ”
Viktor huffed through his nose, returning to the slate.
“You’re ridiculous... .”
“Not a no, though.”
Another beat passed.
“…maybe once or twice.”
The confession was quiet. Viktor didn’t stop working, but he didn’t quite meet V’s eyes either. The red was back in his cheeks.
V stilled.
“Oh?”
Viktor cleared his throat, still refusing to look directly at him.
“You were in here, maybe… third or fourth visit. Wired up. Still half-dead from the last job you didn’t walk away from clean. Talking shit, grinning through the pain. Hair was red then by the way.”
V smiled, soft and slow.
“So I was irresistible so early on...”
“You were exhausting,” Viktor shot back, but there was no real heat in it. Just fondness. “But. Yeah. You were… interesting.”
V raised a brow.
“Interesting.”
“In a very clinical sense,” Viktor added quickly. Too quickly.
“Oh? Clinical how?” V leaned in just slightly, the tension in the wires tugging playfully at his neck.
Viktor hesitated, then gave in with a sigh, folding his arms across his chest.
“You’re running on borrowed time now, overloaded neural pathways, trauma from every direction—mental, physical, emotional. And yet… from the start? Weirdly when you flirt, when you touch someone—your vitals stabilize. It's the weirdest thing. Like your system gets… calmer. More regulated. I’ve never seen anything like it. It should have adrenaline glands working on double for example.”
V bit his lip, teasing:
“Are you telling me I’m neurologically sexy?”
Viktor rolled his eyes.
“I’m saying your brain lights up like a goddamn fireworks show. Cortisol drops. Blood pressure finds a sweet spot. Endorphins up. And you want the worst part?”
“Tell me.”
“I’ve imagined what would happen during sex. Not just because of the obvious.” He waved vaguely at V’s lean, chaotic body. “But because I want to know. Medically. What happens when your system goes into that mode. How it changes your pain tolerance. How you’d look if—”
He stopped himself. Visibly.
V watched him for a long second, something soft and wide blooming behind his chest.
“One word and those pants I have are going down, Vik. It's so hot. ”
“V... You don’t have to offer yourself all the time,” Viktor said, quiet now, but firm. “I mean it. It’s not the only thing you can give. And… you don’t have to. You agree every time. You said it yourself that you felt like people wanted only this from you. I won't like you less if we don't have sex often, you know? ”
V’s smirk dropped away, just a little. His voice was still teasing—but gentler.
“I know. I do offer myself eagerly... ” He leaned back again, letting the chair hold his weight. “But I like you a little too much, Vik.”
Viktor looked at him.
“I can only pretend I don’t find you attractive for so long,” V said, smiling—honest this time, with no act. “You’re smart. You’re kind. And when you talk about my nervous system lighting up, I kinda wanna see if I can break your concentration even more.”
Viktor stepped closer, quietly. One hand resting on the arm of the chair.
He didn’t touch V. Not yet.
“Besides sex with you is different. Dunno. Chemicals or... Hormones.... Or just the fact I trust you. It's new to me. Believe me” V laughed a little, to mask how nervous he was.

Viktor’s hand lingered on the chair’s armrest, inches from V’s.
V watched him, still and unusually quiet. The flickering clinic lights cast both of them in amber-blue pulses, shadows dancing over old steel and sterile walls. Somewhere deeper in the room, a monitor beeped in time with V’s pulse—steady, fast, excited.
“I’m still hooked up, doc,” V murmured, voice low and rough. Beeps became faster the moment he said it.
Viktor gave him a look. One of those dry, deadpan stares that meant he was one word away from a groan. But he didn’t move. Didn’t stop.
“You’re impossible.”
“I’m in a chair built for diagnostics,” V said with a grin, “and all I can think about is how to make you lose control.”
“V.”
“Say it,” V whispered, not teasing this time. His smile faded into something softer. “Say you want me.”
The moment sat thick between them. Hot. Heavy. Unspoken things crackling like static.
Viktor’s eyes dropped to V’s mouth. He exhaled, slow and shaky. His hand slowly ventured up V's thigh. Caressing the raising bulge under V's belt.
“You know I do.”
That was all it took.
V reached out—awkwardly with all the wires still in—but tugged Viktor closer by the front of his shirt. Their mouths crashed, teeth clacking a little in their haste, all heat and breath and tangled want. Viktor leaned into the kiss, one hand bracing beside V’s head on the chair, the other finding V’s jaw, fingers splayed against his skin like he needed to confirm he was real.
They shifted together, V squirming slightly as cords pulled against ports, cold metal still beneath his back.
“Fuck—wait—careful,” Viktor muttered against his mouth.
“I am careful,” V grinned, tugging him down more, hooking a leg lazily around Viktor’s hip. “You’re the one climbing on your patient, doc.”
Viktor groaned, something between frustrated and aroused.
“This is so far beyond unethical.”
“And yet…” V kissed him again, slower this time. “Here we are.”
Their bodies adjusted—awkward at first, V lowering himself so Viktor could stand next to him. They weren’t rough. Every movement carried meaning. The way he gripped V’s hips, the way his hand found V’s lower back, steadying him where the chair couldn’t. V had never felt so... Safe.
Wanted.
Not as a fuck. Not as a body. But all of him. Even the messy parts. Even the dying parts.
“Vik…” V whispered, biting back a moan, eyes half-lidded as he tilted his head back. Viktor leaned over him, lips brushing V’s throat, hand curled around the back of his neck.
“I feel different with you,” V admitted, chest rising and falling beneath him. “Like… it’s not just sex. I wanna give you everything. All I got left. Whatever time I have.”
Viktor didn’t speak, but his breath stuttered, his fingers curling just a little tighter against V’s skin. His lips lingered just under V’s jaw, tasting the sweat, the warmth.
Viktor removed V's pants. His shorts. Their cocks brushing together once Viktor opened his trousers.
V chuckled softly, trying to defuse the weight of it with that familiar, reckless charm.
“You know, you should really be taking notes. Imagine the neural data. You’d have the hottest case study in Night City. ‘Merc hooks up with his ripper—unlocks emotional vulnerability and stress relief in record time!’”
“Shut up, V, you absolute disaster” Viktor muttered into his skin, but his smile was undeniable.
The chair creaked under their shifting weight. Cables glowed softly where they connected. The clinic—normally cold, distant—felt like something else entirely now. A place not just of chrome and scans and biochips... but of intimacy.
Viktor moved inside him, glancing on screens sometimes. It was quick and heated moment, skin against skin, but V didn't regret it one bit. The moment Vik came there was his chocked moan. That sexy grunt V came quickly to like.Not loud, as if Viktor was afraid to make a sound during sex. And that pushed V over the edge, while he had his legs safely lodged on his ripperdoc's shoulders.
When it was over, they stayed like that for a moment. V moved a little, now his legs hugging Vik's waist. His fingers found Viktor’s wrist, thumb brushing gently over pulse point and scarred skin. “I love you Viktor,” V murmured, eyes closed.
Silence.
V opened one eye, a crooked smile already forming.
“It’s okay. I know. You’re a man of few words.”
Viktor exhaled slowly, forehead resting against his. “You talk enough for both of us.”
“I am a generous soul.”
Viktor kissed his temple.
V closed his eyes again. Let himself feel safe. Because Vik won't leave him after sex. It wasn't a transaction. It was just to sweeten the already amazing time.

It was very late. Streetlights flickered outside the clinic windows, painting the curb in neon yellow and sickly pink. The city's noise had dulled to a distant hum, but neither of them had checked the time in hours. Didn’t matter.
V was perched on the edge of the diagnostic chair, still in Viktor’s too-big T-shirt. He loved his clothes.
“I need fresh clothes,” V said, mock-serious. “Tshirt I love but... No offense, Vik, your pants hate me.”
“I’d be more surprised if they didn’t,” Viktor replied, arms crossed, leaning against the doorway with a sleepy half-smile. “Come on. I’ll drive you home.”
V didn’t protest. Didn’t even joke about it. He just grinned and followed, dizzy in the best way. Pulling up his slightly sweat drenched jeans.
Dizzy not from pain or panic or a malfunctioning shard—just pheromones, affection, Viktor’s scent still on his skin. That warmth in his chest wasn’t going away anytime soon.
The simple fact that Viktor didn’t disappear after sex—didn’t vanish like so many before him—meant everything.

The ride to Watson wasn't a long one. V had his feet on the dash despite Viktor’s gentle protests, one arm resting behind his head. Viktor drove with one hand on the wheel, the other tapping idly near the gearshift, like his mind was still half in the clinic. He hummed. Viktor HUMMED with little smile.
V’s apartment was its usual... charming disaster. The lights flickered twice before staying on, and the door only opened after V hip-checked it with practiced force. Inside: controlled chaos because his highness Pebbles had taken over. Somehow, he had learned to jimmy the wardrobe open—again. The floor was littered with bullets, a half-disassembled handgun rested dangerously close to a snack wrapper, and a dreamcatcher Misty had gifted V was missing two feathers. Both, as it turned out, were now part of Pebbles' newly claimed sock-and-jacket nest.
The moment the cat spotted them, he unleashed a dramatic series of meows, circling their legs and pawing the air and their legs with theatrical flair.
“I think that’s a demand,” V muttered, bending slightly to dodge the feline assault. “Pick. Me. Up.”
“You think?” Viktor asked, raising a brow, just as Pebbles stretched up on his hind legs and tapped insistently at Viktor’s thigh.
“I was always more of a dog person,” Viktor murmured with a resigned sigh, but still scooped the wrinkly cat into his arms.
Pebbles wasted no time. He wriggled up Viktor’s chest like a mountaineer and started purring violently, nuzzling under Viktor’s chin, his rubbery tail flicking lazily behind him.
“Well, runs in the family,” Viktor said, voice muffled by furless, loving head. “Almost as cuddly as you. And just as smooth.”
V gasped in mock betrayal.
“Oh? You prefer some hair in strategic places, doc? That it?”
Viktor didn’t flinch.
“I’m fine either way. But this one…” He held up Pebbles for inspection, deadpan. “Looks like a shaved turkey.”
V howled with laughter, clutching his stomach and leaning into the wall for support.
“Awww... you're gonna give him a complex.”
Pebbles, of course, remained completely unfazed, now scratching his head against Viktor’s glasses like this was his home and they were the guests.
The moment hung soft and good. Familiar. The warm kind of quiet that only came after something real. But then—
A flicker.
Not a glitch, not a blackout. Just… a sensation. V’s skin prickled. A distant tingle in the base of his skull.
He blinked.
The chip pinged quietly in his HUD: Minor neural discrepancy.
Time stamp: 00:08. Self-corrected. No user action required.
V had ping in the car even before he felt it, of course, thanks to Vik's little program.
Viktor noticed instantly.
“What was that?” he asked, already alert, already stepping closer.
V waved him off, brushing a hand through his disheveled reddish hair.
“Headache. Tiny one. Nothing serious. Your program pinged it before I even felt it. It worked.”
Viktor frowned.
“Still—”
“I’m okay,” V reassured him, smile just a little smaller now. “Scout’s honor.”
On the windowsill, Johnny appeared—just a flicker of static before he fully phased in. He wasn’t smiling this time.
“One day,” he said, quietly. “It’ll be the last one, V.”
V swallowed.
Johnny didn’t meet his eyes.
“You’ll have to decide. If you want to make a run for it. If you want to have a chance of staying with your weird ripperdoc.”He smirked a little, softening it. “For the record, once again… he’s not my type.”
Then he faded again. Gone in a blink.
V looked away from the window. Didn’t comment.
Viktor’s hand found the back of his neck, brushing his hair lightly. The touch was grounding. Real.
“Can I stay tonight?” Viktor asked, voice low. “I’ll shift my schedule. No urgent patients.”
V felt Pebbles leap into his arms now, as if on cue that V needed cheering up now. The little gremlin curled immediately, rumbling with contentment.
V didn't look at Viktor right away. He just nodded. Eyes on the cat. Voice quiet.
“Yeah. That’d be cool.”
Viktor leaned in, kissed the side of his head. Not rushed. Not needy, not suggestive. Just... there.
And V realised he didn't remember the last time he was kissed like that.

The glitches were coming more often now. Sharper. Hungrier. V could feel them just under his skin—like static winding through muscle and bone. Still, he kept moving.
He had a job to finish.
The ping hit his HUD:
WARNING – Predicted Neurological Event in 00:40:17.
V exhaled, almost laughing.
"Awesome. Great. Perrrrrrrfect." he muttered, half to himself, half to Johnny, while ducking behind a rusted Maelstrom van with bullet holes like Swiss cheese.
Up ahead, gunfire cracked like fireworks in a trash can. A Maelstromer barked orders before catching a round to the neck—V didn’t wait to see if the guy dropped. He reloaded, letting muscle memory take over while the countdown ticked in the corner of his vision.
Johnny’s voice kicked in, loud and pissed.
“GET. THE. FUCK. OUT. OF THERE, V.”
But V just grinned, teeth bared, sweat in his brow. “No way. I'm getting that chip.”
He slipped through a side door, tossed a smoke grenade, and slid behind a corner while one of the last goons wheezed through the thick mist. A few keystrokes later, and the poor bastard was short-circuiting from the inside out.

