Rest in peace Denis Ten. You will never be forgotten, and my heart goes out to his friends, family, fans, and those in Kazakhstan right now.
(CW: explicit mentions of self harm, abuse, depression, anxiety)
((Disclaimer: I removed any mentions of the knife that Yuri's mother's boyfriend held in this chapter as I thought it would be insensitive given the situation. Lmk if I've missed any.))
"How is he?" Viktor was swerving through traffic like a madman, driving straight through various red lights and cutting people off at every turning. If the police started following him at any point, he wouldn't be surprised, however the law was the last thing on his mind as he kept shooting glances towards an unconscious Yuri.
"Still breathing." Otabek replied quietly. Either because he didn't want to wake Yuri or because he was still feeling the after-effects of fear. "He only fainted, wasn't knocked out or anything."
Nodding, Viktor took a sharp left and entered the street he lived on. Fainting was better than taking a bash to the head- at least there wouldn't be any concussion. "And you? Where are you hurt other than your face?"
Otabek shrugged with one shoulder and turned his head slightly to look away from the silver-haired man beside him. He was embarrassed, Viktor realised with slight upset; being in their teacher's car covered in blood wasn't good for dignity. Plus the fact that neither of them had asked for adult help for anything in their entire lives. Someone showing care towards him might have been a rare occurrence for the young man, something that he longed to accept and be grateful for if it wasn't for his pride or discomfort.
"I'll check you over when we get in." Viktor added softly, pulling into the apartment block driveway and noting with apprehension that the lights were on in his and Yuuri's floor.
He stepped out, circled the car, and quickly opened the passenger door to allow Otabek to get out with Yuri still in his arms. Viktor almost offered to carry the blond but stopped himself before the words left his lips; Otabek didn't look like he ever wanted to let Yuri go. So Viktor said nothing and led the way to his apartment.
"Otabek, are you sure you don't need to go to hospital? That cut above your eye looks like it needs stitches." The older man asked as the two of them stepped inside of the lift.
"No."
"But-"
"I said no."
Viktor sighed. "I know you're probably not used to people helping you," his tone was gentle and as unpatronizing as he could make it, "but it's okay to need help. You can't just slap a band-aid on that and hope it heals."
The Kazakh was always the quiet one of the pair; while Yuri would shout and start arguments with anyone who looked at him wrong, Otabek preferred to stay in the background. He had never raised his voice, never lost his temper. Which is why Viktor was shocked when he suddenly turned to him, looked directly into his eyes with his pain-filled brown ones, and spoke with a firm tone that held a hint of anger.
"No."
Being covered in blood made the scene rather horrifying, if Viktor was being honest. Otabek may be short, but if he could carry Yuri in his arms like the boy weighed next to nothing, Viktor had no doubt that he could physically force his way out of going to hospital if he felt he needed to. He let out a small sigh and didn't push him any further.
Hesitation settled in once Viktor saw his apartment door; knowing Yuuri was inside, probably calmly watching television or doing paperwork made him feel guilty. He'd had a long day and wasn't expecting his boyfriend to come home hours late followed by two blood-covered teenagers. Especially when the teenagers in question were already widespread causes for concern throughout the school.
Plus there was the issue of him dating Yuuri in the first place- if the faded hickies on Otabek's neck were anything to go by, being gay wouldn't be a problem, however the school would frown upon him dating the counsellor of the students he taught. For a brief second, the illogical part of Viktor's brain was wondering if he could sneak in without Yuuri noticing. But then Otabek winced from behind him and he swallowed his anxieties and punched in the code for the door.
"There's some boxes in front of the door, be careful." The Russian said absent-mindedly as he stepped into the building and was immediately hit with the scent of something cooking.
"You're home late, love." Yuuri's cheery voice came floating in from the kitchen. Soft Japanese music was playing on their beaten-up stereo, creating a calm and warm atmosphere that seemed so out of place given the situation. No doubt Yuuri had replaced his contact lenses with his thick-rimmed glasses and had slipped on his dressing gown after having a shower. The thought usually made Viktor feel fond, peaceful almost, but now it only intensified his feelings of guilt.
"Yeah." Was all he said in response.
Breaking the reality to Yuuri could wait: first he had to sort out the injured boys behind him.
