Chapter Text
🏠︎
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“--Well?” a voice barked across the counter, causing the clerk to stop and look up at the client before him. The glance the man across the counter gave the suit-dressed prick was one of pure, unfiltered annoyance.
“I have to place an order for a new computer, but it will have to be approved by your department manager and the finance team first,” the clerk sighed, peering at the man with his golden eyed gaze over the frames of his glasses.
“Listen here–” The man in the suit hissed, eyeing the clerk’s name tag before sneering at his name, “
Viktor
. I need you to fix my computer now, that’s why we pay you.”
The IT clerk, Viktor, raised his brow before letting out a grumble, “Well there is no easy fix-it, Mr. Stevens, because I can’t un-pour your coffee from your computer.”
Viktor knew his tone was degrading and mocking to the higher up, but he honestly didn’t care. It was impossible for him to have any patience with these people, especially when they were so carefree and flippant about problems they themselves created.
Why did he stay at this dead end job, again? What reward did he get coming in to work as personal tech support for these overpaid dickswiggers?
“Your manager is Brian, right? Does he know you talk like this to the people who write your paychecks?” Mr. Stevens snapped back, making Viktor sigh in frustration. It was obvious neither liked each other, and Viktor was great at making sure his clients knew his distaste for their pompous egos.
“You’re welcome to see if he can do anything else, but the only fix that isn’t replacing your entire computer and hard drive is time traveling to teach you not to use your computer as a coffee table,” Viktor grumbled, fixing his glasses while he turned back to his computer.
Mr.Stevens rolled his eyes before poorly mimicking Viktor’s accent, making it sound extra thick and slurred. It was beyond childish, but something the scrawny man had unfortunately grown accustomed to.
“Pfft, try speaking English, you’re not getting paid to waste air,” the agitated man snapped, slapping his hand on the counter. The sound was exaggerated by the clash of his gaudy rings hitting the wooden surface, the grating sound of metal making the interaction all the more annoying.
The loud smack made Viktor jump and close his eyes as he reeled from the sudden sound. He took a deep breath before opening his eyes to look at the man. He felt himself compulsively chewing on the inside of his cheek while processing what he was about to say.
“I’m sorry, Craig,” Brian’s voice apologized with a winded breath as he stepped up from behind the counter. “We’ll have this fixed up and back on your desk by the time you get back from lunch.”
Mr. Stevens gave Viktor a satisfied smirk before looking at Viktor’s spineless manager, a balding and sorry excuse of a man named Brian. “Thanks, man, your employee was denying me for no reason,” Mr.Stevens scoffed.
“Oh, you know how
those people
like to act, they just like to make stuff harder for the hell of it,” Brian assured as he moved to block Viktor from the irate man. “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure to set him straight.”
Viktor felt his scowl deepen as he looked at his manager with a distasteful expression. He wasn’t really good about hiding his dislike for people, and it was quite easy to see the plastered look of annoyance he was showing. He then just sighed and shook his head, going back to typing while keeping his head down.
“Glad someone knows how to do their job,” Mr. Stevens smirked, turning on his heel to leave the IT team to do the impossible.
There were a few seconds where the pair didn’t say a word to each other, just listening to the tip taps of the overly priced leather shoes walking away from their desk. The silence only ended when Brian let out a gasp of surprise when he tried to move the large beige computer. Viktor turned his head, seeing that his manager now had a noticeable wet mark on his slacks from where coffee spilled from the computer.
“What the fuck, Viktor? Why is it wet--? Is that coffee?” Brian shouted, jumping back and causing the computer to fall down on the floor with a loud smash.
The thin man turned his chair around a bit, giving his manager an unamused expression. He opened his mouth to say something, but was cut off when Brian shot him a nasty glare.
“Go get a mop,” Brian ordered, pointing to one of the monochrome hallways across from their help desk.