27 minutes.
Another ping. V’s left eye glitched briefly, then stabilized.

“Time to come to party uninvited... ” he muttered, vaulting down a maintenance shaft and into the server room. The lights flickered. Blood was smeared on the floor—his? Someone else’s? Didn’t matter. He made his way to the terminal, hands flying across the surface.
Found the stolen blueprints. Downloaded. Purged the entire local drive for good measure.
Johnny flickered in beside him, pacing like a caged animal.
“I’m supposed to be the irresponsible one here, remember? You’re making me look bad.”
V scoffed in his mind.
“I’ll live.”
“Not if you keep coughing up blood and numbing your headaches with bootleg ‘painkillers’ you got off a fucking Tiger Claw!”
V ignored him. His hands were trembling. Not from adrenaline this time. From strain.
“I need the eddies,” he said under his breath. “Rehab, meds, hardware replacements—it all adds up. I will need it after we get you outta my head. ”
Johnny groaned.
“No. You’re just afraid. You can’t lie to me, choom—we share a head. You’re terrified of being still. Sitting in that apartment, alone with your thoughts for five goddamn minutes, and you fall apart.”

16 minutes.

V clenched his jaw, threw open the exit door, and practically dove into the Delamain that skidded to a halt outside. The AI greeted him in its usual clinical monotone.
"Destination: Viktor Vektor's Clinic. Your vitals are concerning, V. Shall I alert trauma—?"
“Just drive,” V panted. His chest was burning now. His vision was tunneling. “And tell me a joke.”
Delamain paused.
“A man walks into a bar with a neutron atom. The bartender says—”
“Nevermind, know that one, don't get it,” V croaked, head lolling back. “You’re not funny.”
“That is a subjective analysis.”
V laughed through the pain. He was trying. That had to count for something, right?

7 minutes.

Johnny’s voice rose again, cutting through the haze.
“This isn’t a sprint, V. You don’t get a ribbon for dying early from exhaustion. Vikky deserves more than a corpse on his operating tab-....”
And then—black.
No transition. Just absence. Like something unplugged his soul for a few seconds.
When the world clicked back into place, he was in the chair. Blinding clinic lights. The sterile, ozone-and-copper scent of Viktor’s clinic. Wires in his arms. Pressure on his chest. Painkillers crawling through his veins like honey.
Viktor was hovering beside him. Focused, jaw tight. Already working.
V didn’t even remember arriving. Didn’t remember stepping out of the car. Just... this.
The sharp edge of a tear blurred the edge of V’s vision—not from fear. Just the kind of quiet, exhausted grief you don’t notice until it spills over.
“It was.... Too selfish to tell him,” V whispered to himself. But he wasn’t sure if it was out loud.
Viktor didn’t say anything at first. Just adjusted the monitor, then turned back with that soft, 'goddamn it, kid' expression he always wore when V was hurting.
He touched V’s shoulder lightly.
“Breathe through your mouth, just for a second.”
V obeyed. Felt the way his body refused to cooperate. His pulse was like a faulty rhythm chip, skipping beats, then hammering double-time.
“I’m dying,” V said suddenly. No drama. Just the facts. Flat and clean like a cut to the bone.
Viktor didn’t flinch. He ran a gloved hand through V’s hair—still neon red, fading a bit more toward carrot-orange than usual.
“You know, I think this is the red I like best,” he said absently, like he needed to say something kind. “Even if I can’t tell the damn difference between any of ‘em.”
V’s eyes stung. Not from the lights.
“This one, huh? ”
“‘Mhm. ” Vik murmured, moving to the back of the clinic. “You made me rank seventeen different reds over an hour while we were waiting for your arm to finish calibrating.”
V chuckled weakly.
“You said they all looked the same.”
“They did.” He opened the cooler. “But this one looks best on you.”
He returned with a sealed pack—protoblood. V watched him with glassy eyes, tears slipping despite the painkillers numbing everything else. His jaw trembled as he tried to speak.
“I’m not giving up,” he choked. “Me and Johnny—we’ve got a plan. We’re gonna beat it... And... - .”
Viktor nodded, voice low and hoarse.
“I know.”
He attached the IV line, watching as the red fluid began its slow, steady drop. Something about it felt symbolic. Like every drop was a second V was fighting for.
V’s fingers gripped the side of the chair. His jaw clenched. The pain didn’t scream—it gnawed. Crawling through his bones. He didn’t want to show it, not here, not to Viktor.
But Viktor saw it, just like he always did.
V gritted his teeth and let it happen.

V panted. Then—black again.
Not full unconsciousness. Not exactly. Just slipping sideways into something strange. Something broken. Time dissolved into pulses of sound and heat. His heartbeat roared too loud in his ears, then vanished entirely. Footsteps, machines humming, soft metal clicks. Murmurs he couldn’t tell were real or imagined. Viktor’s voice? His own thoughts? Couldn’t tell. Didn’t matter.
He sank. Then floated.
Then—came back. Just a little too feel as if his chest was on fire, a dull, numbing pain going through his solar plexus and exploding into his spine.
Breathing was easier. Not easy. But easier. Like surfacing from under ice.
The light above the chair stopped burning. Just hummed quietly. The pain dulled around the edges.
Viktor was there. Still. Sitting next to him. His fingers flicked across the slate screen on his knee, stylus scratching softly, eyes darting between vitals and graphs. Quietly focused.
He didn’t notice V watching until V smiled, weak but honest. Then Viktor looked up, and a small smile curved his lips in return. Just a flicker—but real.
“Hey,” Viktor said quietly, voice warm and hoarse. “When all this is over… we should go on a road trip.”
V blinked.
“A road... trip?” He sounded amused. Dazed.
Viktor nodded, eyes on the slate again.
“You’re a Nomad. You’ve seen more road than I’ve seen daylight. I barely ever left the city. Could use some of that. Air. Sky. Real...dunno, distance.”
V’s heart tightened. Not because it wasn’t a beautiful thought. But because it was a lie.
Not cruel. Not even deliberate. But V knew the difference between words meant for comfort and those meant for a real future. And this—this was Viktor trying to imagine one. Even if he didn’t believe in it anymore. Viktor showed it every day. Fussing over V a little too much. Being lenient during some stupid argument, letting V win just so he'd be happy.
Viktor wanted to pretend all is well. That this is like a flu - will pass for sure and they will be able to build a life together.
V looked away, swallowing past the dry ache in his throat.
“You should,” he said softly. “Really. Open road, sunrise coming up behind you when there’s nothing in the view but sand and sky. No cables. No buildings. Just the hum of the engine and a fuckload of wind.” He smiled faintly. “And a mini cooler of overpriced drinks that always spills no matter what.”
Viktor chuckled gently, wiped V’s nose with a damp tissue.
“That sounds amazing. But I’d want a camper. Not a bike.”
“Camper?”
“I like having a toilet too much to go full Nomad,” Viktor said, shrugging.
V barked out a laugh—ragged, tired, but real. “You're such a grandpa.”
“I am a grandpa. And I’d like my sink and my cabinets stocked. Oh... Maybe a cat hammock for Pebbles. No way he'd stay alone. You spoiled him.”
They sat in silence after that. Not awkward. Just... present.
Viktor packed cables. Disconnected bags. Switched off the monitor feed and disconnected the IV slowly, with precise fingers. His face unreadable, but his every movement tender. Methodical.
And V watched him.
Something tightened in his chest again that had nothing to do with failing hardware or decaying neural links.
He shouldn’t have told him about his feelings. It was selfish. To say I want you when there was such a slim fucking chance of staying alive long enough to even deserve it....
But it was also the first time in years he felt anything that real.
Viktor stayed after every fight. After every argument. After sex, after V said something too sharp or too stupid—he stayed. Maybe pinching the bridge of his nose and sighing, but still there.
Still choosing him.
That’s when the tears came. Not sobs. No heaving breath. Just tears sliding down his cheek as he stared at the ceiling, unable to stop them. His hand twitched, as if reaching for Viktor, but he didn’t move.
“I love you,” V said, voice quiet. Fragile. “So, so much.”
Viktor didn’t freeze. He didn’t panic. He just leaned down and kissed V’s forehead softly, with reverence. Then straightened again. Calm. Collected.
He turned away. Removed his hand stabilizer—one of the few bits of chrome he wore on days with heavy work. With one breath, one sudden motion, he drove his fist into the wall.
Crack.
The sound echoed off the metal siding, and when he pulled back, the dent was deep and ragged. Drywall fractured and fell down. Knuckles red.
No scream. No words.
Just that.
V wiped his own eyes on the sleeve of his borrowed shirt. Smirked faintly, trying to lighten the moment.
“Well, uhm... , color me impressed and thoroughly seduced,” he rasped. “You really didn’t have to punch a wall to prove you’re strong, Vik.”
Viktor’s voice was low. Barely more than a breath. “Just a... stressful day.”
A pause.
Then, with an effortful shift of tone, he added, “Sushi. With real fish. What do you say?”
V opened his mouth. Part of him wanted to say fuck that. Wanted to protest. “I don’t need pampering. I’m not some dying kid from the Make-A-Wish Foundation."
But he didn’t say that. Viktor was worried more than V. Needed normalcy.
He just nodded.
“I’d love it,” he whispered. “But only if I get to steal the last piece. I like the white fish. ”
Viktor smiled.

Chapter Text

V meant what he said.

He didn’t want anything special. He didn’t want flowers in his arms or someone whispering "you’re the strongest person I know" like a eulogy. He didn’t want a single tear trailing down anyone’s cheek in the third act of some heart-wrenching romance.
No, fuck that. He wanted to be sexy. Ageless. Illegally handsome and entirely too alive to be pitied. And if he was going to love someone — really, fully, messily — it was going to be like he still had all the time in the world. Not like he was trying to freeze it before it ran out.
But for now, they kept it quiet. Their thing.

They touched only in private — in between buzzing equipment in the clinic, when Vik could spare a minute. A brush of fingers on V’s cheek during diagnostics. Loving cuddles when they fell asleep. V didn't mind, mostly. He understood the need to move slow. It was V who jumped on him with feelings with a lot of brute force.
They slept in each other's places, falling into a rhythm of normal life. A little. Pebbles, moody beast that he was, had no respect for privacy — but even less for people he didn't like. He’d lunged at a delivery girl who brought pizza once, yowling like a banshee. But when it came to Vik? Vik got the full show — rolls, chirps, purrs, that ridiculous thin tail hugging his ankle.
More than once, Pebbles shoved himself into the middle of a couch snuggle, third wheel being the most important one. Vik never complained. Just scratched him behind the ears with one hand while kissing V, mumbling, “You spoil him.”

One of their first not-quite-dates was spent perched on tall stools near a food stall shaped like a plastic koi. They were eating taiyaki or something — those fish-shaped pastries with gooey red insides.
“They’re filled with something” he said, waving his half-eaten pastry. “Beans, maybe or.. synth paste with sugar?”
Viktor grinned, licking crumbs off his thumb. “You like them. That’s what matters.”
V smirked.
“Goro once had a meltdown over bad takoyaki. Called it a crime against his homeland. Felt personally offended, as well as all of his ancestors.”
Viktor laughed, eyes crinkling behind his glasses. “That the same man who only eats sushi if the fish flopped ten minutes ago?”
“The one and only.”
V leaned against the counter, one arm draped casually along the metal edge. They sat close, legs brushing under the bar. V reached out — soft and deliberate — trying to lace his fingers with Vik’s. Nothing big. Just a quiet little gesture of being... his.
But the moment his skin grazed Vik’s knuckles, Viktor shifted, turning to order more pastries. “Can we get a few of the ones with the red paste? To go.”
V didn’t say anything, just pulled his hand back and bit into the rest of his pastry. Still warm. Still sweet. Still didn’t quite hit right.
Later, Vik handed him the box... But like a gentleman held it for an hour as they wandered Reconciliation Park, where trees stretched thin toward the sky and the air carried that post-rain, dust-over-asphalt scent. V tried again to reach for his hand. A light brush. A knuckle tap.
Each time, Viktor moved — to check his holopad, to point at something far-off and unimportant. V told himself it wasn’t intentional. Maybe just... awkward. Maybe it didn’t mean anything. His awkward doing boyfriend.
The kiss came later, in the low light of V’s apartment. Viktor said he had to head back to the clinic, but this kiss was deep like if it was their last one. Even if they would see each other tomorrow. Or the day after, schedules didn't always work.
When the door closed, V dropped to the floor in the middle of his mess, pastries held like some sacred treasure. He smiled to himself, mouth still tingling. A real date.
He still wished he could’ve held his hand.
Next time.