"Otabek, can you lay him down on the couch?" Viktor was already knocking stray pieces of paper and the remote control onto the floor, rearranging the pillows so the blond could be settled comfortably. Otabek nodded once, didn't seem to care when his hip caught hard on the corner of the coffee table as he made his way over, and leaned down to carefully deposit Yuri. The couch was a squishy brown thing, clean and plush even after years of use. Otabek brushed stray strands away from Yuri's face and tilted his head back slightly so his airways were open.
"He's been out for quite a while." Viktor commented with a frown. He didn't know much about fainting, however he was confident that being unconscious for longer than a minute or two was a cause for concern.
"He's just asleep. He woke up briefly in the car." Otabek was still looking down at the younger boy with sad eyes, all attention on him despite the blood that covered his own face. "He's exhausted."
A fleecy blanket hung over the back of the couch, and Viktor pulled it down until it was covering the blond. If he was simply sleeping, it would be several hours until he awoke again.
"Hey." Viktor met Otabek's eyes. "Let's get you sorted out."
"I'll be fine."
"Otabek. Please let me look after you." When no reply came, Viktor decided to be brave. "I know this might be… hard for you. Having someone to look after you, clean you up and make you feel comfortable. But you're hurt and I think you know as much as I do that you can't just shrug this off."
"Why not?"
Viktor frowned. "What do you mean?"
"I've been beaten before. Lots of times, we all have. Nobody's ever taken care of me. What makes this different?"
It didn't take a genius to figure out that 'all' referred to most of the students in E2. Viktor pressed his lips together and ran a hand through his hair for the countless time that evening, stopping to think a little so he could choose his next words carefully.
"Did you have anyone to take care of you before?"
This time it was Otabek who frowned. "I… no?"
"There wasn't anyone around who was willing to take care of you when you were hurt?"
A shrug. "Not used to people being nice to me."
"Okay then, that's why this situation is different. I want to look after you. Not just as your teacher, but as a regular person who has empathy and compassion and understands that you don't deserve to be abused. Okay? I want to take care of you, Otabek."
Otabek looked away, evidently uncomfortable with the conversation. Every cell in his body was telling him to put on that stubborn armour that he had solidified over the years and outright refuse any offer of help.
But then he looked at Yuri, and the soft blanket, and thought of an ice pack and a cup of tea. He thought about the times when he was younger and would stare at other children's mothers in the playground after school, longing for a gentle pair of hands to clean up his scrapes and bruises. The surge of weird happiness he got whenever Yuri noticed his cuts and scolded him for not looking after them properly. He thought about how much he secretly craved care and attention.
So he nodded. Just a tiny jerk of his head, almost unnoticeable, but Viktor was staring at him intensely and didn't miss it.
"Thank you."
Viktor tentatively inched his way towards the injured boy, slightly unsure of where to start. Despite the black jacket and long-sleeve Otabek was wearing, blood stains were still evident, and Viktor didn't know if it had come from the cut by his eyebrow or hidden injuries. He didn't want to intrude Otabek's personal space or do anything that could scare him.
Judging by the way he flinched when Viktor lifted his hand, not scaring him was turning out to be an impossible task.
Worrying his lip between his teeth, the silver haired man wondered if he should bite the bullet and go and tell Yuuri the news, or if he should stupidly somehow keep it hidden from him. The kitchen tap was running, indicating that Yuuri was washing dishes. Could he sneak in there and grab some paper towel without him noticing…?
But then Otabek's eyes grew wide with fear when Viktor reached out to touch the Kazakh's face, and that tiny, vulnerable noise was all Viktor needed to realise that he was being a fucking idiot. Yuuri was a trained counsellor. He had worked with child abuse cases, domestic violence victims, had volunteered with traumatised refugees before he was even out of college. Viktor could try to convince himself that he could deal with this alone, protect himself from feeling guilty or whatever, but he would be lying to himself.
Two hurt kids were in his living room and they needed taking care of.
So he sucked in a breath, silently apologised for the worry and stress that this would undoubtedly cause his boyfriend, and called out as soon as the water stopped running.
"Love?"
"Mmm?"
"Can you come here please?"
He stared. Open-mouthed, clutching a spatula, wearing nothing but a dressing gown and pair of yellow rubber washing gloves. The scene may have looked rather comedic, he supposed, if it wasn't for the sight before him and the reason why he was staring.
