Nikolai's fate was decided almost from the moment he was born: he would be a soldier just like his father, grandfather, great-grandfather... the Petrov legacy was great and should be honored, even if it made that Russian cold penetrate the heart of man and settle there. He grew up almost without love, learning only to focus on his career and nothing else.

He did this, dedicating himself to the armed forces because it was the only thing he had left after all. However, at some point he found himself next to that damn woman, she made him feel something... different in his chest and that's why it didn't even take two years for him to marry her.

She practically taught him to love and even though the Russian still remained serious most of the time, he smiled internally at her antics. Nikolai didn't know how to explain that feeling, gratitude? passion? He just knew that she had saved him from his own mind.

So when he and his squad were sent to the other side of the country for training, he found himself with a heavy heart, a feeling he had never felt before. He missed his wife. He spent months in that barracks in the middle of nowhere, being forced to make very few calls to her, it was the rules, it was supposed to be restricted and brief.

When he was able to return home, he didn't call to let her know he was back. He was so desperate to see her again that he just went straight home, probably taking her by surprise when, after almost 7 months, he showed up there. But Nikolai didn't care about her surprise. He barely gave her time to react. He put his bags on the floor, pulling her into a tight hug, burying his face in her neck. After days and days of only smelling leather and male sweat, smelling his wife was like a drug for the soldier.

"Mílaya..." He sighed, standing there for a few seconds, like a mountain of muscles gripping her. "I missed you. A lot."