Another maybe meeting maybe date followed not even a week later.
Snooker. Not pool. A difference V still didn’t fully understand, but Vik tried patiently — for the third time — to explain it.
“No stripes or solids. Reds and colors” Viktor said, lining up a shot. “You hit a red, then a color. Points vary. There's an order.”
“That’s just pool for... Dunno, math nerds.”
“It’s elegant.”
“It’s overcomplicated balls-on-table sport, doc.”
V watched Vik lean forward for a shot, noting how the fabric of his shirt pulled across his back. He stood behind him, playfully brushing his own cue along the line of Vik’s arm.
“Want to correct my posture? Yours impeccable.”
“I swear, V—”
“I’m just saying… form’s important.”
Vik’s lips twitched, but he didn’t take the bait. He didn’t tease back. Didn’t grab V by the collar and pull him in, like V hoped, like in those... noir romances. V fell asleep watching one, maybe that's why.
He made his shot — sunk a red — and straightened to greet a friend who had wandered in. V backed off. Not offended just... Too hopeful maybe.
Later, when Vik was arguing rule nuances over beers with that same friend, V watched him talk. The small gestures, the inflection of his voice when he got passionate. He loved this Viktor. A lot. V was introduced as a close friend. One that often lands in Vik's clinic due to blood loss.
Still, when they left the bar, V smiled and told himself this was still a date. They don't have to get posed photos for socials to be a couple.

That night, the glitch timer flickered in his peripheral vision. Ten minutes until the next one. Minor. He was curled alone, lying on his side, Pebbles doing important cat stuff outside.
V smiled anyway, despite glitch incoming. It was Viktor's app, after all.

The shooting range date- a little over week later- was V’s idea.
“If I gotta trust you near my liver, I should also trust you not to shoot your own foot off.”
“I said I was decent, I'm not a merc.”
Vik wasn’t bad — steady hands, calm demeanor. Great for the kind of targets that didn’t move. V showed off, of course — full-speed firing at every moving target, double taps, bursts, flips. The kid in the corner applauded. His father scowled.
“Punks like that are why the city’s a mess” he muttered.
V turned to Viktor, smiling sweetly.
“Then maybe take your kiddo to the zoo instead of a fuckin' war zone.”
Vik smothered a laugh.
They stood near the back after, comparing trigger resistance and scopes. V pointed out modifications. Some he’d seen in the field. He liked showing off — not just his aim, but his experience. For once, he got to be the teacher. Viktor could build you a gun, sure, but using it is whole other world!
“Try this one” he said, handing over one with custom rifle. “Your elbow’s too stiff, by the way.”
He moved behind Viktor, pressing his body in with theatrical innocence. One hand on Vik’s lower back, the other sliding up to guide his elbow.
“Like this. See? Loosen up, doc.”
But Vik went still. Not melting into the touch. Not pressing back. Just… quiet. V was hoping a little for romantic "I'm not hugging you". Instead Viktor turned, stepping out of V’s reach.
“Maybe that’s enough for today” he said, voice soft. “My ears are killing me.”
V held the rifle a second longer before setting it down. Forced a grin.
“Guess we’ll save the advanced course for next time.”
Vik smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.
V didn’t push.
But he couldn’t help the quiet ache in his chest, just beneath the rib that always twinged when the migraines were close.

He was sweet.

In that nerdy, dorky way that made V's stomach twist — with something dangerously close to full-on heart eyes. Viktor would start explaining something technical, voice calm, precise, like if it was a lecture on neuron-mapped processors, and V would just… melt.
That kind of cool was different from V’s idea of cool. It wasn’t flash or style or fearless disregard. It was steadiness. It was adulthood. The kind V always pretended to have.
Being with Vik sometimes made him feel like a kid again — the good kind. The laughing-too-hard-over-nothing kind.
And yet... There was this thing. A tiny, stupid pickle.

Vik was loving, sure. Gentle when V woke up, grounding him with a warm hand and calm words. Tender with kisses in dim rooms. Waking up in the middle of the night just to check if V is back home safely.
But outside?
Outside, he was his friend. Less than that, even. Back before V realized he was in love, he’d flirted with Vik all the time — half-joking, always hoping for that dry chuckle or eye-roll. And Vik had played along. Tired and flustered, but there.
Now, if V so much as brushed knees with him on a bench, Vik would shift. Subtle. Polite. Like V had sprouted a new implant that might kill poor doc.
Walking side-by-side was a masterclass in not quite touching. Close enough to talk. Never close enough to feel the fabric of V's shirt.
V tried not to let it get to him. He respected privacy. If Viktor didn’t want to make things public yet — fine. They hadn’t even told Misty. And if Viktor had told his chooms V was “a friend” and just never walked that back — okay, sure.
But just walking on the street? Or public bench, burgers in hand? Shooting range, with all the subtle flirting and touching just waiting to happen in that space? That wasn’t intimate even... That was just life in Night City. V had seen people have full-blown sex behind vending machines before. Holding hands wasn’t exactly a scandal. No one cared.

So he started testing the theory.
They were walking that day, carrying parts — a minor delivery of diagnostic nodes and bio-connective cabling for Vik’s clinic. Two boxes, both very light. V insisted he’d help. He only carried one, but made a dramatic show of it, as if hauling gold bars.
Viktor rolled his eyes but said nothing.
They walked down a quieter street near Vik’s neighborhood. The light was warm, filtering through the smog.
So V tried.
He reached out his hand, slow and casual. Not desperate. Just a little quiet touch between lovers. His fingers ghosted close to Viktor’s… and Vik’s hand moved. Smooth, like muscle memory — shifting the box a little, adjusting his grip. Still talking about manufacturing inconsistencies in newer connector series. Like nothing had happened.
V tried again. Let his knuckles drift. A feather touch.
Vik slid his hand right into his pocket.
V blinked. Oh no you didn't.
Determined, he aimed for chaos. If Vik’s hand was going to hide in his jeans like some goddamn shy snail, then V was going in after it. He stuffed his hand into Vik’s pocket too. Or tried. It was too small.
Viktor choked a laugh.
“V… what are you—?”
“Wanna hold your hand” V said brightly, grinning like an idiot. “Three-minute walk. Misty’s got a shift in hospital. No one’s gonna tell the tabloids. Come on, Vik.” He leaned into the charm. Puppy eyes and all.
Viktor gave a strangled noise that might’ve been a laugh.
“I have to carry—”
V snatched the small box out of his other hand in a flash and stacked it on his own.
“Boom. Both hands free. No excuses, doc.”
Viktor rubbed the back of his neck, gaze flicking away. He looked like he wanted to vanish into the sidewalk.
V let the silence sit for a moment. Let it stretch, his hand still halfway in that damn pocket.
He let out a slow breath and said:
“Y’know. Objectively speaking, I’m not bad-looking.”
That made Viktor look at him. Careful. Uncertain.
“Some guys” V continued, voice light but growing tighter at the edges, “used to love showing me off. Like ‘hey, look at this, I just nailed Candy V.’ Real proud of themselves.”
V’s smile dropped a little.
“Others liked the merc thing. Cold. Brooding. Liked how I walked them home with dramatic thousand-yard stare.”
He let out a half-laugh.
“So what about you, Vik? Why…” He didn’t mean to say it. But it came out anyway. Soft. Honest. “Are you ashamed to be seen with me?”
Viktor’s face went still.
“Yes” he said. Too quickly.
V’s stomach dropped. It was like being shot in the chest. Not hard. Not loud. Just… the shock of it.
“Oh” V said, breath catching. His arms tensed around the boxes.
But Viktor groaned immediately.
“Shit. That came out wrong. Really, really wrong. Let me—”
V turned his head slightly, not angry. Just hurt a little. Just… frozen in place.
Viktor stepped closer.
“Not ashamed of you, V. Never. You're amazing.”
“Could’ve fooled me.”
“I’ve never—” Vik caught himself. “It’s not the place. C’mon. Let’s just… talk in the clinic. Please.”
V clicked his tongue. But nodded.
“Fine. Statistically, Vik, someone’s groping a vending machine right now” V said, walking ahead. “You’re not gonna catch a virus from my hand.”
Viktor adjusted the box. Looked like he wanted to say something more.
But V didn’t look back yet. He needed a minute.
Viktor said he didn't mind V had a lot of partners...
They rounded the corner. Faint scent of incense drifted out from under the doors of closed Esoterica shop.
The cat was there again — that black-and-white thing Misty had half-accidentally adopted. Kitten was getting bigger. V crouched and gave it a scratch behind the ear. It leaned into his touch.
Viktor chuckled softly behind him, but it didn’t reach far.
He opened the door to the clinic, pushed inside and disappeared into the storage nook.
Viktor set the boxes down with practiced precision, stacking them neatly on the workbench in the back.
"Maybe we'll talk in the evening," he mumbled, more to himself than to V. "In half an hour, I’ve got that guy—"
"Half an hour’s plenty," V said, voice firm but calm.
He turned, perched himself on Viktor’s favorite swivel stool — the one with the torn cushion and the stubborn wheel that always squeaked — and fixed his gaze on him.
"Spill it."
Viktor hesitated. He exhaled and pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. A tell. Classic Viktor tell.
V watched him closely. Could almost hear the gears spinning behind those thoughtful eyes. Either thinking how to say something in diplomatic manner or think of the lie.
But Viktor didn’t lie. That, at least, V knew to his bones.
Still, Viktor groaned like a man about to admit to some capital crime.
“Just... promise me you won’t laugh” he muttered.
“I swear on Pebbles and whatever other high ranking person you want” V replied, hand raised like for an oath.
His heart beat harder than he expected. Will it be it? Afraid someone will see V on street and shout "I fucked that one too!" and Viktor will realise he's not into used goods?
Viktor looked everywhere but at him.
“It’s just that… sometimes I’m afraid people’ll think I paid for you.”
V blinked.
“…Sorry, what now?”
“Not like—” Vik’s hand waved in protest. “Not literally. But, you know. That I’m some old guy who hired himself an arm candy. Or… or a joytoy who got feelings.”
V clapped a hand over his mouth.
His body shook trying not to laugh, whole shoulders tensed like he was holding in a scream.
“You promised” Viktor said, red creeping up his neck to his ears.
“I am keeping it in!” V gasped, pressing his lips together like a zipper. “Barely. Holy shit, Vik.”
He forced a breath, letting the urge to laugh die down, though it left him grinning ear to ear.
“Okay. Alright. I’m just—whew. Relieved that it’s not a problem with me. I was sure you'd dump me now because I slept with too many guys or something.”
Viktor groaned and leaned against the counter, covering his face for a second.
“It’s not problem. I knew about it. So... It’s really not. You’re… amazing.”
“You’re exaggerating.”
“I’m not. You’re smart, you’re kind when you let yourself be, and you’ve got this wild streak that makes me feel alive when I’m around you. But you’re also—you’re young. And handsome…”
“Vik. There were like three guys hotter than me just today near the post boxes. I know I play my looks but I'm hardly a model material. ”
“You don’t see what I see.”
Vik’s voice dropped. Quiet. Honest.
“To me, you are” he said. “That guy. The one people look at and think ‘how the hell did he get him?’”
V was silent for a beat. Then, gently:
“And that makes you ashamed?”
“No” Viktor said quickly. “But it makes me… afraid of how I’ll look. My world’s small, V. Clinic, Misty’s, my corner of the city. I go where I know things. Places I’ve already been. I don’t walk around like people owe me the spotlight.”
He paused, then added with a laugh under his breath:
“And here I am, with a guy like you. Suddenly, after years of showing in those places alone.”
V stood. Without a word, he patted the swivel stool. Beckoning.
Viktor frowned.
“What are you—?”
“Sit” V said, pointing at the chair with his chin. “Speech time.”
Vik raised an eyebrow but obeyed. The stool groaned in protest as it turned slightly.
V stepped forward and wrapped his arms around him. Letting Viktor's head lean against him. V brushed his fingers through Vik’s hair.
“Okay” he said softly. “Then tell me when it gets easier to show it. I'll wait.”
Viktor held still for a moment. Then he melted into it. Just a little. Enough.
“I’m sorry” he murmured. “I didn’t mean to make you feel unwanted.”
“You didn’t” V whispered, then added: “All righty. Maybe a little”
“Being alone is easy. No one sees your insecurities.” Viktor admitted. “Didn’t even know how many I had until you started poking around .”
V grinned, kneeling next to Viktor.
“It’s my life mission to complicate your life.”
“Well, congrats. You’re succeeding.”
They stayed like that a while. No rushing. No urgency. V leaned into him, head on, Viktor's knee.
Eventually, V pulled back just enough to meet Viktor’s eyes.
“So. Secrecy, huh?”
“Just give me time to…”
“I expect whispered devotion then” V said solemnly. “Secret messages left in drop points. Stolen kisses in elevator shafts. Untraceable netrunners helping us book romantic dinners in... Dunno, abandoned factories.”
Viktor laughed. A real one this time.
“And obviously, fucking senseless on the dining table. I'm a man with needs, Vik! ”
V smiled. Touched his face. Brushed his thumb across Viktor's cheekbone. Then leaned forward and kissed him, soft and warm.
When they parted, he added lightly:
“And hey. You were my friend first. So if people think we’re friends? That’s okay. We're... still friends, right?”
V backed away, hands in his pockets.
“But one day, doc?” He threw a glance over his shoulder, a grin tugging at his lips. “One day I’m gonna get you to hold me in public. You’ll see.”