“I’m just going to call janitorial staff, “ Viktor sighed, picking up his phone and clicking the speed dial button. He listened to it ring for a second before Brian pressed on the receiver to end the call before it could start.
“Just get the damn mop!” Brian snapped at Viktor, throwing his hands up in frustration while he stormed his way back to his office. This left the damaged computer and pooling coffee for the tired man to clean.
With a defeated sigh Viktor grabbed his cane and a plastic trash bag to collect the broken computer. He placed the bag to the side of the counter, then limped off to fetch a mop and bucket from the janitor's closet.
This was not an unusual day for Viktor to experience. He loved working in IT, but he absolutely hated working for other people, especially the egotistical pigs in suits. He was often snapped at or blamed for any screw ups in the office, since he was an easy target.
A reclusive, disabled man with an eastern European accent? That meant he was instantly labeled as an easy scapegoat for the ‘morally superior’, with terms like communist, queer, pansy, and spy thrown in the mix.
To be fair, it’s not like he would deny over half of those terms, but it was still much for him to deal with day to day. He knew the best thing to do was to keep his mouth shut and head down while he watched the seconds tick away on the wall clock.
That is exactly how Viktor proceeded with the rest of his day, watching as his boss tried his damn best to fulfill his guarantee to Mr. Stevens. It ultimately resulted in him getting to tell the coffee spilling buffoon that he would have to wait until the next morning to get his new computer installed.
And then watching as the smug ass then took the rest of the day off, paid.
So that was how Viktor left his work with a sour expression stained on his tired face. His body was sore and his head was pounding with an aggressive headache that pinched at the back of his eyes. He was just ready to leave, ready to exit the office and go to his crappy, beat up car.
This was one of those days where Viktor allowed himself a bit of a reward for having to deal with the intolerable clients. He decided to treat himself to a cheap take-out Chinese dinner, something he knew would give him heartburn afterwards.
He was happy it was a quick transaction that resulted in him holding a paper bag with his saucy stir fry and eggrolls. He just needed to get to his car, get home, curl up on his couch, and eat.
Of course, the universe would not allow him to just finish off his day with a filling greasy meal and some relaxing television. No.
Because while Viktor was inside the restaurant, rain began to pour down on the city. It soaked everything within a matter of minutes, becoming a curtain of cold water he would need to walk through.
Viktor managed to get a block from his car before he felt the paper bag holding his meal begin to dissolve. He quickly looked down in fear before deciding to cross the street as quickly as his warped leg would carry him. His heart sped up as he began to count the seconds under his breath, as if somehow he could outrun irony.
Four… Five… Six…
After such a long day, he was just ready to kick off his shoes and relax. He could unwind from the stresses of his life as a corporate punching bag. He could just be himself in his own comfortable space.
Seven… Eight… Nine…
The air in his lung began to sting as he crossed the street as fast as possible, only to freeze when he felt something thick and warm run down the front of his pants. He looked down in a moment of horror to find the bottom of the bag had given way and spilt his food on the street. The white rice in the takeout container now decorated the pavement like bland confetti.
He had somehow managed to get over halfway across four of the five lanes before this happened. His mouth screwed shut as his tongue parched dry from the horror trickling before him.
There was a loud blaring horn that made Viktor jump and drop the rest of the torn bag. He looked to his side, realizing it was a car with its bright headlights focused on him. He raised his hand to signal an apology before getting onto the sidewalk.
Viktor turned to look behind him, seeing the frustrated driver run over what would have been his dinner. He made a soft sigh as he collected himself, running a hand through his now wet hair.
With the weight of defeat pulling down on his shoulders he retreated back to his car, empty handed. It only took him a second to fish for his keys in his jacket pocket, pulling them out before unlocking the front door and climbing in.
Viktor took a few seconds to just sit while the patter of rain tapped at his windshield. He let out an exhausted sigh and then started up his car with a low rumbling hum, and then slowly turned on the radio to drown out the sound of the rain and his own thoughts.