Yuuri looked at Viktor, then at Otabek, then back to Viktor, and finally a small blond figure lying unconscious on their couch that looked worryingly like Yuri Plisetsky. His eyes lingered on the sickly red liquid that ran down Otabek's face and some tiny part of the back of his mind worried about getting blood on the carpet.
"V-Viktor! What on earth-"
"Yes, yes, I know, I'm sorry I didn't say anything." Viktor was out of his seat and walking towards Yuuri with that mildly-ashamed puppy dog look in his eyes. "They're hurt. Both of them, and I don't know what to do."
"Wait. Come into the kitchen, talk to me there." Yuuri didn't want Otabek (and Yuri?) overhearing their conversation, so he ushered Viktor around the corner into a kitchen that smelled like baking and lemon scented cleaning spray. "Okay. What happened?"
Viktor didn't hesitate to begin recounting events. He explained how he had found a concerning note from Yuri addressed to Otabek in class and had linked that to their recent absences from school. How he had drove to Yuri's house and waited outside, too embarrassed or afraid to just knock on his front door, and had then seen Otabek stumbling out with Yuri in his arms.
"Some man was following them, I think he's the one who hurt them, I called out and Otabek carried Yuri into my car and I drove them here. Yuri's just asleep now, apparently, but Otabek's hurt and I don't think he's going to let me touch him and I don't know what to do and I-"
"Hey, hey, relax. It's going to be okay, we'll look after them. Come here." Yuuri wrapped his arms around a now-sobbing Viktor, mumbling comforts into his ear and promising that he wasn't mad, that he did the right thing, that both Otabek and Yuri were going to be fine. After a moment or two Viktor sniffed loudly and pulled away, rubbing his eyes.
"Look at me. Crying all over you when there is a bleeding teenager in our living room." He forced a smile. "Right, let's go sort this out. But to be honest with you, babe, I'm out of my depth here. I don't think he'll let me near him."
Yuuri nodded, frowning. He pulled his robe tighter around him and thought of the best way to approach Otabek. He knew the Kazakh was reserved, perhaps cautious of adult figures. He didn't seem the violent type, but he had to have been in E2 for a reason. Yuuri couldn't afford to make judgements about his temperament.
He quickly gathered some wipes, tissues, nodded towards the first aid box for Viktor to retrieve, and forced himself to visibly calm down before entering the living room again.
"Hi, Otabek." He smiled, setting the supplies down on the coffee table and gesturing towards the space next to the boy. "Can I sit here?"
Otabek shrugged. Yuuri took that as a yes and gently lowered himself next to him. Viktor took his place opposite them and begun pulling wipes and bandages out of the first aid kit.
"Okay then. I think we should wipe that blood away so I can get a better look at your cut. Would you like me to do it, or would you rather do it yourself?" Yuuri pulled some wipes out of the packet, ready to hand them over to Otabek if he needed to.
"I can do it." The boy's voice was quiet and he sounded tired. Yuuri handed them over and watched as the blood was wiped away, revealing a cut that was perhaps an inch in length and sat just below his eyebrow.
Definitely from being punched, unless he had tripped and smashed his face against something, however that seemed unlikely given the situation that Viktor had described. Yuuri frowned and observed that though stitches weren't needed, he'd have to make some steri-strips out of band-aids to ensure it closed properly and to minimise scarring.
He got to work opening packets and cutting the adhesive to size as Otabek cleaned any remaining blood on his face. His shirt was a lost cause so there was no point even attempting to get the stains out, and when the Kazakh awkwardly set the used tissues down on the table, Yuuri leaned over.
"I'm going to close that up for you, okay? That means touching your face. Is that alright?"
Otabek nodded, knowing that he didn't really have another option. He reluctantly let Yuuri place the strips over his injury, only flinching a few times and forcing himself to not jerk away from the physical contact. When it was done he let out a shaky breath and rubbed his eyes with his clenched fists.
Viktor had left to dispose of the tissues. Upon returning he leaned across the table, elbows resting on the wood, looking Otabek up and down. "Where else are you hurt?" He asked gently, copying the gentle tone that Yuuri had adopted. He noticed that Otabek was sitting strangely, with his arms wrapped around his torso, in a guarded way. "Your stomach, or ribs? Your back?"
With a sigh, Otabek shrugged his jacket off his shoulders. He winced as the fabric scraped against his arms, causing Viktor and Yuuri to exchange a concerned look. The long-sleeve he wore underneath his jacket made it awkward to properly gauge what was going on.