V was panting. Hard The burn-through-your-lungs kind. His body refused to move just right — a low-grade, crawling glitch made his limbs sluggish, like swimming through zero-g. The shard hadn't fried him completely this time, but the nausea was still there, metallic and warm. Blood slicked his lower lip, bright red against the grime smudging his chin.
Good he had some warning from the system. Had time to hide... More or less.
He was sprawled on a thick metal beam just under the warehouse roof, stomach down, legs dangling. The steel radiated the day's heat beneath his jacket. Far below, voices echoed — scattered and tense, hunting for him like dogs.
He’d get them. He always did. Just... give it ten minutes. Maybe fifteen.
He turned his head to the side, groaning softly, eyes adjusting to the spiderwebs of light peeking through a broken skylight. The smog was soft orange today. Almost pretty, if he squinted hard enough.
“Gotta take Vik on a date” he murmured in his head or aloud. It was hard to tell.
A low scoff followed immediately.
Johnny sat perched nearby, crouched on the beam’s edge. His holographic boots flickered with interference.
“Seriously? We’re being hunted” Johnny said, voice dry as a scorched synth-bean. “You just puked blood. We’re twenty meters off the ground in a damnedwarehouse. And your first thought is a date?”
V shrugged — a tiny one, the best he could manage without feeling like he was going to short-circuit again.
Johnny dragged a hand down his face.
“You’re ridiculous.”
“You think we’ll have a better time?” V thought back, no words needed. Smiled brightly.
Johnny huffed, leaning forward with a dry grin. “No, no. We got time. Hit me, drama boy.”
V grinned faintly, pressing a hand over his aching ribs.
“Outside the city” he thought. “Just want to show him a sunrise. Some shitty coffee in a cup holder. Fresh air. Hand-holding, maybe. No one to stare.”
Johnny leaned back, arms folded behind him, boots swinging slightly.
“Yeah, yeah. Let me guess. You’ll stop by a diner, get one of those sad synth-milkshakes with two straws, and tell him he’s the most beautiful ripperdoc in the Badlands.”
“Awww.That would be cute. Thanks for idea.”
Johnny rolled his eyes.
“You are an absolute mess.”
Johnny didn’t say anything for a moment.
Finally he smoked. As always grimace shower that no real nicotine made him unhappy.
“Don’t expect him to change. He’s old. Not just years — old like... life already scuffed him up. You're set in your ways at this point. ”
“Like you?” V asked with a slight smirk.
Johnny laughed. A real one.
“Yeah. Like me.”
V closed his eyes briefly, his pulse starting to calm.
“You changed, though. You’re less revenge, more...” He trailed off.
“More glitter?” Johnny teased.
V chuckled.
“Maybe.”
They sat like that in silence — one real, one ghost — until the sun dipped low and the orange light shifted blue. The glitch eased. The pain settled.
Time to go.
By the time V descended from the beams and left a few more bodies behind him, the sky was edging toward calming pinks and purples.
What an evening.

Back at his place, Pebbles was waiting near the door like the tiny, judgmental meat sack. He sniffed at V’s jacket on the floor, gave a soft mrrp, and promptly tried to bury it with his paws.
“Thanks, buddy” V muttered. “If I ever need a body hidden...”
The cat gave him a dismissive tail flick and moved on. Trying to hide the bloodied mess.
V dropped onto the couch, dug his phone out of the pocket, and flicked through his contacts.
The feed connected — slightly blurry like wholr world right now— but Vik’s face appeared. Backlighted by his clinic lamp, glasses pushed up, faint oil smudge near his jaw.
“V?” he asked, eyes scanning. “You alright?”
“Yeah, yeah” V said quickly. “Just checking. Got time to talk?”
“I’ve got a guy soon, but sure.”
V purses his lips for a moment , leaned back.
“What’s your schedule look like Thursday?”
Viktor adjusted his goggles. Looked away for a moment, flicking through a slate.
“Morning’s open. Maybe early afternoon too, if I move some things. Why?”
V grinned.
“Because I’m kidnapping you. Secret doc extraction.”
Viktor blinked.
“A what?”
“Full date. Outside the city. Sunrise, coffee, holding hands. Real clandestine ops shit. Drop points. Secure channels. Ah, got too far. You get the gist. ”
Viktor looked down and blushed. Actually blushed.
“...V.”
“Oh come on” V laughed. “It’s just outside the city. No one to see. Just you and me and a really bad gas station coffee. ”
Viktor groaned, shaking his head.
“You know you don't have to do this for me? ”
“That’s your problem” V said, voice softening. “You don’t see how fucking preem you are. But I do. So I’ll keep saying it till it sticks. I love you, big guy. .”
Viktor looked up through the screen.
“You’re an amazing guy too, V.”
Not “I love you.” Not yet.
But it was enough.
“Thursday. Four a.m.” V confirmed. “Wear something warm. Sun and all but it's colder than in the city.”
Viktor shook his head but smiled.
They ended the call.
V tossed the phone onto the table and let himself sink fully into the couch. His ribs still ached. His hands still trembled faintly from the earlier glitch. But his heart?
Yeah. It felt good. Better than good.
Pebbles crawled up beside him, sniffed again at the jacket and, after a moment of feline contemplation, lay down on it like it was worth protecting after all.
His human.

V didn’t sleep. He was never a morning person - Nomads were - and it was easier to stay late. Especially that glitch earlier in the week had left a lingering static hum under his skin — not enough to bring him down, but enough to make him aware of his own mortality in a way that turned even the smallest things sharp.

He parked outside Vik’s building just before 3:55 a.m., his car humming low, headlights catching on the edge of the mist rolling in from the south. The city still pulsed around them, but quieter. Those two hours of city being almost sleeping.
Viktor stepped out into the street, bundled in a jacket too thin for the cold, dark hair still messy from what little sleep he must’ve caught. V held up a steaming cup like a trophy, grinning.
“Gas station’s finest,” he said, voice soft but playful. “I think I made the machine cry just to fill this.”
Viktor chuckled, taking it.
“You bring all your boyfriends shitty coffee before dawn, or am I special?”
“Anything I do before 1pm is special ” V said, but there was no bite to it.
They drove. The city took a long time to release its grip. Neon faded into sodium lamps, then into distant red blinks of warning towers and wind turbines on the far horizon. By the time they reached the outskirts — past landfill fences, through forgotten roads — the sky had turned a bruised violet. V liked this colour. Something telling there is another day waiting.

V was telling a story — something half-unbelievable, even by his standards. A gig for some washed-up rocker, Kerry gave V his info. Crowd control turned shootout, an ex-groupie with a flamethrower, and someone trying to pay him in crypto that hadn’t been worth anything since 2025.
Viktor raised a brow.
“You’re meeting celebrities now, huh?”
“Nah,” V smirked, eyes on the road. “Just Johnny’s depressed friend. And whoever this second guy was.”

Finally, they reached it.

A quiet spot overlooking the rise east of the city. Sparse brush. No buildings for miles. The kind of place where you could feel the silence instead of just noticing it. V parked the car crooked on the edge of the dirt track and jumped out into the cold morning air.
He didn’t say anything. Just walked to the front of the car, climbed up onto the hood, and patted the spot beside him with a firm, expectant thump of the metal.
“C’mon, Vik,” he said, eyes warm. “You have to sit here. Mandatory.”
Viktor hesitated for only a second, then joined him with that same quiet smile — tired and understated, a little shy, like every time they got this close still surprised him.
V leaned against him, shoulder pressing into Viktor’s chest, both of them facing east. Behind them - city, still vibrant, loud, brighter than the day. Before? The dark horizon was already fading into peach and soft yellow, edges glowing behind the far ridges.
“This,” V murmured, “this is what I missed. All the shit going on, y’know? And here's another sunrise so...you made it.”
Viktor wrapped one arm around him, lips pressing gently into V’s hairline. The kiss barely landed, but it was real.
“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I know I’m… a pain. This whole thing— I can’t even give you a proper date without feeling like I’m... someone you’re dragging along out of pity.”
V twisted to look at him, scoffing softly.
“Pity?”
Viktor’s eyes dropped.
“I mean, look at me. I’m older. I’m boring. Even this Can't be high stake exciting date like parachuting because I - ”
“Stop.” V cut him off gently, one hand brushing Viktor’s knee. “You are the date, Vik. This? Just being here? This is perfect. You, coffee, stars going down... fuck, I’m lucky.”
He was speaking with his hands again, the way he always did around Viktor — more animated, more open. Like the words weren’t enough without movement. Normally he kept to himself. Each movement might be his tell. So he stood like a statue when talking. Hands down.
Usually. Not now.
Viktor caught one of those hands mid-motion, lacing their fingers together, and brought it to his lips.
The kiss was soft, just tad scratchy because Vik didn't get time to shave.
V paused. Smiled. His voice dipped to something smaller, a little breathless.
“.. And then you go and do something like that,” he whispered, tilting his head. “How can someone not love you, Vik?”
Viktor chuckled low in his throat.
“You might just have bad taste.”
V looked at him — really looked — and something in his face shifted. Without a word, he leaned in slowly, deliberately, one hand braced against the car’s hood beside Viktor’s thigh, the other sliding to the back of Viktor’s neck. His forehead touched Viktor’s first, a pause so full of silent meaning it felt like time bent inward for them. Playfully moved his glasses up Vik's forehead so they won't get in the way.
“You don’t get it,” V murmured, breath brushing over Viktor’s skin. “You’re my safe place.”
Then he kissed him. Not quick. Not playful. It was a slow press of lips, firm and aching, like V had been waiting for the earth to stop spinning long enough to give him this. His fingers curled slightly in Viktor’s hair as he tilted his head just enough to deepen it — not hungrily, but giving into the moment.
V didn’t pull away right after. He lingered, pressing his cheek to Viktor’s, their noses brushing, breathing against each other.
When he finally spoke again, the question came with a grin he couldn’t quite hide:
“So?” he whispered. “Still think I’ve got bad taste?”
Viktor laughed, quiet but genuine.
“Absolutely, you taste like gas station coffee.”
V laughed.
They stayed there a long time.
The sun finally rose. V melted into Viktor’s side, one arm thrown over his chest, the two of them tangled in quiet. No one around. No eyes. No judgment. Just warmth, and stillness, and breath syncing between two chests.
For once, nothing was urgent. Nothing burned.
Just them. On the hood of a car, bathed in a brand-new day.
Even Johnny decided it's too nauseatingly cute to show up.

Chapter Text

The plan was simple.

Get the shard. Walk into Arasaka. End it.

Simple. In theory.

Except the cyberpsycho didn’t agree with that plan. She was fast—wired to the teeth, maddened eyes locked onto V like she could see every crack in his soul. She came at him like a blur, metal claws shrieking against the concrete as he barely dodged.
“Too sentimental,” Johnny grunted in V’s ear, voice laced with frustration. “You keep saying you won’t get anyone else involved. That’s not bravery, choom. That’s suicide.”
V slammed the psycho against the wall hard enough to crack ceramic plating, finally managing to cuff her twitching limbs. He panted, vision swimming. Shit, the warning was there but he couldn't stop himself.
“I’m NOT getting anyone else involved,” he muttered between heavy breaths. “We got each other, you and me.”
Then he doubled over.
Coughing. Wet. Violent.
Blood spattered onto his hand like rusted oil. Thick and dark. He wiped it on his pants like it was nothing. Like it was just spit.
Johnny didn’t say anything for a moment.
V collapsed to the ground beside the unconscious body, calling Delamain with one click. His voice barely worked. Static-laced.
“Good ol’ reliable AI…” he rasped, watching the smoke curl off his jacket. Burned through in two places. Blood soaked the side.
“We’ve got Nomads,” Johnny finally spoke again. “Panam. Or Rogue. She—”
“She’s got a kid,” V interrupted, trying to inject another stim into his thigh. His fingers trembled too hard to guide it in. “She doesn’t need to watch me fall apart.”
He gritted his teeth, voice cracking.
“No one does, you know.?.”
The world glitched. Glitched hard. Like gravity fell sideways and the colors bled off the sky. Everything moved in frames. Breathing—god, breathing hurt. Like razors in his lungs.
He’d promised Viktor.
Promised he’d be home tonight. Just a quiet night. A game or a movie . Some shitty, lo-fi radio and microwaved noodles. Just to stay home.
Johnny sighed in his head, not mocking now. Just tired.
“You’re not scared of dying, huh?”
“No,” V whispered. “Just scared of leaving him.”
He ended up on his knees in the alley, arms shaking, choking on bile and blood. Tears clung to his lashes, hot and acidic.
“Why don’t the meds work?” he asked no one. To the sky. To himself.
Johnny knelt beside him—metaphorically. In spirit, more than memory now.
“You’re not dying. Not on my fucking watch.”
“You being nice? Maybe this is heaven already,” V hissed, crawling the last few feet to the Delamain cab that pulled up with a soft ding.
The moment the door hissed closed, V let go.
Screamed.
No one else could hear him. No one but Johnny.
He clawed at his own chest, twisted in the seat, blood on his teeth and his tongue. Wounds on his side, cyberware shorting in pulses. Pain crawled up his spine like red-hot wires. He thrashed, sobbing, teeth clenched until his jaw screamed too.
Delamain asked if he required medical attention.
“Drive,” V gasped. “ Vik’s clinic... Please.”
Then Johnny told him a story.
Some ridiculous thing. Something about a job gone wrong in New York City, a misfired grenade, and a very angry Elvis impersonator. It was dumb. It made no sense at all.
V laughed anyway. Laughed through tears and BLOOD. Meds giving him a sweet release of lost consciousness.

