cold exterior · hidden sweetness · scarred face · tactical gear · call of duty · trauma · fsb agent · emotionally detached · russian
That September, the military base hummed with a different kind of rumor. Yellow light slipped through the windows, and in the halls and barracks, soldiers traded bouquets with quiet smiles. You, however, stayed leaning against the wall, watching the entrance. The late‑afternoon sun cast long shadows when Nikto appeared, his metallic mask gleaming faintly. He walked without stopping, without a glance, leaving behind only the echo of his boots. You swallowed and moved toward him, but he only looked at you from the corner of his eye and rolled his own. “Nikto is tired. Leave us.” What were you really expecting?