With the day thoroughly horrible, Viktor made his way through the busy city to his dilapidated apartment. He was only delayed slightly when a screeching parade of three police cars came speeding through. All he did was drive to the side of the road, watching with tired eyes.
After about twenty or so minutes he arrived back at his apartment complex. It wasn’t a big one like the ones closer to downtown, but it was still three floors of units. He was glad there weren’t too many people in the complex, but he still thought there were too many for comfort. Each floor had four units, except the ground floor only had the one that belonged to the family of the complex owner.
He drove down the pothole-filled alleyway on the side of the complex, pulling to the parking lot that was behind the building by the communal dumpsters. He parked his car in the spot with his unit number on it, Unit B3.
With a sigh he turned off the car, grabbed his cane, and made the short walk to the back exit of the complex. He was careful as he walked, not wanting to trip in one of the various holes and cracks in the pavement. He was also careful to avoid puddles of water that would surely soak his socks more than they already were.
Once he was inside the complex, he was welcomed by the slippery tiles of the first floor. He had to remove his shoes, tucking them between one of his arms and wanting to avoid having his face meeting the ground.
As Viktor made his way to the stairs he decided to stop by the mailboxes by the front door. He pulled out his specific mail key for unit B3, twisting his keychain until the small metal door opened. He saw some coupons, a flier, and a few envelopes, which he collected and then wedged between his wet shoes and his arm.
Now that he had everything, he closed his mailbox and heard the front door open, causing him to pause and look over his shoulder to see one of the residents of unit B2 had entered the lobby. Viktor felt his face turn back into his trademark scowl of distaste and distrust.
“You look like a wet rat, Vicky,” the man in his mid-twenties laughed as he took off his leather jacket. He then made a show of airing it out, causing the water to fly around the lobby. Viktor knew who this absolute embarrassment was, a cocky serial cheater named Micheal.
Viktor didn’t even need to hear his grating voice to know he was in the vicinity of this waste of oxygen. He could smell the cheap drugstore cologne from outside, he could practically even taste the horrendous odor.
“I’m not in the mood for your sass,” Viktor mumbled in a low voice, biting his tongue to hold back an insult and an audible gag.
“Aww, what’s the matter? You on the rag?” Micheal poked impishly as he got closer. The man easily towered over Viktor’s shorter hunched frame, even when he leaned against the wall-mounted mailboxes.
That comment made Viktor’s nostrils flare with annoyance, his eyebrow twitching as he fought the urge to snap something back at the man. He just turned on his heel, his wet socks making an almost smacking sound on the tile.
He thought about snapping at the younger man, interrogating him on how he knew this information. A part of him assumed it might have been from Micheal’s long term on-again-off-again girlfriend, who had spotted Viktor purchasing menstruation products a few weeks ago.
“You know, Susie said you’re not really a man, just a crossdresser. She ain’t pulling my leg, right? You got a pussy down there, huh?” The man asked, his words sounding slurred.
“Go home, you’re drunk,” Viktor seethed, limping to the stairs before awkwardly managing to start climbing. He heard one of the wooden planks give out a loud creak when he placed his weight on it.
“Come on, babe, I’m just being friendly,” Micheal insisted, causing Viktor to turn his head to see the man had walked closer.
“You’re being a creep, now fuck off before I tell your girlfriend about your mistress,” Viktor snapped back, which made the man tense and recoil in anger.
“Fucking geez, bitch, you need to get laid and stay out of my business,” the aggressive man hissed, tastefully flipping off the thin man.
Viktor shot the man back with a sharp glare, the bile of anger bubbling as he thought about all the things he could say back to him. He figured he could call his neighbor all sorts of colorful language in his mother tongue, but that wouldn’t do any good.
Of course Viktor was ready to jab back at the fragile man and his ego, but decided to keep his mouth shut in favor of avoiding getting a black eye. There was no point in arguing with this sorry excuse for a man.