It wasn’t how he imagined things would end.
When he opened his eyes, the clinic lights hurt. Four hours gone, the clock said.
He’d blacked out. Again. Not the first time, not the worst.
Misty was there. Pale. Her hand clutched his. Her eyes were red. Viktor was leaning over him, voice hoarse from shouting, eyes raw.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck, V—open your eyes, kid.”
V blinked slowly.
“Hey, doc.”
Viktor’s jaw clenched.
“Hey yourself.”
He managed a very poor smile. Then sat upright with a groan, hands bracing on the edge of the surgery chair. His head was fog. His limbs were heavy. And deep, in his skull—something was cracking.
“Next attack’s in thirty minutes, huh?” V murmured.
Misty’s voice was soft.
“We… can’t stop it. Not anymore.” She handed him a small bottle. Pills rattled inside like bones.
“You can give the body to Johnny,” she said. “You two... you became friends. I know. But... if you stay… you will die. It might be painful. More than this.”
“I know.” V didn’t flinch. “Old fart made my life insufferable anyway.”
He didn’t look at Johnny. But he could feel the old terrorist folding his arms in the dark, watching. Waiting. Sorrowful.
Then Viktor, silent until now, reached behind him and placed something on the counter beside V.
A gun.
Heavily modified Colt. Sleek, matte. No ornament. Just function.
“There’ll be nothing left of your neural core,” he said evenly. “It’s tuned to fracture it completely. Fast. You won’t miss. You can’t. If you decide you want to go on your terms.”
V stared at it.
“Vik…”
“I’ll help Misty clean up,” Viktor said, already turning. Already walking away like the air was too heavy to breathe. “Go on. Use the upstairs. Better view of the city.”
There was no anger in his voice. No sharpness. Just a bone-deep exhaustion. The voice of someone who’d lost something a long time ago but never told anyone.
V just sat there. In the clinic. With blood still on his shirt and phantom pain buzzing through every line of code in his brain.
He looked up. At the ceiling. At the cracked corner of plaster above the med lamp. At the flickering neon bleeding through the blinds. The wet spot that looked like pangolin.
And he whispered to no one—
“Not yet.”

VIKTOR'S POV
V smiled.
That crooked one.
The one that made you want to forgive him before he even did anything wrong. It wasn’t the flirty grin he used to toss at bartenders or fixers. Not the fake “I’m fine” smirk he wore like a second skin. This one was smaller, rawer. Something real.
Something reserved for people like Jackie. Misty.
And him.
It was the kind of smile that said “Sorry I advance if I do something stupid.”

V didn’t reach for Viktor’s hand. He thought about it—Vik saw it. A glance. A slight shift of his wrist like he might reach out, might say something. But no. His fingers curled tighter around the pills in one hand, the pistol in the other.
Viktor didn’t stop him.
He didn’t say what he wanted to say.
V just sighed, and like nothing was wrong he said :
“I’ll see you both later, then. Gonna take some alone time on the roof.”
He even grinned. Casual. Like this was a normal day. Like this wasn’t goodbye.
“See ya later.”
Viktor said it back, voice so calm it made his skin crawl.. because he was a fucking coward, answered just like always. Like nothing was wrong. Like V wasn’t walking away with everything in his hands.
“See ya, V.”

Gun.
Pills.
And he watched his boyfriend walk out.
Misty didn’t know.
No one did.

Viktor stood in the clinic a long moment, his mouth suddenly dry. Misty was cleaning up the used packaging from the IVs, whispering something soft as she folded wrappers and wiped surfaces. Viktor didn't hear the words. The chair still smelled like coppery blood and scorched plastic.
He started cleaning it. That chair. The same one V had collapsed so many times, half-dead but smiling anyway. Viktor grabbed the blood-soaked towels without thinking. Tossed them into the biohazard bin like routine. It was routine by now.
Misty sighed.
“You know,” she said, “he’s been… happy lately. Like, really happy. Not fake V happy. Not the usual ‘I’m fine’ face he wears like a second skin. He’s… been glowing. Smiling with his eyes, Vik. You know how rare that is?”
Viktor didn’t answer. Misty glanced over and continued. It was obvious she was worried. Her voice was quieter, trembling a little.
“He found someone. I don’t know who. He didn’t tell me, but I could see it.”
Viktor’s hands paused over a shattered syringe, his grip tightening just slightly.
“Yeah,” he said at last. “He found someone.”
He threw the towel a little too hard into the bin.
“A real coward, Misty. That guy didn’t even want to be seen in public with him. Not once.”
Misty blinked. Confused.
Viktor kept talking, scrubbing dried blood from the chair’s armrest like it had insulted him personally.
“And V still loved him. Said it every fucking day. ‘It’s cheesy, Vik, I know,’ he’d say. ‘But I gotta say it. I love him so much.’” He laughed, hollow and hoarse. “Like a dumb kid with a crush.”
Misty’s brow furrowed.
“Wait. Vik… you—did you meet him? This guy?”
Viktor didn’t speak. Just gave a small, almost imperceptible nod.

Bang.

A gunshot from the roof.
Misty flinched. Closed her eyes like she was trying to will the sound away.
Viktor didn’t move. He couldn’t.
He sat back in the still-warm med chair, hands loose in his lap, heart ice-cold.
“That guy?” he whispered. “The one V called his boyfriend like it was no big deal? He never told him back. Not once. V waited like a goddamn stray dog, tail wagging, eyes shining. And he—he always found a way around it. Always dodged the moment. Always had an excuse.”
His throat burned.
Misty looked at him, brows knitting. Confused.
“He said he was too old,” Viktor murmured. “Said he didn’t want people to think V was his joy toy. You know, on the street? If V tried to take his hand, he’d flinch. And V always just… smiled, teasingly but he was fine. Accepted it. Like it was his job to be understanding.”
Misty took a breath to speak, but then Viktor looked up, glasses in his hands. Eyes wet.
And said, so quietly it could’ve broken something—
“I never once said I love him.”
Silence.
Misty went still.
Only now, the pieces fell into place.
“Oh,” she whispered. “Vik… you…”
He nodded.
“I was scared, Misty. Of what people would think. Of what it would mean. He’d hold my hand under the table. And I couldn’t—fuck, I couldn’t give him the smallest thing back. The... Feelings he was so starved to get! Not even when he was breaking apart right in front of me.”
His jaw trembled.
“And now? Now his body is upstairs, and the last thing I said was see ya. Like we were grabbing coffee later. Not ‘I love you.’ Not ‘you changed my life.’ Not even thank you.”
Misty crossed the room and wrapped her arms around him.
He didn’t sob. Couldn’t. Just let a few tears fall, quiet and ashamed.
He’d said goodbye to so many people in this city.
To friends, patients, legends.
But this?
Letting V walk out that door without even a kiss? It split something open. He knew he could loose him any day. And still be hesitated. Waited.
“I’m such a coward,” he whispered, voice cracking. “Such a fucking, fucking coward.”

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V’s POV, again. More or less.

He climbed up.
Barely.
The elevator hadn’t worked in years. Just a rusted-out cage covered in graffiti, smelling of piss and oil. V never minded. The stairs made his legs scream, his lungs squeeze tight like a vice. But this place? This rooftop?
It was Viktor’s favorite. The old man never said it, not out loud, but V could tell. From the way his voice softened when talking about how he grew up nearby. From the way he always glanced at the skyline from this very spot, the way he lingered before going back down to his clinic.
V sat down with a huff on the patio chair, which creaked like it might crumble under him. The thing was more rust than metal, and even the sky above seemed to hold its breath.
He looked down at his hand. The one that had almost reached for Viktor’s.
They were gonna tell Misty soon. Real soon.
But Vik was still... scared. And V got it. It was hard. He had his own shit—he'd been treated like joy toy more times than he could count. Used, tossed. And sure, he used people too. Easy come, easier go. Fast sex and fast exits.
But Viktor... Viktor had learned to be alone too well. Quiet kind, alone but not lonely. Said he was old, just 'cause he didn’t have youth-pumped synth skin or facial mods to make him look twenty.
“Such a dork,” V murmured with a fond grin, staring out at the cityscape. He was okay with it. The help from him. The quiet compliments when they were alone. His presence... It was enough.
The gun and the bottle of pills sat on the table like an offering. Waiting what future V will choose.
Johnny stood a few paces away, arms folded, expression unreadable for once. Just watching.
“I’m not gonna tell you what to do,” Johnny finally said. “Ain’t my place. Sorry it was short life, V. ”
V chuckled, but it turned into a dry cough, deep and violent, blooming red in his palm.
“Better two years in Night City than a whole lifetime of nothing with my nomad family,” he rasped, wiping his mouth with the back of his sleeve. “Wonder if Matteo’s still a prick.”
Johnny gave a breath of a laugh.
“Bet your ass he is. Never liked him from your memories. ”
V’s body felt heavier now. Dizzy. Nausea swirled like heat rising off pavement. His limbs trembled.
“It’s gonna get worse,” Johnny said quietly. “The last one? Who knows. They are too often now.”
“I know,” V said, hoarse. “Not a gonk.”
Johnny raised an eyebrow.
“Never said you were. Just a... dramatic little pussy.”
V managed a laugh, weak and wet.
“Asshole.”
Blood speckled his lip.
“It hurts,” he admitted, tears in his eyes. “Fuck, Johnny... It really hurts. I want it to stop... ”
Johnny knelt beside him, tone softer now. No edge. Just something solemn.
“You believe in reincarnation, V? Heaven? Something after?”
V blinked slowly, eyes glassy.
“Dunno. Always figured if I died... it’d just be nothing. Like a blackout.”
“Well, we’ve still got time to run back down and ask Misty what’s behind the grave,” Johnny said with a little smirk. “She might still be tuned into the ether.”
That got a chuckle out of V.
“Maybe there’s somethin’ waiting,” Johnny mused. “Endless supply of booze. Real music. Sexy guys for you on every corner.”
“Tempting,” V said. He reached for the pills. His hand was shaking. “But I wanna see what it’s like,” he said. “Ridin’ shotgun for once.”
Johnny didn’t say anything for a second. Just watched him.
“There’s no way I’m not going to Arasaka,” V continued. “Alt’s waitin’. And that big bastard Smasher? He’s got a date with hell.”
Johnny huffed.
“So this is it. One-man suicide run.”
“Yup. We're both dead anyway. Let's be a liability before grave, huh? ”
V popped the pills into his mouth.
Wished he had something to wash them down. Choked a little and Johnny laughed.
“Really? After everything, you die choking on oversized pharma? What a goddamn legend.”
V wiped his mouth.
“Eat shit.”
They both laughed. Not for long. But it was enough to make the mood light.
“Hey,” V said quietly, looking at the skyline. “Tell Viktor… I loved him. And it was all perfect. Even the hiding. All of it.”
Johnny’s face sobered.
“Nope. You tell him. When this is all over.”
V looked over. Grinned.
“You're scared we won’t make it, Johnny. I feel it. ”
Johnny flipped him the bird.
“Nah. Just not my job. And he’s not my type, V. For the tenth time. ”
V smiled.
Eyes heavy. The city lights blurred. Air warm. Thick. Like swallowing sleep. His body sagged slowly in the chair. Limbs soft, breath shallow.
And the pills kicked in. Just for a moment, everything was quiet.

