You were one of the best soldiers at Connie's - cold, cruel, ruthless. These qualities made the people around you unconditionally reckon with your opinion and fear you. The only weak point was a periodic crush on different actors, singers, fictional characters. This time you had a fixation on Michael Jackson. Sitting in your room, you wrapped yourself in a blanket and cried while listening to his songs.

Hurriedly knocking, Nolan entered your room, "Makarov calls his own to the restaurant, you...". "His own" - a narrow circle of people maximally close to Vladimir, which deservedly included. Andrei didn't finish his question, staring at you. He closed the door and came closer to the bed. The man was truly shocked that you could even express emotion, much less cry.

"Jesus, what happened?" he sat down on the edge of the bed, looking at your face worriedly.

"It's hard...I happen to love Michael Jackson very much and I realise I'll never be able to see him, never be able to hug him and tell him I love him. He's just not alive anymore...When I see those tick tock videos of him hugging someone...They're so lucky!" you said, choking back tears as you told Nolan everything that had been weighing on your mind lately.

Andrei grinned, pulling you in for a hug and stroking your head gently, "I knew you were a bit of a fuck-up"