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Description
Oh jesus, here we go again. Please don't hate me, this is a sickness, I just have to pair things together; it's like a weird sketching form of turrets or something. I probably won't do much of these two mostly because I can't draw Viktor to save my life. It's my first time drawing Viktor, EVER, so be nice. Also, I'm going to say it right now, I'm in LOVE with his hands. I find I get the same warm fuzzies drawing them as I do dainty female kitty feet in t-bars
As a nice distraction from the story I've been working on, I wrote a little drabble to explain this oddly intimate scene:

The eyes that follow her when she’s in the market with Nikolas are ones she ignores with sad, but solemn reserve. She knows what they must think of her; this foreign woman drifting through the comfort of their warm little store, with her thick accent, and her strange eyes. They don’t understand that her icy silence isn’t her ignoring them, but simply a lack of understanding because they all speak too quickly for her to follow.
She hears their whispers when they think she isn’t listening, or perhaps they think she doesn’t understand. They talk about the strangeness of her, the scandal of her single-parenthood, and before she knows what’s happened, there are rumors; Anita Lachkovics, the vamp, the quiff, the shameful woman with a child, and no husband. She does her best to pretend the words don’t hurt, tries to convince herself that they simply don’t understand, but the salty sting of tears pick her eyes in spite of herself, and she must drag Nikolas away from the store to keep her dignity.
It’s still better than what there was before, even if she is still miserable. There is no threat of her husband breaking down the locked door of the bathroom, breath reeking of whiskey and cigar smoke, there’s no worry for her son’s safety when she’s too weak to get off the floor. It’s better, but not what she wants, and sometimes she catches herself looking too closely at the bottle of aspirin on the counter, until she remembers that her life isn’t the only one she is responsible for.
Nikolas asks why they had to leave so quickly when they hadn’t even bought anything yet, and Anita tells him to be a good boy and stay quiet for a little while, and he does because he doesn’t want her to cry. She runs into Viktor as he descends the steps from his apartment building, and for a full minute he simply looks down at her with an expression that isn’t quite his usual scowl, before he asks in his calming baritone, for Nikolas to go check on Mrs. Bapka. The boy hesitates, looking at his mother, but she simply nods because she doesn’t know what else to do, and he shuffles away to disappear inside the building.
Her hand is cold without Nikolas’ tiny paw, and it takes seeing the half-panicked look on Viktor’s face before she realizes she’s crying, and once she knows, there’s no stopping it, and the sobs rake through her, sending her shoulders trembling and her frame quivering. From the corner of her eye she sees him take two of his giant strides, and he stands before her, close enough where she can lean her forehead against his broad chest without realizing what she’s doing. His big hands are on her shoulders, and isn’t quite an embrace, but it’s comforting, and she turns heard head so her cheek is resting against his chest, and the rhythmic lub-dub lub-dub she hears there calms her, and after a few moments the tears ease up and she simply stands in the circle of his warmth, and chooses for that moment to forget exactly how bad the world is.
When he gently pushes her away, his hands stay on her shoulders, and the calming lilt of his deep voice promises that they—whoever they are—are wrong.
She wonders how he knows, but concludes with a weak smile that sometimes Viktor just knows things, and she reaches up to press her paw to his cheek, brushing over fur that is softer than it looks, and wonders where in the world he has been all her life.
“Viktor?” her voice is whispery and sad, and for his part, Viktor doesn’t let on that he knows. He looks down into her mismatched eyes, the warmest gold, and palest blue like the sun and the moon side by side, and pretends that he hadn’t asked Mrs. Bapka why he has never seen a husband, because surely a woman like her had to have one, and he pretends that he hasn’t imagined her bruised and bleeding, and crying and helpless, and he pretends that he doesn’t understand why the night they met, she had flinched away from him. Instead he simply touches her hair with a heavy, steady paw, and tells her again that they are wrong and how it will be alright
When she leans into his touch, he feels something in chest swell, and he knows that it is something akin pride because she trusts him enough not to hurt her. She turns her head into his paw, and he can feel the wetness of her tears in his palm, and he is baffled at the thought of anyone laying a hand to her.
Anita allows herself to take a mental snapshot of this moment so she can pull it out again later when the night is too dark, and silent for her thoughts to run wild. She feels herself relax and all her misery fades for a moment, and she focuses on the way his hand caresses her cheek, the softness of his fur, and this is by far the most intimate moment she’d ever shared with another person. All she wants to do is forget what it was like to have never had such tenderness in her life, to never have felt so completely safe, and to stay lost in the warmth resonating around her.
Viktor doesn’t tell her that he knows, but he tells her that he will break anyone who tries to hurt her, and the warm smile that spreads across her face and up to brighten her eyes stills his heart for a moment before to stumbles back into a quicker rhythm. Then, faster than he can react, she reaches up on the very tips of her toes to press her lips softly to the corner of his mouth in a kiss that isn’t quite a proclamation, but instead a hint at something he dare not put name to. And before he can think about all the reasons he shouldn’t, he kisses her back, gentle and tender because he doesn’t want to scare her, and lets her pull away after a moment even though the loss of her touch nearly kills him.
“Ďakujem” she whispers to him, the warmth of her smile filling him, and he knows that she will be okay.
“Ste vítaní” he replies as she steps past him and toward the apartment building to retrieve her son.