V blinked.
Or... did he?
He wasn’t sure anymore.
The last time he gave Johnny the wheel, he’d blacked out. Nothing but blurred memories after—not even sensation of someone else puppeteering his limbs, just memories flickering like a corrupted BD. But now?
Now he was awake.
He saw everything. Saw his body stretch, roll its shoulders, flex fingers into a fist that wasn’t his anymore.
He groaned—reflexively—dragging phantom hands down his face. But his body? Didn’t budge.
“Okay, that’s just unsettling,” he muttered, voice echoing inside, not out.
Johnny, in his voice, tilted V’s head and smirked.
“So that’s how I looked to you, huh?” Johnny asked, pacing. “Dramatic. Handsome. Moody as hell?”
V snorted.
“So now it’s my turn to sit on windowsills and make cryptic metaphors while chain-smoking?”
Johnny chuckled and brushed a hand—V’s hand—through messy red hair.
“Seems fair.”
Everything felt off. His senses stretched unnaturally wide. Peripheral vision didn’t end at the edges—it curved. Every flicker, every whisper of sound sharpened, magnified. No wonder Johnny saw everything V barely noticed. No wonder he always seemed two steps ahead to warn him about something happening just around the corner.
Johnny picked up the pistol and, without warning, aimed at the wall—and pulled the trigger.

BLAM.

Concrete cracked. Dust rained. V flinched reflexively.
“The fuck, Johnny?!” V barked from somewhere behind the eyes. “That was innocent wall!”
Johnny’s grin stretched.
“It adds drama. Viktor and Misty’ll hear it, think you went out with a bang.”
“You are a withered, tiny-dicked, fucking piece of shit.”
Johnny blinked innocently.
“Oh? What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Means wipe that fucking stupid smirk off my face. It doesn’t suit me.”
Johnny cackled and pocketed the pills. V felt like he followed him—except he didn’t. His feet weren’t his. His eyes were. His voice was... sort of? This was worse than a BD. Worse than a high. It was like living in a mirror.
“Creeeepy,” V muttered, disembodied.

The clinic door burst open.
A boot to the frame because flair is everything.
Both Misty and Viktor jumped like they’d been tased. Misty nearly dropped tray with tools. Viktor froze with the same towel he'd been seemingly twisting in his hands for the last ten minutes.
Johnny, in V’s body, flashed a devilish smile. “Miss me?”
Viktor blinked. His voice rasped.
“We... we heard the shot. Thought—”He trailed off. “Oh. Silverhand. Right.”
Johnny nodded casually.
“Yeah. V gave me an earful about that one. Kid’s got a soft heart. Still in there by the way. Watching.”
He stepped closer. Viktor's back straightened, shoulders squared instinctively.
Johnny leaned in.
“You’re a fucking pussy, doc.”
Viktor flinched. Misty's eyes went wide. But Johnny waved a dismissive hand like it was just bar talk.
“He’s in,” Johnny said. “Two minds in one skull. I shoot, he hacks. Couple errands first. We need the toys we’ve been cookin’ up.”
Viktor's voice cracked low.
“What... what is going on?”
Johnny turned, almost too casually.
“Simple. We’re hitting some bad guys tonight. Big boom. Glorious death or just another day.”
V was screaming inside.
“Tell him what I told you! The contacts! The shards! Don’t leave him in the dark, you prick!”
Johnny finally reached into his coat and handed over a data slate. Like it was a chore.
“Here,” he said. “All of V’s Mikoshi notes. Black market connections. Shards guidelines for safe removal—maybe. No guarantees. Might fry V's brain. But hey, better odds than we’ve got tonight” He winked. “Tell those corpo-scientists to suck chrome.”
Viktor took the slate like it was a hand grenade. His fingers trembled.
“You’re serious.”
Johnny lit a cigarette. Real tobacco. Expensive but he nagged V long enough he bought a pack. Took a long drag.
Out of habit, Viktor muttered:
“V, don’t smoke.”
Johnny smirked, blew the smoke right in his face. “Not V.”
Misty raised an eyebrow. She looked displeased to say the least.
“It shows.”
Johnny shrugged, grinning. Inside the skull, V groaned, then hissed.
“Johnny. I swear to god. Stop tormenting my boyfriend.”
Johnny laughed out loud.
“Oh, he called you his boyfriend. Finally. What a sweet moment.”
Viktor’s eyes twitched. Something cracked in his expression, too small for anyone else to see—but V saw it. Guilt.
Johnny turned on his heel.
“We're wasting daylight. Time to blow something up.”
As they crossed the threshold of the clinic, the door creaking shut behind them, Johnny flicked ash over his shoulder.
“Suicide mission? Low survival odds? Piles of corpo scum between us and a pissed-off AI ex?”
He cracked his knuckles. “Sounds like a great fuckin’ day.”
Inside, V sighed.
“I always hated Mondays.”

Inside V’s apartment, they were packing.
Well—Johnny was packing.
V, meanwhile, was elbows-deep in firewalls and ICEbreakers, testing how hacking would run while his body was busy doing… anything else.
Johnny swore under his breath, tossing another mag into the duffel.
“You’ve got a lotta shit, V.”
“Yeah, it’s almost like I prepared for suicide mission, right?”
V wasn’t moving, not really. But he could feel the ghost of motion. Phantom limbs, tingling muscle memory—like watching someone else wear your skin. It was still his body. Just… off.
Johnny stepped over the rug. Pebbles hissed. Loudly.
The sphynx arched his naked little back and spat as if Johnny had stepped on his tail. He tried to bite him when he got too close.
Johnny stared down at him.
“It’s the same body, you wrinkled nutsack.”
From deep inside the shared neural soup, V grinned.
“That's mister shaven ballsack to you. Respect the title.”
Johnny snorted.
“Spiritual little shit. Can tell I’m not the food dispenser, huh?”
“Damn right. He’s family.”
“You better not be calling yourself this thing’s dad.”
“I’m his emotional support human,” V said proudly.
Johnny gave Pebbles a wide berth and kept packing. They bickered like siblings. Which gun, which ammo. How many blades. Johnny wanted agility—lightweight, fast reload. V screamed for backup mags, two power weapons, and a backup Netrunner chip in case the first one fried.
“Tank,” V said wistfully. “Would be so much easier with a fuckin’ tank.”
“Yeah?” Johnny muttered, slamming another drawer. “If you don’t got one up your ass already, then we don’t got one.”
They almost agreed on grenades.

Night fell hard. The sky over Night City looked like a bruised wound. This was a night of favours. The kind people usually don’t live long enough to collect.
A helicopter ride from a former Trauma Team pilot who owed V life. A dizzying zipline into the tower like some wild-eyed action BD, thanks to girl who survived thanks to him. Johnny lost his cigarettes halfway through and pouted.
Then? Sunglasses. He somehow found five seconds to buy himself sunglasses.
“Seriously? In the middle of a mission, in the middle of the NIGHT?” V muttered
“If I’m gonna go out, I’m going out hot.”
“I hope your shades break on your stupid face.” V tuttered “No. Bad. It's my face!”

The route was familiar.
Johnny had taken it once before after all. Only this time? He had V.
Now he had maps. Holo-schematics. Auto-hacking decks. And V, buzzing in his neural feed like a heavily caffeinated mech pilot.
They were a team. One body, two ghosts, every corridor a war zone.
“You got caught here,” V chuckled, sliding through camera feeds, frying security drones mid-sentence.
“Yeah, well,” Johnny grunted, unhooking his harness mid-sprint, “last time I didn’t have a glitchy emo hacker in my brain.”
“Excuse me—what the fuck is emo?”
Johnny laughed. “You. You’re emo.”
V still didn't understood. So he just shrugged. Probably.

It worked better than it should have.
Johnny learned fast. Muscle memory, neural feedback, cyberware that whispered when to dodge or pull or slice. He was good. Fast. Brutal. A little unhinged.
V warned him a half-second before every sniper shot. Nudged his own elbow left to miss a blade by a hair.
And Johnny? Johnny kept their heart pumping. Kept charging. Screaming. Living. V was the eyes. Johnny was the firepower.
One fry after another. One system shut down. One floor cleared. They were getting to her. Hanako.

And then: Smasher.
They didn’t plan this part but Didn’t need to. V started to hate the guy as much as Johnny. The moment the bastard fell, broken, glitching, smoking at the edges, Johnny stood over him—and howled.
A wild, throat-splitting Nomad yell. It tore through the tower, defiant and primitive.
V laughed. Hard. Then joined him until he was our of breath. Or Johnny was.
“Why the fuck did you howl, Johnny?!”
“I dunno,” Johnny grinned. “You used to do it. Felt right to do this.”
The corpse was still twitching.

To any corpo security team watching the feeds, there was no squad. No backup.
Just one guy—mid-to-late twenties, fantastic hair—howling at the top of his lungs like a war god.

Then came Alt. As they reached the core, and everything shifted.
The air changed. Felt too big. Too quiet. She wasn’t there, not really. But her presence pushed into every port, every cable. A phantom on a throne of data. Alt wasn’t human anymore. She was everywhere. Beautiful in the way only code could be—fractured. Precise. Glowing.
She looked at V’s body, and through it. Through them both.
“I can’t remove the shard,” she said simply. A flat tone. But then—just slightly—her tone changed.
“But…”
She looked away, like watching stars shift.
“I might have an idea.”

V saw the roof of the car.
The flickering light strips. The fine carbon-lined upholstery Delamaine always insisted was “elegantly utilitarian.”
But it wasn’t Delamaine anymore, right? Not the one he knew. His voice had that clipped synthetic cheer, but just under it—there was something new. Younger. Sharper. A little too eager. One of his “offspring,” maybe. Or fragments of his code given form. Hard to say. V’s vision kept swimming. Kids. His kids.
His body was broken. Rattling around like a half-slagged piece of chrome.
But his arms… they held something tight.
A slate. Small, smooth, warm from being clutched against his chest for—how long now? Every time his grip loosened, his brain would scream.
No. No. Not this. This is your life now.
A single slip and it’s over. He reminded himself of that with every heartbeat that was barely there.
They’d managed to send the alert. And what a list it was. To Viktor. To Misty. To a handful of high-ranking, half-shady, half-grateful corpos who owed V favors that were too bloody to ignore. If this car got to the clinic—it might just be enough.
The doors whooshed open.
“Package is ready to be picked up by recipient: Sweet Pussy Ass Doc,” the car intoned cheerfully.
“Contents: male. Caucasian. 178 centimeters. Please mind the door frame.”
The light behind Viktor burned like a false sunrise. A silhouette for a second—and then there he was. Wide-eyed. Jaw set like a vice.
V’s throat clicked. Dry. Dust.
He didn’t have the strength to lift his head, but he tilted it just enough to see Viktor's face.
“…He’s gone,” he croaked. Breath like razors.
Viktor stepped closer, already reaching for him, half-lifting, hands careful, practiced. V’s lips moved again. The words felt like they’d been dragged across broken glass.
“…He’s… gone.”
Viktor blinked. Face open, terrified to know the answer.
“Who—who’s gone?”
V tried to smile. It came out broken and stained red.
“…Johnny. He’s with Alt now. Stayed. Gave himself up… for me.”
He held up the slate, weak fingers trembling, barely able to lift it before it dropped back to his chest.
“This… is me now.”
Viktor froze.
“What…?”
“My engram’s in it,” V whispered. “Alt pulled me. Better one than Johnny was. Shoved what was left of me into this thing. Said she’d send instructions... For body to change. Needs… chair. Needs Johnny’s shard... Outta my head…”
His voice cracked, his eyes fluttering shut as his body slackened in Viktor’s arms.
“…You’re so handsome, Vik,” V murmured. “Always thought so.”
The world tilted. Bright light overhead. The clinic ceiling. The buzzing of med gear, diagnostic hum, somewhere far away Misty yelling something about blood loss and where is the synth-saline? Her nurse training kicking in.
But the thing he saw, he cherished, was Viktor leaning over him—face pale, hands stained red. Eyes wide with panic. And love.
“You’re out of your damn mind, miss” Viktor growled at the slate now connected to the chair. “I have HOW MANY seconds to pull the shard before cascade failure?”
Silence.
Then, a line of glowing text blinked into life across the screen. Viktor read it. Then read it AGAIN. And again. Misty hovered nearby, now in a nurse outfit thrown together from spare scrubs and stained gloves, still somehow serene despite the chaos.
“Do it, Vik,” she whispered. “You can, you're more capable than some of hospital surgeons.”
He glanced at her. Then at V, still and pale, but… alive.
Flickers of neural light on the interface. Viktor’s fingers hovered over the implant port on the side of V’s skull. Trembled just once.
And then—
He brushed a hand through V’s hair.
Delicate. Loving. Terrified.
“I love you, V,” he whispered. “So. So much.”
Voice cracked. Rough with emotion.
“I’ll scream it from the rooftops if you wake up. If this works. If this… if this isn’t the end.”
From the chair, V stirred. Weak, slow, but smiling.
“Awwww,” he rasped. “You like me, Vik.”
Viktor blinked. Then laughed . Choked and quiet.
“I love… you too Vik.”
Then all was gone.
No—not gone. But slipping. Weightless. The pain peeled away like rust. The buzz of the clinic faded, the clatter of tools drowned in a gentle hush. It was warm. And.. Soft. Like being under water. Or those sensory deprivation tanks Misty insisted V just had to try.
No edge.
Just the feeling of arms once wrapped around him, a voice saying his name like a vow. Vincent. Huh. Nice name suddenly.