"Vitya, there's an ice pack in the freezer." Yuuri gestured towards the kitchen, knowing a cold compress would be appreciated. "Could you put the kettle on too, please?"
"Of course. Do you like tea, Otabek? Or coffee or hot cocoa or anything else?"
Otabek's features brightened for a second and he temporarily forgot about his embarrassment. "Uh… C-could I have some, uh… tea? I-if that's okay?" His body was still buzzing with adrenaline and anxiety and he found it hard to talk properly. Viktor smiled and nodded before stepping out of the room, leaving just Yuuri to stare at him with a slightly raised eyebrow.
The Japanese man had a vague idea what was going on. Obviously there had been a violent encounter in which Otabek had tried to protect Yuri, ended up being hurt in the process, and ultimately fled with the unconscious blond in his arms. Yuuri had looked at both of their track records under the school system and noted their tendency to skip class or disappear for a few days at a time, and now he had more details he could confidently conclude that there must have been some sort of physical abuse or neglect going on at home. It was evident that the two boys were very close, and therefore very protective over one another.
Yuuri smiled gently at the Kazakh and gestured towards his arms. He was grateful that Viktor wasn't in the room; some topics were better approached without him listening.
"Do you mind if I ask some questions?"
No answer.
"You don't have to talk if you don't think you can. Just nodding or shaking your head will be fine. Is that okay?"
Otabek frowned, unsure of himself. Then he nodded slowly.
"Thank you. Okay, well, I just want to make it clear that I don't need details of what happened right now. My main priority is your health. Are you bleeding anywhere else that you know of?"
A slow, apprehensive shake of his head released the pressure inside Yuuri just a little.
"That's good. You seemed in pain when you took your jacket off, though. Are your arms hurt?" Otabek nodded. "Yes, I thought so. Did the person grab you? Or do you have self-inflicted wounds?"
Yuuri felt guilty for how uncomfortable he was making the boy, but he brushed his guilt away with the reassurance that it was for the best if they were to help him. Help both of them; Yuri would eventually wake up and was not going to be happy about lying on his teacher and counsellor's couch. The more Yuuri could find out now, the better.
The Kazakh pressed his lips together and nodded slowly, desperately avoiding eye contact. The tinkle of mugs being moved around in the kitchen made the atmosphere feel slightly less stressful, and for that he was grateful. "H-he grabbed me, but most of them are from me." He mumbled, playing with the cuffs of his sleeves.
"Would you feel comfortable rolling your sleeves up so I can have a look?"
In all honesty Yuuri expected Otabek to adamantly refuse, so he was pleasantly surprised when he slowly begun to roll his sleeves up to his elbows. A couple of light cuts and scars could be spotted here and there on the top of his arms, and for a moment Yuuri felt like he could release the breath he was holding because the damage wasn't too bad. But then Otabek turned his arms so his wrists were facing outwards and the older man had to supress a gasp.
Infected. That was the first thing Yuuri thought as he stared at the cross-cross of cuts that started at his lower wrists and ended mid-forearm. The skin around them was red and inflamed, the cuts themselves were covered in dark scabs that leaked pus here and there, many of them had required stitches but the lack of medical care had left them puckered and swollen. Whether he was trying to or not, Otabek was incredibly lucky to have missed cutting into veins given the location.
"Fuck."
A voice forced Yuuri's eyes away from the lacerations. He turned to see Viktor standing before them, mugs in his hands, staring with an expression of what could only be called horror.
Yuuri saw Otabek's hands clench out of the corner of his eye and knew that he must have been mortified at the sudden attention that he was receiving. "Viktor, do you reckon you could sort the spare bedroom out so they have somewhere to sleep tonight that isn't the couch?" The Japanese man asked, widening his eyes suggestively at Viktor in a way that could only mean please leave the room right now and let me deal with this.
Viktor, unfortunately, was never the best with implicit meanings.
"Otabek… How did I never realise this in class?" After setting the tea on the table, he stared at the cuts and even seemed tempted to reach out and touch them. "You must have been in so much pain. Y-you should have said something, I could have taken you to first aid. I mean sure, I might have been surprised, but I've seen the scars on Yuri's arms and some of the other student's so I wouldn't judge you or anything and-"
"Viktor." Yuuri interrupted sternly. Raising an eyebrow, he gestured to the hallway, now desperate for him to leave as Otabek was pretty close to a panic attack. "Make the bed? Please?"