Description
Oh jesus, here we go again. Please don't hate me, this is a sickness, I just have to pair things together; it's like a weird sketching form of turrets or something. I probably won't do much of these two mostly because I can't draw Viktor to save my life. It's my first time drawing Viktor, EVER, so be nice. Also, I'm going to say it right now, I'm in LOVE with his hands. I find I get the same warm fuzzies drawing them as I do dainty female kitty feet in t-bars
As a nice distraction from the story I've been working on, I wrote a little drabble to explain this oddly intimate scene:

The eyes that follow her when she’s in the market with Nikolas are ones she ignores with sad, but solemn reserve. She knows what they must think of her; this foreign woman drifting through the comfort of their warm little store, with her thick accent, and her strange eyes. They don’t understand that her icy silence isn’t her ignoring them, but simply a lack of understanding because they all speak too quickly for her to follow.
She hears their whispers when they think she isn’t listening, or perhaps they think she doesn’t understand. They talk about the strangeness of her, the scandal of her single-parenthood, and before she knows what’s happened, there are rumors; Anita Lachkovics, the vamp, the quiff, the shameful woman with a child, and no husband. She does her best to pretend the words don’t hurt, tries to convince herself that they simply don’t understand, but the salty sting of tears pick her eyes in spite of herself, and she must drag Nikolas away from the store to keep her dignity.
It’s still better than what there was before, even if she is still miserable. There is no threat of her husband breaking down the locked door of the bathroom, breath reeking of whiskey and cigar smoke, there’s no worry for her son’s safety when she’s too weak to get off the floor. It’s better, but not what she wants, and sometimes she catches herself looking too closely at the bottle of aspirin on the counter, until she remembers that her life isn’t the only one she is responsible for.
Nikolas asks why they had to leave so quickly when they hadn’t even bought anything yet, and Anita tells him to be a good boy and stay quiet for a little while, and he does because he doesn’t want her to cry. She runs into Viktor as he descends the steps from his apartment building, and for a full minute he simply looks down at her with an expression that isn’t quite his usual scowl, before he asks in his calming baritone, for Nikolas to go check on Mrs. Bapka. The boy hesitates, looking at his mother, but she simply nods because she doesn’t know what else to do, and he shuffles away to disappear inside the building.
Her hand is cold without Nikolas’ tiny paw, and it takes seeing the half-panicked look on Viktor’s face before she realizes she’s crying, and once she knows, there’s no stopping it, and the sobs rake through her, sending her shoulders trembling and her frame quivering. From the corner of her eye she sees him take two of his giant strides, and he stands before her, close enough where she can lean her forehead against his broad chest without realizing what she’s doing. His big hands are on her shoulders, and isn’t quite an embrace, but it’s comforting, and she turns heard head so her cheek is resting against his chest, and the rhythmic lub-dub lub-dub she hears there calms her, and after a few moments the tears ease up and she simply stands in the circle of his warmth, and chooses for that moment to forget exactly how bad the world is.
When he gently pushes her away, his hands stay on her shoulders, and the calming lilt of his deep voice promises that they—whoever they are—are wrong.
She wonders how he knows, but concludes with a weak smile that sometimes Viktor just knows things, and she reaches up to press her paw to his cheek, brushing over fur that is softer than it looks, and wonders where in the world he has been all her life.
“Viktor?” her voice is whispery and sad, and for his part, Viktor doesn’t let on that he knows. He looks down into her mismatched eyes, the warmest gold, and palest blue like the sun and the moon side by side, and pretends that he hadn’t asked Mrs. Bapka why he has never seen a husband, because surely a woman like her had to have one, and he pretends that he hasn’t imagined her bruised and bleeding, and crying and helpless, and he pretends that he doesn’t understand why the night they met, she had flinched away from him. Instead he simply touches her hair with a heavy, steady paw, and tells her again that they are wrong and how it will be alright
When she leans into his touch, he feels something in chest swell, and he knows that it is something akin pride because she trusts him enough not to hurt her. She turns her head into his paw, and he can feel the wetness of her tears in his palm, and he is baffled at the thought of anyone laying a hand to her.
Anita allows herself to take a mental snapshot of this moment so she can pull it out again later when the night is too dark, and silent for her thoughts to run wild. She feels herself relax and all her misery fades for a moment, and she focuses on the way his hand caresses her cheek, the softness of his fur, and this is by far the most intimate moment she’d ever shared with another person. All she wants to do is forget what it was like to have never had such tenderness in her life, to never have felt so completely safe, and to stay lost in the warmth resonating around her.
Viktor doesn’t tell her that he knows, but he tells her that he will break anyone who tries to hurt her, and the warm smile that spreads across her face and up to brighten her eyes stills his heart for a moment before to stumbles back into a quicker rhythm. Then, faster than he can react, she reaches up on the very tips of her toes to press her lips softly to the corner of his mouth in a kiss that isn’t quite a proclamation, but instead a hint at something he dare not put name to. And before he can think about all the reasons he shouldn’t, he kisses her back, gentle and tender because he doesn’t want to scare her, and lets her pull away after a moment even though the loss of her touch nearly kills him.
“Ďakujem” she whispers to him, the warmth of her smile filling him, and he knows that she will be okay.
“Ste vítaní” he replies as she steps past him and toward the apartment building to retrieve her son.