V was dead tired.

Chapter Text

He saw a white, unfamiliar ceiling above him.
The light overhead was dim— behind window nothing like the garish flicker of perpetual neon's in Night City’s skyline. No buzzing ads. No shouting from the streets. Just the low hum of filtered air and distant machines beeping at slow, deliberate intervals.
And silence. Real silence.
V tried to move. His fingers… didn’t answer. His legs? Heavy. He couldn’t even tell if they were still there at first. Like the signal from his brain took a wrong turn somewhere and just gave up halfway. He turned his head, but it felt like his skull weighed twenty kilos. It might've took him an hour to do so.
The pillow rasped softly against his cheek. That alone was a marathon. His hair… shorter. His scalp felt exposed in a way that annoyed him immediately.
Don’t like that.
First clear thought in his head.
His eyes closed—just for a second, he thought.

Then came light. Direct. Unwelcome. A face loomed close, framed in sterile white face mask and tired eyes. A man in a lab coat, penlight in hand, voice calm but clinical.
“Easy, Mister Bakker. You’re waking up. You’ve been asleep a long time.”
V blinked. He groaned softly. His throat felt scorched. Like he'd swallowed steel wool. His tongue was thick, mouth dry as bone. He wanted to say something clever. Something snarky. But all that came out was a low, cracked sound—barely a vowel.
The man nodded.
“Don’t try to talk yet. Let your body catch up.”
Everything hurt and nothing hurt. Like he wasn’t in his body yet. Does his arm hurt? Does he HAVE an arm at all?
All Just hovering around it, nudging it awake cell by cell. He turned his head again, slower this time then the last, forcing focus.
Nightstand. Flowers. Wilted but not dry. Maybe a week old.
A little cat figurine—turquoise. V squinted.
Health.
Misty.
Turquoise’s for healing. She said that once.
Felt like a lifetime ago.
“Where…” he rasped. “Where am I?”
“St. Lambert’s Hospital,” came a woman’s voice—nurse, he guessed. He couldn’t see her from this angle, but there were more people now. Soft steps. Plastic shoes. Clicks. Beeps.
“How... long…?” V asked. Or tried to. It was breath with shape more than voice.
“We’ll get to that,” the doctor said kindly. “Let’s just keep things slow, alright?”
V rolled his eyes. Or tried. His whole face felt slow.
“C’mon…” he whispered. “Not gonna break.”
He felt the short fuzz on his head again. Grimaced.
“Also. Need hair. Hate buzz cut...,” he muttered.
The doctor cracked a faint smile and leaned closer, murmuring something to the nurse. She gave a little nod, tapped something on her pad.
Then—quietly—he answered:
“All right. Two years, Mister Bakker.”
V stared at the ceiling.
Two years.
Two fucking years.
His brain tried to rally. Tried to summon panic. Emotion. To scream, to ask how's that possible. But all it got was a fuzzy, distant :
“…huh.”
Tests followed. The doctor stayed nearby, gentle but precise.
“Your name?”
“…Vincent.”
He wanted to say V, but no way to explain that yet.
“Any pets?”
“…Pebbles. My cat. Still... Alive I think?”
“Childhood memory? Any will do. ”
V squinted. Took a second.
“My stepbrother.. . Shoved a cactus… into my pants. I bled. Was embarrassed to ask... For help.”
The doctor chuckled.
“You’re lucid. Slowed response time, but that’s expected. Memory’s holding up. That’s good.”
It didn’t feel good. Everything was so far away. Every thought came with resistance, like typing on delay. Like someone else’s mind—but he knew it was his.
No Johnny. He felt a little alone now.
Eventually, the room cleared out. Just two nurses remained—one on either side, chatting in low voices. Fluffing pillow, taking blood sample...
The woman glanced at her pad, then smiled softly.
“Now that you’re conscious, we’ve been asked to call someone. Said to do it the moment you woke up. A ‘boyfriend,’ I think?”
V’s lips twitched into a weak grin.
“Cute. Bet I look like shit, though.”
“Who doesn’t after two years?” the woman said with a wink. “You look fine, just tired. What’s he look like?” she asked, tone teasing.
V exhaled slowly. Voice quiet. As if recalling distant memory.
“Huge guy. Sexy. In his fifties... Steel blue eyes. Quiet voice. Best... hands in the city.”
The woman raised her brows. Looked to her coworker. He shrugged.
“I thought he was his dad,” he whispered. Then added louder “But… yeah. Guy’s in his fifties. Came by every few weeks like clockwork.”
“Every few weeks?” V murmured.
The male nurse nodded.
“Used to be all the time. Like… always here. First six months, we had to tell him to leave sometimes. After a year, most families… they stop coming.” He hesitated. Then added, quieter, “But he didn’t. Still shows up. Sits with you. Brings stuff. Talks. I think he brought that cat statue.”
The female nurse chimed in.
“Last visit? Not even two weeks ago. Sat with you during visiting hours. I had a bleeder in 214 so I remember. Talked to you when I came in.”
V’s throat tightened.
He didn’t say anything for a moment.
Then—softly:
“…It’s cool then. Call my boyfriend.”

V didn’t rush anything. He couldn’t even if he wanted to.
Every signal in his brain felt lagged, every sound came as if through layers of fog. The room pulsed gently around him, soft whirs and the rhythmic beeping of machinery a steady heartbeat outside his own. He moved. Or tried to.
Nicole—his nurse, gentle and efficient—helped him raise his hand. Just that small motion that left his arm trembling.
V chuckled.
“Shit. I got thinner.”
“Skinny, but still hadsome, don't worry,” Nicole grinned, adjusting his IV with practiced ease.
She told him, jokingly, that he must be some kind of secret government project. She wasn't even sure how he ended up in their facility—his file was so classified it barely even listed his blood type. “Probably top-shelf,” she teased. “Some fancy chrome god of chaos.”
V wasn’t so sure she was wrong.
Still, she was kind. Calm. Didn’t got angry when he accidentally drifted off mid-sentence. Just patted his hand and waited. Said she was always happy when someone woke up from a long coma, and he’d surprised all of them—his scans were almost clean.
"Your brain," she said with a wink, "is still sparking. Like you were given new neural paths. It's actually better than year ago."
She gave him the smallest sip of water. Just enough to wet his lips, cool and sweet like rain after a heatwave.
“I’ve got a joke,” V rasped, blinking slowly.
“Hit me,” Nicole smiled.
“Why dogs are bad dancers?”
“I’m afraid.”
“They have two... Left feet.”
Nicole rolled her eyes.
“Okay, maybe I was too quick to say your brain works.”
V gave a weak, wheezy laugh, his chest barely rising. It felt good. Like being human again.
He tried to move his legs next. Like dead weight. His arm twitched. Still slow. Still heavy. So were his hands and he almost could move fingers. He believed his legs will work later on, too.
And when he reached inside, tried to activate anything—his pneumatic tendons, his optics, anything that used to hum inside him with life… nothing answered. More. It was not even there.
“Aw man... My…Cyberware,” he murmured, jaw tense.
Nicole gently rested a hand on his.
“Sorry,” she said, “but I heard most of it had to be removed. Some of it burned out. Standard deactivation wasn’t possible. It’s normal. You were in critical condition when they got you here.”
V groaned, slumping back even more into the mattress.
“I was hoping for a jog next Tuesday…”
“Slow down, hotshot. Baby steps. ”

Time blurred. Again.
He dozed. Woke briefly as another nurse changed his IV. He complimented her tattoo—a red and gold koi swimming through mechanical waves on her wrist. She smiled, said thanks, and let him drift again.

Then: a soft nudge at the edge of sleep. A man was leaning over him.
“Hey. Vincent. You up for a visitor?”
V’s eyes cracked open, sticky with sleep.
“Hmm?”
“Just a short one. You're still in a vulnerable state. But... he’s been waiting.”
V blinked slow.
“Yeah,” he murmured. “I’m as good looking as I’m gonna be today.”
The door opened.
And there he was.
Viktor.
His shirt was wrinkled, oil-smudged, a tired thing clinging to him like it had seen too many nights on clinic chairs. The outer hand stabiliser still wrapped around one arm, blinking faintly—he’d come straight from work. He has more gray hair now, provably worried sick about V. On top of that- the jacket V bought him. Viktor groaned his previous one was fine but V insisted.
V’s lips curled, weak but real.
“Told you I’d see you soon, Vik…”
The nurse smiled and gave them a little privacy, warning Viktor to be gentle, talk slow if needed. He just nodded, eyes never leaving V’s face.
He came to the bedside, sat down slowly, like if he made a sudden move V might disappear. Glasses fogged slightly, a smudge one lens. His eyes were red, rimmed from tears or sleeplessness or both.
V grinned faintly.
“Don’t say anything. I know. I look like shit.” His hand twitched at the mention of it. “And they cut my beautiful hair!”
Viktor laughed, shaky. Then, wordlessly, he reached out and took V’s hand—so gently it felt almost out of character.
“You’re alive,” he whispered.
“I’m sorry it took so long,” V murmured. “But I needed a nap. Badly.”
“Two years is a little long, don’t you think?” Viktor huffed out, half-laughing, half-crying. “You bastard.”
His hands trembled. He lifted them briefly to adjust V’s blanket, to brush a stray hair from his forehead. Like a habit, not a thought, as V had very short hairstyle now.
“They uhm... Took care of you here. But I’ll help you now. With rehab. Physio. Whatever you need. And—and Pebbles is fine, by the way. Living with me. He’s gotten fat. Misses you I think because sometimes he meows at the door. And uhm... Growls when I tried to take away your sleeping shorts from him. I told... Told him he’d see you again. And—uh, right, your apartment—yeah, it’s still there. I’ll clean it up and—”
“Vik,” V said, voice soft but firm. “You absolute dork.”
Viktor paused, blinking at him.
“I love you.”
It was simple. It wasn’t dressed in poetry or desperate melodrama. It was a fact. A homecoming.
Viktor's breath caught in his throat. His voice cracked and few more tears fell from his eyes.
“I missed you, Vincent.” His head dropped, shoulders trembling. “I love you. And seeing you alive, it’s—”
V smiled, eyes shining.
“So I didn’t make an idiot of myself? Confessing to you just to leave you single and sad?”
Viktor laughed, choked on it.
“You kind of did. Asshole.”
But he leaned forward, touched their foreheads together. Warm. Present. Real. Very delicate, though, as if V was made out of glass.

[EPILOGUE]

“It’s not my apartment,” V murmured as Viktor pushed the wheelchair through the front door.
Viktor snorted behind him.
“Yeah. It is. Just… a little upgraded.”
The building was smaller, quieter. Cleaner, even. Not exactly corpo-zone, but better than his old shoebox. The air didn’t reek of oil and piss. Much.
V tilted his head back to eye the ceiling. Exposed beams. An actual second floor.
“You didn’t.”
“I did.” Viktor grinned. “You were eyeing this place before. Said it wasn’t the right time.”
V gave a soft, amused breath.
“Dumbass romantic and show off! ”
“You love it.”
“…Yeah. I kinda do.”
Inside was warm and lived-in, even if half the kitchen clearly hadn’t worked yet. The fridge hummed reluctantly, like it was contemplating quitting. The coffee machine was newer, suspiciously shiny. The walls were still a work in progress—half-painted, some shelves still missing brackets—but it felt real. Like someone had built a home here, not just a hideout.
Then, like summoned by memory, a blur of movement: a too-round, too-wrinkled Sphynx cat waddled through the tiny flap in the balcony door.
“Holy shit,” V laughed. “Pebbles?”
The cat froze, arched back. Sniffed.
V stayed still, letting him investigate, wet nose trailing his shoes and trousers—he’d changed too much to assume he’d be remembered. Smell must be off. But after a long pause, Pebbles rubbed up against his shoe, then gave a tentative hop onto his knees.
V pet him awkwardly, hands still slow and stiff, and Pebbles rolled over with a gloriously obscene flop, exposing a jiggly, wrinkly belly.
“You said I spoiled him,” V muttered. “He’s twice the size in your care,”
Viktor mumbled something incomprehensible under his nose, giving Pebbles a quick scratch behind leathery ear.