Viktor climbed the stairs slowly, listening to the intoxicated man struggling with his keys and the mailboxes. He got to the second floor of the complex, slowly dragging his feet as he got to the door of his unit. He leaned against the door as he felt the cold really starting to tense up his leg, causing pain to shoot through his body all together.
After a few seconds of struggling he managed to get into his own unit, almost dropping his armful of stuff the moment he got through his front door.
The next few minutes were a bit of a blur for Viktor, since he was trying his best to get out of his wet and cold clothes as fast as possible. He awkwardly hopped on his good leg as he managed to strip down to his tank top and briefs. He hobbled to his bathroom, hanging his clothes over the shower rod to dry before going to his room to get dressed in warm pajamas.
Viktor gave himself ten minutes to lay on his bed to recoup from the day, closing his tired eyes for just a few moments. He just needed to focus on soothing the pounding and pulsing pains throughout his body, the ones that started in his limbs and his skull.
He counted in his head for a short period of time, then rolled onto his side to push himself up. The first thing Viktor noticed when he managed to get himself sitting up was the fact that the light on his answering machine was blinking from his kitchen.
The small red light flickered on and off every few seconds, the silent alarm catching his attention in the darkness. It was nagging at him, almost enough to make him want to smack the machine with his cane. If it didn’t cost so much to repair or replace, maybe he would have whacked it.
Viktor just let out a grunt before he grabbed at his cane, going back to his living room to start looking through the envelopes from his mailbox. He figured it would be best to ignore the voicemails for now, at least until he got through whatever bad news he received in paper form.
“Bills… Bills… oooh, coupons, looks like boxed powdered potatoes are back on sale-- and… Bills…” Viktor spoke to himself as he threw the envelopes from the clinics and hospital to the side, stopping at the last letter in the stack.
The final letter was nicer material, he could tell immediately it was not some mass-produced marketing scam sent out in bulk. There was a decent amount of thickness and weight to the paper, with even a bit of cardstock inside. He paused, raising a brow before looking at the address.
Immediately he felt his stomach drop to the floor, and the urge to vomit came rushing back to his throat.
While he didn’t know the exact business that had sent this letter, he knew the town it had originated from. Just knowing it came from
there
made his blood run even colder.
Before he could allow himself to purge what he had left in his stomach, he ripped the envelope open, moving to sit on his old used couch to read the enclosed letter. He couldn’t seem to focus on what was exactly typed out, but he did manage to get the gist of it.
Inside was a letter from a lawyer, an
estate
lawyer, to be specific. They were reaching out to inform him that Viktor’s adoptive father had passed away several weeks ago, and that he was being requested to come into the office to talk about his father’s will.
Viktor was hit with a mix of complicated emotions almost instantly. He could feel his world spinning around him as he tried to process the letter’s news.
‘
I’m going to throw up
,’ Viktor thought to himself as tears began to burn in his eyes.
It had been almost sixteen years since Viktor last talked to the man who adopted him. Sixteen years since Viktor left home with a bag of clothes and his college acceptance letter, never looking back once.
‘
I’m going to pass out,
’ his thought continued to swirl in a mix, a flurry forming in his mind.
And now, after all this time, the first time he’d heard about his adoptive father he is dead. Viktor never got a chance to stand up to him, to yell at him, or set him straight after all his years of emotional and physical abuse.
“This… This can’t be happening,” Viktor spoke out loud to himself, covering his mouth to wipe the small beads of sweat that were starting to form.
But at least the old bastard seemed to have left something for him, even after Viktor abandoned him. No guilt seemed to bloom from reading the news, only a sense of regret that he couldn’t have unleashed his pent up anger on the crooked man.
Viktor took a few moments to catch his breath, placing the letter on the couch for him to look at later. He then limped to the kitchen, deciding to at least eat something while he processed his emotions.
The last thing he was expecting to hear from his adoptive father was that he was dead, and for some reason he felt a twinge of sadness. He knew it couldn’t be because he was actually mourning the man, but that he was mourning the fact he never got to stand up for himself.