"O-Oh, well, yes. Yes I'll do that. Let me know if you need any help though, dear, won't you?"
"Of course." Yuuri lied. His smile disappeared as soon as his boyfriend was out of sight. "Sorry about that, Otabek. Are you okay?"
The Kazakh nodded solemnly, a badly disguised lie which Yuuri didn't point out.
"He means the best, really. He's just desperate to be helpful. Most days he comes back from work and asks me what he can do to encourage you guys to open up to him, or what he can do to help, or be a better teacher. I think he's a bit… loud, shall we say? Insensitive sometimes? He doesn't mean anything by it, but I have to remind him that sometimes it's best to take a step back and offer gentle support rather than try to fix everything."
Yuuri smeared antiseptic cream over the cuts after pulling on latex gloves. Proper medical attention and possibly antibiotics would have been ideal, however after hearing Viktor's explanation of previous events he was certain Otabek would be heavily against that idea. Settling on cleaning, bandaging, and keeping a careful eye on them accompanied with ibuprofen for the pain was the next best option.
"Have you ever talked to anyone about your self-harm?" He asked gently while wrapping gauze around the deeper wounds. "Or any of your mental health problems?"
Otabek bit his lip. "I… Tried to. Once. My mother saw my cuts and asked me what they were." Yuuri nodded to show he was listening and wanted Otabek to keep talking. "I told her that I did them to myself when I was sad. And she just…" He closed his eyes as if mentally steadying himself. Viktor had mentioned once that Otabek was quiet, perhaps too quiet, and how talking seemed almost painful for him. Sitting next to him now, Yuuri could see the tell-tale signs of severe social anxiety; from the sweat beading at his hairline to the subtle tremble in his hands. He didn't think he had made eye contact with him for the entire evening.
"What did she do?" Yuuri urged, securing the ends of the gauze. With his hands finally free, Otabek reached out to grasp his mug, drinking half of his tea in one gulp.
He closed his eyes and sighed. "She told me that it didn't matter because they weren't deep enough. I told her to fuck off and she hit me with her belt." He shrugged his shoulders, brushing it off as if it was nothing, but Yuuri heard the pain that laced his words. Saw the frown that disappeared as quickly as it crossed his face.
"So you started cutting deeper?"
"Yeah. Not just because of her, she barely means anything to me."
"Because your depression got worse as you got older?" Yuuri smiled sadly, sipping delicately at his tea. He wanted to hug this boy but Otabek's personal boundaries had already been destroyed this evening- touching him more than necessary would only make him freak out. Plus, it was unprofessional given Yuuri's school counsellor status, right? Or did those rules not apply outside of work hours? He supposed that giving a hug was rather redundant compared to housing them for the night.
Otabek nodded. He opened his mouth as if to say something, then closed it again. A look of uncertainty graced his features.
"What is it?" Yuuri asked, tilting his head curiously.
"You and Viktor. Are you… Married?"
Ah. Well, that question was coming sooner or later, he supposed. Yuuri smiled and decided that it would be better to explain while Viktor was still wrestling with duvet covers.
"No, not married, just boyfriends. We've been together for nearly five years now. I suppose marriage is in the future, but…" He trailed off, picking at his fingers anxiously, looking around as if searching for something. "Hey, listen. Me and Viktor… Well, because I'm the main counsellor for E2, and he's your teacher… We're not exactly supposed to be more than housemates, which the school believes us to be. So-"
"I won't say anything." Otabek said, his deep tone cutting off Yuuri's anxious rambling. The Japanese man exhaled gratefully. "But on one condition."
Of course. Nothing came easily. Yuuri forced a smile. "Yes?"
"You don't tell anyone about…" Otabek gestured to his wrists, and then to the unconscious Yuri on the couch. "Yuri would freak if people found out that he stayed the night at his teacher's house."
"I won't say anything about you staying here. But Yuri's under eighteen, so I can't stay quiet about whatever is happening at home. I'm not going to assume anything, but it's pretty obvious that there's some abuse or neglect happening at home, and since you've told me that you're being beaten it's legally my duty of care to help." Otabek started protesting, but Yuuri held a hand up to cut him off. "Otabek, you and Yuri both deserve to be safe. I'll do whatever I can to make that happen. Okay?"