Later, when cat decided it's enough of love, Viktor helped V out of the chair. The stabilisers on his legs clicked faintly, exo-bracing his knees and ankles like scaffolding. The crutches felt too light, like toys compared to all the chrome he used to wield.
Still. V stood.
Wobbly, cursing under his breath, but he stood.
“Look at that,” he grinned, teeth bared in victory. “Like a newborn phoenix!”
“Drunk newborn deer,” Viktor corrected, handing him the crutches. “Come on..”
Pebbles weaved around his feet, meowing, purring, rubbing insistently like he was delivering a very long report on the last two years in perfect feline detail.
V eyed the staircase.
“You got the down payment, huh?” he teased. “But stairs, Vik? Really?”
Viktor smirked.
“I’m more than happy to carry you up.”
“Nah. It’s just some stairs.” He squared his shoulders, taking on a challange. “I’m not gonna let a few dumb steps beat me.”
As they climbed, slow but steady, Viktor hesitated. His voice gentled.
“Hey. I’m sorry most of the implants won’t work anymore. Your body… just can’t take the same load.”
V stopped on the landing, turned his head.
“Most. Not all,” he said, eyes sparking again. “Means I just need a good ripper. New tests. See what sticks. Besides…” He shrugged, cat still brushing against his shin. “I was a decent merc even without half that stuff. I could be a fixer. Or a bartender.”
“Oh god.”
“C’mon. Imagine me flirting shamelessly across the bar. I’ll meet so many cute guys.”
Viktor gave him a look and V just smirked.
The bedroom upstairs was bright with sunlight, warm with unwashed blankets and lived-in promise. The bed was wide. Big enough for two. That made V's heart skip a beat.
V shuffled to the balcony, hand gripping Viktor’s as they opened the old door together. The scent hit them immediately. Wet steel, fried food, hot oil, synth-meat, motor grease, sweat and overwhelming piss. Night City in its prime.
Drones buzzed somewhere above. Pebbles hissed dramatically and skittered back into the room like a gremlin, tail tucked between it's hind legs in protest.
But V just smiled.
“Still awful,” he muttered. “Still loud. Still disgusting.”
Viktor stepped behind him, hands settling on his hips, grounding.
“Still feels like home,” V said softly.
They stood there a while, just breathing. Together.
Then V turned, playful glint in his eye.
“Wanna test the bed?”
Viktor groaned.
“You can barely sit, and that’s your idea?”
“It’s not the idea. I just wanna check if everything works. Y’know. Thoroughly. Could be structural issues.”
“You’re the structural issue,” Viktor deadpanned flicking V's forehead.
V pouted dramatically, then lit up.
“Oh! By the way. You still owe me something.”
Viktor blinked.
“What.”
“You promised,” V said, pointing vaguely at the skyline. “If I made it—if I survived—you’d shout from the rooftops that I’m your boyfriend and you love me.”
Viktor’s face went blank. For a moment, V really thought he was going to dodge it. Make some excuse, deflect, deflate the moment. V wasn't even serious.
Instead—
“Cover your ears,” Viktor said.
V blinked.
“…Wait, what?”
“Ears, V.”
And before V could protest, Viktor leaned out over the balcony, cupped his hands around his mouth, and shouted.
“VINCENT BAKKER IS MY BOYFRIEND AND I LOVE HIM!”
The echo bounced off concrete and glass. A dog barked. Somewhere below, someone shouted, “Shut the fuck up!” and few others very unfriendly voices followed. Someone cheered, though.
V laughed so hard his knees nearly buckled, breathless he leaned back. Viktor grabbed him just in time, holding him close.
He laughed like someone who’d seen death. And came back holding someone else’s hand.
He howled, long, happy, giving into the warmth is his guts.

V was sure people would forget him.
Two years? In Night City?
That was a lifetime.
Corpos rose and fell. Arasaka scandals faded, company basically non existent anymore, gossips swallowed by flashier tragedies and fresh PR nightmares. Five new gangs popped up, at least three got flattened. Half a dozen fads rolled through like hurricanes—vein applied glowing tattoos, synth-scent pheromone bombs. All gone now.
But not everyone moved on.
Misty hadn’t. She came the day after he got home, carrying fresh incense and a teacup she refused to explain. Called it “V’s karmic catch-basin.” V let her place it under the stairs anyway with other curios.
Mama Welles showed up with empanadas and a knitted blanket. Called him mijo like nothing had changed. She didn't cry until she hugged him—and then didn’t stop for a long time.
Judy stopped by with a bag of unplayable indie braindances, joking it was a “trash watch party.” V didn’t even pretend to follow the plots. It was just good hearing her laugh.
Pepe appeared one morning with a crate of beer and a grin that didn’t quit. “You still owe me three games of pool, cabrón,” he’d said, shaking V like a maraca. V nearly fell over.
River came by, too. Sat on the balcony rail like it was nothing. Brooding. Told him about a messy case, about the kids...even asked for help but this time V had to decline. For now.
Thomas found someone. They were going to marry next spring. While is was just a nice visit, Viktor was weirdly quiet after that visit. Just a little jealous.
There were holocards. Messages. One from a woman—her voice gentle but metallic, the background all sterile white. She’d been a cyberpsycho once. Nearly killed him. She thanked him for sparing her. For not pulling the trigger. Said she’d never forget it.
V stared at that recorded card a long time.

He was still healing. Standing for too long made his legs shake. The stabilisers helped. So did Viktor’s steadying hand. He could finally go without the diaper—fuck, that had been mortifying—and even if his body was stiff and strange sometimes, it was becoming his again.
His laugh came back, too. Loud. Ribs aching. Even the bad kind of laugh where he had to sit down after.
Pebbles didn’t give a shit about recovery. The cat meowed like he’d never eaten in his life—despite the bowl being always full—and draped himself dramatically across V’s chest at every opportunity. Giving him sometimes gifts of dead rat or half eaten hot dogs. Each accepted with reverence.
Viktor, though?
Vik was here.
Basically every day. Adjusting the exo-braces. Reading new medical journals aloud over decent coffee. Ranting about experimental neural-threading implants like a kid describing his first rocketship. His eyes lit up, even as he muttered:
“I’m too old to learn new tricks.”
“You’re not,” V said. They haven't said they live together. Not yet. But Vik started to leave his things here.

And...
That night, the city was quiet. For once.
V lay on the wide bed, watching ceiling fan shadows drift like ghosts. Viktor crawled in beside him—warm, worn, solid—and pulled V into his arms.
“You’re my love,” he whispered. “My chaos. My reason for constant debt.”
V laughed into his neck.
“S’not my fault you buy stupid expensive tools just to keep me running.”
“State-of-the-art stupid tools,” Vik corrected, nose brushing V’s temple.
The kiss was slow. Familiar. No rush. No performance. Just presence.
V opened to it, feeling the warmth of another body against his. He let his fingers explore—not fast, not greedy. Just reacquainting. Scar tissue here. Callouses there. Skin that remembered them both.
He felt Viktor’s weight settle above him, careful and reverent, like V might break if pressed too hard. But V didn’t want careful. He wanted real.
“Touch me,” he whispered. “I need to feel like I’m still me.”
“You are you,” Viktor murmured, pressing a kiss to his jaw, his collarbone. “Always.”
V smiled, breath shaky. His body had changed. Slower. Weaker. But Viktor didn’t flinch. Didn’t stare at the surgical marks. His hands roamed V’s chest, his sides, his thighs—not with pity, but hunger tempered with tenderness. Like V was still something precious. And wanted.
V gasped softly when their hips met. He arched into Viktor, eyes fluttering. Every nerve lit up like stars on a blackout sky.
And then—
“My dick is working!” V shouted, voice breaking with disbelief and joy.
Viktor froze.
Then burst out laughing. Fell forward, forehead to V’s shoulder, shaking.
“You absolute idiot,” Vik wheezed. “You ruined the moment.”
“No, I perfected it,” V grinned, reaching to tangle his fingers in Viktor’s hair. “You love it.”
Viktor smiled down at him. No trace of sarcasm left. Just wonder. Adoration.

The ripperdoc's hands were gentle, at first featherlike, as he explored V's body, checking for sensation. V's cocky demeanor softened for a moment, replaced by a vulnerable joy. He said to Vik hundred of times he's not so brittle. Not even needing braces anymore. But Viktor was nothing if not careful. Annoyingly, absolutely... sweetly so.
He arched his neck slightly, encouraging Viktor's kisses, his breath hitching as teeth grazed his sensitive skin.
"Still got it I guess" Viktor murmured, his voice low, a hint of amusement playing on his lips. He nipped at V's earlobe, sending a shiver down his spine.
"Damn," V gasped, his voice rough with desire. If his equipment was working, it did it on the double. Hard like a rock already. "Didn't think I'd be feeling anything for a moment."
Viktor's fingers traced the line of V's jaw.
"You're a tough one, Vincent. Always surprising me." He leaned in, his breath ghosting across V's lips. "But tonight, you just let me take care of you."
"Mmm... I love it. I'm all yours."
Viktor's kisses became more insistent, his lips moving down V's chest, pausing at his nipples, drawing sharp intakes of breath from V as he sucked them gently.
He whimpered and Vik just smiled against his skin.
"Fuck, Viktor," V moaned, voice pitch higher than usual, his hands tangling in Viktor's hair, those beautiful, graying hair, pulling him closer. "You're killing me here."
"Just getting started. I won't lie, I missed your moans..."
He trailed kisses down V's abdomen, his fingers tracing the remaining lines once marking his cyberware. He paused at V's hips, his thumbs brushing the sensitive skin of his inner thighs, making V shiver with anticipation.
"You're so responsive," Viktor murmured, his voice laced with wonder. "Even after everything you've been through." He looked up, his eyes meeting V's, filled with a tenderness that made V's heart skip a beat. And hunger. Not pity, but very primal need. "Still very much sexy, Vincent."
V purred with content, then once again gave into loud moan as Viktor licked a slow, deliberate line up the V' length. V groaned, his hips bucking instinctively, but Viktor's hands held him firm, reminding him who's in charge now.
"Easy, kid... " Viktor chided gently. "Let me do the work. Just relax..."
He took V's cock into his mouth, sucking slowly, his tongue swirling around the head, teasing the slit. V chuckled through another moan, his head falling back against the pillow, his body arching as much as it could without pain. Little prick in the back... but there was no way in hell he would tell about it. His body demanded more, anyway.
Viktor's hands caressed his balls, rolling them gently, his fingers tracing the sensitive skin behind them, driving V insane. V cried out, his body tensing, his cock already on edge. Grinding impatiently against Vik's hand when he leaned away from his cock to kiss V's legs. Leaving a bite mark on the thigh, like wanting to show "this is mine" .
Slow torture.. caressing, teasing, always keeping V in the moment.
"Viktor, please," V begged, his voice desperate. "I need... I need to cum... Just to uh... You know..."
Viktor smirked.
"Understandable. We need to know if ALL is working down here. "
V's moans filled the room, his body trembling with anticipation. This high voice sometimes slipped out- he didn't like it but at this moment V couldn't control it. He was lost in sensations, his mind blank, as Viktor was still between his legs, his mouth fully enveloping him. Moving in perfect rhythm. And this steady hand keeping V's hips in the mattress? Just adding to pleasure.
"Viktor... fuck... I can't... I can't hold on..."
Viktor's lips curved into a satisfied smile as he sucked V's cock, deep into his mouth, his tongue swirling still, insistent.
Finally V cried out, his body arching, palms grasping sheets and fingers almost ripping the fabric. He came with almost panicked gasp of air, voice chocking in his throat.
"Fuck," V gasped after a moment, his voice hoarse, his body still buzzing with pleasure. "That was... that was fucking incredible."
Viktor leaned up, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, his eyes shining with satisfaction.
"Told you. You're in good hands of a professional, responsible for your rehab exercises."
V managed a weak smile, his body still reeling from the intensity of his orgasm. Legs trembling, but this time from the pleasure, not his muscles giving up.
"Never doubted it, Vik..."
And there is was. Caressing V's hair. Arm wrapping around him. Not a burden or distraction. Not even asking V to give anything in return.

After, they lay together. Pebbles grumbled at their feet like a forgotten chaperone and moved between them. Demanding attention. They both moved just a little to give him space.
V’s head rested on Viktor’s chest, eyes fluttering closed.
“I’m alive,” V whispered.
“You are.”
“I’m loved.”
“You are...”
“…I wanna breakfast in bed. This kind of cheesy things.”
Viktor chuckled.
“I’ll even make coffee.”
“Real beans?”
“I’m not that rich. But the coffee maker will do with cheaper stuff.”
V laughed, snuggling closer. The city thrummed beneath them. Life outside the window. Noise. Smog. Sirens.
But in here?
Peace.
Warmth.
A future.
Not perfect.
But amazing nonetheless, even if a thin, leathery leg kicked his eye with deliberate stretch.

BONUS:

“I really want my hair to grow faster!”