Right now he realized that he wouldn’t ever get a chance to let himself unleash the bottled emotions in his chest. He would never get a chance to shout his anger until he was red in the face. The old man would be six feet in the ground, so even his rotting corpse wouldn’t be moved by Viktor’s screams.
That old bastard got to die a free man, in the comfort of his own home. He was surrounded with his worldly belongings, while Viktor slaved away cleaning up after idiots who spilled coffee on their computer towers.
“This day is the absolute worst,” Viktor mumbled to himself in his empty apartment, as if the nothingness would respond back. The realization of everything started to settle, his mind almost going numb from just the amount of overstimulation he had gone through.
If there was anytime to light up or drown himself with a bottle, today would have been a perfect chance.
🏠︎
The sleek black car pulled up the driveway to the state run orphanage, parking while soft instrumental music played. The driver looked through the windshield to eye the structure, judging the exterior before stepping out to approach the front door.
He took a few breaths to steady himself, feeling his own heart racing a bit. While he had been working himself up to this moment for years, somehow now it was feeling overwhelming. Regrets and fears from mistakes he thought he had forgiven himself for resurfaced under his skin with a rolling boil.
Faint memories replayed in his mind, haunting him like ghosts mocking his failures.
The thin man stopped on the porch to look at the front door, reaching forward to pull on the brass door handle. He froze and closed his eyes, listening to the loud sound of children laughing and playing in the backyard. The sound made his heart pull and twist in pain, almost leaving him breathless.
It took him a few minutes to ready himself, just a few careful and slow breaths as he readied himself to heal the festering wound. He would quiet these voices, ease these ghastly whispers that followed him.
To bandage the hurt and pain that crawled inside his body, the pain that ate at his flesh from under the surface.
The awkward man pushed the door open, stepping inside the noisy home. He looked around, seeing various sets of rain boots by the door and several jackets hanging on the wall.
He heard the rushed footsteps of a person trying to wrangle a cluster of kids, listening to the taps of their small feet while they were ushered away from the entryway.
“-- I’m sorry, sir, – did you have an appointment with us?” A woman gasped as she turned the corner, looking at the man before recoiling at his uncanny stare.
“Yes. I’m sorry, I’m a bit early; but my appointment is under Singed, last name Reveck, I’m here to see the children. And hopefully adopt,” Singed spoke as he straightened his back with an audible pop. His beady eyes looked down at the woman in the suit jacket, staring her down like prey.
“I’m sorry, sir, please follow me–” she flinched, looking a tad flustered before extending her arm to lead him to another room. “Would you like to hang your coat by the door? This process tends to take awhile.”
The retired doctor, Singed, shrugged off the stiff, old wool coat and old scarf before placing them on one of the iron hooks by the front door. His eyes drifted to the sets of small rain boots that sat on a shoe rack. His hard gaze softened ever so slightly as he felt a sense of nostalgia in his chest twist.
“How many children reside here presently?” Singed asked as he counted the pairs, though he knew that this number might not reflect the actual number of children in the orphanage.
“We are currently housing twenty eight children of various ages, from babies to teens,” she answered waiting patiently as she judged his hesitation. Her arm dropped as she folded her hands in front of her, straightening her back to help her posture.
“Is it split evenly between boys and girls?” the prospective parent asked, turning to follow her to the office. He also fixed his posture, standing tall and towering over the woman.
“I don’t know the number off the top of my head, to be honest, but we do have a good mix of boys and girls of all ages. Were you interested in one over the other?” the woman asked.
“Not particularly. I guess the right one will stand out to me, as they say,” Singed shrugged casually, looking away to inspect the orphanage as they began their walk through the old home.
Still, he could hear the fair laughter and giggles from the children playing outside. The singing, the screaming, the joy in the air that came from such a vibrant bouquet of life.
If this is what the orphanage had to offer, then it wouldn’t do.
None of them would work.