The Kazakh sighed in defeat and nodded.
"Thank you. Now, do you have any other injuries?"
Viktor stared at the bed, admiring his handiwork and trying to distract himself from the feelings of concern and guilt that were fogging his brain. Every time he closed his eyes the image of Otabek's wrists flashed behind his eyelids and he kicked himself for not realising. Not realising the abuse, the self-harm, the pain and fear that his students lived with. If only he had been more observant.
"No. You tried your best, this isn't your fault." He had to vocally remind himself that he had done the best he could, that he had to focus on making things better for them in the future. What's done was done. He took a couple of deep breaths to ground himself, glanced once more at the very inviting bed that he had made, and stepped back into the living room.
Otabek was slumped on the couch, holding an icepack to his ribs, eyes closed and frowning. Yuuri was slowly packing away the first aid supplies and talking gently; probably recalling pointless stories to fill the silence and ease Otabek's anxiety. With uncharacteristic grace, Viktor sat next to his boyfriend, rubbing small circles into his back.
"Everything okay?"
"Yeah." Yuuri leaned against him and let out a small sigh. "Had some bruising on his ribs, but that should heal. It'll just be sore for a few days. His eye will take a little longer to fix itself up, and his wrists… I'll have to keep a close eye on them."
Viktor hummed low. "It could always be worse, my dear. You've done brilliantly."
"So have you." He kissed the tip of Viktor's nose, smiling happily for the first time that evening.
As the two of them sat on the couch, Viktor replayed the evening's events in his mind over and over again. Certain images refused to leave him alone: blood covering Otabek's face. Infected cuts. Yuri's pale hand falling limp at his side. It was barely past dinner time, wasn't even fully dark outside, but Viktor was exhausted. No doubt Yuuri was to, and Otabek could have been mistaken for being asleep if it wasn't for the way he winced when he moved the ice pack along his ribs.
His mind wandered to his other students. Emil had been acting really strange lately- was everything okay with him? Leo was another student who refused to wear short sleeves despite the heat outside- would it be appropriate to intervene? Seung-gil didn't have any friends, Jean's black eye still hadn't fully faded, Sara's promiscuity and complete disregard of sexual health could sooner or later end up with her becoming sick.
So many students, so many problems, and no idea how to help any of them.
The logical part of his mind knew that he couldn't be expected to fix them or even get them to open up to him. That he was responsible for education, not mental wellbeing. But the logical part of his mind was clouded with pictures of blood and cuts and quite frankly, Viktor would sell his god damn soul if it meant those kids could be happy.
He sighed, feeling the beginnings of another stress headache in his right temple, and just wanted to curl up in bed.
"Vitya? Lovely, is everything okay?" Yuuri's calming voice brought him back to reality. He loved his voice- always so calm, kind, patient. A small reminder that not everything was bad.
"Yeah. Just, y'know. Thinking." He kissed Yuuri's temple and turned to Otabek, wanting a distraction. "So, Otabek… I noticed that you're doing well in literature. Do you like reading?"
The topic was a shot in the dark, but hey, he was willing to try anything.
Surprisingly, Otabek seemed willing to go along with it. "I do." He confirmed, placing the now-warm ice pack on the table. "I read a lot at home."
"Who's your favourite author?"
The Kazakh paused. Then, "Steven King. Or James Herbert."
"Ah, so, thriller-type stuff then? Although you were one of the only ones in class who seemed to enjoy Shakespeare before we changed."
"I'm neutral to Shakespeare. Some of his stuff is okay, but other pieces are a bit dull."
Viktor smiled, opened his mouth to agree, however a groan and rustling sound to his right pulled his attention away from the topic of literature. That conversation paled in comparison to the conflicts that were about to ensue. And to think Viktor had been daydreaming about sleep.
All three of them turned to the source and watched in relative concern, caution, and apprehension as Yuri's eyes fluttered open.
They were brilliantly green in contrast to his white skin and blond hair. Slightly bloodshot, either from crying or fatigue, and very angry-looking.
"Where the fuck am I?"
Question- would you guys like to see more smaller sections from other student's POV? Like I did with Emil last chapter? Just to maybe explore their backstory, feelings towards Viktor, etc.
Please leave a comment if you're able to- it really encourages me to write more :)
